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 rjR. MIDDLETON. (PAGE 381.) 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 BY 
 
 JANE PORTER 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, BTC. 
 
 ' Loin d'aimer la guerre, il I'abhorre ; 
 En triomphant meme il deplore 
 Les d^sastres qu'elle produit 
 Et, couronne par la victoire, 
 II gemit de sa propre gloire. 
 Si la paix n'en est pas le fruit." 
 
 A NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 WITH NEW NOTES, ETC., BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 
 London : Broadway, Ludgate Hill 
 
 New York : 9 Lafayette Place 
 
!N MEMORIAM 
 
 J. Campbell, 
 
 PRINTER, 
 
 15 Vaudewater St., N. Y. 
 
 ^6^ ,, 
 
 ^^ 
 
 n , 
 
 .«." 
 
ff 
 
 \ 'A 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 TO 
 
 HER FRIENDLY READERS 
 
 Written for the new edition of "Thaddeus of Warsaw," forming one of the series called 
 " The Standard Novels." 
 
 To such readers alone who, by the sympathy of a social 
 taste, fall in with any blameless fashion of the clay, and, from 
 an amiable interest, also, in whatever may chance to afford 
 them innocent pleasure, would fain know something more 
 about an author whose works have brought them that gratifica- 
 tion than the cold letter of a mere literary preface usually tells : 
 to such readers this — something of an egotistical — epistle is 
 addressed. 
 
 For, in beginning the republication of a regular series 
 of the novels, or, as they have been more properly called, 
 biographical romances, of which I have been the author, it has 
 been considered desirable to make certain additions to each 
 work, in 'the form of a few introductory pages and scattered 
 notes, illustrative of the origin of the tale, of the historical 
 events referred to in it, and of the actually living characters 
 who constitute its personages, with some account, also, of the 
 really local scenery described ; thus giving, it is thought, a 
 double zest to the entertainment of the reader, by bringing 
 him into a previous acquaintance with the persons he is to 
 meet in the book, and making him agreeably familiar with the 
 country through which he is to travel in their company. In- 
 deed, the social taste of the times has lately fully shown how 
 advantageous the like conversational disclosures have proved 
 to the recent republications of the celebrated " Waverley 
 Novels," by the chief of novel-writers ; and in the new series 
 of the admirable naval tales by the distinguished American 
 novelist, both of whom paid to the mother-country the gratify- 
 ing tribute of making it their birtliplace. 
 
 Such evidences in favor of an argument could not fail to 
 
4 THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIEXDLY READERS. 
 
 jDersuade me to undertake the desired elucidating task ; feel- 
 ing, indeed, particularly pleased to adopt, in my turn, a suc- 
 cessful example from the once Great Unknown — now the not 
 less great avowed author of the Waverley Novels, in the person 
 of Sir Walter Scott, who did me the honor to adopt the style 
 or class of novel of which '' Thaddeus of Warsaw " was the 
 first, — a class which, uniting the personages and facts of real 
 history or biography with a combining and illustrative ma- 
 chinery of the imagination, formed a new species of writing in 
 that day, and to which Madame de Stael and others have 
 given the appellation of " an epic in prose." The day of its 
 appearance is now pretty far back : for " Thaddeus of War- 
 saw " (a tale founded on Polish heroism) and the " Scottish 
 Chiefs " (a romance grounded on Scottish heroism) were both 
 published in England, and translated into various languages 
 abroad, many years before the literary wonder of Scotland 
 gave to the world his transcendent story of Waverley, forming 
 a most impressive historical picture of the last struggle of the 
 papist, but gallant, branch of the Stuarts for the British throne.* 
 
 " Thaddeus of Warsaw " being the first essay, in the form 
 of such an association between fact and fancy, was published 
 by its author with a natural apprehension of its reception by 
 the critical part of the public. She had not, indeed, written 
 it with any view to publication, but from an almost resistless 
 impulse to embody the ideas and impressions with which her 
 heart and mind were then full. It was written in her earliest 
 youth ; dictated by a fervent sympathy with calamities which 
 had scarcely ceased to exist, and which her eager pen sought 
 to portray ; and it was given to the world, or rather to those 
 who might feel with her, with all the simple-hearted enthusiasm 
 which saw no impediment when a tale of virtue or of pity was 
 to be told. 
 
 In looking back through the avenue of life to that time, 
 what events have occurred, public and private, to the countries 
 . and to the individuals named in that tale ! to persons of even 
 as lofty names and excellences, of our owm and other lands, 
 who were mutually affected with me in admiration and regret 
 for the virtues and the sorrows described ! In sitting down 
 now to my Yetrospective task, I find myself writing this, my 
 second pre'face to the story of " Thaddeus of Warsaw," just 
 thirty years from the date of its first publication. Then, I wrote 
 
 * It was on the publication of these, her first two works, in the German language that 
 the authoress was honored with being made a lady of the Chapter o£ St. Joachim, and re- 
 ceived the gold cross of the order from Wirtemburg. 
 
rilE AUTHOR TO HER TRIEXDLY READERS. 5 
 
 wlien the struggle for the birthriglu independence of Poland 
 was no more; when she lay in her ashes, and her heroes in 
 their wounds ; when the pall of death spread over the whole 
 country, and her widows and orphans travelled afar. 
 
 In the days of my almost childhood, — that is, eight years 
 before I dipped my pen in their tears, — I remember seeing 
 many of those hapless refugees wandering about St. James's 
 Park. They had sad companions in the like miseries, though 
 from different enemies, in the emigrants from France ; and 
 memory can never forget the variety of wretched yet noble- 
 looking visages I then contemplated in the daily walks which 
 my mother's own little f?mily group were accustomed to take 
 there. One person, a gaunt figure, with melancholy and 
 bravery stamped on his emaciated features, is often present to 
 the recollection of us all. He was clad in a threadbare blue 
 uniform great coat, with a black stock, a rusty old hat, pulled 
 rather over his eyes ; his hands without gloves ; but his aspect 
 was that of a perfect gentleman, and his step that of a military 
 man. We saw him constantly at one hour, in the middle walk 
 of the Mall, and always alone ; never looking to the right nor 
 to the left, but straight on ; with an unmoving countenance, 
 and a pace which told that his thoughts were those of a home- 
 less and hopeless man — hopeless, at least, of all that life 
 might bring him. On, on he went to the end of the Mall ; 
 turned again, and on again ; and so he continued to do always, 
 as long as we remained spectators of his solitary walk : once, 
 indeed, we saw him crossing into St. Martin's Lane. Nobody 
 seemed to know him, for he spoke to none ; and no person 
 ever addressed him, though many, like ourselves, looked at 
 him, and stopped in the path to gaze after him. We often 
 longed to be rich, to follow him wherever his wretched abode 
 might have been, and then silently to send comforts to him 
 from hands he knew not of. ^^'e used to call him, when 
 speaking of him to ourselves, II Pen serosa ; and by that name 
 we yet not unfrequently talk of him to each other, and never 
 without recurrence to the very painful, because unavailing, 
 sympathy we then felt for that apparently friendless man. 
 Such sympathy is, indeed, right ; for it is one of the secondary 
 means by which Providence conducts the stream of his mercies 
 to those who need the succor of their fellow-creatures ; and 
 we cannot doubt that, though the agency of such Providence 
 was not to be in our hands, there were those who had both 
 the will and the power given, and did not, like ourselves, turn 
 and pity that interesting emigrant in vain. 
 
6 THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIEXDLY READERS. 
 
 Some time after this, General Kosciusko, the justly cele- 
 brated hero of Poland, came to England, on his way to the 
 United States ; having been released from his close imprison- 
 ment in Russia, and in the noblest manner, too, by the Em- 
 peror Paul, immediately on his accession to the throne. His 
 arrival caused a great sensation in London, and many of the 
 first characters of the times pressed forward to pay their 
 respects to such real patriotic virtue in its adversity. An old 
 friend of my family was amongst them ; his own warm heart 
 encouraging the enthusiasm of ours, he took my brother Robert 
 to visit the Polish veteran, then lodging at Sabloniere's Hotel, 
 in Leicester Square. My brother, on his return to us, described 
 him as a noble looking man, though not at all handsome, lying 
 upon a couch in a very enfeebled state, from the effects of 
 numerous wounds he had received in his breast by the Cos- 
 sacks' lances after his fall, having been previously overthrown 
 by a sabre stroke on his head. His voice, in consequence of 
 the induced internal weakness, was very low, and his speaking 
 always with resting intervals. He wore a black bandage across 
 his forehead, which covered a deep wound there ; and, indeed, 
 his whole figure bore marks of long suffering. 
 
 Our friend introduced my brother to him by name, and as 
 *'a boy emulous of seeing and following noble examples." 
 Kosciusko took him kindly by the hand, and spoke to him words 
 of generous encouragement, in whatever path of virtuous am- 
 bition he might take. They never have been forgotten. Is it, 
 then, to be wondered at, combining the mute distress I had so 
 often contemplated in other victims of similar misfortunes with 
 the magnanimous object then described to me by my brother, 
 that the story of heroism my young imagination should think of 
 embodying into shape should be founded on the actual scenes 
 of Kosciusko's sufferings, and moulded out of his virtues ! 
 
 To have made him the ostensible hero of the tale, would 
 have suited neither the modesty of his feelings nor the hum- 
 bleness of my own expectation of telling it as I wished. I 
 therefore took a younger and less pretending agent, in the per- 
 sonification of a descendant of the great John Sobieski. 
 
 But it was, as I have already said, some years after the par- 
 tition of Poland that I wrote, and gave for publication, my his- 
 torical romance on that catastrophe. It was finished amid a 
 circle of friends well calculated to fan the flame which had 
 inspired its commencement some of the leading heroes of 
 the British army just returned from the victorious fields of 
 Alexandria and St. Jean d'Acre ; and, seated in my brother's 
 
THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIEXDLY READERS 7 
 
 little study, with the war-dyed coat in which the veteran Aber- 
 crombie breathed his last grateful sigh, while, like Wolfe, he 
 gazed on the boasted invincible standard of the enemy, brought 
 to him by a British soldier, — with this trophy of our own native 
 valor on one side of me, and on the other the bullet-torn vest 
 of another English commander of as many battles, — but who, 
 having sur\'ived to enjoy his fame, I do not name here, — I put 
 my last stroke to the first campaigns of Thaddeus Sobieski. 
 
 When the work was finished, some of the persons near me 
 urged its being published. But I argued, in opposition to the 
 wish, its different construction to all other novels or romances 
 which had gone before it, from Richardson's time-honored do- 
 mestic novels to the penetrating feeling in similar scenes by the 
 pen of Henry Mackenzie ; and again, Charlotte Smith's more 
 recent, elegant, but very sentimental love stories. But the 
 most formidable of all were the wildly interesting romances of 
 Anne Radcliffe, whose magical wonders and mysteries were then 
 the ruling style of the day. I urged, how could any one ex- 
 pect that the admiring readers of such works could consider my 
 simply-told biographical legend of Poland anything better than 
 a dull union between real history and a matter-of-fact imagi- 
 nation } 
 
 Arguments were found to answer all this ; and being excited 
 by the feelings which had dictated my little work, and en- 
 couraged by the corresponding characters with whom I daily 
 associated, I ventured the essay. However, I had not read the 
 sage romances of our older times without turning to some ac- 
 count the 'lessons they taught to adventurous personages of 
 either sex ; showing that even the boldest knight never made 
 a new sally without consecrating his shield with some impress 
 of acknowledged reverence. In like manner, when I entered 
 the field with my modern romance of Thaddeus of Warsaw, I 
 inscribed the first page with the name of the hero of Acre. 
 That dedication will be found through all its successive editions, 
 still in front of the title-page ; and immediately following it is 
 a second inscription, added, in after years, to the memory of 
 the magnanimous patriot and exemplary man, Thaddeus Kos- 
 ciusko, who had first filled me with ambition to write the tale, 
 and who died in Switzerland, a. d. 18 17, fuller of glory than of 
 years. Yet, if life be measured by its vicissitudes and its vir- 
 tues, we may justly say, " he was gathered in his ripeness." 
 
 After his visit to old friends in the United States, — where, 
 in his youth, he had learned the art of war, and the science of 
 a noble, unselfish independence, from the marvel of modern 
 
8 THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIEXDLY READERS. 
 
 times, General Washington, — Kosciusko returned to Europe, 
 and abode a while in France, but not in its capital. He lived 
 deeply retired, gradually restoring his shattered frame to some 
 degree of health by the peace of a resigned mind and the occu- 
 pation of rural employments. Circumstances led him to Swit- 
 zerland ; and the country of William Tell, and of simple 
 Christian fellowship, could not but soon be found peculiarly 
 congenial to his spirit, long turned away from the pageants and 
 the pomp of this world. In his span he had had all, either in 
 his grasp or proffered to him. For when nothing remained of 
 all his military glory and his patriotic sacrifices but a yet exist- 
 ing fame, and a conscious sense within him of duty performed, 
 he was content to " eat his crust," with that inheritance alone ; 
 and he refused, though with an answering magnanimity of ac- 
 knowledgment, a valuable property offered to him by the Em- 
 peror of Russia, as a free gift from a generous enemy, esteem- 
 ing his proved, disinterested virtues. He also declined the yet 
 more dazzling present of a crown from the then master of the 
 continent, who would have set him on the throne of Poland — 
 but, of a truth, under the vassalage of the Emperor of the 
 French ! Kosciusko was not to be consoled for Poland by 
 riches bestowed on himself, nor betrayed into compromising 
 her birthright of national independence by the casuistry that 
 Yv'ould have made his parental sceptre the instrument of a for- 
 eign domination. 
 
 Having such a theme as his name, and the heroes his co- 
 patriots, the romance of " Thaddeus of Warsaw " was no sooner 
 published than it overcame the novelty of its construction, and 
 became universally popular. Nor was it very long before it fell 
 into General Kosciusko's hands, though then in a distant land \ 
 and he kindly and promptly lost no time in letting the author 
 know his approbation of the narrative, though qualified with 
 several modest expressions respecting himself. From that 
 period she enjoyed many treasured marks of his esteem ; and 
 she will add, though with a sad satisfaction, that amongst her 
 several relics of the Great Departed who have honored her with 
 regard, she possesses, most dearly prized, a medal of Kosciusko 
 and a lock of his hair. About the same time she received a 
 most incontestable proof of the accural / of her story from the 
 lips of General Gardiner, the last British minister to the court 
 of Stanislaus Augustus. On his reading the book, he was so 
 sure that the facts it represented could only have been learned 
 on the spot, that he expressed his surprise to several persons 
 that the author of the work, an English lady, could have been 
 
THE AUTHOR TO HER FRIEXDLY READERS. g 
 
 at Warsaw during all the troubles there and he not know it. 
 On his repeating this observation to the late Duke of Roxburgh, 
 his grace's sister-in-law, who happened to overhear what was 
 said, and knew the writer, answered him by saying, " The author 
 has never been in Poland." " Impossible ! " replied the general ; 
 " no one could describe the scenes and occurrences there, in 
 the manner it is done in that book, without having been an eye- 
 witness." The lady, however, convinced the general of the fact 
 being otherwise, by assuring him, from her own personal knowl- 
 edge, that the author of " Thaddeus of Warsaw " was a mere 
 school-girl in England at the time of the events of the story. 
 
 How, then, it has often been asked, did she obtain such ac- 
 curate information with regard to those events ? and how ac- 
 quire her familiar acquaintance with the palaces and persons 
 she represents in the work .? The answer is short. By close 
 questioning every person that came in her way that knew any- 
 thing about the object of her interest ; and there were many 
 brave hearts and indignant lips ready to open with the sad yet 
 noble tale. Thus every illustrious individual she wished to 
 bring into her narrative gradually grew upon her knowledge, till 
 she became as well acquainted with all her desired personages 
 as if they were actually present with her ; for she knew their 
 minds and their actions ; and these compose the man. The 
 features of the country, also, were learned from persons who 
 had trodden the spots she describes : and that they were indeed 
 correct pictures of their homes and war-fields, the tears and 
 bursting enthusiasm of many of Poland's long expatriated sons 
 have more than once borne testimony to her. 
 
 As one instance, out of the number I might repeat, of the 
 inextinguishable love of those noble wanderers from their native 
 country, I shall subjoin the copy of a letter addressed to me by 
 one of those gallant men, then holding a high military post in 
 a foreign service, and who, I afterwards ':..v cd, was of the 
 family of Kosciusko, whose portrait he sent to me: for the 
 letter was accompanied with a curiously-wrought ring of pure 
 gold, containing a likeness of that hero. The letter was in 
 French, and I transcribe it literally in the words of the writer : — 
 
 *' Madame ! 
 
 " Un inconnu ose addresser la parole h I'auteur immortel 
 de Thaddeus de Warsaw ; attache par tent de liens h I'heros 
 que vous avez chante, je m'enhardis h distraire pour un moment 
 vos nobles veilles. 
 
 " Qu'il me soit permis de vous offrir, madame, Thommage 
 
10 THE A UTHOR TO HER FRIENDL Y READERS. 
 
 de mon admiration la plus exaltee, en vous pr^sentant la bague 
 qui contient le buste du General Kosciusko : — -elle a servi de 
 signe de ralliment aux patriots Polonois, lorsque, en 1794, ils 
 entreprirent de secouer leur joug. 
 
 "Les anciens de'posoientleurs offrandes sur I'autel de leurs 
 divinites tutelaires ; — je ne fais qu'imiter leur exemple. Vous 
 etes pour tous les Polonois cette divinite, qui la premiere ait 
 e'levee sa voix, du fond de I'imperiale, Albion, en leur faveur. 
 
 *' Un jour viendra, et j'ose conserver dans mon caur cet 
 espoir, que vos accens, qui ont retentidans le cceurde I'Europe 
 sensible, produiront leur effet celestial, en ressuscitant I'ombre 
 sanglante de ma chere patrie. 
 
 " Daignez agreer, madame, I'hommage respectueuse d'un 
 de vos serviteurs le plus devoue, &c. &c." 
 
 Probably the writer of the above is now returned to his 
 country, his vows having been most awfully answered by one 
 of the most momentous struggles she has ever had, or to which 
 the nations around have ever yet stood as spectators ; for the 
 balance of Europe trembles at the turning of her scale. 
 
 Thus, then, it cannot but be that in the conclusion of this my, 
 perhaps, last introductory preface to any new edition of " Thad- 
 deus of Warsaw," its author should offer up a sincerely heart- 
 felt prayer to the King of kings, the Almighty Father of all 
 mankind, that His all-gracious Spirit may watch over the issue 
 of this contest, and dictate the peace of Poland ! 
 
 ESHER, May^ 1831. 
 
gtbirntion I0 iht ^irst €bitioit. 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 IS INSCRIBED TO 
 IN THE HOPE THAT, AS 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 
 DID NOT DISDAIN TO WRITE A ROMANCE, 
 
 SIR SIDNEY SMITH 
 
 WILL NOT REFUSE TO READ ONE. 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY CONSIGNED HIS EXCELLENT WORK TO THE 
 AFFECTION OF A SISTER. 
 
 I CONFIDE MY ASPIRING ATTEMPT TO THE 
 
 URBANITY OF THE BRAVE ; TO THE MAN OF TASTE, 
 
 OF FEELING, AND OF CANDOR; 
 
 TO HIM WHOSE FRIENDSHIP WILL BESTOW 
 
 THAT INDULGENCE ON THE AUTHOR WHICH HIS JUDGMENT 
 
 MIGHT HAVE DENIED TO THE BOOK ; 
 
 TO HIM OF WHOM FUTURE AGES WILL SPEAK WITH HONOR 
 AND THE PRESENT TIMES BOAST AS THEIR GLORY 1 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR SIDNEY SMITH, 
 
 I SUBMIT THIS HUMBLE TRIBUTE OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT 
 
 WHICH CAN BE OFFERED BY A BRITON, 
 
 OR ANIMATE THE HEART OF 
 
 HIS SINCERE FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 Having attempted a narrative of the intended description, 
 but written, in fact, from the mere impulse of sympathy with 
 its subject still fresh in my own and every pitying memory, it 
 is natural that, after having made up my mind to assent to its 
 publication, in which much time and thought has been expended 
 in considering the responsibility of so doing, from so unprac- 
 tised a pen, I should feel an increase of anxiety respecting its 
 ultimate fate. 
 
 Therefore, before the reader favors the tale itself with his 
 attention, I beg leave to offer him a little account of the prin- 
 ciples that actuated its composition, and in regard to which 
 one of the most honored heads in the author's family urged 
 her " not to withhold it from the press ; " observing, in his per- 
 suasions, that the mistakes which many of my young contempo- 
 raries of both sexes continually make in their estimates of human 
 character, and of the purposes of human life, require to have 
 a line of difference between certain splendid vices and some of 
 the brilliant order of virtues to be distinctly drawn before them. 
 *' And," he remarked, " it appeared to be so done in the pages 
 of my Polish manuscript. Therefore," added he, " let Thad- 
 deus of Warsaw speak openly for himself ! " 
 
 This opinion decided me. Though with fear and trembling, 
 yet I felt an encouraging consciousness that in writing the 
 manuscript narrative for my own private enjoyment only, and 
 the occasional amusement of those friends dearest around me, 
 I had wished to portray characters whose high endowments 
 could not be misled into proud ambitions, nor the gift of daz- 
 zling social graces betray into the selfish triumphs of worldly 
 vanity, — characters that prosperity could not inflate, nor disap- 
 pointments depress, from pious trust and honorable action. 
 The pure fires of such a spirit declare their sacred origin ; and 
 such is the talisman of those achievements which amaze every- 
 body but their accomplishes The eye fixed on it is what divine 
 truth declares it to be "single ! " There is no double purpose 
 
. J 4 PREFACE. 
 
 in it j no glancing to a man s own personal aggrandizement on 
 one side and on professing serviv^ss to liis fellow-creatures on 
 the other ; such a spirit has only one dim — Heaven ! and the 
 eternal records of that wide firmament include within it " all 
 good to man." 
 
 What flattered Alexander of Macedon into a madman, and 
 perverted the gracious-minded Julius Caesar into usurpation and 
 tyranny, has also been found by Christian heroes the most 
 perilous ordeal of their virtue ; but, inasmuch as they are Chris- 
 tian heroes, and not pagan men, worshippers of false gods, 
 whose fabled examples inculcated all these deeds of self-absorb- 
 ing vain-glory, our heroes of a " better revelation " have no ex- 
 cuse for failing under their trial, and many there be who pass 
 through it " pure and undefiled." Such were the great Alfred 
 of England, Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, and his greater suc- 
 cessor in true glory, Gustavus Adolphus, — all champions of 
 immutable justice and ministers of peace. And though these 
 may be regarded as personages beyond the sphere of ordinary 
 emulations, yet the same principles, or their opposites, prevail 
 in every order of men from the prince to the peasant ; and, 
 perhaps, at no period of the world more than the present were 
 these divers principles in greater necessity to be considered, and, 
 according to the just conclusion, be obeyed. On all sides of 
 us we see public and private society broken up, as it were by 
 an earthquake : the noblest and the meanest passions of the 
 human bosom at contention, and the latter often so disguised, 
 that the vile ambuscade is not even suspected till found within 
 the heart of the fortress itself. We have, however, one veri- 
 table touchstone, that of the truest observation, " ye shall know 
 a tree by its fruits." Let us look round, then, for those which 
 bear " good fruits," wholesome to the taste as well as pleasant 
 to the sight, whether they grow on high altitudes or in the 
 humbler valleys of the earth ; let us view men of all degrees 
 in life in their actions, and not in their pretensions, — such men 
 as were some of the Sobieski race in Poland, in every change 
 of their remarkable lives. When placed at the summit of mor- 
 tal fame, surrounded by greatness and glory, and consequent 
 power, they evinced neither pride to others nor a sense of self- 
 aggrandizement in themselves ; and, when under a reverse dis- 
 pensation, national misfortunes pursued them, and family sor- 
 rows pierced their souls, the weakness of a murmur never sunk 
 the dignity of their sustaining fortitude, nor did the firmness of 
 that virtue harden the amiable sensibilities of their hearts. 
 
 To exhibit so trulv heroic and endearing a portrait of what 
 
PREFACE. 15 
 
 e\-ery Christian man ought to be, — for the law of God is the 
 same to the poor as to the rich, — I have chosen one of that 
 illustrious and, I believe, now extinct race for the subject of my 
 sketch ; and the more aptly did it present itself, it being neces- 
 sary to show my hero amidst scenes and circumstances ready 
 to exercise his brave and generous propensities, and to put their 
 personal issues to the test on his mind. Hence Poland's sadly- 
 varying destinies seemed to me the stage best calculated for the 
 development of any self-imposed task. 
 
 There certainly were matters enough for the exhibition of 
 all that human nature could suffer and endure, and, alas ! perish 
 under, in the nearly simultaneous but terrible regicidal revolu- 
 tion of France ; but I shrunk from that as a tale of horror, the 
 work of demons in the shapes of men. It was a conflict in 
 which no comparisons, as between man and man, could exist ; 
 and may God grant that so fearful a visitation may never be 
 inflicted on this world again. May the nations of this world 
 lay its warnings to their hearts ! 
 
 It sprung from a tree self-corrupted, which only could pro- 
 duce such fruits : the demon hierarchy of the French philoso- 
 phers, who had long denied the being of that pure and Almighty 
 God, and who, in the arrogance of their own deified reason, 
 and while in utter subjection to the wildest desires of their 
 passions, published their profane and polluted creed amongst 
 all orders of the people, and the natural and terrible conse- 
 quences ensued. Ignorant before, they became like unto their 
 teachers, demons in their unbelief, — demons in one common 
 envy and hatred of all degrees above them, or around them, 
 whose existence seemed at all in the way of even their slightest 
 gratification : mutual spoliation and destruction covered the 
 country. How often has the tale been told me by noble refu- 
 gees, sheltered on our shores from those scenes of blood, where 
 infamy triumphed and truth and honor were massacred ; but 
 such narratives, though they never can be forgotten, are too 
 direful for the hearer to contemplate in memory. 
 
 Therefore, when I sought to represent the mental and moral 
 contest of man with himself, or with his fellow-men, I did not 
 look for their field amongst human monsters, but with natural 
 and civilized man ; inasmuch as he is seen to be influenced by 
 the impulses of his selfish passions — ambition, covetousness, 
 and the vanities of life, or, on the opposite side, by the gener- 
 ous amenities of true disinterestedness, in all its trying situa- 
 tions ; and, as I have said, the recent struggle in Poland, to 
 maintain her laws and loyal independence, against the combined 
 
1 6 PREFACE. 
 
 aggressions of the three most powerful states in Europe, seemed 
 to afford me the most suitable objects for my moral aim, to in- 
 terest by sympathy, while it taught the responsible commission 
 of human life. 
 
 I have now described the plan of my story, its aim and 
 origin. 
 
 If it be disapproved, let it be at once laid aside ; but should 
 it excite any interest, I pray its perusal may be accompanied 
 with an indulgent candor, its subjects being of so new, and 
 therefore uncustomary, a character in a work of the kind. But 
 if the reader be one of my own sex, I would especially solicit 
 her patience while going through the first portion of the tale, 
 its author being aware that war and politics are not the most 
 promising themes for an agreeable amusement ; but the battles 
 are not frequent, nor do the cabinet councils last long. I beg 
 the favor, if the story is to be read at all, that no scene may be 
 passed over as extraneous, for though it begin like a state-paper, 
 or a sermon, it always terminates by casting some new light on 
 the portrait of the hero. Beyond those events of peril and of 
 patriotic devotedness, the remainder of the pages dwell gener- 
 ally with domestic interests ; but if the reader do not approach 
 them regularly through the development of character opened 
 in the preceding troubled field, what they exhibit will seem a 
 mere wilderness of incidents, without interest or end ; indeed 
 I have designed nothing in the personages of this narrative 
 out of the way of living experience. I have sketched no virtue 
 that I have not seen, nor painted any folly from imagination. 
 I have endeavored to be as faithful to reality in my pictures of 
 domestic morals, and of heroic duties, as a just painter would 
 seek to be to the existing objects of nature, " wonderful and 
 wild, or of gentlest beauty ! " and on these grounds I have 
 steadily attempted to inculcate "that virtue is the highest proof 
 of understanding, and the only solid basis of greatness ; that 
 vice is the natural consequence of grovelling thoughts, which 
 begin in mistake and end in ignominy." 
 
rOSTCRIPT. 
 
 POSTCRIPT TO A SUBSEQUENT EDITION. 
 
 After so many intervening years have passed since the 
 author of Thaddeus of Warsaw wrote the foregoing preface, to 
 introduce a work so novel in its character to the notice and 
 candid judgment of the British public, it was her intention to 
 take the present occasion of its now perfectly new republica- 
 tion, at the distance of above forty years from its earliest ap- 
 perance and so continued editions, to express her grateful 
 sense of that public's gratifying sympathies and honoring testi- 
 monies of approbation, from its author's youth to age ; but 
 even in the hour she sits down to perform the gr xious task, 
 she feels a present incapability to undertake it. The very at- 
 tempt has too sensibly recalled to her heart events that have 
 befallen her since she lived amongst the models of her tale ; 
 and she has also more recently been in many of the places it 
 describes ; and circumstances, both of joys and sorrows, hav- 
 ing occurred to her there to influence the whole future current 
 of her mortal life, she finds it impossible to yet touch on those 
 times and scenes connected with the subjects of her hap]Dy 
 youth, which would now only reverberate notes of sadness it is 
 her duty to repress. Hence, though while revising the work 
 itself she experiences a calm delight in the occupation, being a 
 kind of parting duty, also, to the descendants of her earliest, 
 readers, she would rather defer any little elucidations she may 
 have m.et with regarding the objects of her pen to a few pages 
 in the form of an Appendix at the end of the work ; all, indeed, 
 bringing her observations, whether by weal or woe, to the one 
 great and guiding conclusion, " Man is formed for two states 
 of existence — a mortal and an immortal being;" in the Holy 
 Scriptures authoritatively declared, " For the life that now is, 
 and for that which is to come." 
 
 JANE PORTER. 
 
 Bristol, November^ 1844. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 21 
 
 32 
 41 
 
 48 
 
 54 
 
 63 
 
 74 
 
 80 
 
 88 
 97 
 
 05 
 [[ 
 
 22 
 29 
 
 34 
 42 
 
 49 
 57 
 67 
 
 75 
 80 
 
 87 
 193 
 
 Lady Tinemouth's Boudoir 198 
 
 The Countess of Tinemouth's Story 204 
 
 The Kindredship of Minds 215 
 
 Such Things Were 226 
 
 Mary Beaufort and her Venerable Aunt 233 
 
 Hyde Park 243 
 
 Influences of Character 248 
 
 The Great and the Small of Society 258 
 
 The Obduracy of Vice — The Inhumanity of Folly. .. ^64 
 
 The Mill of Mariemont 
 
 The Opening of the Campaign 
 
 The Pass of Volunna 
 
 The Banks of the Vistula 
 
 Society in Poland 
 
 The Diet of Poland 
 
 Battle of Brzesc— The Tenth of October 
 
 The Last Days of Villanow 
 
 Sobieski's Departure from Warsaw 
 
 The Baltic r 
 
 T'liaddeus's First Day in England i 
 
 The Exile's Lodgings i 
 
 A Robbery and its Consequences i 
 
 The Widow's Family i 
 
 The Money-Lender i 
 
 The Meeting of Exiles i 
 
 The Veteran's Narrative i 
 
 Friendship a Staff in Human Life i 
 
 Woman's Kindness i 
 
 Fashionable Sketches from the Life > . . i 
 
 Honorable Resources of an Exile i 
 
20 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAf. PAGE. 
 
 XXXI II. Passion and Principle 274 
 
 XXXIV. Requiescat in Pace 283 
 
 XXXV. Deep are the Purposes of Adversity 289 
 
 XXXVI. An English Prison 295 
 
 XXXVII 312 
 
 XXXVIII. Zeal is Power 321 
 
 XXXIX. The Vale of Grantham— Belvoir 331 
 
 XL. Somerset Castle 340 
 
 XLI. The Maternal Heart 350 
 
 XLI I. Harrowby Abbey 354 
 
 XLIII. The Old Village Hotel. 364 
 
 XLIV. Letters of Farewell 372 
 
 XLV. Deerhurst 379 
 
 XLVI. The Spirit of Peace 39^ 
 
 XLVII. An Avowal. 405 
 
 XLVIII. A Family Party 4^5 
 
 XLIX 421 
 
 L , 431 
 
 Appendix 441 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The large and magnificent palace of Villanow, whose vast 
 domains stretch along the northern bank of the Vistula, was 
 the favorite residence of John Sobieski, King of Poland. That 
 monarch, after having delivered his country from innumerable 
 enemies, rescued Vienna and subdued the Turks, retired to 
 this place at certain seasons, and thence dispensed those acts 
 of his luminous and benevolent mind which rendered his name 
 great and his people happy. 
 
 When Charles the Twelfth of Sweden visited the tomb of 
 Sobieski, at Cracow, he exclaimed, "What a pity that so great 
 a man should ever die ! " * Another generation saw the spirit 
 of this lamented hero revive in the person of his descendant, 
 Constantine, Count Sobieski, who, in a comparatively private 
 station, as Palatine of Masovia, and the friend rather than the 
 lord of his vassals, evinced by his actions that he was the in- 
 heritor of his forefather's virtue as well as of his blood. 
 
 He was the first Polish nobleman who granted freedom to 
 his peasants. He threw down their mud hovels and built com- 
 fortable villages ; he furnished them with seed, cattle, and im- 
 plements of husbandry, and calling their families together, laid 
 before them the deed of their enfranchisement ; but before he 
 signed it, he expressed a fear that they would abuse this liberty 
 of which they had not had experience, and become licentious. 
 
 " No," returned a venerable peasant ; " when we were igno- 
 rant men, and possessed no property of our own except these 
 staffs in our hands, we were destitute of all manly motives for 
 propriety of conduct ; but you have taught us to read out of 
 
 * Tn the year i6S,^, tlii<; hern raised the siege of Vienna, then beleapiircd by the TurksC 
 and driving them out of Europe, saved Christendom from a Mohammedan usurpation. 
 
22 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 the Holy Book, how to serve God and honor the king. And 
 shall we not respect laws which thus bestow on us, and ensure 
 to us, the fruits of our labors and the favor of Heaven ! " 
 
 The good sense and truth of this answer were manifested 
 in the event. On the emancipation of these people, they be- 
 came so prosperous in business and correct in behavior, that 
 the example of the palatine was speedily followed by the Chan- 
 cellor Zamoiski * and several of the principal nobility. The 
 royal Stanislauses beneficent spirit moved in unison with that 
 of Sobieski, and a constitution was given to Poland to place 
 her in the first rank of free nations. 
 
 Encircled by his happy tenantry, and within the bosom of 
 his family, this illustrious man educated Thaddeus, the only 
 male heir of his name, to the exercise of all the virtues which 
 ennoble and endear the possessor. 
 
 But this reign of public and domestic peace was not to 
 continue. Three formidable and apparently friendly states en- 
 vied the effects of a patriotism they would not imitate ; and in 
 the beginning of the year 1792, regardless of existing treaties, 
 broke in upon the unguarded frontiers of Poland, threatening 
 with all the horrors of a merciless war the properties, lives, and 
 liberties of the people. 
 
 The family of Sobieski had ever been foremost in the ranks 
 of their country ; and at the present crisis its venerable head 
 did not hang behind'the youngest warrior in preparations for 
 the field. 
 
 On the evening of an anniversary of the birthday of his 
 grandson, the palatine rode abroad with a party of friends, who 
 had been celebrating the festival with their presence. The 
 countess (his daughter) and Thaddeus were left alone in the 
 saloon. She sighed as she gazed on her son, who stood at some 
 distance, fitting to his youthful thigh a variety of sabres, which 
 his servant a little time before had laid upon the table. She 
 observed with anxiety the eagerness of his motion, and the 
 ardor that v/as flashing from his eyes. 
 
 '' Thaddeus," said she, " lay down that sword ; I wish to 
 speak with you." Thaddeus looked gayly up. " My dear 
 Thaddeus ! " cried his mother, and tears started to her eyes. 
 The blush of enthusiasm faded from his face ; he threw the 
 sabre from him, and drew near the countess. 
 
 " Why, my dear mother, do you distress yourself ? When I 
 
 ♦ This family had ever been one cf the noblest and most virtuous in Poland. And had 
 its wisdom been listened to in former years by certain powerful and wildly ambitious lords 
 that once great kingdom would never have exchanged its long line of hereditary native* 
 princes for an elective monarchy— that arena of all political mischiefs. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSA W. 
 
 23 
 
 am in battle, shall I not have my ^grandfather near me, and be 
 as much under the protection of God as at this moment ? " 
 
 " Yes, my child,'' answered she, " God will protect you. 
 He is the protector of the orphan, and you are fatherless." 
 The countess paused — " Here, my son," said she, giving him a 
 sealed packet, " take this ; it will reveal to you the history of 
 your birth and the name of your father. It is necessary that 
 you should know a painful fact, which has hitherto been con- 
 cealed from you by the wish and noble judgment of your grand- 
 father." Thaddeus received it, and stood silent with surprise. 
 " Read it, my love," continued she, ''but go to your own apart- 
 ments ; here you may be interrupted." 
 
 Bewildered by the manner of the countess, Thaddeus, with- 
 out answering, instantly obeyed. Shutting himself within his 
 study, he impatiently opened the papers, and soon found his 
 whole attention absorbed in the following recital • 
 
 'fc> 
 
 " To MY DEAR Son, Thaddeus Constantine Sobieskt. 
 
 " You are now, my Thaddeus, at the early age of nineteen, 
 going to engage the enemies of your country. Ere I resign my 
 greatest comfort to the casualties of war ; ere I part with you, 
 perhaps forever, I would inform you who your father really was 
 — that father whose existence you have hardly known and 
 whose name you have never heard. You believe yourself an 
 orphan, your mother a widow ; but, alas ! I have now to tell you 
 that you were made fatherless by the perfidy of man, not by 
 the dispensation of Heaven. 
 
 " Twenty-three years ago, I accompanied my father in a 
 tour through Germany and Italy. Grief for the death of my 
 mother had impaired his health, and the physicians ordered him 
 to reside in a warmer climate ; accordingly we fixed ourselves 
 near the Arno. During several visits to Florence, my father 
 met in that city with a young Englishman of the name of Sack- 
 ville. These frequent meetings opened into intimacy, and he 
 was invited to our villa. 
 
 " Air. Sackville was not only the most interesting man I had 
 ever seen, but the most accomplished, and "his heart seemed 
 the seat of every graceful feeling. He was the first man for 
 whose society I felt a lively preference. I used to smile at this 
 strange delight, or sometimes weep ; for the emotions which 
 agitated me were undefinable, but they were enchanting, and 
 unheedingly I gave them indulgence. The hours which we 
 passed together in the interchange of reciprocal sentiments, the 
 
24 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 kind beaming of his looks, the thousand sighs that he breathed, 
 the half-uttered sentences, all conspired to rob me of myself. 
 
 "Nearly twelve months were spent in these delusions. 
 During the last three, doubts and anguish displaced the bliss- 
 ful reveries of an infant tenderness. The attentions of Mr. 
 Sackville died away. From being the object of his constant 
 search, he then sedulously sought to avoid me. When my 
 father withdrew to his closet, he would take his leave, and allow 
 me to walk alone. Solitary and wretched were my rambles. 
 I had full leisure to compare my then disturbed state of mind 
 with the comparative peace I had enjoyed in my own country. 
 Immured within the palace of Villanow, watching the declining 
 health of my mother, I knew nothing of the real world, the little 
 I had learned of society being drawn from books ; and, uncor- 
 rected by experience, I was taught to believe a perfection in 
 man which, to my affliction, I since found to be but a poet's 
 dream. When my father took me to Italy, I continued averse 
 to public company. In such seclusion, the presence of Sack- 
 ville, being almost my only pleasure, chased from my mind its 
 usual reserve, and gradually and surely won upon the awakened 
 affections of my heart. Artless and unwarned, I knew not the 
 nature of the passion which I cherished until it had gained an 
 ascendancy that menaced my life. 
 
 "On the evening of one of those days in which I had been 
 disappointed of seeing this too-dearly-prized companion, I 
 strolled out, and, hardly conscious of my actions, threw myself 
 along the summit of a flight of steps in our garden that led down 
 to the Arno. My head rested against the base of a statue 
 which, because of its resemblance to me, Sackville had presented 
 'to my father. Every recollected kindness of his now gave me 
 additional torment ; and clinging to the pedestal as to the alrar 
 of my adoration, in the bitterness of disappointment I addressed 
 the insensible stone : ' O ! were I pale as thou art, and this 
 breast as cold and still, would Sackville, when he looked on me, 
 give one sigh to the creature he had destroyed 1 My sobs fol- 
 lowed this adjuration, and the next moment I felt myself en- 
 circled in his arms. I struggled, and almost fainting with shame 
 at such utter weakness, implored to be released. He did re- 
 lease me, and, in an agony of emotion, besought my pardon for 
 the misery I had endured. ' Now, Therese,' cried he, ' all is as 
 it ought to be ! you are my only hope. Consent to be mine, or 
 the world has no hold on me ! ' His voice was hurried and in- 
 coherent. Raising my e3^es to his, I beheld them wild and 
 bloodshot. Terrified at his look, and overcome by my own dis- 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. , 25 
 
 tracted tbouglits, my head sunk on the marble. With increased 
 violence he exclaimed, * Have I deceived myself here too ? 
 Therese, did you not prefer me ? Did you not love me ? Speak 
 now, I conjure you, by your own happiness and mine ! Do you 
 reject me ? ' He clasped my hands with a force that made me 
 tremble, and I hardly articulated, ' I will be yours.' At these 
 words he hurried me down a dark vista, which led out of the 
 gardens to the open country. A carriage stood at the gate. I 
 fearfully asked what he intended. * You have given yourself to 
 me,' cried he ; * and by that vow, written in heaven, no power 
 shall separate us until you are mine beyond the reach of man ! ' 
 Unnerved in body and weak in mind, I yielded to his impetu- 
 osity, and suffering him to lift me into the chariot, was carried 
 to the door of th.e nearest monastery, where in a few minutes 
 we were married. 
 
 " I am thus particular in the relation of every incident, in 
 the hope that you, my dear son, will find some excuse for my 
 great imprudence, — in the circumstances of my youth, and in 
 the influence which a man who seemed all excellence had 
 gained over my heart. However, my fault went not Icng 
 unpunished. 
 
 " The ceremony past, my husband conducted me in silence 
 back to the carriage. My full bosom discharged itself in abun- 
 dance of tears, while Sackvillesat by me, without any movement, 
 and mute. Two or three times I raised my eyes, in hopes of 
 discerning in his some consolation for my hasty compliance. 
 But no ; his gaze, vacant and glaring, wms fixed on the window, 
 and his brow became heavily clouded, as if he had been forced 
 into an alliance with one he hated, rather than had just made a 
 voluntary engagement with the woman he loved. My soul shud- 
 dered at this commencement of a contract which I had dared 
 to make unsanctioned by my father's consent. At length my 
 sighs seemed to startle my husband ; and suddenly turning 
 round, he cried, ' Therese, this marriage must not be told to 
 the palatine. I have been precipirate. It would ruin me with 
 my family. Refrain, only for one month, and then I will publicly 
 acknowledge you.' The agitation of his features and the feverish 
 burning of his hand, which then held mine, alarmed me. Trem- 
 bling from head to foot, I answered, ' Sackville ! I have already 
 erred enough in consenting to this stolen marriage. I will not 
 transgress further by concealing it. I will instantly throw myself 
 at my father's feet, and confess all.' His countenance darkened 
 again. ' Therese,' said he, 'lam your husband. You have 
 sworn to obey me, and till I allow you, divulge this marriage at 
 
26 rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 your peril ! ' This last stern sentence, and the sterner look 
 that accompanied it, pierced me to the heart, and I fell sense- 
 less on the seat. 
 
 " When I recovered, I found myself at the foot of that 
 statue beneath which my unfortunate destiny had been fixed. 
 My husband was leaning over me. He raised me with tender- 
 ness from the ground, and conjured me, in the mildest accents, 
 to be comforted ; to pardon the severity of those words, which 
 had arisen from a fear that, by an imprudent avowal on my 
 part, I should risk both his happiness and my own. He in- 
 formed me that he was heir to one of the first families in 
 England ; and before he set out for the continent, he had 
 pledged his honor to his father never to enter into any matri- 
 monial engagement without first acquainting him with the 
 particulars of the lady and her family. Should he omit this 
 duty, his father declared that, though she were a princess, 
 he would disinherit him, and never again admit him to his 
 presence. 
 
 *' ' Consider this, my dear Therese,' continued he ; 'could 
 you endure to behold me an outcast, and stigmatized with a 
 parent's curse, when a little forbearance on your part would 
 make all right ? I know I have been hasty in acting as I have 
 done, but now I cannot remedy my error. To-morrow I will 
 write to my father, describe your rank and merits, and request 
 his consent to our immediate union. The moment his permis- 
 sion arrives, I will cast myself on the palatine's friendship, and 
 reveal what has passed. The tenderness of my husband blinded 
 my reason, and with many tears, I sealed his forgiveness and 
 pledged my faith on his word. 
 
 " My dear deceived parent little suspected the perfidy of 
 his guest. He detained him as his visitor, and often rallied 
 himself on the hold which this distinguished stranger's accom- 
 plishments had taken on his heart. Sackville's manner to me 
 in public was obliging and free ; it was in private only that I 
 found the tender, the capricious, the unkind husband. Night 
 after night I have washed the memory of my want of duty to 
 my father with bitter tears ; but my husband was dear to me — 
 he was more precious than my life ! One affectionate look 
 from him, one fond word, would solace every pain, and make 
 me wait the arrival of his father's letter with, all the sanguine 
 anticipations of youth and love. 
 
 "A fortnight passed away. A month — a long and linger- 
 ing month. Another month, and a packet of letters was pre- 
 sented to Sackville. He was conversing with us. At sight of 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 27 
 
 the superscription, he tore open the paper, ran his eyes over a 
 few lines, and then, flushed and agitated, started from his seat 
 and left the room. My emotions were almost uncontrollable. 
 I had already half risen from my chair to follow him, when the 
 palatine exclaimed, 'What can be in that letter? Too plainly 
 I see some afflicting tidings.' And without observing me, or 
 waiting for a reply, he hurried out after him. I hastened to 
 my chamber, where, throwing myself on my bed, I tried, by all 
 the delusions of hope, to obtain some alleviation from the 
 pangs of my suspense. 
 
 " The dinner-bell roused me from my reverie. Dreading to 
 excite suspicion, and anxious to read in the countenance of my 
 husband the denunciation of our fate, I obeyed the summons 
 and descended to the dining-room. On entering it, my eyes 
 irresistibly wandered round to fix themselves on Sackville. He 
 was leaning against a pillar, his face pale as death. My father 
 looked grave, but immediately took his seat, and tenderly placed 
 his friend beside him. I sat down in silence. Little dinner 
 was eaten, and few words spoken. As for myself, my agitation 
 almost choked me. I felt that the first words I should attempt 
 to pronounce must give them utterance, and that their vehe- 
 mence would betray our fatal secret. 
 
 "When the servants had withdrawn, Sackville rose, and 
 said, in a faltering voice, 'Count, I must leave you.' 'Nay,' 
 replied the palatine; 'you are unwell — disturbed — stay till to- 
 morrow.' ' I thank your excellency,' answered he, 'but I must 
 go to Florence to-night. You shall see me again before to- 
 morrow afternoon ; all will then, I hope, be settled to my wish.' 
 My husband took his hat. Motionless, and incapable of speak- 
 ing, I sat fixed to my chair, in the direct way that he must pass. 
 His eye met mine. He stopped and looked at me, abruptly 
 snatched my hand ; then as abruptly quitting it, darted out of 
 the room. I never saw him more. 
 
 " I had not the power to dissemble another moment. I fell 
 back into the arms of my father. He did not, even by this im- 
 prudence, read what I almost wished him to guess, but, with 
 all the indulgence of perfect confidence, lamented the distress 
 of Sackville, and the sensibility of my nature, which sympathized 
 so painfully with his friend. I durst not ask what was the dis- 
 tress of his friend. Abashed at my duplicity to my father, and 
 overwhelmed with a thousand dreads, I obtained his permission 
 to retire to my chamber. 
 
 " The next day I met him with calmness, for I had schooled 
 Tiv heart to endure the suffcrin":s it had deserved. He did 
 
28 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 not remark my recovered tranquillity, so entirely was his gen- 
 erous heart occupied in conjecturing the cause of Sackville's 
 grief, who had acknowledged having received a great shock, 
 but would not reveal the occasion. This double reserve to my 
 father surprised and distressed me, and to all his suppositions 
 I said little. My soul was too deeply interested in the subject 
 to trust to the faithfulness of my lips. 
 
 " The morning crept slowly on, and the noon appeared to 
 stand still. I anxiously watched the declining sun, as the sig- 
 nal for my husband's return. Two hours had elapsed since his 
 promised time, and my father grew so impatient that he went 
 out to meet him. I eagerly wished that they might miss each 
 other. I should then see Sackville a few minutes alone, and by 
 one word be comforted or driven to despair. 
 
 " I was listening to every footstep that sounded under the 
 colonnade, when my servant brought me a letter which had 
 just been left by one of Mr. Sackville's grooms. I broke open 
 the seal, and fell senseless on the floor ere I had read half the 
 killing contents." 
 
 Thaddeus, with a burning cheek, and a heart all at once 
 robbed of that elastic spring which till now had ever made him 
 the happiest of the happy, took up the letter of his father. 
 The paper was worn, and blistered with his mother's tears. 
 His head seemed to swim as he contemplated the handwriting, 
 and he said to himself, '' Am I to respect or to abhor him ? " 
 He proceeded in the perusal. 
 
 " To Therese, Countess Sobieski. 
 
 *' How, Therese, am I to address you .^ But an attempt io 
 palliate my conduct would be to no purpose ; indeed it is im- 
 possible. You cannot conceive a viler opinion of me than I 
 have of myself. I know that I forfeit all claim to honor, in the 
 most delicate point of your noble and trusting heart ! — that I 
 have sacrificed your tenderness to my distracted passions ; but 
 you shall no more be subject to the caprices of a man who can- 
 not repay your innocent love with his own. You have no guilt 
 to torture you ; and you possess virtues which will render you 
 tranquil under every calamity. I leave you to your own purity, 
 and, therefore, peace of mind. Forget the ceremony which has 
 passed between us ; my wretched heart disclaims it forever. 
 Your father is happily ignorant of it • pray spare him the 
 anguish of knowing that I was so utterly unworthy of his kind- 
 ness ; I feel that I am more than ungrateful to you and to him. 
 Therese, your most inveterate hate cannot more strongly tell 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 29 
 
 me than I can tell myself that to you I have been a villain, 
 liut I cannot retract. I am going where all search will be vain ; 
 and I now bid you an eternal farewell. May you be happier 
 than ever can be the self-abhorring. 
 
 " R. S . 
 
 " Florence." 
 
 Thaddeus, after a brief pause, went on with his mother's 
 narrative. 
 
 " When my senses returned, I was lying on the floor, hold- 
 ing the half-perused paper in my hand. Grief and horror had 
 locked up the avenues of complaint, and I sat as one petrified 
 to stone. J^Iy father entered. At the sight of me, he started 
 as if he had been a spectre. His well-known features opened 
 at once my agonized heart. With fearful cries I cast myself at 
 his feet, and putting the letter into his hand, clung, almost ex- 
 piring, to his knees. 
 
 " When he had read it, he flung it from him, and dropping 
 into a chair, covered his face with his hands. I looked up im- 
 ploringly, for I could not speak. My father stooped forward, 
 and raising me in his arms, pressed me to his bosom. ' My 
 Therese,' said he, ' it is I who have done this. Had I not har- 
 bored this villain, he never could have had an opportunity of 
 ruining the peace of my child.' In return for the unexampled 
 indulgence of this speech, and his repeated assurances of for- 
 giveness, I promised to forget a man who could have had so 
 little respect for truth and gratitude, and his own honor. The 
 palatine replied that he expected such a resolution, in conse- 
 quence of the principles my exemplary mother had taught me ; 
 and to show me how far dearer to him was my real tranquillity 
 than any false idea of impossible restitution, he would not re- 
 move even from one principality to another, were he sure by 
 that means to discover Mr. Sackville and to avenge my wrongs. 
 My understanding assented to the justice and dignity o^ all he 
 said ; but long and severe were my struggles before I could 
 erase from my soul the image of that being who had been the 
 lord of all my young hopes. 
 
 " It was not until you, my dear Thaddeus, were born that I 
 could repay the goodness of my father with the smiles of cheer- 
 fulness. And he would not permit me to give you any name 
 which could remind him or myself of the faithless husband who 
 knew not even of your existence; and by his desire I christened 
 you Thaddeus Constantine, after himself, and his best beloved 
 friend General Kosciusko. You have not yet seen that illustri- 
 
30 THADDEUS OF WARSA W. 
 
 ous Polander ; his prescient watchfulness for his country keeps 
 him so constantly employed on the frontiers. He is now with 
 the army at Winnica, whither you must soon go ; and in him 
 you may study one of the brightest models of patriotic and mar- 
 tial virtue that ever was presented to mankind. It is well said 
 of him ' that he would have shone with distinguished lustre in 
 the ages of chivalry.' Gallant, generous, and strictly just, he 
 commands obedience by the reverence in which he is held, and . 
 attaches the troops to his person by the affability of his man- 
 ners and the purity of his life. He teaches them discipline, 
 endurance of fatigue, and contempt of danger, by his dauntless 
 example, and inspires them with confidence by his tranquillity 
 in the tumult of action and the invincible fortitude with which 
 he meets the most adverse stroke of misfortune. His modesty 
 in victory shows him to be one of the greatest among men, and 
 his magnanimity under defeat confirms him to be a Christian 
 hero. 
 
 " Such is the man whose name you share. How bitterly do 
 I lament that the one to which nature gave you a claim was so 
 unworthy to be united with it, and that of my no less heroic 
 father ! 
 
 " On our return to Poland, the story which the palatine re- 
 lated, when questioned about my apparently forlorn state, was 
 simply this : — ' My daughter was married and widowed in the 
 course of two months. Since then, to root from her memory as 
 much as possible all recollection of a husband who was only 
 given to be taken away, she still retains my name ; and her son, 
 as my sole heir, shall bear no other.' This reply satisfied every 
 one ; the king, who was my father's only confidant, gave his 
 sanction to it, and no further inquiries were ever made. 
 
 " You are now, my beloved child, entering on the eventful 
 career of life. God only knows, when the venerable head of 
 your grandfather is laid in dust, and I, too, have shut my eyes 
 upon you in this world, where destiny may send you ! perhaps 
 to the country of your father. Should you ever meet him — but 
 that is unlikely ; so I will be silent on a thought which nineteen 
 years of reflection have not yet deprived of its sting. 
 
 " Not to embitter the fresh spring of your youth, my Thad- 
 deus, with the draught that has poisoned mine : not to implant 
 in your breast hatred of a parent whom you may never behold, 
 have I written this ; but to inform you in fact from whom you 
 sprung. My history is made plain to you, that no unexpected 
 events may hereafter perplex your opinion of your mother, or 
 cause a blush to rise on that cheek for her, which from your 
 
TIIADDEUS OF Jl'ARSAlV. 31 
 
 grandfather can derive no stain. For his sake as well as for 
 mine, whether in peace or in war, may the angels of heaven 
 guard my boy ! This is the unceasing prayer of thy fond 
 mother, 
 
 " Therese, Countess Sobieski. 
 
 " ViLLANOW, Marchy 1792." 
 
 When he finished reading, Thaddeus held the papers in his 
 hand ; but, unable to recover from the shock of their contents, 
 he read them a second time to the end ; then laying them on 
 the table, against which he rested his now aching head, he gave, 
 vent to the fulness of his heart in tears. 
 
 The countess, anxious for the effect which her history might 
 have made on her son, at this instant entered the room. Seeing 
 him in so dejected an attitude, she approached, and pressing him 
 to her bosom, silently wept with him. Thaddeus, ashamed of 
 his emotions, yet incapable of dissembling them, struggled a 
 moment to release himself from her arms. The countess, mis- 
 taking his motive, said in a melancholy voice, " And do you, 
 my son, despise your mother for the weakness which she has 
 revealed t Is this the reception that I expected from a child 
 on whose affection I reposed my confidence and my comfort ? " 
 
 " No, my mother," replied Thaddeus ; " it is your afflictions 
 which have distressed me. This is the first unhappy hour I 
 ever knew, and can you wonder I should be affected ? Oh ! 
 mother," continued he, laying his hand on his father's letter, 
 " whatever were his rank, had my father been but noble in mind, 
 I would have gloried in bearing his name ; but now, I put up 
 my prayers never to hear it more." 
 
 " Forget him," cried the countess, hiding her eyes with her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " I will," answered Thaddeus, " and allow my memory to 
 dwell on the virtues of my mother only." 
 
 It was impossible for the countess or her son to conceal 
 their agitation from the palatine, who now opened the door. 
 On his expressing alarm at a sight so unusual, his daughter, 
 finding herself incapable of speaking, put into his hand the 
 letter which Thaddeus had just read. Sobieski cast his eye 
 over the first lines ; he comprehended their tendency, and see- 
 ing the countess had withdrawn, he looked towards his grand- 
 son. Thaddeus was walking up and down the room, striving 
 to command himself for the corrversation he anticipated with 
 his grandfather. 
 
 *' I am sorry, Thaddeus," said Sobieski, " that your mother 
 
32 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 has so abruptly imparted to you the real country and character 
 of your father. I see that his villany has distressed a heart 
 which Heaven has made alive to even the slightest appearance 
 of dishonor. But be consoled, my son ! I have prevented the 
 publicity of his conduct by an ambiguous story of your mother's 
 widowhood. Yet notwithstanding this arrangement, she has 
 '* judged it proper that you should not enter general society 
 without being made acquainted with the true events of your 
 birth. I believe my daughter is right. And cheer yourself, my 
 child ! ever remembering that you are one of the noblest race 
 in Poland ! and suffer not the vices of one parent to dim the 
 virtues of the other." 
 
 "No, my lord," answered his grandson ; "you have been 
 more than a parent to me ; and henceforward, for your sake as 
 well as my own, I shall hold it my duty to forget that I draw 
 my being from any other source than that of the house of 
 Sobieski." 
 
 " You are right," cried the palatine, with an exulting emotion ; 
 " you have the spirit of your ancestors, and I shall live to see 
 you add glory to the name ! " * 
 
 The beaming eyes and smiling lips of the young count de- 
 clared that he had shaken sorrow from his heart. His grand- 
 father pressed his hand with delight, and saw in his recovered 
 serenity the sure promise of his fond prophecy. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MILL OF MARIEMONT. 
 
 The fearful day arrived when Sobieski and his grandson 
 were to bid adieu to Villanow and its peaceful scenes. 
 
 The well-poised mind of the veteran bade his daughter fare- 
 well with a fortitude which imparted some of its strength even 
 to her. But when Thaddeus, ready habited for his journey, en- 
 tered the room, at the sight of his military accoutrements she 
 
 * John Sobieski, King of Poland, was the most renowned sovereign of his time. H!a 
 victories over the Tartars and the Turks obtained for him the admiration of Europe. Would 
 it might be said, " the gratitude also of her posterity! " For his signal courage and won- 
 drous generalship on the field of Vienna, against the latter Mohammedan power, rescued 
 Austria, and the chief part of Christendom at that time, from their ruinous grasp. Where 
 was the memory of these things, when the Austrian emperor marched his devastating legions 
 into Poland, in the year 1793 ? 
 
'JIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 33 
 
 shuddered ; and wlien, with a glowinp: countenance, he ad- 
 vanced, smiling tlnough his tears, towards her, she clasped hini 
 in her arms, and riveted her lips to that face the very loveliness 
 of which added to her affliction. She gazed at him, she wept 
 on his neck, she pressed him to her bosom, " Oh ! how soon 
 might all that beauty be mingled with the dust ! how soon 
 might that warm heart, which then beat against hers, be pierced 
 by the sword — be laid on the ground, mangled and bleedi^ng, 
 exposed and trampled on ! " These thoughts thronged upon 
 her soul, and deprived her of sense. She was borne away by 
 her maids, while the palatine compelled Thaddeus to quit the 
 spot. 
 
 It was not until the lofty battlements of Villanow blended 
 with the clouds that Thaddeus could throw off his melancholy. 
 The parting grief of his mother hung on his spirits ; and heavy 
 and frequent were his sighs while he gazed on the rustic cot- 
 tages and fertile fields, which reminded him that he was yet pass- 
 ing through the territories of his grandfather. The picturesque 
 mill of jVIariemont was the last spot on which his sight lingered. 
 The ivy that mantled its sides sparkled with the brightness of 
 a shower which had just fallen; and the rays of the setting sun, 
 gleaming on its shattered wall, made it an object of such roman- 
 tic beauty, that he could not help pointing it out to his fellow- 
 travellers. 
 
 Whilst the eyes of General Butzou, who was in the carriage, 
 followed the direction of Thaddeus, the palatine observed the 
 heightening animation of the old man's features ; and recollect- 
 ing at the same time the transports which he himself had en- 
 joyed when he visited that place more than twenty years before, 
 he put his hand on the shoulder of the veteran, and exclaimed, 
 *' General, did vou ever relate to my boy the particulars of that 
 mill?" 
 
 " No, my lord." 
 
 " I suppose," continued the palatine, " the same reason de- 
 terred you from speaking of it, uncalled for, as lessened my 
 wish to tell the story ? We are both too much the heroes of 
 the tale to have volunteered the recital." 
 
 " Does your excellency mean," asked Thaddeus, " the rescue 
 of our king from this place .'* " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " I have an indistinct knowledge of the affair," continued 
 his grandson, " from I forget who, and should be grateful to 
 hear it clearlv told me, while thus looking on the very spot." 
 
 " Bu*- " said the palatine, gayly, whose object was to draw 
 
34 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 his grandson from melancholy reflections, " what will you say to 
 
 me turnmg egotist ? " 
 
 '' I now ask the story of you," returned Thaddeus, smiling -, 
 "besides, as soldiers are permitted by their peaceful hearth to 
 'fight their battles o'er again,' your modesty, my dear grand- 
 father, cannot o'oject to repeat one to me on the way to more.'* 
 
 "Then, as a preliminary," said the palatine, "1 must sup- 
 pose it is unnecessary to tell you that General Butzou was the 
 brave soldier who, at the imminent risk of his own life, saved 
 our sovereign." 
 
 "Yes, 1 know that ! " replied the young count, " and that 
 you too had a share in the honor : for when I was yesterday 
 presented to his majesty, amongst other things which he said, 
 he told me that, under Heaven, he believed he owed his present 
 existence to General Butzou and yourself." 
 
 " So very little to me," resumed the palatine, " that I will, 
 to the best of my recollection, repeat every circumstance of the 
 affair. Should 1 err, I must beg of you, general " (turning to 
 the veteran), " to put me right." 
 
 Butzou, with a glow of honest exultation, nodded assent ; 
 and Thaddeus bowing in sign of attention, his smiling grandsire 
 began. 
 
 " It was oxs. a Sunday night, the 3d of September, in the 
 year 1771, that this event took place. At that time, instigated 
 by the courts of Vienna and Constantinople, a band of traitor- 
 ous lords, confederated together, were covertly laying waste the 
 country, and perpetrating all kinds of unsuspected outrage 011 
 their fellow-subjects who adhered to the king. 
 
 " Amongst their numerous crimes, a plan was laid for sur- 
 prising and taking the royal person. Casimir Pulaski was the 
 most daring of their leaders ; and, assisted by Lukawski, Stra- 
 wenski, and Kooinski, three Poles unworthy of their names, he 
 resolved to accomplish his design or perish. 7\ccordingly, these 
 men, with forty other conspirators, in the presence of their com- 
 mander swore with the most horrid oaths to deliver Stanislaus 
 alive or dead into his hands. 
 
 "About a month after this meeting, these three parricides 
 of their country, at the head of their coadjutors, disguised as 
 peasants, and concealing their arms in wagons of hay, which 
 they drove before them, entered the suburbs of Warsaw unde- 
 tected. 
 
 "It was about ten o'clock p. m., on the 3d of September, as 
 I have told you, they found an apt opportunity to execute their 
 scheme. They placed themselves, under cover of the night, in 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 35 
 
 those avenues of the city through which they knew his majesty 
 must pass in his way from Villanow, where he had been dining 
 with me. His carriage was escorted by four of his own guards, 
 besides myself and some of mine. We had scarcely lost sight 
 of Villanow, when the conspirators rushed out and surrounded 
 us, commanding the coachman to stop, and beating down the 
 serving men with the butt ends of their muskets. Several shots 
 were fired into the coach. One passed through my hat as I 
 was getting out, sword in hand, the better to repel an attack 
 the motive of which I could not then divine. A cut across my 
 right leg with a sabre laid me under the wheels ; and whilst in 
 that situation, I heard the shot pouring into the coach like hail, 
 and felt the villains stepping over my body to finish the murder 
 of their sovereign. 
 
 " It was then that our friend Butzou (who at that period 
 was a private soldier in my service) stood between his majesty 
 and the rebels, parrying many a stroke aimed at the king ; but 
 at last, a thrust from a bayonet into his gallant defender's breast 
 cast him weltering in his blood upon me. By this time all the 
 persons who had formed the escort were either wounded or dis- 
 persed, and George Butzou, our friend's only brother, was slain. 
 So dropped one by one the protectors of our trampled bodies 
 and of our outraged monarch. Secure then of their prey, one 
 of the assassins opened the carriage door, and with shocking 
 imprecations seizing the king, discharged his pistol so near his 
 majesty's face, that he felt the heat of the flash. A second vil- 
 lain cut him on the forehead with a sabre, whilst the third, who 
 was on horseback, laying hold of the king's collar, dragged him 
 along the ground through the suburbs of the city. 
 
 " During the latter part of this murderous scene, some of 
 our affrighted people, who had fled, returned with a detachment, 
 and seeing Butzou and me apparently lifeless, carried us to the 
 royal palace, where all was commotion and distraction. But 
 the foot-guards followed the track which the conspirators had 
 taken. In one of the streets they found the king's hat dyed in 
 blood, and his pelisse also. This confirmed their apprehen- 
 sions of his death ; and they came back filling all Warsaw with 
 dismay. 
 
 " The assassins, meanwhile, got clear of the town. Finding, 
 however, that the king, by loss of blood, was not likely to exist 
 much longer by dragging him towards their employer, and that 
 delay might even lose them his dead body, they mounted him, 
 and redoubled their speed. When they came to the moat, they 
 compelled him to leap his horse across it. In the attempt the 
 
36 THADDEUS OF WARSA IV. 
 
 horse fell and broke its leg. They then ordered his majesty, 
 fainting as he was, to mount another and spur it over. The 
 conspirators had no sooner passed the ditch, and saw their king 
 fall insensible on the neck of his horse, than they tore from his 
 breast the ribbon of the black eagle, and its diamond cross. 
 Lukawski was so foolishly sure of his prisoner, dead or alive, 
 that he quitted his charge, and repaired with these spoils to 
 Pulaski, meaning to show them as proofs of his success. Many 
 of the other plunderers, concluding that they could not do better 
 than follow their leader's example, fled also, tired of their work, 
 leaving only seven of the party, with Kosinski at their head, to 
 remain over the unfortunate Stanislaus, who shortly after re- 
 covered from his swoon. 
 
 " The night was now grown so dark, they could not be sure 
 of their way ; and their horses stumbling at every step, over 
 stumps of trees and hollows in the earth, increased their appre- 
 hensions to such a degree, that they obliged the king to keep 
 up with them on foot. He literally marked his path Vvith 
 his blood ; his shoes having been torn off in the struggle at the 
 carriage. Thus they continued wandering backward and for- 
 ward, and round the outskirts of Warsaw, without any exact 
 knowledge of their situation. The men who guarded him at 
 last became so afraid of their prisoner's taking advantage of 
 these circumstances to escape, that they repeatedly called on 
 Kosinski for orders to put him to death. Kosinski refused ; 
 but their demands grov.ing more imperious, as the intricacies 
 of the forest involved them completely, the king expected every 
 moment to find their bayonets in his breast. 
 
 " Meanwhile," continued the palatine, "when I recovered 
 from my swoon in the palace, my leg had been bound up, and 
 I felt able to stir. Questioning the officers who stood about 
 my couch, I found that a general panic had seized them. They 
 knew not how to proceed ; they shuddered at leaving the king 
 to the mercy of the confederates, and yet were fearful, by pur- 
 suing him further, to incense them through terror or revenge to 
 massacre their prisoner, if he were still alive. I did all that 
 was in my power to dispel this last dread. Anxious, at any 
 rate, to make another attempt to preserve him, though I could 
 not ride myself, I strenuously advised an immediate pursuit on 
 horseback, and insisted that neither darkness nor apprehension 
 of increasing danger should be permitted to impede their course. 
 Recovered presence of mind in the nobles restored hope and 
 animation to the terrified soldiers, and my orders were obeyed. 
 But I must add, they were soon disappointed, for in less than 
 
TlfADDJli'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 37 
 
 half an hour ihe detachment returned in despair, snowing me 
 liis majesty's coat, which they had found in the fosse. 1 sup- 
 pose the ruffians tore it off when they ritied iiim. It was rent 
 in several places, and so wet with blood that the officer who 
 presented it to me concluded they had murdered the king 
 there, and drawn away his body, for by the light of the torches 
 the soldiers could trace drops of blood to a considerable 
 distance. 
 
 " Whilst I was attempting to invalidate this new evidence 
 of his majesty's being beyond the reach of succor, he was driven 
 before the seven conspirators so far into the wood of Bielany, 
 that, not knowing whither they went, they came up with one of 
 the guard-houses, and, to their extreme terror, were accosted 
 by a patrol. Four of the banditti immediately disappeared, 
 leaving two only with Kosinski, who, much alarmed, forced his 
 prisoner to walk faster and keep a profound silence. Notwith- 
 standing all this precaution, scarce a quarter of an hour after- 
 wards they were challenged by a second watch; and the other 
 two men taking flight, Kosinski, full of indignation at their de- 
 sertion, was left alone with the king. His majesty, sinking 
 with pain and fatigue, besought permission to rest for a moment ; 
 but Kosinski refused, and pointing his sword towards the king, 
 compelled him to proceed. 
 
 " As they walked on, the insulted monarch, who was hardly 
 able to drag one limb after the other, observed that his con- 
 ductor gradually forgot his vigilance, until he was thoroughly 
 given up to thought. The king conceived some hope from this 
 change, and ventured to say ' I see that you know not how to 
 proceed. You cannot but be aware that the enterprise in which 
 you are engaged, however it may end, is full of peril to you. 
 Successful conspirators are always jealous of each other. Pu- 
 laski will find it as easy to rid himself of your life as it is to 
 take mine. Avoid that danger, and I will promise you none on 
 my account. Suffer me to enter the convent of Bielany: we 
 cannot be far from it ; and then, do you provide for your own 
 safety.' Kosinski, though rendered desperate by the circum- 
 stances in which he was involved, replied, ' No ; 1 have sworn, 
 and I would rather sacrifice my life than my honor.' 
 
 "The king had neither strength nor spirits to urge him 
 further, and they continued to break their way through the be- 
 wildering underwood, until they approached Mariemont. Here 
 Stanislaus, unable to stir another step, sunk down at the foot 
 of the old yew-tree, and again implored for one moment's rest. 
 Kosinski no longer refused. Tliis unexpected humanity encour- 
 
38 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 aged his majesty to employ the minutes they sat together in 
 another attempt to soften his heart, and to convince him that 
 the oath which he had taken was atrocious, and by no means 
 binding to a brave and virtuous man. 
 
 " Kosinski heard him with attention, and even showed he 
 was affected. ' But,' said he, ' if I should assent to what you 
 propose, and reconduct you to Warsaw, what will be the conse- 
 quence to me ? I shall be taken and executed.' * I give you 
 my word,' answered the king, ' that you shall not suffer any 
 injury. But if you doubt my honor, escape while you can. I 
 shall find some place of shelter, and will direct your pursuers 
 to take the opposite road to that which you may choose.' 
 Kosinski, entirely overcome, threw himself on his knees before 
 his majest}^ and imploring pardon from Heaven for what he 
 had done, swore that from this hour he would defend his king 
 against all the conspirators, and trust confidently in his word 
 for future preservation. Stanislaus repeated his promise of 
 forgiveness and protection, and directed him to seek refuge 
 for them both in the mill near which they were discoursing. 
 Kosinski obeyed. He knocked, but no one gaye answer. He 
 then broke a pane of glass in the window, and through it begged 
 succor for a nobleman who had been waylaid by robbers. The 
 miller refused to come out, or to let the applicants in, express- 
 ing his belief that they were robbers themselves, and if they did 
 not go away he would fire on them. 
 
 "This dispute had continued some time, when the king 
 contrived to crawl up close to the windows and spoke. ' My 
 good friend,' said he, if we were banditti, as you suppose, it 
 would be as easy for us, without all this parley, to break into 
 your house as to break this pane of glass ; therefore, if you 
 would not incur the shame of suffering a fellow-creature to 
 perish for want of assistance, give us admittance.' This plain 
 argument had its weight upon the man, and opening the door, 
 he desired them to enter. After some trouble, his majesty 
 procured pen and ink, and addressing a few lines to me at the 
 palace, with difficulty prevailed on one of the miller's sons to 
 carry it, so fearful were they of falling in with any of the troop 
 who they understood had plundered their guests. 
 
 " My joy at the sight of this note I cannot describe. I well 
 remember the contents ; they were literally these : — 
 
 " ' By the miraculous hand of Providence I have, escaped 
 from the hands of assassins. I am now at t»he mill of Marie- 
 mont. Send immediately and take me hence. I am wounded, 
 but not dangerously.' 
 
TH AD DECS OF WARSAW. 39 
 
 " Regardless of my own condition, I instantly got into a 
 carriage," and followed by a detachment of horse, arrived at the 
 mill. I met Kosinski at the door, keeping guard with his 
 sword drawn. As he knew my person, he admitted me directly. 
 The king had fallen into a sleep, and lay in one corner of the 
 hovel on the ground, covered with the miller's cloak. To see 
 the most virtuous monarch in the world thus abused by a party 
 of ungrateful subjects pierced me to the heart. Kneeling down 
 by his side, I took hold of his hand, and in a paroxysm of tears, 
 which I am not ashamed to confess, I exclaimed, * I thank 
 thee, Almigiity God, that I again see our true-hearted sover- 
 eign still alive ! ' It is not easy to say how these words stnick 
 the simple family. They dropped on their knees before the 
 king, whom my voice had awakened, and besought his pardon 
 fortheir recent opposition to give him entrance. The good 
 Stanislaus soon quieted their fears, and graciously thanking 
 them for their kindness, told the miller to come to the palace 
 the next day, when he would show him his gratitude in a better 
 way than by promises. 
 
 "The ot^cers of the detachment then assisted his majesty 
 and myself into the carriage, and accompanied by Kosinski, we 
 readied Warsaw about six in the morning." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Butzou; '* I remember my tumultuous 
 joy when the news was brought to me in my bed that my brave 
 brother had not died in vain for his sovereign ; it almost 'de- 
 prived me of my senses ; and besides, his majesty visited me, 
 his poor soldier, in my chamber. Does not your excellency rec- 
 ollect how he was brought into my room on a chair, between 
 two men ? and how he thanked me, and shook hands with me, 
 and told me my brother should never be forgotten in Poland ? 
 It made me weep like a child." 
 
 *' And he never can ! " cried Thaddeus, hardly recovering 
 from the deep attention with which he had listened to this 
 recital* " But what became of Kosinski ? For doubtless the 
 king kept his word." 
 
 " He did indeed," replied Sobieski ; " his word is at all times 
 sacred. Yet I believe Kosinski entertained fears that he would 
 not be so generous, for 1 perceived him change color very often 
 
 • The king had his brave defender buried with military honors, and caused a noble 
 monument to be raised over him, with an inscription, of which the following is a 
 translation : — 
 
 " Here lieth the respected remains of George Butzou, who, on the 3d of September, 
 177 1, opposing his own breast to shield his sovereign from the weapons of national parri- 
 cides, was pierced with a mortal wounH, and triumphantly expired. Stanislaus the king, 
 lamenting the death of so faithful a subject, erects this monument as a tribute to him and 
 aa example of heroic duty to others." 
 
40 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 while we were in the coach. Howe\'er, he became tranquil- 
 lized when his majesty, on alighting at the palace in the midst 
 of the joyous cries of the people, leaned upon his arm and pre- 
 sented him to the populace as his preserver. The great gate 
 was ordered to be left open; and never whilst I live shall I 
 again behold such a scene ! Every loyal soul in Warsaw, from 
 the highest to the lowest, came to catch a glimpse of their 
 rescued sovereign. Seeing the doors free, they entered without 
 ceremony, and thronged forward in crowds to g t near enough 
 to kiss his hand, or to touch his clothes ; then, elated with joy, 
 they turned to Kosinski, and loaded him with demonstrations 
 of gratitude, calling him the 'saviour of the king.' Kosinski 
 bore all this wnth surprising firmness ; but in a day or two, 
 M'hen the facts became known, he feared he might meet with 
 different treatment from the people, and therefore petitioned 
 liis majesty for leave to depart. Stanislaus consented • and he 
 retired to Semigallia, where he now lives on a handsome pen- 
 sion from the king." 
 
 " Generous Stanislaus ! " exclaimed the general ; " you see, 
 my dear young count, how he has rewarded me for doing that 
 which was merely my duty. He put it at my option to become 
 what I pleased about his person, or to hold an officer's rank in 
 his body-guard. Love ennobles servitude ; and attached as I 
 have ever been to your family, under whom all my ancestors 
 have lived and fought, I vowed in my own mind never to quit 
 it, and accordingly begged permission of my sovereign to remain 
 with the Count Sobieski. I did remain ; but see, ' cried he, his 
 voice faltering, "what my benefactors have made of me. I 
 command those troops amongst whom it was once my greatest 
 pride to be a private soldier." 
 
 Thaddeus pressed the hand of the veteran between both 
 his, and regarded him with respect and affection, whilst the 
 grateful old man wiped away a gliding tear from his face." * 
 
 " How happy it ought to make you, my son," observed 
 Sobieski, " that you are called out to support such a sovereign ! 
 He is not merely a brave king, wdiom you would follow to bat- 
 tle, because he will lead you to honor; the hearts of his people 
 acknowledge him in a superior light ; they look on him as their 
 patriarchal head, as being delegated of God to study what is 
 their greatest good, to bestow it, and when it is attacked, to de- 
 
 ♦ Lukawski and Strawenski were afterwards both taken, with others of the conspirators. 
 At tlie king's entreaty, those of Inferior rank were pardoned after condemnation ; but 
 the two noblemen who had dehided them were beheaded. Pulaski, tiie prime ring-;eader, 
 escaped, to the wretched life of an outlaw and an exile, and finally died in America, in 1779. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW: 4 1 
 
 fend it. To preserve the life of such a sovereign, who would 
 not sacrifice his own ? " 
 
 "Ves," cried Butzou ; "and how ought we to abhor those 
 who threaten his life ! How ouglit we to estimate those crowned 
 heads who, under the mask of amity, have from the year 
 sixty-four, when he ascended the throne, until now, been plot- 
 ting his overthrow or death ! Either calamity, O Heaven, avert ! 
 for his death, I fear, will be a prelude to the certain ruin of our 
 country." 
 
 " Not so," interrupted Thaddeus, with eagerness ; " not 
 whilst a Polander has power to lift an arm in defence of a native 
 king, and an hereditary succession, can she be quite lost ! What 
 was ever in the hearts of her people that is not now there ? 
 For one, I can never forget how her sons have more than once 
 rolled back on their own lands legions of invaders, from those 
 very countries now daring to threaten her existence ! " 
 
 Butzou applauded his spirit, and was warmly seconded by 
 the palatine, who (never weary of infusing into every feeling of 
 his grandson an interest for his country) pursued the discourse, 
 and dwelt minutely on the happy tendency of the glorious con- 
 stitution of 1791, in defence of which they were now going to 
 hazard their lives. As Sobieski pointed out its several excel- 
 lences, and expatiated on the pure spirit of freedom which 
 animated its revived laws, the soul of Thaddeus followed his 
 eloquence with all the fervor of youth, forgetting his late domestic 
 regrets in the warm aspirations of patriotic hopes ; and at noon 
 on the third day, with smiling eyes he saw his grandfather put 
 himself at the head of his battalions and commence a rapid 
 march. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN. 
 
 The little army of the palatine passed by the battlements 
 of Chelm, crossed the Bug into the plains of Volhinia, and im- 
 patiently counted the leagues over those vast tracts until it 
 reached the borders of Kiovia. 
 
 When the column at the head of which Thaddeus was 
 stationed descended the heights of Lininv, and the broad camp 
 of his countr}'men burst upon his sight, his heart heaved with 
 
42 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 an emotion quite new to him. He beheld with admiration the 
 regular disposition of the intrenchments, the long intersected 
 tented streets, and the warlike appearance of the soldiers, whom 
 he could descry, even at that distance, by the beams of a bright 
 evening sun which shone upon their arms. 
 
 In half an hour his troops descended into the plain, where, 
 meeting those of the palatine and General Butzou, the three 
 columns again united, and Thaddeus joined his grandfather in 
 the van. 
 
 " My lord," cried he, as they met, " can I behold such a 
 sight and despair of the freedom of Poland ! " 
 
 Sobieski made no reply, but giving him one of those ex- 
 pressive looks of approbation which immediately makes its way 
 to the soul, commanded the troops to advance with greater 
 speed. In a few minutes they reached the outworks of the 
 camp, and entered the lines. The eager eyes of Thaddeus 
 wandered from object to object. Thrilling with that delight 
 with which youth beholds wonders, and anticipates more, he 
 stopped with the rest of the party before a tent, which General 
 Butzou informed him belonged to tlie commander-in-chief. 
 They were met in the vestibule by an hussar officer of a most 
 commanding appearance. Sobieski and he having accosted 
 each other with mutual congratulations, the palatine turned tc 
 Thaddeus, took him by the hand, and presenting him to his 
 friend, said with a smile, 
 
 " Here, my dear Kosciusko, this young men is my grand- 
 son ; he is called Thaddeus Sobieski, and I trust that he will 
 not disgrace either of our names ! " 
 
 Kosciusko embraced the young count, and with a hearty 
 pressure of his hand, replied, " Thaddeus, if you resembl-^ your 
 grandfather, you can never forget that the only king of j-'oland 
 who equalled our patriotic Stanislaus was a Sobieski ; and as 
 becomes his descendant, you will not spare your best blood in 
 the service of your country." * 
 
 As Kosciusko finished speaking, an aid-de-camp came for- 
 ward to lead the party into the room of audience. Prince 
 
 * Kosciusko, noble of birth, and eminently brave in spirit, had learnt the practice of 
 arms in his early youth in America. During the contest between the Britisii colonies there 
 and the mother country, the young Pole, with a few of his early compeers in the great 
 military college at Warsaw, eager to measure swords in an actual field, had passed over 
 seas to British America, and offering their services to the ii dependents, which were accepted, 
 tlie extraordinary warlike talents of Kosciusko were speedily honored by his being made an 
 especial aid-de-camp to General Washington. When the war ended, in the peace of mutual 
 concessions between the rational parent and its children on a distant land, the Poles re- 
 turned to their native country, where they soon met circumstances which caused them to re- 
 draw their swords for her. But to what issue, was yet behind the floating colors of a self 
 dier's hope. 
 
THADDEi'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 43 
 
 Poniatowski welcomed the palatine and his suite with the most 
 lively expressions of pleasure. He gave Thaddeus. whose 
 figure and manner instantly charmed him, many flattering 
 assurances ot friendship, and promised that he would appoint 
 him to the first post of honor which should offer. After de- 
 taining the palatine and his grandson half an hour, his highness 
 withdrew, and they rejoined Kosciusko, who conducted them to 
 the quarter where the Masovian soldiers had already pitched 
 their tents. 
 
 The officers who supped with Sobieski left him at an early 
 hour, that he might retire to rest ; but Thaddeus was neither 
 able nor inclined to benefit by their consideration. He lay 
 down on his mattress, shut his eyes, and tried to sleep ; but the 
 attempt was without success. In vain he turned from side to 
 side ; in vain he attempted to restrict his thoughts to one thing 
 at once : his imagination was so roused by anticipating the 
 scenes in which he was to become an actor, that he found it 
 impossible even to lie still. His spirits being quite awake, lie 
 determined to rise, and to walk himself drowsy. 
 
 Seeing his grandfather sound asleep, he got up and dressed 
 himself quietly ; then stealing gently from the marque'e, he 
 gave the word in a low whisper to the guard at the door, and 
 proceeded down the lines. The pitying moon seemed to stand 
 in the heavens, watching the awaking of those heroes who the 
 next day might sleep to rise no more. At another time, and in 
 another mood, such might have been his reflections ; but now 
 he pursued his walk with different thoughts : no meditations 
 but those of pleasure possessed his breast. He looked on the 
 moon with transport ; he beheld the light of that beautiful 
 planet, trailing its long stream of glory across the intrench- 
 ments. He perceived a solitary candle here and there glim- 
 mering through the curtained entrance of the tents, and thought 
 that their inmates were probably longing with the same anxiety 
 as himself for the morning's dawn. 
 
 Thaddeus walked slowly on, sometimes pausing at the 
 lonely footfall of the sentinel, or answering with a start to the 
 sudden challenge for the parole ; then lingering at the door of 
 some of these canvas dwellings, he offered up a prayer for the 
 brave inhabitant who. like himself, had quitted the endearments 
 of home to expose his life on this spot, a bulwark of liberty. 
 Thaddeus knew not what it was to be a soldier by profession ; 
 he had no idea of making war a trade, by which a man may 
 acquire subsistence, and perhaps wealth ; he had but one 
 motive for appearing in the field, and one for leaving it, — to 
 
44 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 repel invasion and to establish peace. The first energy of his 
 mind was a desire to maintain the rights of his country ; it had 
 been inculcated into him when an infant ; it had been the 
 subject of his morning thoughts and nightly dreams ; it was now 
 the passion which beat in every artery of his heart. Yet he 
 knew no honor in slaughter : his glory lay in defence : and 
 when that was accomplished, his sword would return to its 
 scabbard, unstained by the blood of a vanquished or invaded 
 people. On these principles, he was at this hour full of en- 
 thusiasm ; a glow of triumph flitted over his cheek, for he had 
 felt the indulgences of his mother's palace, had left her ma- 
 ternal arms, to take upon him the toils of war, and risk an 
 existence just blown into enjoyment. A noble satisfaction 
 rose in his mind ; and with all the animation which an inexperi- 
 enced and raised fancy imparts to that age when boyhood 
 breaks into man, his soul grasped at every show of creation 
 with the confidence of belief. Pressing the sabre which he 
 held in his hand to his lips, he half uttered, " Never shall this 
 sword leave my arm but at the command of mercy, or when 
 death deprives my nerves of their strength." 
 
 Mornino^ was tinging the hills which bound the eastern 
 horizon of Winnica before Thaddeus found that his pelisse was 
 wet with dew, and that he ought to return to Ins tent. Hardly 
 had he laid his head upon the pillow, and "lulled his senses in 
 forgetfulness," when he was disturbed by the drum beating to 
 arms. He opened his eyes, and seeing the palatine out of 
 bed, he sprung from his own, and eagerly inquired the cause 
 of his alarm. 
 
 " Only follow me directly," answered his grandfather, and 
 quitted the tent. 
 
 Whilst Thaddeus was putting on his clothes, and buckling 
 on his arms with a trembling eagerness which almost defeated 
 his haste, an aid-de-camp of the prince entered. He brought 
 information that an advanced guard of the Russians had at- 
 tacked a Polish outpost, under the command of Colonel Lonza, 
 and that his highness had ordered a detachment from the 
 palatine's brigade to march to its relief. Before Thaddeus 
 could reply, Sobieski sent to apprise his grandson that the 
 prince had appointed him to accompany the troojDs which were 
 turning out to resist the enemy. 
 
 Thaddeus heard this message with delight ; yet fearful in 
 what manner the event might answer the expectations which 
 this wished distinction declared, he issued from his tent like a 
 youthful Mars, — or rather like the Spartan Isadas, — trembling 
 
Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. ^^ 
 
 at the dazzling effects of his temerity, and hiding his valor and 
 his blushes beneath the waving plumes of his helmet. Kosci- 
 usko, who was to head the party, observed this modesty with 
 pleasure, and shaking him warmly by the hand, said, " Go, 
 Thaddeus ; take your station on the left flank ; I shall require 
 your fresh spirits to lead the charge I intend to make, and to 
 ensure its success.'' Thaddeus bowed to these encouraging: 
 words, and took his place according to order. 
 
 Everything being ready, the detachment quitted the camp, 
 and dashing through the dews of a sweet morning (for it was 
 yet May), in a few hours arrived in view of the Russian bat- 
 talions. Lonza, who, from the only redoubt now in his posses- 
 sion, caught a glimpse of this welcome reinforcement, rallied 
 his few remaining men, and by the time that Kosciusko came 
 up, contrived to join him in the van. The fight recommenced. 
 Thaddeus, at the head of his hussars, in full gallop bore down 
 upon the enemy's right flank. They received the charge with 
 firmness ; but their young adversary, perceiving that extraordi- 
 nary means were necessary to make the desired effect, calling 
 on his men to follow him, put spurs to his horse and rushed 
 into the thickest of the battle. His soldiers did not shrink ; 
 they pressed on, mowing down the foremost ranks, whilst he, 
 by a lucky stroke of his sabre, disabled the sword-arm of the 
 Russian standard-bearer and seized the colors. His own troops 
 seeing the standard in his hand, with one accord, in loud and 
 repeated cries, shouted victory. Part of the reserve of the 
 enemy, alarmed at this outcry, gave ground, and retreating with 
 precipitation, was soon followed by some of the rear ranks of 
 the centre, to which Kosciusko had penetrated, while its com- 
 mander, after a short but desperate resistance, was slain. The 
 left flank next gave way, and though holding a brave stand at 
 intervals, at length fairly turned about and fled across the 
 country. 
 
 The conquerors, elated with so sudden a success, put their 
 horses on full speed ; and without order or attention, pursued 
 the fugitives until they were lost amidst the trees of a distant 
 wood. Kosciusko called on his men to halt, but he called in 
 vain; they continued their career, animating each other, and 
 with redoubled shouts drowned the voice of Thaddeus, who 
 was galloping forward repeating the command. At the entrance 
 of the wood they were stopped by a few Russian stragglers, 
 who had formed themselves into a body. These men withstood 
 the first onset of the Poles with considerable steadiness ; but 
 after a short skirmish, they fled, or, perhaps, seemed to fly, a 
 
46 TIIADDEUS OF WARSA'.V. 
 
 second time, and took refuge in the bushes, where, still regard- 
 less of orders, their enemies followed. Kosciusko, foreseeing 
 the consequence of this rashness, ordered Thaddeus to dis- 
 mount a part of his squadron, and march after these headstrong 
 men into the forest. He came up with them on the edge of a 
 heathy tract of land, just as they were closing in with a band 
 of the enemy's arquebusiers, who, having kept up a quick run- 
 ning fire as they retreated, had drawn their pursuers thus far 
 into the thickets. Heedless of anything but giving their enemy 
 a complete defeat, the Polanders went on, never looking to the 
 left nor to the right, till at once they found themselves encom- 
 passed by two thousand Muscovite horse, several battalions of 
 chasseurs, and in front of fourteen pieces of cannon, which 
 this dreadful ambuscade opened upon them. 
 
 Thaddeus threw himself into the midst of his countrymen, and 
 taking the place of their unfortunate conductor, who had been 
 killed in the first sweep of the artillery, prepared the men for 
 a desperate stand. He gave his orders with intrepid coolness 
 — though under a shower of musketry and a cannonade which 
 carried death in every round — that they should draw off towards 
 the flank of the battery. He thought not of himself; and in a 
 few minutes the scattered soldiers were consolidated into a 
 close body, squared with pikemen, who stood like a grove of 
 pines in a day of tempest, only moving their heads and arms. 
 Many of the Russian horse impaled themselves on the sides of 
 this little phalanx, which they vainly attempted to shake, al- 
 though the ordnance was rapidly weakening its strength. File 
 after file the men were swept down, their bodies making a horrid 
 rampart for their resolute brothers in arms, who, however, ren- 
 dered desperate, at last threw away their most cumbrous accou- 
 trements, and crying to their leader, " Freedom or death ! " 
 followed him sword in hand, and bearing like a torrent upon 
 the enemy's ranks, cut their way through the forest. The Rus- 
 sians, exasperated that their prey should not only escape, but 
 escape by such dauntless valor, hung closely on their rear, 
 goading them with musketry, whilst they (like a wounded lion 
 closely pressed by the hunters, retreats, yet stands proudly at 
 bay) gradually retired towards the camp with a backward step, 
 their faces towards the foe. 
 
 Meanwhile the palatine Sobieski, anxious for the fate of the 
 day, mounted the dyke, and looked eagerly around for the 
 arrival of some messenger from the little army. As the wind 
 blew strongly from the south, a cloud of dust precluded his 
 ^•icw ; but from the approach of firing and the clash of arms, 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 47 
 
 he was led to fear that liis friends had been defeated, and were 
 retreating towards the camp. He instantly quitted the lines 
 to call out a reinforcement ; but before lie could advance, Kos- 
 ciusko and his squadron on the full chars^e appeared in flank of 
 the enemy, who suddenly halted, and wheeling round, left the 
 harassed Polanders to enter the trenches unmolested. 
 
 Thaddeus, covered with dust and blood, flung himself into 
 his grandfather's arms. In the heat of action his left arm had 
 been wounded by a Cossack.* Aware that neglect then might 
 disable him from further service, at the moment it happened he 
 bound it up in his sash, and had thought no more of the acci- 
 dent until the palatine remarked blood on his cloak. 
 
 " My injury is slight, my dear sir," said he. " I wish to 
 Heaven that it were all the evil which has befallen us to-day ! 
 Look at the remnant of our brave comrades." 
 
 Sobieski turned his eyes on the panting soldiers, and on 
 Kosciusko, who was inspecting them. Some of them, no longer 
 upheld by desperation, were sinking with wounds and fatigue ; 
 these the good general sent off in litters to the medical depart- 
 ment ; and others, who had sustained unharmed the conflict of 
 the day, after having received the praise and admonition of 
 their commander, were dismissed to their quarters. 
 
 Before this inspection wms over, the palatine had to assist 
 Thaddeus to his tent ; in spite of his exertions to the contrary, 
 he became so faint, it w^as necessary to lead him off the ground. 
 
 A short time restored him. With his arm in a sling, he 
 joined his brother officers on the fourth day. After the duty 
 of the morning, he heard with concern that, during his confine- 
 ment, the enemy had augmented their force to so tremendous a 
 strength, it was impossible for the comparatively slender force 
 of the Poles to remain longer at Winnica. In consequence of 
 this report, the prince had convened a council late the preced- 
 ing night, in which it was determined that the camp should im^ 
 mediately be razed, and removed towards Zielime. 
 
 This information displeased Thaddeus, wdio in his fairy 
 dreams of war had always made conquest the sure end of his 
 Oattles ; and many were the sighs he drew when, at an hour be- 
 bre dawn on the following day, he witnessed the striking of 
 
 • Cossacks. There are two descriptions of these formidable auxiliaries : those of clear 
 Tartar race, the other mixed with Muscovites and their tributaries. The first and the 
 fiercest are called Don Cossacks, because of their inhabiting the immense steppes of tlie Don 
 river, on the frontiers of Asia. Thev are governed by a iietman, a native chief, who per- 
 sonally leads them to battle. The second are the Cossacks of the Crimea, a gallant people 
 cf that finest part of the Russian dominions, and, by being of a mingled origin, under Euro- 
 pean rule, are more civilized and better disciplined than their brethren near the Caucasus. 
 They arc generally commanded by Russian officers. 
 
48 rilADDEUS CF WARSAW. 
 
 tlie tents, which he thought too like a prelude to a shameful 
 flight from the enemy. While he was standing by the busy 
 people, and musing on the nice line which divides prudence 
 from pusillanimity, his grandfather came up, and bade him 
 mount his horse, telling him that, owing to the unhealed state 
 of his wound, he was removed from the vanguard, and ordered 
 to march in the centre, along with the prince. Thaddeus remon- 
 strated against this arrangement, and almost reproached the 
 palatine for forfeiting his promise, that he should always be sta- 
 tioned near his person. The veteran would not be moved, 
 either by argument or entreaty; and Thaddeus, finding that he 
 neither could nor ought to oppose him, obeyed, and followed 
 an aid-dc-camp to his highness. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PASS OF VOLUNNA. 
 
 After a march of three hours, the army came in sight of 
 Volunna, where the advanced column suddenly halted. Thad- 
 deus, who was about a half mile to its rear, with a throbbing 
 heart heard that a momentous pass must be disputed before 
 they could proceed. He curbed his horse, then gave it the 
 spur, so eagerly did he wish to penetrate the cloud of smoke 
 which rose in volumes from the discharge of musketry, on 
 whose wing, at every round, he dreaded might be carried the 
 fate of his grandfather. At Last the firing ceased, and the troops 
 were comm.anded to go foru-ard. On approaching near the 
 contested defile, Thaddeus shuddered, for at every step the 
 heels of his charger struck upon the wounded or the dead. 
 There lay his enemies, here lay his friends ! His respiration 
 was nearly suspended, and his eyes clung to the ground, ex- 
 pecting at each nioment to fasten on the breathless body of 
 his grandfather. 
 
 Again the tumult of battle presented itself. About an hun- 
 dred soldiers, in one firm rank, stood at the opening of the 
 pass, firing on the now vacillating steadiness of the enemy. 
 Thaddeus checked his horse. Five hundred had been detached 
 to this post ; how few remained ! Could he hope that Sobieski 
 had escaped so desperate a rencontre ? Fearing the worst, and 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 49 
 
 dreading to have those fears confirmed, his heart sickened when 
 he received orders from Poniatowski to examine the extent of 
 the loss. He rode to the mouth of the defile. He could no- 
 where see the palatine. A few of his hussars, a little in-^dvance, 
 were en^^aged over a heap of the killed, defending it from a 
 troop of Cossacks, who appeared fighting for the barbarous 
 privilege of trampling on the bodies. At this sight Thaddeus, 
 impelled by despair, called out, " Courage, soldiers I Tlie 
 prince with artillery !" The enemy, looking forward, saw the 
 information was true, and with a shout of derision, took to 
 flight. Poniatowski, almost at the word, was by the side of his 
 young friend, who, unconscious of any idea but that of filial 
 solicitude, had dismounted. 
 
 " Where is the palatine ? " was his immediate inquiry to a 
 chasseur who was stooping towards the slain. The man made 
 no answer, but lifted from the heap the bodies of two soldiers ; 
 beneath, Thaddeus saw the pale and deathly features of his 
 grandfather. He staggered a few paces back, and the prince, 
 thinking he was falling, hastened to support him ; but he recov- 
 ered himself, and flew forward to assist Kosciusko, \\\\o had 
 raised the head of the palatine upon his knee. 
 
 " Is he alive .'* " inquired Thaddeus. 
 
 ''He breathes." 
 
 Hope was now warm in his grandson's breast. The soldiers 
 soon released Sobieski from the surrounding dead ; but his 
 swoon continuing, the prince desired that he might be laid on 
 a bank, until a litter could be brought from the rear to convey 
 him to a place of security. Meantime, Thaddeus and General 
 Butzou bound up his wounds and poured some water into his 
 mouth. The effusion of blood being stopped, the brave vet- 
 eran opened his eyes, and in a few moments more, whilst he 
 leaned on the bosom of his grandson, was so far restored as to 
 receive with his usual modest dignity die thanks of his high- 
 ness for the intrepidity with which he had preserved a passage 
 which ensured the safety of the whole army. 
 
 Two surgeons, who arrived with the litter, relieved the 
 anxiety of the bystanders by an assurance that the wounds, 
 which they re-examined, were not dangerous. Having laid 
 their patient on the vehicle, they were preparing to retire with 
 it into the rear, when Thaddeus petitioned the prince to grant 
 him permission to take the command of the guard which was 
 appointed to attend his grandfather. His highness consented ; 
 but Sobieski positively refused. 
 
 " No, Thaddeus," said he ; " you forget the effect which 
 
go THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 this solicitude about so trifling a matter might have on the 
 men. Remember that he who goes into battle only puts his 
 own life to the hazard, but he that abandons the field, sports 
 with the Jives of his soldiers. Do not give them leave to sup- 
 pose that even your dearest interest could tempt you from the 
 front of danger when it is your duty to remain there." Thad- 
 deus obeyed his grandfather in respectful silence ; at seven 
 o'clock the army resumed its march. 
 
 Near Zielime the prince v/as saluted by a reinforcement. 
 It appeared very seasonably, for scouts had brought information 
 that directly across the plain a formidable division of the 
 Russian army, under General Brinicki, was drawn up in order 
 of battle, to dispute his progress. 
 
 Thaddeus, for the first time, shuddered at the sight of the 
 enemy. Should his friends be defeated, what might be the 
 fate of his grandfather, now rendered helpless by many wounds I 
 Occupied by these fears, with anxiety in his heart, he kept his 
 place at the head of the light horse, close to the hill. 
 
 Prince Poniatowski ordered the lines to extend themselves, 
 that the right should reach to the river, and the left be covered 
 by the rising ground, on which were mounted seven pieces of 
 ordnance. Immediately after these dispositions, the battle 
 commenced with mutual determination, and continued with 
 unabated fury from eight in the morning until sunset. Several 
 times the Poles were driven from their ground ; but as often 
 recovering themselves, and animated by their commanders, 
 they prosecuted the fight with advantage. General Brinicki, 
 perceiving that the fortune cf the day was going against him, 
 ordered up the body of reserve, which consisted of four thou- 
 sand men and several cannon. He erected temporary batteries 
 in a few minutes, and with these new forces opened a rapid 
 and destructive fire on the Polanders. Kosciusko, alarmed at 
 perceiving a retrograde motion in his troops, gave orders for a 
 close attack on the enemy in front, whilst Thaddeus, at the 
 head of his hussars, sliould wheel round the hill of artillery, 
 and with loud cries charge the opposite flank. This stratagem 
 succeeded. The arquebusiers, who were posted on that spot, 
 seeing the impetuosity of the Poles, and the quarter whence 
 they came, supposed them to be a fresh squadron, gave ground, 
 and opening in all directions, threw their own people into a 
 confusion that completed the defeat. Kosciusko and the 
 prince were equally successful, and a general panic amongst 
 their adversaries was the consequence. The whole of the 
 Russian army now took to flight, except a few regiments of 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 51 
 
 carabineers, which were entangled between the river and il:e 
 Poles. These were immediately surrounded by a battalion of 
 Masovian infantry, who, enraged at the loss their body had 
 sustained the preceding day, answered a cry for quarter with 
 reproach and derision. At this instant the Sobieski squadron 
 came up, and Thaddeus, who saw the perilous situation of 
 these regiments, ordered the slaughter to cease, and the men 
 to be taken prisoners. The Masovians exhibited strong signs 
 of dissatisfaction at such commands ; but tlie young count 
 charging through them, ranged his troops before the Russians, 
 and declared that the lirst man who should dare to lift a sword 
 against his orders should be shot. The Poles dropped their 
 arms. The poor carabineers fell on their knees to thank his 
 mercy, whilst their oflEicers, in a sullen silence, which seemed 
 ashamed of gratitude, surrendered their swords into the hands 
 of their deliverers. 
 
 During this scene, only one very young Russian appeared 
 wholly refractory. He held his sword in a menacing posture 
 when Thaddeus drew near, and before he had time to speak, 
 the young man made a cut at liis head, which a hussar parried 
 by striking the assailant to the earth, and would have killed 
 him on the spot, had not Thaddeus caught the blow on his 
 own sword ; then instantly dismounting, he raised the officer 
 from the ground, and apologized for the too hasty zeal of his 
 soldier. The youth blushed, and, bowing, presented his sword, 
 which was received and as directly returned. 
 
 " Brave sir," said Thaddeus, " I consider myself ennobled 
 in restoring this weapon to him who has so courageously de- 
 fended it." 
 
 The Russian made no reply but by a second bow, and put 
 his hand on his breast, which seemed wet with blood. Cere- 
 mony was now at an end. Thaddeus never looked upon the 
 unfortunate as strangers, much less z^ enemies. Accosting 
 the wounded officer with a friendly voice, he assured him of 
 his services, and bade him lean on him. Overcome, the young 
 man, incapable of speaking, accepted his assistance ; but be- 
 fore a conveyance could arrive, for which two men were dis- 
 patched, he fainted in his arms. Thaddeus being obliged to 
 join the prince with his prisoners, unwillingly left the young 
 Russian in this situation ; but before he did so he directed one 
 of his lieutenants to take care that the surgeons should pay 
 attention to the officer, and have his litter carried next to the 
 palatine's during the remainder of the march. 
 
 When the army halted at nine o'clock, r. m., preparations 
 
52 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 were made to fix the camp ; and in case of a surprise from 
 any part of the dispersed enemy which might have rallied, 
 orders were delivered for throwing up a dyke. Thaddeus, 
 having been assured that his grandfather and the wounded 
 Russian were comfortably stationed near each other, did not 
 hesitate to accept the command of the intrenching party. To 
 that end he wrapped himself loosely in his pelisse, and pre- 
 pared for a long watch. The night was beautiful. It being 
 the month of June, a softening warmth still floated through 
 the air, as if the moon, which shone over his head, emitted 
 heat as well as splendor. His mind was in unison with the 
 season. He rode slowly round from bank to bank, sometimes 
 speaking to the workers in the fosse, sometimes lingering for 
 a few minutes. Lookmg on the ground, he thought on the 
 clement of v/hich he was composed, to which he might so soon 
 return ; then gazing upward, he observed the silent march of 
 the stars and the moving scene of the heavens. On whatever 
 object he cast his eyes, his soul, which the recent events had 
 dissolved into a temper not the less delightful for being tinged 
 with melancholy, meditated with intense compassion, and 
 dwelt with wonder on the mind of man, which, whilst it adores 
 the Creator of the universe, and measures the immensity of 
 space with an expansion of intellect almost divine, can devote 
 itself to the narrow limits of sublunary possessions, and ex- 
 change the boundless paradise above for the low enjoyments 
 of human pride. He looked with pity over that wide tract of 
 land which now lay betwixt him and the remains of those four 
 thousand invaders who had just fallen victims to the insatiate 
 desires of ambition. He well knew the difference between a 
 defender of his own country and the invader of another's. 
 His heart beat, his soul expanded, at the prospect of securing 
 liberty and life to a virtuous people. He/f// all the happiness 
 of such an achievement, while he could only imagine how that 
 spirit must shrink from reflection which animates the self- 
 condemned slave to fight, not merely to fasten chains on others, 
 but to rivet his own the closer. The best affections of man 
 having put the sword into the hand of Thaddeus, his principle 
 as a Christian did not remonstrate against his passion for 
 arms. 
 
 When he was told the fortifications were finished, he retired 
 with a tranquil step towards the Masovian quarters. He found 
 the palatine awake, and eager to welcome him with the joyful 
 information that his wounds were so slight as to promise a 
 speedy amendment. Thaddeus asked for his prisoner. The 
 
Til ADD BUS Oh' WARSAW. 
 
 53 
 
 palatine answered that he was in the next tent, where a sur- 
 geon closely attended him, who had already given a very faV' 
 orable opinion of the wound, which was in the muscles of the 
 breast. 
 
 " Have you seen him, my dear sir ? " inquired Thaddeus. 
 
 " Yes," replied the palatine ; I was supported into his mar- 
 quee before I retired to my own. I told him who I was, and 
 repeated your offers of service. He received my proffer with 
 expressions of gratitude, and at the same time declared he had 
 nothing to blame but his own folly for bringing him to the state 
 in which he now lies." 
 
 " How, my lord 1 " rejoined Thaddeus. " Does he repent 
 of being a soldier? or is he ashamed of the cause for which he 
 fought .?" 
 
 " Both, Thaddeus ; he is not a Muscovite, but a young 
 Englishman." 
 
 " An Englishman ! and raise his arm against a country 
 struggling for loyalty and liberty 1 " 
 
 " It is very true," returned the palatine ; " but as he con- 
 fesses it was his folly and the persuasions of others which im- 
 pelled him, he may be pardoned. He is a mere youth ; I think 
 hardly your age. I understand that he is of rank ; and having 
 undertaken a tour in whatever part of Europe is now open to 
 travellers, under the direction of an experienced tutor, they 
 took Russia in their route. At St. Petersburg he became inti- 
 mate with many of the nobility, particularly with Count Brinicki, 
 at whose house he resided ; and wdien the count was named to 
 the command of the army in Poland, Mr. Somerset (for that 
 is your prisoner's name), instigated by his own volatility and 
 the arguments of his host, volunteered with him, and so 
 followed his friend to oppose that freedom here which he would 
 have asserted in his own nation." 
 
 Thaddeus thanked his grandfather for this information ; 
 and pleased that the young man, who had so much interested 
 him, was a brave Briton, not in heart an enemy, he gayly and 
 instantly repaired to his tent. 
 
 A generous spirit is as eloquent in acknowledging benefits as 
 it is bounteous in bestowing them ; and T'.Ir. Somerset received 
 his preserver with the warmest demonstrations of gratiiude. 
 Thaddeus begged him not to consider himself as particularly 
 obliged by a conduct which every soldier of honor has a right 
 to expect from another. The Englishman bowed his head, and 
 Thaddeus took a seat by his bedside. 
 
 Whilst he gathered from his own lips a corroboration of the 
 
^4 rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 narrative of tlie palatine, he could not forbear inquiring how a 
 person of his apparent candor, and who was also the native of 
 a. soil where national liberty had so long been the palladium of 
 its happiness, could volunteer in a cause the object of which 
 was to make a brave people slaves ? 
 
 Somerset listened to these questions with blushes ; and they 
 did not leave his face when he confessed that all he could say 
 in extenuation of what he had done was to plead his youth, and 
 having thought little on the subject. 
 
 '• I was wrought upon," continued he, " by a variety of cir- 
 cumstances : first, the.predilcctionsof Mr. Loftus, my governor, 
 are strongly in favor of the court of St. Petersburg ; secondly, 
 my father dislikes the army, and I am enthusiastically fond of 
 it — this was the only opportunity, perhaps, in which I might ever 
 satisfy my passion ; and lastly, I believe that I was dazzled 
 by tlie picture which the young men about me drew of the 
 campaign. I longed to be a soldier ; they persuaded me ; and 
 I followed them to the field as I would have done to a ball- 
 room, heedless of the consequences." 
 
 " Yet," replied Thaddeus, smiling, " from the intrepidity 
 with which you maintained your ground, when your arms were 
 demanded, any one might have thought that your whole soul, 
 as well as your body, was engaged in the cause." 
 
 " To be sure," returned Somerset, " I was a blockhead to 
 be there ; but when there, I should have despised myself for- 
 ever had I given up my honor to the ruffians who would have 
 wrested my sword from me ! But when you came, noble Sobi- 
 eski, it was the fate of war, and I confided myself to a brave 
 man." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE VISTULA. 
 
 Each succeeding morning not only brought fresh symptoms 
 of recovery to the two invalids, but condensed the mutual ad- 
 miration of the young men into a solid and ardent esteem. 
 
 It is not the disposition of youthful minds to Weigh for 
 months and years the sterling value of those qualities which 
 attract them. As soon as they see virtue, they respect it ; as 
 soon as they meet kindness, they believe it ; and as soon as a 
 
niADDKl'S OF WARSAW. r- 
 
 union of both presents itself, they love it. Not having passed 
 through the disnppointnients of a delusive world, they grasp 
 for reality every pageant which appears. They have not yet ad- 
 mitted that cruel doctrine which, when it takes effect, creates 
 and extends the misery it affects to cure. Whilst we give up 
 our souls to suspicion, we gradually learn to deceive ; wliilst 
 we repress the fervors of our own hearts, we freeze those which 
 approach us ; whilst we cautiously avoid occasions of receiving 
 pain, at every remove we acquire an unconscious influence to 
 inflict it on those who follow us. They, again, meet from our 
 conduct and lips the lesson that destroys the expanding scr.si- 
 bilities of their nature ; and thus the tormenting chain of de- 
 ceived and deceiving characters may be lengthened to infinitude. 
 
 About the latter end of the month, Sobieski received a 
 summons to court, where a diet was to be held on the eilect of 
 the victory at Zielime, to consider of future proceedings. In 
 the same packet his majesty enclosed a collar and investiture 
 of the order of St. Stanislaus, as an acknowledgment of ser- 
 vice to the young Thaddeus ; and he accompanied it with a 
 note from himself, expressing his commands that the young 
 knight should return with the palatine and other generals, to 
 receive thanks from the throne. 
 
 Thaddeus, half wild with delight at the thoughts of so soon 
 meeting his mother, ran to the tent of his British friend to 
 communicate the tidings. Somerset participated in his pleasure, 
 and with reciprocal warmth accepted the invitation to accom- 
 pany him to Villanow. 
 
 " I would follow you, my friend," said he, pressing the hand 
 of Thaddeus, "all over the world." 
 
 *• Then I will take you to the most charming spot in it ? " 
 cried he. " Villanow is an Eden ; and my mother, the dear 
 angel, would make a desert so to me." 
 
 " You speak so rapturously of your enchanted castle, Thad- 
 deus," returned his friend, " I believe I shall consider my knight- 
 errantry, in being fool enough to trust myself amidst a fray in 
 which I had no business, as one of the wisest acts of my life ! " 
 
 " I consider it," replied Thaddeus, "as one of the most 
 auspicious events in mine." 
 
 Before the palatine quitted the camp, Somerset thought it 
 proper to acquaint Mr. Loftus, who was yet at St. Petersburg, 
 of the particulars of his late danger, and that he was going to 
 Warsaw with his new friends, where he should remain for several 
 weeks. He added, that as the court of Poland, through the 
 intercession of the palatine, had generously given him his 
 
^6 THADDEUS OF IVARSAIV. 
 
 liberty, he should be able to see everything in that country 
 worthy of investigation, and that he would write to him again, 
 enclosing letters for England, soon after his arrival at the Polish 
 capital. 
 
 The weather continuing fine, in a few days the party left 
 Zielime ; and the palatine and Somerset, being so far restored 
 from their wounds that they could walk, the one with a crutch 
 and the other by the support of his friend's arm, they went 
 through the journey with animation and pleasure. The benign 
 wisdom of Sobieski, the intelligent enthusiasm of Thaddeus, 
 and the playful vivacity of Somerset, mingling their different 
 natures, produced such a beautiful union, that the minutes llew 
 fast as their wishes. A week iVicre carried them into the pala- 
 tinate of Masovia, and soon afterwards within the walls of 
 Villanow. 
 
 Everything that presented itself to Mr. Somerset was new 
 and fascinating. He saw in the domestic felicity of his friend 
 scenes which reminded him of the social harmony of his own 
 home. He beheld in the palace and retinue of Sobieski all the 
 magnificence which bespoke the descendant of a great king, 
 and a power which wanted nothing of royal grandeur but the 
 crown, which he had the magnanimity to think and to declare 
 was then placed upon a more worthy brow. Whilst Somerset 
 venerated this true patriot, the high tone his mind acquired was 
 not lowered by associating with characters nearer the common 
 standard. The friends of Sobieski were men of tried probity 
 — men who at all times preferred their country's welfare before 
 their own peculiar interest. Mr. Somerset day after day listened 
 with deep attention to these virtuous and energetic noblemen. 
 He saw them full of fire and personal courage when the affairs 
 of Poland were discussed ; and he beheld with admiration their 
 perfect forgetfulness of themselves in their passion for the 
 general good. In these moments his heart bowed down before 
 them, and all the pride of a Briton distended his breast when 
 he thought that such men as these his ancestors were. He re- 
 membered how often their chivalric virtues used to occupy his 
 reflections in the picture-gallery at Somerset Castle, and his 
 doubts, v/hen he compared what is with what was, that history 
 had glossed over the actions of past centuries, or that a differ- 
 ent order of men lived then from those which now inhabit the 
 world. Thus, studying the sublime characters of Sobieski and 
 l)is friends, and enjoying the endearing kindness of Thaddeus 
 and his mother, did a fortnight pass away without his even 
 recollecting the promise of writing to his governor. At the 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. r>r 
 
 end of that period, he stole an hour from the countess's society, 
 and enclosed in a short letter to Mr. Loftus the following epistle 
 to his mother : — 
 
 To Lady Somerset, Somerset Castle, Leicestershire. 
 
 " Many weeks ago, my dearest mother, I wrote a letter of 
 seven sheets from the banks of the Neva, which, long ere this 
 time, you and my dear father must have received. I attempted 
 to give you some idea of the manners of Russia, and my vanity 
 whispers that I succeeded tolerably well. The court of the 
 famous Catharine and the attentions of the hospitable Court 
 Brinicki were then the subjects of my pen. 
 
 " But how shall I account for my being here ? How shall I 
 allay your surprise and displeasure on seeing that this letter is 
 dated from Warsaw ? I know that I have acted against the 
 wish of my father in visiting one of the countries he proscribes. 
 I know that I have disobeyed your commands in ever having 
 at any period of my life taken up arms without an indispensable 
 necessity ; and I have nothing to allege in my defence. I fell 
 in the way of temptation, and I yielded to it. I really cannot 
 er-Uiiierate all the things which induced me to volunteer with 
 my Russian friends ; suffice it to say that I did so, and that we 
 Avere defeated by the Poles at Zielime : and as Heaven has 
 rather rewarded your prayers than punished my imprudence, I 
 trust you will do the same, and pardon an indiscretion I vow 
 never to repeat. 
 
 '' Notwithstanding all this, I must have lost my life through 
 my folly, had I not been preserved, even in the moment when 
 death was pending over me, by a young officer with whose 
 family I now am. The very sound of their title will create 
 your respect ; for we of the patrician order have a strange 
 tenacity in our belief that virtue is hereditary, and in this in- 
 stance our creed is duly honored. Their patronymic is Sobi- 
 eski ; the family which bears it is the only remaining posterity 
 of the great monarch of that name ; and the count, who is at its 
 head, is Palatine of Maso\ia, which, next to the throne, is the 
 first dignity in the state. He is one of the warmest champions 
 of his country's rights ; and though born to command, has so 
 far transgressed the golden adage of despots, ' Ignorance and 
 subjection,' that throughout his territories every man is taught 
 to w^orship his God with his heart as w^ell as with his knees. 
 The understandings of his peasants are opened to all useful 
 knowledge. He does not put books of science and speculation 
 
^3 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 into their liands, to consume their time in vain pursuits : he 
 gives them the Bible, and implements of industry, to afford 
 them the means of knowing and of practising their duty. All 
 Masovia around his palace blooms like a garden. The cheerful 
 faces of the farmers, and the blessings which I hear them im- 
 plore on the family when I am walking in the field with the 
 young count (for in this country the sons bear the same title 
 with their fathers *), have even drawn a few delighted drops 
 from the eyes of your thoughtless son. 1 know that you think 
 I have nothing sentimental about me, else you would not so 
 often have poured into my not inattentive ears, ' that to esti- 
 mate the pleasures of earth and heaven, we must cultivate the 
 sensibilities of the heart. Shut our eyes against them, and we 
 are merely nicely-constructed speculums, which reflect the 
 beauties of nature', but enjoy none.' You see, mamma, that I 
 both remember and adopt your lessons. 
 
 " Thaddeus Sobieski is the grandson of the palatine, and 
 the sole heir of his illustrious race. It is to him that I owe 
 the preservation of my life at Zielime, and much of my happi- 
 ness since ; for he is not only the bravest but the most amiable 
 young man in the kingdom ; and he is my friend ! Indeed, as 
 things have happened, you must think that out of evil has come 
 good. Though I have been disobedient, I have repented my 
 fault, and it has introduced me to the know^ledge of a people 
 whose friendship will henceforward constitute the greatest 
 pleasure of my days. The mother of Thaddeus is the only 
 daughter of the palatine ; and of her I can say no more than 
 that nothing on earth can more remind me of you ; she is 
 equally charming, equally tender to your son. 
 
 " Whilst the palatine is engaged at the diet, her excellency, 
 Thaddeus, and myself, with now^ and then a few visitors from 
 Warsaw, form the most agreeable parties you can suppose. 
 We walk together, we read together, we converse together, we 
 sing together — at least, the countess sings to us, which is all 
 the same ; and you know that time flies swiftly on the wmgs 
 of harmony. She has an uncommonly sweet voice, and a 
 taste which I never heard paralleled. By the way, you cannot 
 
 * Prince., (ancient Kniaz^ and Boyard, (which is equivalent in rank to our old English 
 Haron,) are titles used by Russians and Polanders, both nations being descended fiom the 
 Scfavonians, and tlieir languages derived from the same roots. Prince indicates the high- 
 est rank of a subject ; B oy ar d s\m\-)\y \.h.At oi .Voble>mn. Bat both personages must be 
 understood to be of hereditary power to raise forces on their estates for the service of the 
 sovereign, to lead them in battle, and to maintain all their expenses. Tlie title of CoHni\\3.s, 
 been adopted within a century or two by both nations, and occasionally appended to the an- 
 cient heroic designation of Boynrd. The feniinine tothc^e titles is formed by adding ^/V/.j 
 to the paternal title ; thus Ktiiazgina Ole;<e, means Princess Olga ; also, Boyarda, Lady. 
 The titles of Palatine, Vaivoda, Starost and the like belong to civil and military offices. 
 
THADDECS OF WARSAW. ^g 
 
 imagine anything more beautiful than the Polish music. It par- 
 takes of that delicious languor so distinguished in the Turkish 
 airs, with a mingling of those wandering melodies which the 
 now-forgotten composers must have caught from the Tartars. 
 In siiort, whilst the countess is singing, I hardly suffer myself 
 to breathe ; and I feel just what our poetical friend William 
 Scarsdale said a twelvemonth ago at a concert of yours, ' I 
 feel as if love sat upon my heart and flapped it with his wings.' 
 
 " I have tried all my powers of persuasion to prevail on this 
 charming countess to visit our country. I have over and over 
 again told her of you, and described her to you ; that you are 
 rear her own a2;e, (for this lovely woman, though she has a son 
 nearly twenty, is not more than forty ;) that you are as fond of 
 your ordinary boy as she is of her peerless one ; that, in short, 
 you and my father will receive her and Thaddeus, and the pala- 
 tine, with open arms and hearts, if they will condescend to 
 visit our humbler home at the end of the war. I believe I 
 have repeated my entreaties, both to the countess and my 
 friend, regularly every day since my arrival at Villanow, but 
 always with the same issue : she smiles and refuses ; and 
 Thaddeus 'shakes his ambrosial curls ' with a ' very god-like 
 frown ' of denial ; I hope it is self-denial, in compliment to his 
 mother's cruel and unprovoked negative. 
 
 " Before I proceed, I must give you some idea of the real 
 appearance of this palace. I recollect your having read a 
 superficial account of it in a few slight sketches of Poland whiich 
 have been published in England ; but the pictures they exhibit 
 are so faint, they hardly resemble the original. Pray do not 
 laugh at me, if I begin in the usual descriptive style ! You know 
 there is only one way to describe houses and lands and rivers ; 
 so no blame can be thrown on me for taking the beaten path, 
 where there is no other. To commence : — 
 
 *' When we left Zielime, and advanced into the province of 
 Masovia, the country around Praga rose at every step in fresh 
 beauty. The numberless chains of gently swelling hills which 
 encompass it on each side of the Vistula were in some parts 
 checkered with corn-fields, meadows, and green pastures cov- 
 ered with sheep, whose soft bleatings thrilled in my ears and 
 transported my senses into new regions, so different was* my 
 charmed and tranquillized mind from the tossing anxieties 
 attendant on the horrors I had recently witnessed. Surely 
 there is nothing in the world, short of the most undivided 
 reciprocal attachment, that has such power over the workings 
 of the human heart as the mild sweetness of nature. The 
 
6o TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 most ruffled temper, when emerging from the town, will subside 
 into a calm at the sight of a wide stretch of landscape reposing 
 in the twilight of a fine evening. It is then that the spirit 
 of peace settles upon the heart, unfetters the thoughts and 
 elevates the soul to the Creator. It is then that we behold 
 the Parent of the universe in his works ; we see his grandeur 
 in earth, sea, and sky : we feel his affection in the emotions 
 which they raise, and, half mortal, half etherealized, forget 
 where we are, in the anticipation of what that v/orld must be of 
 which this earth is m.erely the shadow.* 
 
 "Autumn seemed to be unfolding all her beauties to greet 
 the return of the palatine. In one part the haymakers were 
 mowing the hay and heaping it into stacks ; in another, the 
 reapers were gathering up the wheat, with a troop of rosy little 
 gleaners behind them, each of whom might have tempted the 
 proudest Palemon in Christendom to have changed her toil 
 into * a gentler duty.' Such a landscape intermingled with the 
 little farms of these honest people, whom the philanthropy of 
 Sobieski has rendered free (for it is a tract of his extensive 
 domains I am describing), reminded me of Somerset. Vil- 
 lages repose in the green hollows of the vales, and cottages 
 are seen peeping from amidst the thick umbrage of the woods 
 which cover the face of the hills. The irregular forms and 
 thatched roofs of these simple habitations, with their infant 
 inhabitants plaving at the doors, compose such lovely groups, 
 that I wish for our dear Mary's pencil and fingers (for, alas ! 
 that way mine are motionless!) to transport them to your 
 eyes. 
 
 " The palace of Villanow, which is castellated, now burst 
 upon my view. It rears its embattled head from the summit 
 of a hill that gradually slopes down towards the Vistula, in full 
 view to the south of the plain of Vola, a spot long famous for 
 the election of the kings of Poland. f On the north of the 
 
 * This description of the banks of the Vistula was given to me with smiles and sighs. The 
 reality was once enjoyed by the narrator, and tliere was a delight in the retrospection " sweet 
 and mournful to the soul." At the time these reflections arose on such a scene, I often 
 tnsted the same pleasure in evening visits to the beautiful rural environs of London, which 
 then extended from the nortii side of Fitzroy Square to beyond the Elm Grove on Primrose 
 Hill, and forward through the fields to Hampstead. But most of that is all streets, or 
 Regent's Park ; and the sweet Hill, then the resort of many a happy Sunday group, has 
 not now a tree standing on it, and hardly a blade of grass, '"to mark where the primrose 
 has been." 
 
 t It was from this very assumption by the nation, on the extinction of the male line of 
 the monarchs of the house of Jaghellon, that all their subsequent political calamities may 
 be dated. The last two sovereigns of this race were most justly styled good and great kings 
 — father and son — Sigismund I. and II. But on the death of the last, about the middle of 
 the sixteenth century, certain nobles of the nation, intoxicated with their wealth and privi- 
 leges, ran wild for dictation in all things ; and as the foundation for such rule, they deter- 
 mined to make the succession of their future kings entirely dependent on the free vote of 
 
Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. 6 1 
 
 building, the earth is cut into natural ramparts, which rise in 
 high succession until they reacli the foundations of the palace, 
 where they terminate in a noble terrace. These ramparts, 
 covered with grass, overlook the stone outworks, and spread 
 down to the bottom of the hill, which being clothed with fine 
 trees and luxuriant underwood, forms such a rich and verdant 
 base to the fortress as I have not language to describe : were 
 I privileged to be poetical, I would say it reminds me of the 
 God of war sleeping amid roses in the bower of love. Here 
 the eye may wander over the gifts of bounteous Nature, array- 
 ing hill and dale in all the united treasures of spring and 
 autumn. The forest stretches its yet unseared arms to the 
 breeze ; whilst that breeze comes laden with the fragrance of 
 the tented hay, and the thousand sweets breathed from flowers, 
 which in this delicious country weep honey. 
 
 *' A magnificent flight of steps led us from the foot of the 
 ramparts up to the gate of the palace. We entered it, and 
 were presently surrounded by a train of attendants in such 
 sumptuous liveries, than 1 found myself all at once carried back 
 into the fifteenth century, and might have fancied myself within 
 the courtly halls of our Tudors and Plantagenets. You can 
 better conceive that I can paint the scene which took place 
 between the palatine, the countess, and her son. I can only 
 repeat, that from that hour I have known no want of happiness 
 but what arises from regret that my dear family are not par- 
 takers with me. 
 
 " You know that this stupendous building was the favorite 
 residence of John Sobieski, and that he erected it as a resting- 
 place from the labors of his long and glorious reign. I cannot 
 move without meeting some vestige of that truly great monarch. 
 I sleep in his bed chamber : there hangs his portrait, dressed 
 in the robes of sovereignty ; here are suspended the arms with 
 which he saved the very kingdoms which have now met together 
 to destroy his country. On one side is his library ; on the 
 
 public suffrage ; and the plain of Vola was made the terrible arena. So it may be called ; 
 fur, from the time of the first monarch so elected, Henry of Valois, a stranger to the coun- 
 try, and brother to the execrable Charles IX. of France, bribery or violence have been the 
 uiual keys to the throne of Poland. For the doors of the country being once opened by 
 the misguided people themselves to the influence of ambition, partiality, and passion, and 
 shut against the old tenure of a settled succession, foreign powers were always ready to step 
 in, with the gold or the sword; and Poland necessarily became a vassal adjunct to whatever 
 neighboring country furnished the new sovereign. Thus it was, with a few exceptions (as 
 in the case of the glorious John Sobieski), until the election of Stanislaus Augustus, who, 
 though nominated by the power of the Empress of Russia, yet being, like Sobieski, a native 
 prince of the nation, determined to govern the people of Poland in the spirit of his and 
 their most glorious ancestors; and true to the vow, treading in the steps of the last of the 
 Jighellons, he gave to Poland the constitution of 1791, which, with the re-ennction of many 
 wise law^. again made the throne hereditary. Hence the devoted struggles of every arm in 
 the country iu loyal defence of such a recovered existence. 
 
62 THADDEUS OF W.^RSAIV. 
 
 Other, the little chapel in which he used to pay his morning 
 and evening devotions. Wherever I look, my eye finds some 
 object to excite my reflections and emulation. The noble dead 
 seem to address me from their graves ; and I blush at ihe in- 
 glorious life I might have pursued had I never visited this house 
 and its inhabitants. Yet, my dearest mother, I do not mean 
 to insinuate that my honored father and brave ancestors have 
 not set me examples as bright as man need follow. But 
 human nature is capricious ; we are not so easily stimulated by 
 what is always in our view as with sights wdiich, rising up when 
 we are removed from our customary associations, surprise and 
 captivate our attention. Villanow has only awakened me to 
 the lesson which I conned over in drowsy carelessness at home. 
 Thaddeus Sobieski is hardly one year my senior; but, good 
 heaven ! what has he not done ? what has he not acquired ? 
 Whilst I abused the indulgence of my parents, and wasted my 
 days in riding, shooting, and walking the streets, he was learn- 
 ing to act as became a man of rank and virtue ; and by seizing 
 every opportunity to serve the state, he has obtained a rich 
 reward in the respect and admiration of his country. I am not 
 envious, but I now feel the truth of Caesar's speech, when he 
 declared ' The reputation of Alexander would not let him 
 sleep.* Nevertheless, I dearly love my friend. I murmur at 
 my own demerits, not at his worth. 
 
 " I have scribbled over all my paper, otherwise I verily 
 believe I should write more , however, I promise you another 
 letter in a week or two. Meanwhile I shall send this packet 
 to Mr. Loftus, who is at St. Petersburg, to forward it to you. 
 Adieu, my dear mother ! I am, with reverence to my father 
 and yourself. 
 
 " Your truly affectionate son, 
 
 "Pembroke Somerset. 
 " Villanow, August, 1792." 
 
PEMliKDKK Sf)MKRSF.T WOUNDED. 
 
TIJADVEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 63 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SOCIETY IN POLAND. 
 
 "To Lady Somerset, Somerset Castle, England. 
 [Written three weeks after the preceding.] 
 
 " You know, my dear mother, that your Pembroke is famous 
 for his ingenious mode of showing the full value of every favor 
 he confers ! Can I then relinquish the temptation of telling 
 you what I have left to make you happy with this epistle ? 
 
 *' About five minutes ago, I was sitting on the lawn at the 
 feet of the countess, reading to her and the Princess Poniatow- 
 ski the charming poem of 'The Pleasures of IMemory.' As 
 both these ladies understand English, they were admiring it, 
 and paying many compliments to the graces of my delivery, 
 when the palatine presented himself, and told me, if I had any 
 commands for St. Petersburg, I must prepare them, for a mes- 
 senger was to set off on the next morning, by daybreak.' I 
 instantly sprang up, threw my book into the hand of Thaddeus, 
 and here I am in my own room scribbling to you ! 
 
 " P>en at the moment in which I dip my pen in the ink, my 
 hurrying imagination paints on my heart the situation of my 
 beloved home when this letter reaches you. I think I see you 
 and my good aunt, seated on the blue sofa in your dressing- 
 room, with your needle-work on the little table before you ; I 
 see Mary in her usual nook — the recess by the old harpsichord 
 — and my dear father bringing in this happy letter from your son ! 
 I must confess this romantic kind of fancy-sketching makes me 
 feel rather oddly : very unlike what I felt a few months ago, 
 when I was a mere coxcomb — indifferent, unreflecting, unap- 
 preciating, and fit for nothing better than to hold pins at my 
 lady's toilet. Well, it is now made evident to me that we never 
 know the blessings bestowed on us until we are separated from 
 the possession of them. Absence tightens the strings which* 
 unites friends as well as lovers : at least I find it so ; and 
 thoujrh I am in the fruition of everv good on this side the ocean, 
 yet my very happiness renders me ungrateful, and I repine 
 
6yj. THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 because i enjoy it alone. Positively, I must bring 3'ou all hither 
 to pass a summer, or. come back at the termination of my 
 travels, and carry away this dear family by main force to 
 England. 
 
 " Tell my cousin Mary that, either way, I shall present to 
 her esteem the most amiable and accomplished of my sex ; but 
 I warn her not to fall in love with him, neither in propria per- 
 sond, nor by his public fame, nor with his private character. 
 Tell her * he is a bright and particular star,' neither in hei 
 sphere nor in any other -woman's. In this way he is as cold as 
 ' Dian's Crescent ;' and to my great amazement too, for when I 
 throw my eyes over the many lovely young women who at dif- 
 ferent times fill the drawing-room of the countess, I cannot but 
 wonder at the perfect indifference with which he views their (to 
 me) irresistible charms. 
 
 " He is polite and attentive to them all ; he talks with them, 
 smiles with them, and treats them with every gentle compla- 
 cency ; but they do not live one instant in his memory. I 
 mean they do not occupy his particular wishes; for with regard 
 to every respectful sentiment towards the sex in general, and 
 esteem to some amiable individuals, he is as awake as in the 
 other case he is still asleep. The fact is, he has no idea of ap- 
 propriation \ he never casts one thought upon himself ; kind- 
 ness is spontaneous in his nature ; his sunny eyes beam on all 
 with modest benignity, and his frank and glowing conversation 
 is directed to every rank of people. They imbibe it with an 
 avidity and love which makes its way to his heart, without 
 kindHng one spark of vanity. Thus, whilst his fine person and 
 splendid actions fill every eye and bosom, I see him moving in 
 the circle unconscious of his eminence and the admiration he 
 excites. 
 
 " Drawn by such an example, to which his high quality as 
 well as extraordinary merit gives so great an influence, most of 
 the younger nobility have been led to enter the army. These 
 circumstances, added to the detail of his bravery and uncom- 
 mon talents in the field, have made him an object of universal 
 regard, and, in consequence, w^herever he is seen he meets with 
 appkuse and acclamation : nay, even at the appearance of his 
 carriage in the streets, the passengers take off their hats and 
 pray for him till he is out of sight. It is only then that I per- 
 ceive his cheek flush with the conviction that he is seated in 
 their hearts. 
 
 " ' It is this, Thaddeus,' said I to him one day, when walking 
 to:rether we were obliiied lo retire into a house from the crowds 
 
THADDEUS OF WAKSAW. 6; 
 
 that followed him; 'it is this, my dear friend, which sliiclds 
 your heart against the arrows of love. You have no place for 
 that passion ; your mistress is glory, and she courts you.' 
 
 " ' My mistress is my country,' replied he ; ' at present I 
 desire no other. For her I would die ; for her only would I 
 wish to live.' Whilst he spoke, the energy of his soul blazed in 
 his eye. I smiled. 
 
 "'You are an enthusiast, Thaddeus,' I said. 
 
 * * Pembroke ! ' returned he, in a surprised and reproachful 
 tone. 
 
 "'I do not give you that name opprobriously,' resumed I, 
 laughing; 'but there are many in my country, who, hearing 
 these sentiments, would not scruple to call 3'ou mad.' 
 
 " ' Then 1 pity them,' returned Thaddeus. * Men who can- 
 not ardently feel, cannot taste supreme happiness. My grand- 
 father educated me at the feet of patriotism ; and when I 
 forget his precepts and example, may my guardian angel forget 
 me!' 
 
 "'Happy, glorious Thaddeus!' cried I, grasping his 
 hand; 'how I envy you your destiny ! to live aj you do, iu 
 the lap of honor, virtue and glory the aim and end of your 
 existence ! ' 
 
 "The animated countenance of my friend chan^jed at these 
 words, and laying his hand on my arm, he said, ' Do not envy 
 me my destiny. Pembroke, you are the son of a free and loyal 
 country, at peace with itself ; insatiate power has not dared to 
 invade its rights. Your king, in happy security, reigns in the 
 confidence of his people, whilst our anointed Stanislaus is baited 
 and insulted by oppression from without and ingratitude within. 
 Do not envy me ; I would rather live in obscurity all my days 
 than have the means which calamity may produce of acquiring 
 celebrity over the ruins of Poland. O ! my friend, the wreath 
 that crowns the head of conquest is thick and briglit ; but that 
 which binds the olive of peace on the bleeding wounds of my 
 country will be the dearest to me.' 
 
 " Such sentiments, my dear madaui, have opened new lights 
 upon my poor mistaken faculties. I never considered the sub- 
 ject so maturely as my friend has done ; victory and glory were 
 with me synonymous words. I had not learned, until frequent 
 conversations with the young, ardent, and pious Sobicski taught 
 me, how to discriminate between animal courage and true valor 
 — between the defender of his country and the ravager of 
 other states. In short, T sec in Thaddeus Sobieski all that mv 
 
56 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. * 
 
 fancy hath ever pictured of the heroic character. Whilst I con- 
 template the sublimity of his sentiments and the tenderness of 
 his soul, I cannot help thinking how few would believe that so 
 many admirable qualities could belong to one mind, and that 
 mind remain unacquainted with the throes of ambition or the 
 throbs of self-love." 
 
 Pembroke judged rightly of his friend ; for if ever the real 
 disinterested amor patrive glowed in the breast of a man, it 
 animated the heart of the young Sobieski. At the termination 
 of the foregoing sentence in the letter to his mother, Pembroke 
 was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, -who presented 
 him a packet which had that moment arrived from St. Peters- 
 burg. He took it, and putting his writing materials into a desk, 
 read the following epistle from his governor : 
 
 "To Pembroke Somerset, Esq. 
 *' My dear sir, 
 
 *' I have this day received your letter, enclosing one for 
 Lady wSomerset. You must pardon me that I have detained it, 
 and will continue to do so until I am favored with your answer 
 to this, for which I shall most anxiously wait. 
 
 *' You know, Mr. Somerset, my reputation in the sciences ; 
 you know my depth in the languages ; and besides, the Mar- 
 quis of Inverary, with whom I travelled over the Continent, 
 offered you sufficient credentials respecting my knowledge of 
 the world, and the honorable manner in which I treat my pupils. 
 Sir Robert Somerset and your lady mother were amply satisfied 
 with the account which his lordship gave of my character ; but 
 with all this, in one point every man is vulnerable. No scholar 
 can forget those lines of the poet : — 
 
 ' Felices ter, ct amplius, 
 
 Quos irrupta tenet copula ; nee mails 
 Divulsus quaerimoniis, 
 
 Suprema citius solvet amor die.' 
 
 It has been my misfortune that I have felt them. 
 
 " You are not ignorant that I was known to the Brinicki 
 family, when I had the honor of conducting the marquis through 
 Russia. The count's accomplished kinswoman, the amiable 
 and learned widow of Baron Surowkoff, even then took partic- 
 ular notice of me ; and when I returned with you to St. Peters- 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARS AW. 67 
 
 burj, I did not find that my short absence had obliterated me 
 from her memory. 
 
 " You are well acquainted with the dignity of that lady's 
 opinions on political subjects. She and I coincided in ardor 
 for the consolidating cause of sovereignty, and in hatred of that 
 levelling power which pervades all Europe. ]\Iany have been 
 the long and interesting conversations we have held together 
 on the prosecution of the grand schemes of the three great con- 
 tracting monarchs. 
 
 " The baroness, I need not observe, is as handsome as she 
 is ingenuous ; her understanding is as masculine as her person 
 is desirable ; and I had been more or less than man had I not 
 understood that my figure and talents were agreeable to her. 
 I cannot say that she absolutely promised me her hand, but she 
 went as far that way as delicacy would permit. I am thus cir- 
 cumstantial, Mr. Somerset, to show you that I do not proceed 
 without proof. She has repeatedly said in my presence that 
 she would never marry any man unless he were not only well- 
 looking, but of the profoundest erudition, united with an ac- 
 quaintance with men and manners which none can dispute. 
 
 * Besides,' added she, ' he must not differ with me one tittle in 
 politics, for on that head I hold myself second to no man or 
 woman in Europe.' And then she has complimented me, by 
 declaring that I possessed more judicious sentiments on govern- 
 ment than any man in St. Petersburg, and that she should con- 
 sider herself happy, on the first vacancy in the imperial college, 
 to introduce me at court, where she was ' sure the empress would 
 at once discover the value of my talents ; but,' she continued, 
 
 * in such a case, I will not allow that even her majesty shall 
 rival me in your esteem.' The modesty natural to my charac- 
 ter told me that these praises must have some other source than 
 my comparatively unequal abilities ; and I unequivocally found 
 it in the partiality with which her ladyship condescended to re- 
 gard me. 
 
 "Was I to blame, Mr. Somerset ? Would not any man of 
 sensibility and honor have comprehended such advances from 
 a Vv'oman of her rank and reputation t I could not be mistaken ; 
 her looks and words needed no explanation which my judgment 
 could not pronounce. Though I am aware that I do not possess 
 \\\'dX lumen purpureum juvc7ii(E which attracts very young, unedu- 
 cated women, yet I am not much turned of fifty ; and from the 
 baroness's singular behavior, I had every reason to expect hand- 
 somer treatment than shie has been pleased to dispense to me 
 since my return to this capital. 
 
68 rilADDEUS CF WARSAW. 
 
 " But to proceed regularly — (I must beg your pardon for the 
 warmth which has hurried me to this digression) : you know, 
 sir, that from the hour in which I had the honor of taking leave 
 of your noble family in England, I strove to impress upon your 
 rather volatile mind a just and accurate conception of the 
 people amongst whom I was to conduct you. When I brought 
 you into this extensive empire, I left no means unexerted to 
 heighten your respect not only for its amiable sovereign, but 
 for all powers in amity with her. It is the characteristic of 
 genius to be zealous. I was so, in favor of the pretensions of 
 the great Catherine to that miserable country in which you now 
 are, and to which she deigned to offer her protection. 'J'o this 
 zeal, and my unfortunate though honorable devotion to the 
 wishes of the baroness, I am constrained to attribute my present 
 dilemma. 
 
 " When Poland had the insolence to rebel against its illus- 
 trious mistress, you remember that all the rational world was 
 highly incensed. The Baroness Surowkoff declared herself fre- 
 quently, and with vehemence she appealed to me. My veracity 
 and my principles were called forth, and I confessed that I 
 thought every friend to the Tzaritza ought to take up arms 
 against that ungrateful people. The Count Brinicki was then 
 appointed to command the Russian forces preparing to join the 
 formidable allies ; and h^r ladyship, very unexpectedly on my 
 part, answered me by approving what I said, and added that 
 of course I meant to follow her cousin into Poland, for that 
 even she, as a woman, was so earnest in the cause, she would 
 accompany him to the frontiers, and there await the result. 
 
 *' What could I do? How could I withstand the expecta- 
 tions of a lady of her quality, and one who I believed loved me ? 
 However, for some time I did oppose my wish to oblige her ; I 
 urged my cloth, and the impossibility of accounting for such a 
 line of conduct to the father of my pupil ? The baroness ridi- 
 culed all these arguments as mere excuses, and ended with say- 
 ing, 'Do as you please, Mr. Loftus. I have been deceived in 
 your character ; the friend of the Baroness Surowkoff must be 
 consistent \ he must be as willing to fight for the cause he es- 
 pouses as to speak for it : in this case, the sword must follow the 
 oration, else we shall see Poland in the hands of a rabble.' 
 
 " This decided me. I offered my services to the count to 
 attend him to the field. He and the young lords persuaded you 
 to do the same ; and as I could not think of leaving you, when 
 your father had placed you under my charge, I was pleased to 
 find that my approval confirmed your wish to turn soldier. I 
 
TJIADDEUS or WARSAW. (jq 
 
 Trasr not then acquainted, Mr. Somerset (for you did not tell 
 me of it until we were far advanced into Poland), with Sir 
 Is-obert's and my lady's dislike of the army. This has been a 
 prime source of my error throughout this affair. Had I known 
 their repugnance to your taking up arms, my duty would have 
 triumphed over even my devotion to the baroness ; but I was 
 born under a melancholy horoscope ; nothing happens as any 
 one of my humblest wishes might warrant. 
 
 " At the first onset of the battle, I became so suddenly ill 
 that I was obliged to retire ; and on this unfortunate event, 
 which was completely unwilled on my part (for no man can com- 
 mand the periods of sickness), the baroness founded a contempt 
 which has disconcerted all my schemes. Besides, when I at- 
 tempted to remonstrate with her ladyship on the promise which, 
 if not directly given, was implied, she laughed at me ; and when 
 1 persisted in my suit, all at once, like the rest of her ungrate- 
 ful and undistinguishing sex, she burst into a tempest of invec- 
 tives, and forbade me her presence. 
 
 " What am I now to do, Mr. Somerset.? This inconsistent 
 woman has betrayed me into conduct diametrically opposite to 
 the commands of your family. Your father particularly desired 
 that I would not suffer you to go either into Hungary or Poland. 
 In the last instance I have permitted you to disobey him. And 
 my Lady Somerset (who, alas ! I now remember lost both her 
 father and brother in different engagements), you tell me, had 
 declared that she never would pardon the man who should put 
 military ideas into your head. 
 
 "Therefore, sir, though you are my pupil, I throw myself on 
 your generosity. If you persist in acquainting your family with 
 the late transactions at Zielime, and your present residence in 
 Poland, I shall hnally be ruined. I shall not only forfeit the 
 good opinion of your noble father and mother, but lose all pros- 
 pect of the living of Somerset, which Sir Robert was so gra- 
 cious as to promise should be mine on the demise of the pres- 
 ent incumbent. You know, Mr, Somerset, that I have a mother 
 and six sisters in Wales, whose support depends on my success 
 in life ; if my preferment be stopped now, they must necessarily 
 be involved in a distress which makes me shudder. 
 
 " I cannot add more, sir ; I know well your character for 
 generosity, and I therefore rest upon it with the utmost confi- 
 dence. I shall detain the letter which you did me the honor to 
 enclose for my Lady Somerset till I receive your decision ; and 
 ever, whilst I live, will I henceforth remain firm to my old and 
 favorite maxim, which I adopted from the glorious epistle of 
 
70 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Horace to Numicius. Perhaps you may not recollect the lines ? 
 They run thus : — 
 
 Nil admirari, prope res est una, Numici, 
 Solaque, quse possit facere et servare beatum. 
 
 " I have the honor to be, 
 " Dear sir, 
 ** Your most obedient servant, 
 
 '' Andrew Loftus. 
 *' St. Petersburg, September, 1792." 
 
 " P. S. Just as I was about sealing this packet, the Eng- 
 lish ambassador forwarded to me a short letter from your 
 father, in which he desires us to quit Russia, and to make the 
 best of our way to England, where you are wanted on a most 
 urgent occasion. He explains himself no further, only repeat- 
 ing his orders in express commands that we set off instantly. 
 I wait your directions." 
 
 This epistle disconcerted Mr. Somerset. He always guessed 
 the Baroness Surowkoff was amusing herself with his vain and 
 pedantic preceptor; but he never entertained a suspicion that 
 her ladyship would carry her pleasantry to so cruel an excess. 
 He clearly saw that the fears of Mr. Loftus with regard to the 
 displeasure of his parents were far from groundless ; and there- 
 fore, as there was no doubt, from the extreme age of Dr. 
 Manners, that the rectory of Somerset would soon become 
 vacant, he thought it better to oblige his poor governor, and 
 preserve their secret for a month or two, than to give him up 
 to the indignation of Sir Robert. On these grounds, Pem- 
 broke resolved to write to Mr. Loftus, and ease the anxiety of 
 his heart. Although he ridiculed his vanity, he could not help 
 respecting the affectionate solicitude of a son and a brother, 
 and as that plea had won him, half angry, half grieved, and 
 half laughing, he dispatched a few hasty lines. 
 
 "To THE Reverend Andrew Loftus, St. Petersburg. 
 
 " What whimsical fit, my dear sir, has seized my father, 
 that I am recalled at a moment's notice ? Faith, I am so mad 
 at the summons, and at his not deigning to assign a reason for 
 his order, that I do not know how I may be tempted to act. 
 
 '' Another thing, you beg of me not to say a word of my 
 having been in Poland ; and for that purpose you have with- 
 held the letter which I sent to you to forward to my mother! 
 
7 'IJA DDE I 'S OF \ I 'A A'SA JV. 
 
 71 
 
 Vou oiler far-fetched and precious excuses for liaving betrayed 
 your own wisdom, and your pupil's innocence, into so mortal 
 an offence. One cause of my being here, you say, was your 
 'ardor in the cause of insulted Russia, and your hatred of 
 that levelling power which pervades all Europe.' 
 
 " Well, 1 grant it. I understood from you and Brinicki 
 that you were leading me against a set of violent, discontented 
 men of rank, who, in proportion as each was inflated with his 
 own personal pride, despised all of their own order who did 
 not agree with them, and, coalescing together under the name 
 of freedom, were introducing anarchy throughout a country 
 which Catharine would graciously have protected. All this I 
 find to be in error. But both of you may have been misled : 
 the count by partiality and you by misrepresentation ; there- 
 fore I do not perceive why you should be in such a terror. 
 The wisest man in the world may see through bad lights ; and 
 why should you think my father would never pardon you for 
 having been so unlucky ? 
 
 " Vet to dispel your dread of such tidings ruining you with 
 Sir Robert, I will not be the first to tell him of our quixoting. 
 Only remember, my good sir, — though, to oblige you, I with- 
 hold my letters to my mother, and when I arrive in England 
 shall lock up my lips from mentioning Poland, — that posilivel}', 
 £ will not be mute one day longer than that in which my father 
 presents you with the living of Somerset; then you will be in- 
 dependent of his displeasure, and I may, and will, declare my 
 everlasting gratitude to this illustrious family. 
 
 " I am half mad when I think of leaving them. I must 
 now tear myself from this mansion of comfort and affection, to 
 wander with you in some rumbling old barouche ' over brake and 
 through briar ! ' Well, patience ! Another such upset to your 
 friends of the Neva, and with ' victory perched like an eagle 
 on their laurelled brows,' I may have some chance of wooing 
 the Sobieskis to the banks of the Thames. At present, I have 
 not sufficient hope to keep me in good-humor. 
 
 " Meet me this day week at Dantzic : I shall there embark 
 for England. You had best not bring the foreign servants 
 ^vith you ; they might blab. Discharge them at St. Petersburg, 
 and hire a courier for yourself, whom we may drop at the 
 seaport. 
 
 " I have the honor to remain, 
 " Dear sir, 
 "Your most obedient servant, 
 
 Pembroke Somersep. 
 
22 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 When Somerset joined his friends at supper, and imparted 
 to them the commands of his father, an immediate change was 
 produced in the spirits of the party. During the lamentations 
 of the ladies and the murmurs of the young men, the countess 
 tried to dispel the effects of the information by addressing 
 Pembroke with a smile, and saying, " But we hope that you 
 have seen enough at Villanow to tempt you back again at no 
 very distant period ? Tell Lady Somerset you have left a 
 second mother in Poland, who will long to receive another 
 visit from her adopted son." 
 
 " Yes, my dear madam," returned he ; " and I shall hope, 
 before a very distant period, to see those two kind mothers 
 united as intimately by friendship as they are in my heart." 
 
 Thaddeus listened with a saddened countenance. He had 
 not been accustomed to the thought of a long separation, and 
 when he met it now, he hardly knew how to proportion his 
 uneasiness to the privation. Hope and all the hilarities of 
 youth flushed in his soul ; his features continually glowed with 
 animation, v/hilst the gay beaming of his eyes ever answered 
 to the smile on his lips. Hence the slightest veering of his 
 mind was perceptible to the countess, who, turning round, saw 
 him leaning thoughtfully in his chair, whilst Pembroke, v/ith 
 increasing vehemence, was running through various invectives 
 against the hastiness of his recall. 
 
 " Come, come, Thaddeus ! " cried she ; " let us think no 
 more of this jDarting until it arrives. You know that anticipa- 
 tion of evil is the death of happiness ; and it wnll be a kind of 
 suicide should we destroy the hours we may yet enjoy together ' 
 in vain complainings that they are so soon to terminate." 
 
 A little exhortation from the countess, and a maternal kiss 
 which she imprinted on his cheek, restored him to cheerful- 
 ness, and the evening passed more pleasantly than it had por- 
 tended. 
 
 Much as the palatine esteemed Pembroke Somerset, his 
 mind was too deeply absorbed in the condition of the kingdom 
 to attend to less considerable cares. He beheld his country, 
 even on the verge of destruction, awaiting with firmness the 
 approach of the earthquake which threatened to ingulf it in 
 the neiojhborincr nations. Pie saw the storm lowerini^ • but he 
 determined, whilst there remained one spot of vantage ground 
 above the general wreck, that Poland should yet have a name 
 and a defender. These thoughts possessed him ; these plans 
 engaged him ; and he had not leisure to regret pleasure when 
 he was struggling for existence. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. y. 
 
 The empress continued to pour her armies into the heart 
 r)f the kingdom. The Kin<; of Prussia, boldly Hying from his 
 treaties, marched to bid Iier colors a conqueror's wcicome ; 
 and the Emperor of Germany, following the example of so 
 great a prince, did not blush to show that Lis word was equally 
 contemptible. 
 
 Dispatches daily arrived of the villages being laid waste ; 
 that neither age, sex, nor situatipn shielded the unfortunate 
 inhabitants, and that all the frontier provinces were in flames. 
 
 The Diet was called,* and the debates agitated with the 
 anxiety of men who were met to decide on their dearest in- 
 terests. The bosom of the benevolent Stanislaus bled at the 
 dreadful picture of his people's sufferings, and hardly able to 
 restrain his tears, he answered the animated exordiums of 
 Sobieski for resistance to the last with an appeal immediately 
 tp his heart. 
 
 " What is it that you urge me to do, my lord t " said he. 
 *' Was it not to secure the happiness of my subjects that I 
 labored t and finding my designs impracticable, what advantage 
 would it be to them should I pertinaciously oppose their small 
 numbers to the accumulated array of two empires, and of a 
 king almost as powerful as either. What is my kingdom but 
 the comfort of my people.'' What will it avail me to see them 
 fall around me, man by man, and the few who remain bending 
 in speechless sorrow over their graves .'* Such a sight would 
 break my heart. Poland without its people would be a desert, 
 and I a hermit rather than a king." 
 
 In vain the palatine combated these arguments, showing 
 the vain quiet such a peace might afford, by declaring it could 
 only be temporary. In vain he told his majesty that he would 
 purchase safety for the present race at the vast expense of not 
 only the liberty of posterity, but of its probity and happiness. 
 
 " However you disguise slavery," cried he, " it is slavery still. 
 Its chains, though wreathed with roses, not only fasten on the 
 body but rivet on the mind. They bend it from the loftiest 
 virtue to a debasement beneath calculation. They disgrace 
 honor ; they trample upon justice. They transform the legions 
 of Rome into a band of singers. They prostrate the sons of 
 Athens and of Sparta at the feet of cowards. They make man 
 abjure his birth right, bind himself to another's will, and give 
 that into a tyrant's hands which he received as a deposit from 
 Heaven — his reason, his conscience, and his soul. Think on 
 this, and then, if you can, subjugate Poland to her enemies." 
 
 * The cor.stiuitioiial Diet of Polanrl nearly answers iu principle to the British threo 
 estates in Parhajnent — King, Lords, ai.d Coniiiious. 
 
74 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Stanislaus, weakened by years and subdued by disappoint- 
 ment, now retained no higher wish than to save his subjects 
 from unmediale outrage. He did not answer the palatine, but 
 with streaming eyes bent over the table, and annulled the glori- 
 ous constitution of 1791. Then with emotions hardly short of 
 agony, he signed an order presented by a plenipotentiary from 
 the combined powers, which directed Prince Poniatowski to 
 deliver the army under his command into the hands of General 
 Brinicki. 
 
 As the king put his signature to these papers, Sobieski, who 
 had strenuously withstood each decision, started from his chair, 
 bowed to his sovereign, and in silence left the apartment. 
 Several noblemen followed him. 
 
 These pacific measures did not meet with better treatment 
 from without. When they were noised abroad, an alarmmg 
 commotion arose among the inhabitants of Warsaw, and nearly 
 four thousand men of the first families in the kingdom assem- 
 bled themselves in the park of Villanow, and with tumultuous 
 eagerness declared their resolution to resist the invaders of 
 their country to their last gasp. The Prince Sapieha, Kosci- 
 usko, and Sobieski, with the sage Dombrowski, were the first 
 who took this oath of fidelity to Poland ; and they administered 
 it to Thaddeus, who, kneeling down, inwardly invoked Heaven 
 to aid him, as he swore to fulfil his trust. 
 
 In the midst of these momentous affairs, Pembroke Somer- 
 set bade adieu to his Polish friends, and set sail with his 
 governor from Dantzic for England. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE DIET OF POLAND. 
 
 Those winter months which before this year had been at 
 Villanow the season for cheerfulness and festivity, now rolled 
 away in the sad pomp of national debates and military assem- 
 blies. 
 
 Prussia usurped the best part of Pomerelia, and garrisoned 
 it with troops ; Catharine declared her dominion over the vast 
 tract of land which lies between the Dwina and Borysthenes ; 
 and Frederick William marked down another sweep of Poland. 
 
TH AD DECS OF WAKSAU^ ^^ 
 
 to follow the fate of Dantzic and of Thorn, while watching the 
 dark policy of Austria regarding its selecting portions of the 
 dismembering state. 
 
 Calamities and insults were heaped day after day on the 
 defenceless Poles. The deputies of the provinces were put 
 into prison, and the provisions intended for the king's table in- 
 terrupted and appropriated by the depredators to their own use. 
 Sobieski remonstrated on this last outrage ; but incensed at re- 
 proof, and irritated at the sway which the palatine still held, 
 an order was issued for all the Sobieski estates in Lithuania 
 and Fodolia to be sequestrated and divided between four of the 
 invading generals. 
 
 In vain the Villanow confederation endeavored to remon- 
 strate with the empress. Her ambassador not only refused to 
 forward the dispatches, but threatened the nobles ''if they did 
 not comply with every one of his demands, he would lay all the 
 estates, possessions, and habitations of the members of the 
 Diet under an immediate military execution. Nay, punishment 
 should not stop there ; for if the king joined the Sobieski 
 party (to which he now appeared inclined}, the royal domains 
 should not only meet the same fate, but harsher treatment 
 should follow, until both the people and their proud sovereign 
 were brought into due subjection." 
 
 These menaces were too arrogant to have any other effect 
 upon the Poles than that of giving a new spur to their resolu- 
 tion. With the same firmness they repulsed similar fulminations 
 from the Prussian ambassador, and, with a coolness which was 
 only equalled by their intrepidity, they jorepared to resume their 
 arms. 
 
 Hearing by private information that their threats were de- 
 spised, next morning, before daybreak, the?e despotic envoys 
 surrounded the building where the confederation was sitting 
 with two battalions of grenadiers and four pieces of cannon, 
 and then issued orders that no Pole should pass the gates with- 
 out being fired on. General Rautenfeld, who was set over the 
 person of the king, declared that not even his majesty might 
 stir until the Diet had given an unanimous and full consent to 
 the imperial commands. 
 
 The Diet set forth the unlawfulness of signing any treaty 
 whilst thus withheld from the freedom of will and debate. 
 They urged that it was not legal to enter into deliberation when 
 violence had recently been exerted against any individual of 
 their body ; and how could they do it now, deprived as they 
 were of five of their principal members, whom the ambassadors 
 
75 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 well knew they had arrested on their way to the Senate ? So- 
 bieski and four of his friends being the members most inimical 
 to the oppression going on, were these five. In vain their 
 liberation was required ; and enraged at the pertinacity of this 
 opposition, Rautenfeld repeated the former threats, with the 
 addition of more, swearing that they should take place without 
 appeal if the Diet did not directly and unconditionally sign the 
 pretensions both of his court and that of Prussia. 
 
 After a hard contention of many hours, the members at last 
 agreed amongst themselves to make a solemn public protest 
 against the present tyrannous measures of the two ambassadors ; 
 and seeing that any attempt to inspire them even with decency 
 was useless, they determined to cease all debate, and kept a 
 profound silence when the marshal should propose the project 
 in demand. 
 
 This sorrowful silence was commenced in resentment and 
 retained through despair; this sorrowful silence was called by 
 their usurpers a consent ; this sorrowful silence is held up to 
 the world and to posterity as a free cession by the Poles of all 
 those rights which they had received from nature, ratified by 
 laws, and defended with their blood.* 
 
 The morning after this dreadful day, the Senate met at one 
 of the private palaces ; and, indignant and broken-hearted, 
 they delivered the following declaration to the people : — 
 
 " The Diet of Poland, hemmed in by foreign troops, men- 
 aced with an influx of the enemy, which would be attended by 
 universal ruin, and finally insulted by a thousand outrages, have 
 been forced to witness the signing of a submissive treaty v.ith 
 their enemies. 
 
 " The Diet had strenuously endeavored to have added to 
 that treaty some conditions to which they supposed the lament- 
 able state of the country would have extorted an acquiescence, 
 even from the heart of a conqueror's power. But the Diet 
 were deceived : they found such power was unaccompanied by 
 humanity ; they found that the foe, having thrown his victim to 
 the ground, would not refrain from exulting in the barbarous 
 triumph of trampling upon her neck. 
 
 " The Diet rely on the justice of Poland — rely on her belief 
 that they would not betray the citadel she confided to their 
 keeping. Her preservation is dearer to them than their lives ; 
 
 * Thii>, like the curule fathers of Rome, they sat iin3'ielding, awaiting the threatened 
 stroke. But the dignity of virtue held her shield over them ; and with an answering silence 
 ©n the part of the confederated ambassadors, the Diet-chamber was vacated. 
 
Til A DDE US OF \VA RSA IV. y 7 
 
 but fate seems to be on the side of tlieir destroyer. Fresli 
 insults have been heaped upon their heads and new hardships 
 have been imposed upon them. To prevent all dilibcrations 
 on this debasing treaty, they are not only surrounded by for- 
 eign troops, and dared with hostile messages, but they have 
 been violated by tiie arrest of their prime members, whilst 
 those who are still suffered to possess a personal freedom have 
 the most galling shackles laid upon their minds. 
 
 '• Therefore, I, the King of Poland, enervated by age, and 
 sinking under the accumulated weight of my kingdom's afflic- 
 tions, and also we, the members of the Diet, declare that, 
 being unable, even by the sacrifice of our lives, to relieve our 
 country from the yoke of its oppressors, we consign it to our 
 children and the justice of Heaven. 
 
 *' In another age, means may be found to rescue it from 
 chains and misery ; but such means are not put in our power. 
 Other countries neglect us. \\'hilst they reprobate the v ola- 
 tions which a neighboring nation is alleged to have committed 
 against rational liberty, they behold, not only with apathy but 
 witli approbation, the ravages which are now desolating Poland. 
 Posterity must avenge it. We have done. We accede in 
 silence, for the reasons above mentioned, to the treaty laid 
 before us, though we declare that it is contrary to our wishes, 
 to our sentiments, and to our rights." 
 
 Thus, in November, 1793, compressed to one fourth of her 
 dimensions by the lines of demarcation drawn by her invaders, 
 Poland was stripped of her rank in Europe ; her " power de- 
 livered up to strangers, and her beauty into the hands of her 
 enemies ! " Ill-fated people ! Nations will weep over your 
 wrongs ; whilst the burning blush of shame, that their fathers 
 witnessed such wrongs unmoved, shall cause the tears to blister 
 us they fall. 
 
 During these transactions, the Countess Sobieski continued 
 in solitude at Villanow, awaiting with awful anxiety the termina- 
 tion of those portentous events which so deeply involved her 
 own comforts with those of her country. Her father was in 
 prison, her son at a distance with the army. Sick a: heart, she 
 saw the opening of that spring which might be the commence- 
 ment only of a new season of injuries ; and her fears were pro- 
 phetic. 
 
 It being discovered that some Masovian regiments in the 
 neii^hborhood of Warsaw yet retained their arms, they were 
 ordered by the foreign envoys to lay them down. A few, 
 thinking denial \ain, obeyed ; but bolder spirits followed 
 
78 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 
 
 Thaddeus Sobieski towards South Prussia, whither he had 
 directed his steps on the arrest of his grandfather, and where 
 he had gathered and kept together a handful of brave men, 
 still faithful to their liberties. His name alone collected num- 
 bers in every district through which he marched. Persecution 
 from their adversary as well as admira.ion of Thaddeus had 
 given a resistless power to his appearance, look, and voice, all 
 cf which had such an effect on the peasantry, that they eagerly 
 crowded to his standard, whilst their young lords committed 
 themselves without reserve to his sole judgment and command. 
 The Prussian ambassador, hearing of this, sent to Stanislaus 
 to command the grandson of Sobieski to disband his troops. 
 The king refusing, and his answer being communicated to the 
 Russian envoy also, war was renewed with redoubled fury. 
 
 The palatine remained in confinement, hopeless of obtaining 
 release without the aid of stratagem. His country's enemies 
 were too well aware of their interest to give freedom to so 
 active an opponent. They sought to vex his spirit with every 
 aiental torture ; but he rather received consolation than despair 
 in the reports daily brought to him by his jailers. They told 
 iiim " that his grandson continued to carry himself with such 
 insolent opposition in the south, it would be well if the empress, 
 (It the termination of the war, allowed him to escape with ban- 
 ishment to Siberia." But every reproach thus levelled at the 
 palatine he found had been bought by some new success of 
 Thaddeus ; and instead of permitting their malignity to intim- 
 idate his age or alarm his affection, he told the officer (who 
 kept guard in his chambers) that if his grandson were to lose 
 his head for fidelity to Poland, he should behold him with as 
 proud an eye mounting the scaffold as entering the streets of 
 Warsaw with her freedom in his hand. "The only difference 
 would be," continued Sobieski, " that as the first cannot 
 happen until all virtue be dead in this land, I should regard 
 his last gasp as the expiring sigh of that virtue which, by him, 
 had found a triumph even under the axe. But for the second, 
 it would be joy unutterable to behold the victory of justice over 
 rapine and violence 1 But, either way, Thaddeus Sobieski is 
 still the same — ready to die or ready to live for his country, 
 and equally worthy of the sacred halo with w'hich posterity 
 would encircle his name forever." 
 
 Indeed, the accounts which arrived from this young soldier, 
 who had formed a junction with General Kosciusko, were in 
 the highest degree formidable to the coalesced powers. Having 
 gained several advantages over the Prussians, the tv,-o victorious 
 
rilADDEL'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 79 
 
 tjaftalions were advancing towards Inowlotz, wlicn a large and 
 fresh body of the enemy appeared suddenly on their rear. The 
 enemy on the opposite bank of the river, (whom the Poles were 
 driving before them,) at sight of this reinforcement, rallied ;< 
 and not only to retard the approach of the pursuers, but to 
 ensure their defeat from the army in view, they broke down the 
 wooden bridge by which they had escaped themselves. The 
 Poles were at a stand. Kosciusko proposed swimming across, 
 but owing to the recent heavy rains, the river was so swollen 
 and rapid that the young captains to whom he mentioned the 
 project, terrified by the blackness and dashing of the water, 
 drew back. The general, perceiving their panic, called Thad- 
 deus to him, and both plunged into the stream. Ashamed of 
 hesitation, the others now tried who could first follow their 
 example ; and, after hard buffeting with its tide, the whole 
 army gained the opposite shore. The Prussians who were in 
 the rear, incapable of the like intrepidity, halted ; and those 
 who had crossed on their former defeat, now again intimidated 
 at the daring courage of their adversaries, concealed themselves 
 ami 1st the thickets of an adjoining valley. 
 
 The two friends proceeded towards Cracow,* carrying re- 
 dress and protection to the provinces through which they 
 marched. But they had hardly rested a day in that city before 
 dispatches were received that Warsaw was lying at the mercy 
 of General Brinicki. No time could be lost; officers and men 
 had set their lives on the cause, and they recommenced their 
 toil of a new march with a perseverance which brought them 
 before the capital on the i6th of April. 
 
 Things were in a worse state than even was expected. The 
 three ambassadors had not only demanded the surrender of the 
 national arsenal, but subscribed their orders with a threat that 
 whoever of the nobles presumed to dispute their authority 
 should be arrested and closely imprisoned there ; and if the 
 people should dare to murmur, they would immediately order 
 General Brinicki to lay the city in ashes. 
 
 The king remonstrated against such oppression, and to 
 "punish his presumption," his excellency ordered that his 
 majesty's garrison and guards should instantly be broken up 
 and dispersed. At the first attempt to execute this mandate, 
 the people fiew in crowds to the palace, and, falling on their 
 knees, implored Stanislaus for permission to avenge the insult 
 
 * Cracow is considered the oldest regnl city in Poland ; the tombs of her earliest and 
 noblest kings are there, John Sobicski's being one of the most renowned. It stands in a 
 province of the same name, about tro mi'es south-west of Warsaw, the more modern 
 capita; of the k;ngdo.n, and also the centre of its own province. 
 
8o THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 offered to his troops. The king looked at them with pit}^ 
 gratitude, and anguish. For some time his emotions were too 
 strong to allow him to speak ; at last, in a voice of agony, 
 wrung from iiis tortured heart, he answered, " Go, and defend 
 your honor ! " 
 
 The army of Kosciusko marched into the town at this critical 
 moment ; they joined the armed people ; and that day, after a 
 dreadful conflict, Warsaw was rescued from the immediate 
 grasp of the hovering Black Eagle. During the fight, the king, 
 who was alone in one of the rooms of his palace, sunk in de- 
 spair on the floor ; he heard the mingling clash of arms, the 
 roar of musketry, and the cries and groans of the combatants ; 
 ruin seemed no longer to threaten his kingdom, but to have 
 pounced at once upon her prey. At every renewed volley 
 which followed each pause in the firing, he expected to see his 
 palace gates burst open, and himself, then indeed made a will- 
 ing sacritice, immolated to the vengeance of his enemies. 
 
 While he was yet upon his knees petitioning the God of 
 battles for a little longer respite from that doom which was to 
 overwhelm devoted Poland, Thaddeus Sobieski, panting with 
 heat and toil, flew into the room, and before he could speak a 
 word, was clasped in the arms of the agitated Stanislaus. 
 
 " What of my people ? " asked the king. 
 
 " They are victorious ! " returned Thaddeus. " The foreign 
 guards are beaten from the palace ; your own have resumed their 
 station at the gates." 
 
 At this assurance, tears of joy ran over the venerable cheeks 
 of his majesty, and again embracing his young deliverer, he ex- 
 claimed, " I thank Heaven, my unhappy country is not bereft 
 of all hope! Whilst a Kosciusko and a Sobieski, live, she 
 need not quite despair. They are thy ministers, O Jehovah, 
 of a yet longer respite ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 
 BATTLE OF BRZESC THE TENTH OF OCTOBER. 
 
 Thaddeus was not less eager to release his grandfather 
 than he had been to relieve the anxiety of his sovereign. He 
 liastened, at the head of a few troops, to the prison of Sobieski, 
 and gave him liberty, amidst the acclamations of his soldiers. 
 
TITADDEUS OF WARSAW. 8 1 
 
 The universal joy at these prosperous events did not last 
 many days : it was speedily terminated by information that 
 Cracow had surrendered to a Prussian force, that the King of 
 Prussia was advancing towards the capital, and that the Rus- 
 ^.ians, more implacable in consequence of the late treatment 
 \heir garrison had received at Warsaw, were pourinjr into the 
 country like a deluge. 
 
 At this intelligence the consternation became dreadful. 
 Tlie Polonese army in general, worn with fatigue and long ser- 
 vice, and without clothing or ammunition, were not in any way, 
 excepting courage, fitted for resuming the field. 
 
 The treasury was exhausted, and means of raising a supply 
 seemed impracticable. The provinces were laid v/aste, and the 
 city had already been drained of its last ducat. In this exi- 
 gency a council met in his majesty's cabinet, to devise some ex- 
 pedient for obtaining resources. The consultation was as de- 
 sponding as their situation, until Thaddeus Sobieski. who had 
 been a silent observer, rose from his seat. Sudden indisposi- 
 tion had prevented the palatine attending, but his grandson 
 knew well how to be his substitute. Whilst blushes of awe and 
 eagerness crimsoned his cheek, he advanced tov.-ards Stanislaus, 
 and taking from his neck and other parts of his dress those 
 magnificent jewels it vv^as customary to wear in the presence of 
 the king, he knelt down, and laying them at the feet of his 
 majesty, said, in a suppressed voice, " 'Phese are trifles ; but 
 such as they are, and all of the like kind which we possess, I 
 am commanded by my grandfather to beseech your majesty to 
 appropriate to the public service." 
 
 " Noble young man ! " cried the king, raising him from the 
 ground ; " you have indeed taught me a lesson. I accept 
 these jewels with gratitude. Here," said he, turning to the 
 treasurer, "put them into the national fund, and let them be 
 followed by my own, with my gold and silver plate, which latter 
 I desire may be instantly sent to the mint. Three parts the 
 army shall have ; the other we must expend in giving support 
 to the surviving families of the brave men who have fallen in 
 our defence." The palatine readily united with his grandson in 
 the surrender of all their personal property for the benefit of 
 their country ; and, accorcHng to their example, the treasury 
 was soon filled with gratuities from the nobles. The very arti- 
 sans offered their services gratis ; and all hands being employed 
 to forward the preparations, tlie army was soon enabled to take 
 the field, newly equipped and in high spirits. 
 
 The countess had again to bid adieu to a son who was now 
 
82 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 become as much the object of her admiration as of her love. 
 In proportion as glory surrounded him and danger courted his 
 steps, the strings of affection drew him closer to her soul ; 
 the " aspiring blood " of the Sobieskis which beat in her veins 
 could not cheer the dread of a mother, could not cause her to 
 forget that the spring of her existence now flowed from the 
 fountain which had taken its source from her. Pier anxious 
 and watching heart paid dearly in tears and sleepless nights 
 for the honor with which she was saluted at every turning as 
 the mother of Thaddeus : that Thaddeus who was not more 
 the spirit of enterprise, and the rallying point of resistance, 
 than he was to her the gentlest, the dearest, the most amiable 
 of sons. It matters not to the undistinguishing bolt of carnage 
 whether it strike common breasts or those rare hearts whose 
 lives are usually as brief as they are dazzling; this leaden 
 messenger of death banquets as greedily on the bosom of a 
 hero as if it had lit upon more vulgar prey ; all is levelled to 
 the seeming chance of war, which comes like a whirlwind of 
 the desert, scattering man and beast in one wide ruin. 
 
 Such thoughts as these possessed the melancholy but prayer- 
 ful reveries of the Countess Sobieski, from the hour in which 
 she saw Thaddeus and his grandfather depart for Cracow until 
 she heard it was retaken, and that the enemy were defeated in 
 several subsequent contests. 
 
 Warsaw was again bombarded, and again Kosciusko, with 
 the palatine and Thaddeus, preserved it from destruction. In 
 short, wherever they moved, their dauntless little army carried 
 terror to its adversaries, and diffused hope through the homes 
 and hearts of their countrymen. 
 
 They next turned their course to the relief of Lithuania ; 
 but whilst they were on their route thither, they received intelli- 
 gence that a division of the Poles, led by Prince Poniatowski, 
 having been routed by a formidable body of Russians under 
 Suwarrow, that general, elated with his success, was hastening 
 forward to re-attack the capital. 
 
 Kosciusko resolved to prevent him, prepared to give imme- 
 diate battle to Ferfen, another Russian commander, who was 
 on his march to form a junction with his victorious country- 
 men. To this end Kosciusko divided his forces ; half of them 
 to not only support the retreat of the prince, but to enable him 
 to hover near Suwarrow, and to keep a watchful eye over his 
 motions ; whilst Kosciusko, accompanied by the two Sobieskis, 
 would proceed with the other division towards Brzesc. 
 
 It was the tenth of October. The weather being: hnc. a 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. S3 
 
 cloudless sun diffused life and brilliancy through the pure air 
 of a keen morning. The vast green plain before them gliltered 
 with the troops of General Ferfen, who had already arranged 
 them in order of battle. 
 
 Tlie word was given. Thaddeus, as he drew his sabre* 
 from its scabbard, raised his eyes to implore the justice of 
 Heaven on that day's events. The attack was made. Tlie 
 Poles kept their station on the hei2:hts. The Russians rushed 
 on them like wolves, and twice they repulsed them by their 
 steadiness. Conquest declared for Poland. Thaddeus was 
 seen in every part of the field. But reinforcements poured in 
 to the support of Ferfen, and war raged in new horrors. Still 
 the courage of the Poles was unabated. Sobieski, fighting at 
 the head of his cavalry, would not recede a foot, and Kosciusko, 
 exhorting his men to be resolute, appeared in the hottest places 
 of the battle. 
 
 At one of these portentous moments, the commander-in- 
 chief was seen struggling with the third charger which had been 
 shot under him that da}-. Thaddeus galloped to his assistance, 
 gave him his horse, mounted another offered by a hussar, and 
 remained fighting by his side, till, on the next charge, Kosci- 
 usko himself fell forward. Thaddeus caught him in his arms, 
 and finding that his own breast was immediately covered with 
 blood, (a Cossack having stabbed the general through the 
 shoulder,) he unconsciously uttered a cry of horror. The sur- 
 rounding soldiers took the alarm, and " Kosciusko, our father, 
 is killed ! " was echoed from rank to rank with such piercing 
 shrieks, that the wounded hero started from the breast of his 
 young friend just as two Russian chasseurs in the same moment 
 made a cut at them both. The sabre struck the exposed head 
 of Kosciusko, who sunk senseless to the ground, and Thaddeus 
 received a gash near his neck that laid him by his side. 
 
 The consternation became universal ; groans of despair 
 seemed to issue from the whole army, whilst the few resolute 
 Poles who had been stationed near the fallen general fell in 
 mangled heaps upon his breast. Thaddeus with difficulty ex- 
 tricated himself from the bodies of the slain ; and, fighting his 
 way through the triumphant troops which pressed around him, 
 amidst the smoke and confusion soon joined his terror-stricken 
 comrades, who in the wildest despair were dispersing under a 
 
 • The sabre (like the once famed claymore of Scotland) was the characteristic weapon of 
 Poland. It was the especial ajipendage to the sides of the nobles ; — its use, llie science cf 
 their youth, their ornament and graceful exercise in peace, tlieir most efficient manual jiower 
 of attar.; or defence in war. It is impossible for any but an eye-witness to have any id^a 
 <f the skii, beauty, and determinaiion with which this weapon wa>, and \--, -.vieldcd v.\ Po- 
 land. 
 
84 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 heavy fire, and flying like frighted deer. In vain he called to 
 thein — in vain he urged them to avenge Kosciusko ; the panic 
 was complete, and they fled. 
 
 Almost alone, in the rear of his soldiers, he opposed with his 
 single and desperate arm party after party of the enemy, until 
 a narrow stream of the Muchavez stopped his retreat. The 
 waters were crimsoned with blood. He plunged in, and beat- 
 ing the bkishing wave with his left arm, in a few seconds gained 
 the opposite bank, where, fninting from fatigue and loss of 
 blood, he sunk, almost deprived of sense, amidst a heap of 
 the killed. 
 
 When the pursuing squadrons had galloped past him, he 
 again summoned strength to look round. He raised himself 
 from the ground, and by the help of his sabre supported his 
 steps a few paces further ; but what was the shock lie received 
 when the bleeding and lifeless body of his grandfather lay before 
 him ? He stood for a few moments motionless and without sen- 
 sation ; then, kneeling down by his side, whilst he felt as if his 
 own heart were palsied with death, he searched for the wounds 
 of the palatine. They were numerous and deep. He would 
 have torn away the handkerchief with which he had stanched 
 his own blood to have applied it to that of his grandfather ; but 
 in the instant he was so doing, feeling the act might the next 
 moment disable himself from giving him further assistance, he 
 took his sash and neck-cloth, and when they were insufficient, 
 he rent the linen from his breast ; then hastening to the river, 
 he brought a little water in his cap, and threw some of its stained 
 drops on the pale features of Sobieski. 
 
 The venerable hero opened his eyes ; in a minute afterwards 
 he recognized that it was his grandson who knelt by him. The 
 palatine pressed his hand, which was cold as ice : the marble 
 lips of Thaddeus could not move. 
 
 " My son," said the veteran, in a low voice, *' Heaven hath 
 led you hither to receive the last sigh of your grandfather." 
 Thaddeus trembled. The palatine continued : " Carry my bless- 
 ing to your mother, and bid her seek comfort in the consolations 
 of her God. May that God preserve you ! Ever remember that 
 you are his servant ; be obedient to him ; and as I have been, 
 be faithful to your country." 
 
 " May God so bless me ! " cried Thaddeus, looking up to 
 heaven. 
 
 " And ever remember," said the palatine, raising his head, 
 which had dropped on the bosom of his grandson, " that you 
 are a Sobieski ! it is my dying command that you never take 
 any other name." 
 
• • • • 
 
 • • • • 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 85 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 Thaddeus could say no more, for the countenance of his 
 grandfatiier became altered ; his eyes closed. Thaddeus caught 
 him to his breast. No heart beat against his ; all was still and 
 cold. The body dropped from his arms, and he sunk senseless 
 by its side. 
 
 When consciousness returned to him, he looked up. The 
 sky was shrouded in clouds, which a driving wind was blowing 
 from the orb of the moon, while a few of her white rays gleamed 
 sepulchrally on the weapons of the slaughtered soldiers. 
 
 The scattered senses of Thaddeus gradually returned lo him. 
 He was now lying, the only living creature amidst thousands 
 of the dead who, the preceding night, had been, like himself, 
 alive to all' the consciousness of existence ! His right hand 
 rested on the pale face of his grandfather. It was wet with 
 dew. He shuddered. Taking his own cloak from his shoulders, 
 he laid it over the body. He would have said, as he did it, 
 " So, my father, I would have sheltered thy life with my own ! " 
 but the words choked in his throat, and he sat watching by the 
 corpse until the day dawned, and the Poles returned to bury 
 their slain. 
 
 The wretched Thaddeus was discovered by a party of his own 
 hussars seated on a little mound of earth, with the cold hand 
 of Sobieski grasped in his. At this sight the soldiers uttered a 
 cry of dismay and sorrow. Thaddeus rose up. " My friends," 
 said he, " 1 thank God that you are come 1 Assist me to bear 
 my dear grandfather to the camp." 
 
 Astonished at this composure, but distressed at the dread- 
 ful hue of his countenance, they obeyed him in mournful silence, 
 and laid the remains of the palatine upon a bier, which they 
 formed with their sheathed sabres ; then gently raising it, they 
 retrod their steps to the camp, leaving a detachment to accom.- 
 plish the duty for which they had quitted it. Thaddeus, hardly 
 able to support his weakened frame, mounted a horse and fol- 
 lowed the melancholy procession. 
 
 General Wawrzecki, on whom the command had devolved, 
 seeing the party returning so soon, and in such an order, sent 
 an aid-de-camp to inquire the reason. He came back with de- 
 jection in his face, and informed his commander that the brave 
 Palatine of Masovia, whom they supposed had been taken pris- 
 oner with his grandson and Kosciusko, was the occasion of 
 this sudden return ; that he had been killed, and his body was 
 now approaching the lines on the arms of the soldiers. Wawr- 
 zecki, though glad to hear that Thaddeus was alive and at 
 
SS Til A DDE us OF WARSAW. 
 
 liberty, turned to conceal his tears ; then calling out a guard, 
 he marched at their head to meet the corpse of his illustrious 
 friend. 
 
 The bier was carried into the general's tent. An aid-de-camp 
 and some gentlemen of the faculty were ordered to attend 
 Thaddeus to his quarters ; but the young count, though scarcely 
 able to stand, appeared to linger, and holding fast by the arm 
 of an officer, he looked steadfastly on the body. Wawrzecki 
 understood his hesitation. He pressed his hand. " Fear not, 
 my dear sir," said he; "every honor shall be paid to the re- 
 mains of your noble grandfather." Thaddeus bowed his head, 
 and was supported out of the tent to his own. 
 
 His wounds, of which he had received several, were not 
 deep ; and might have been of little consequence, had not his 
 thoughts continually hovered about his mother, and painted 
 her affliction when she should be informed of the lamentable 
 events of the last day's battle. These reflections, awake or in 
 a slumber, (for he never slept,) possessed his mind, and, even 
 whilst his wounds were healing, produced such an irritation in 
 his blood as hourly threatened a fever. 
 
 Things were in this situation, when the surgeon put a letter 
 from the countess into his hand. He opened it, and read with 
 breathless anxiety these lines : 
 
 " To Thaddeus, Count Sobieski. 
 
 " Console yourself, my most precious son, console yourself 
 for my sake. I have seen Colonel Lonza, and I have heard all 
 the horrors which took place on the tenth of this month. I 
 have heard them, and I am yet alive. I am resigned. He tells 
 me you are wounded. Oh ! do not let me be bereft of my son 
 also ! Remember that you were my dear sainted father's dar- 
 ling ; remember that, as his representative, you are to be my 
 consolation ; in pity to me, if not to our suffering country, pre- 
 serve yourself to be at least the last comfort Heaven's mercy 
 hath spared to me. I find that all is lost to Poland as well as 
 to myself ! that when my glorious father fell, and his friend 
 with him, even its name, as a country, became extinct. The 
 allied invaders are in full march towards Masovia, and I am too 
 weak to come to you. Let me see you soon, very soon, my be- 
 loved son. I beseech you to come to me. You will find me 
 feebler in body than in mind ; for there is a holy Comforter 
 that descends on the bruised heart, which none other than the 
 unhappy have conceived or felt. Farewell, my dear, dear Thad- 
 
TflADDKrs OF M'ARSAW. 87 
 
 deus ! Let the memory that you have a mother clieck your too 
 ardent courage. God forever guard you ! Live for your mother, 
 who has no stronger words to express her affection for you than 
 she is thy mother — thy 
 
 " Therese Sokieski. 
 " ViLLANOW, October, 1794." 
 
 This letter was indeed a balm to the soul of Thaddeus. 
 That his mother had received intelligence of the cruel event 
 with such " holy resignation" was the best medicine that could 
 now be applied to his wounds, both of mind and body ; and 
 when he was told that on the succeeding morning the body of 
 his grandfather would be removed to the convent near Biala, 
 he declared his resolution to attend it to the grave. 
 
 \\\ vain his surgeons and General Wawrzecki remonstrated 
 against the danger of this project ; for once the gentle and 
 yielding spirit of Thaddeus was inflexible. He had fixed his 
 determination, and it was not to be shaken. 
 
 Next day, being the seventh from that in which the fatal 
 battle had been decided, Thaddeus, at the first beat of the drum, 
 rose from his pallet, and, almost unassisted, put on his clothes. 
 His uniform being black, he needed no other index than his 
 pale and mournful countenance to announce that he was chief 
 mourner. . 
 
 The procession began to form, and he walked from his tent. 
 It was a fine morning. Thaddeus looked up, as if to upbraid 
 the sun for shining so brightly. Lengthened and repeated 
 rounds of cannon roiled along the air. The solemn march of 
 the dead was moaning from the muflied drum, interrupted at 
 measured pauses by the shrill tremor of the fife. The troops, 
 preceded by their general, moved forward with a decent and 
 melancholy step. The Bishop of Warsaw followed, bearing the 
 sacred volume in his hands ; and next, borne upon the crossed 
 pikes of his soldiers, and supported by twelve of his veteran 
 companions, appeared the body of the brave Sobieski. A vel- 
 vet pall covered it, on which were laid those arms with which 
 for fifty years he had asserted the loyal independence of his 
 country. At this sight the sobs of the men became audible. 
 Thaddeus followed with a slow but firm step, his eyes bent to 
 the ground and his arms wrapped in his cloak ; it was the same 
 which had shaded his beloved grandfather from the dews of 
 that dreadful night. Another train of solemn music succeed- 
 ed ; and then the squadrons which the deceased had commanded 
 dismounted, and, leading their horses, closed the procession. 
 
$S THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 On the verge of the plahi that borders Biala, and within a 
 few paces of the convent gate of St. Francis, the bier stopped. 
 The monks saluted its appearance with a requiem, which they 
 continued to chant till the coffin was lowered into the ground. 
 The earth received its sacred deposit. The anthems ceased ; 
 the soldiers, kneeling down, discharged their muskets over it ; 
 then, vv'ith streaming cheeks, rose and gave place to others. 
 Nine volleys were fired, and the ranks fell back. The bishop 
 advanced to the head of the grave. All was hushed. He raised 
 liis eyes to heaven ; then, after a pause, in which he seemed to 
 be communing with the regions above him, he turned to the 
 silent assembly, and, in a voice collected and impressive, ad- 
 dressed them in a short but affecting oration, in which he set 
 forth the brightness of Sobieski's life, his noble forgetfulness of 
 self in the interests of his country, and the dauntless bravery 
 which laid him in the dust. A general discharge of cannon was 
 the awful response to this appeal. Wawrzecki took the sabre of 
 the palatine, and, breaking it, dropped it into the grave. The 
 aids-de-camp of the deceased did the same v/ith theirs, showing 
 that by so doing they resigned their offices ; and then, covering 
 their faces with their handkerchiefs, they turned away with the 
 soldiers, who filed off. Thaddeus sunk on his knees. His 
 hands were clasped, and his eyes for a few minutes fixed them- 
 selves on the coffin of his grandfather ; then rising, he leaned on 
 the arm of Wawrzecki, and with a tottering step and pallid 
 countenance, mounted his horse, which had been led to the 
 spot, and returned with the scattered procession to the camp. 
 
 The cause for exertion being over, his spirits fell with the 
 rapidity of a spring too highly wound up, which snaps and runs 
 down to immobility. He entered his tent and threw himself on 
 the bed, from which he did not raise for the five following days. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF VILLANOW. 
 
 At a time when the effects of these sufferings and fatigues 
 had brought his bodily strength to its lowest ebb, the young 
 Count Sobie^ki was roused by information that the Russians 
 had planted themselves before Praga, and were preparing to 
 
TH AD DECS OF WARSAW. S9 
 
 bombard the town. The intelligence nerved his heart's sinews 
 a^ain, and rallied the spirits, also, of his depressed soldiers, who 
 eneri^etically obeyed their commander to put themselves in 
 readiness to march at set of sun. 
 
 Thaddeus saw that the decisive hour was pending. And as 
 the moon rose, though hardly able to sit his noble charger, he 
 refused the indulgence of a litter, determining that no illness, 
 wliile he had any power to master its disabilities, should make 
 him recede from his duty. The image of his mother, too, so 
 near the threatened spot, rushed on his soul. In quick march 
 he led on his troops. Devastation met them over the face of the 
 country. Scared and houseless villagers were frying in every 
 direction ; old men stood amongst the ashes of their homes, 
 wailing to the pitying heavens, since man had none. Children 
 and woman sat by the waysides, weeping over the last sustenance 
 the wretched infants drew from the breasts of their perishing 
 mothers. 
 
 Thaddeus shut his eyes on the scene. 
 
 " Oh, my country ! my country ! " exclaimed he ; " what are 
 my personal griefs to thine .-* It is your afflictions that barb me 
 to the heart ! Look there," cried he to the soldiers, pointing to 
 the miserable spectacles before him; "look there, and carry 
 vengeance into the breasts of their destroyers. Let Praga be 
 the last act of this tragedy." 
 
 Unhappy young man ! unfortunate country ! It was indeed 
 the last act of a tragedy to which all Europe v.ere spectators — 
 a tragedy which the nations witnessed without one attempt to 
 stop or to delay its dreadful catastrophe ! Oh, how must vir- 
 tue be lost when it is no longer a matter of policy even to 
 assume it." * 
 
 After a long march through a dark and dismal night, the 
 morning began to break ; and Thaddeus fojnd himself on the 
 southern side of that little river which divides the territories of 
 Sobieski from the woods of Kobylka. Here, for the first time, 
 he endured all the torturing varieties of despair. 
 
 The once fertile fields were burnt to stubble ; the cottages 
 were yet smoking from the ravages of the fire ; and in place of 
 smiling eyes and thankful lips coming to meet him, he beheld 
 the dead bodies of his peasants stretched on the high roads, 
 
 • To answer this, we must remember that Europe was then no longer what she v^"^'^ a 
 century before. Almost all her nations had turned from the doctrines of "sound i'>:.igs," 
 and more or le<;s drank deeply of the cup of infidelity, drugged for them by the ll:'t;rring so- 
 phistries of Voltaire. The draught was inebriation, and the wi!d consequences burr.t aiunder 
 the responsibilities of man to man. The selfish principle ruled, and balance of justice was 
 then seen only aloft in the heavens I 
 
90 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 mangled, bleeding, and stripped of that decent covering which 
 humanity would not deny to the vilest criminal. 
 
 Thaddeus could bear the sight no longer, but, setting spurs 
 to his horse, fled from the contemplation of scenes which har- 
 rowed up his soul. 
 
 At nightfall, the army halted under the walls of Villanow. 
 The count looked towards the windows of the palace, and by a 
 light shining through the half-drawn curtains, distinguished his 
 mother's room. He then turned his eye on that sweep of build- 
 ing which contained the palatine's apartments ; but not one 
 solitary lamp illumined its gloom : the moon alone glimmered 
 on the battlements, silvering the painted glass of the study 
 window, where, with that beloved parent, he had so lately gazed 
 upon the stars, and anticipated with the most sanguine hopes 
 the result of the campaign which had now terminated so disas- 
 trously for his unhappy country. 
 
 But these thoughts, with his grief and his forebodings, were 
 buried in the depths of his determined heart. Addressing Gen- 
 eral Wawrzecki, he bade him welcome to Villanow, requesting 
 at the same time that his men might be directed to rest till 
 morning, and that he and the officers would take their refresh- 
 ment within the palace. 
 
 As soon as Thaddeus had seen his guests seated at different 
 tables in the eating-hall, and had given orders for the soldiers 
 to be served from the buttery and cellars, he withdrew to seek 
 the countess. He found her in her chamber, surrounded by 
 the attendants who had just informed her of his arrival. The 
 moment he appeared at the room door, the women went out at 
 an opposite passage, and Thaddeus, with a bursting heart, threw 
 himself on the bosom of his mother. They were silent for some 
 time. Poignant recollection stopped their utterance ; but 
 neither tears nor sighs filled its place, until the countess, on 
 whose soul the full tide of maternal affection pressed, and min- 
 gled with her grief, raised her head from her son's neck, and 
 said, whilst she strained him in her arms, "Receive my thanks, 
 O Father of mercy, for having spared to me this blessing! " 
 
 Thaddeus Sobieski (all that now remained of that beloved and 
 honored name !) with a sacred emotion breathed a response to 
 the address of his mother, and drying her tears with his kisses, 
 dwelt upon the never-dying fame of his revered grandfather, 
 upon his preferable lot to that of their brave friend Kosciusko, 
 who was doomed not only to survive the liberty of his country, 
 but to pass the residue of his life within the dungeons of his en- 
 emies. He then tried to reanimate her spirits with hope. He 
 
THADDEUS OF H'AA'SAkK 
 
 91 
 
 spoke of the approaching battle, wiihout any doubt of the valor 
 and desperation of the Poles rendering it successfuh He talked 
 of the resolution of their leader, General Wawrzecki, and of his 
 own good faith in the justice of their cause. His discourse 
 began in a wish to cheat her into tranquillity ; but as lie ad- 
 vanced on the subject, his soul took fire at its own warmth, and 
 he half believed the probability of his anticipations. 
 
 The countess looked on the honorable glow which crimsoned 
 his harassed features wdth a pang at her heart. 
 
 *' My heroic son ! " cried she, " my darling Thaddeus ! what 
 a vast price do I pay for all this excellence ! I could not love 
 you were you otherwise than w-hat you are ; and being what 
 you are, oh, how soon may I lose you ! Already has your noble 
 grandfather paid the debt which he owed to his glory. He 
 promised to fall with Poland ; he has kept his word ; and 
 now, all that I love on earth is concentrated in you." The 
 countess paused, and pressing his hand almost wildly on her 
 heart, she continued in a hurried voice, " The same spirit is in 
 your breast ; the same principle binds you ; and I may be at 
 last left alone. Heaven have pity on me ! " 
 
 She cast her eyes upward as she ended. Thaddeus, sink- 
 ing on his knees by her side, implored her with all the earnest- 
 ness of piety and confidence to take comfort. The countess 
 embraced him with a forced smile. " You must forgive me, 
 Thaddeus ; I have nothing of the soldier in my heart : it is all 
 woman. But I will not detain you longer from the rest you re- 
 quire ; go to your room, and try and recruit yourself for the 
 clangers to-morrow will bring forth. I shall employ the night in 
 prayers for your safety." 
 
 Consoled to see any composure in his mother, he withdrew, 
 and after having heard that his numerous guests were properly 
 lodged, went to his own chamber. 
 
 Next morning at sunrise the troops prepared to march. 
 General Wawrzecki, with his officers, begged permission to pay 
 their personal graditude to the countess for tlie hospitality of. 
 her reception ; but she declined the honor, on the plea of in- 
 disposition. In the course of an hour, her son appeared from 
 her apartment and joined the general. 
 
 The soldiers filed off through the gates, crossed the bridge, 
 and halted under the walls of Praga. The lines of the camp 
 were drawn and fortified before evening, at which time they 
 found leisure to observe the enemy's strength. 
 
 Russia seemed to have exhausted her wide regions to people 
 the narrow shores of the Vistula ; from east to west, as far as 
 
92 THADDEUS OF WARSAn^. 
 
 the eye could reacli, her arms were stretched to the horizon. 
 Sobieski looked at them, and then on the handful of intrepid 
 hearts contained in the small circumference of the Polish camp. 
 Sighing heavily, he retired into his tent ; and vainly seeking re- 
 pose, mixed his short and startled slumbers with frequent prayers 
 for the preservation of these last victims to their country. 
 
 The hours appeared to stand still. Several times he rose 
 from his bed and went to the door, to see whether the clouds 
 were tinged with any appearance of dawn. All continued dark. 
 He again returned to his marque'e, and standing by the lamp 
 which was nearly exhausted, took out his watch, and tried to 
 distinguish the points ; but finding that the light burned too 
 feebly, he was pressing the repeating spring, which struck five, 
 when the report of a single musket made him start. 
 
 He flew to his tent door, and looking around, saw that all 
 near his quarter was at rest. Suspecting it to be a signal of 
 the enemy, he hurried towards the intrenchments, but found 
 the sentinels in perfect security from any fears respecting the 
 sound, as they supposed it to have proceeded from the town. 
 
 Sobieski paid little attention to their opinions, but ascend- 
 hig the nearest bastion to take a wider survey, in a few minutes 
 he discerned, though obscurely, through the gleams of morning, 
 what appeared to be the whole host of Russia advancing in 
 profound silence towards the Polish lines. The instant he 
 made this discovery, he came down, and lost no time in giving 
 orders for the defence ; then flying to other parts of the camp, 
 he awakened the commander-in-chief, encouraged the men, and 
 saw that the whole encampment was not only in motion, but 
 prepared for the assault. 
 
 In consequence of these prompt arrangements, the assail- 
 ants were received with a cross-fire of the batteries, and case- 
 shot and musketry from several redoubts, which raked their 
 flanks as they advanced. But in defiance of this shower of 
 bullets, they pressed on with an intrepidity worthy of a better 
 cause, and overleaping the ditch by squadrons, entered the 
 camp. A passage once secured, the Cossacks rushed in by 
 thousands, and spreading themselves in front of the storming 
 party, put every soul to the spear who opposed them. 
 
 The Polish works being gained, the enemy turned the can- 
 non on its former masters, and as they rallied to the defence of 
 what remained, swept them down by whole regiments. The 
 noise of artillery thundered from all sides of the camp ; the 
 smoke was so great, that it was hardly possible to distinguish 
 friends from foes ; nevertheless, the spirits of the Poles flagged 
 
THADDECS OF WARSAW. 93 
 
 not a moment ; as fast as one rampart was wrested from tlicm, 
 they threw themselves within another, which was as speedily 
 taken by the help of hurdles, fascines, ladders, and a courage 
 as resistless as it was ferocious, merciless, and sanguinary. 
 Every spot of vantage position was at length lost ; and yet the 
 Poles fought like lions ; quarter was neither offered to tiiem 
 nor required ; they disputed every inch of ground, until they 
 fell upon it in heaps, some lying before the parapets, others fill- 
 ing the ditches and the rest covering the earth, for the enemy 
 totread on as they cut their passage to the heart of the camp. 
 
 Sobieski, almost maddened by the scene, dripping with his 
 own blood and that of his brave friends, was seen in every part 
 of the action ; he was in the fosse, defending the trampled 
 bodies of the dying ; he was on the dyke, animating the few 
 who survived. Wawrzecki was wounded, and every hope hung 
 upon Thaddeus. His presence and voice infused new energy 
 into the arms of his fainting countrymen; they kept close to 
 his side, until the victors, enraged at the dauntless intrepidity 
 of this young hero, uttered the most fearful imprecations, and 
 rushing on his little phalanx, attacked it witli redoubled num- 
 bers and fury. 
 
 Sobieski sustained the shock with firmness ; but wherever 
 he turned his eyes, they were blasted with some object which 
 made them recoil ; he beheld his companions and his soldiers 
 strewing the earth, and their triumphant adversaries mounting 
 their dying bodies, as they hastened with loud huzzas to the de- 
 struction of Praga, whose gates were now burst open. His 
 eyes grew dim at the sight, and at the very moment in which 
 he tore them from spectacles so deadly to his heart, a Livonian 
 officer struck him with a sabre, to all appearance dead upon the 
 field. 
 
 When he recovered from the blow, (which, having lit on 
 the steel of his cap, had only stunned him,) he looked around, 
 and found that all near him was quiet ; but a far different scene 
 presented itself from the town. The roar of cannon and th.e 
 bursting of bombs thundered through the air, which was ren- 
 dered livid and tremendous by long spires of fire streaming 
 from the burning houses, and mingling with the volumes of 
 smoke which rolled from the guns. The dreadful tocsin, and the 
 hurrahs of the victors, pierced the soul of Thaddeus. Spring- 
 ing from the ground, he was preparing to rush towards the 
 gates, when loud cries of distress issued from within. They 
 were burst open, and a moment after, the grand magaziiie blew 
 up with a liorrible explosion. 
 
94 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 In an instant the field before Praga was filled with women 
 and children, flying in all directions, and rending the sky with 
 their shrieks. " Father Almighty ! " cried Thaddeus, wring- 
 ing his hands, "canst thou suffer this ? " Whilst he yet spake, 
 some straggling Cossacks near the town, who were prowling 
 about, glutted, but not sated with blood, seized the poor fugi- 
 tives, and with a ferocity as wanton as unmanly, released them 
 at once from life and misery. 
 
 This hideous spectacle brought his mother's defenceless 
 state before the eyes of Sobieski. Her palace was only four 
 miles distant ; and whilst the barbarous avidity of the enemy 
 was too busily engaged in sacking the place to permit them to 
 perceive a solitary individual hurrying away amidst heaps of 
 dead bodies, he flew across the desolated meadows which in- 
 tervened between Praga and Villanov/. 
 
 Thaddeus was met at the gate of his palace by General 
 Butzou, who, having learned the fate of Praga from the noise 
 and flames in that quarter, anticipated the arrival of some part 
 of the victorious army before the walls of Villanow. When its 
 young count, with a breaking heart, crossed the drawbridge, he 
 saw that the worthy veteran had prepared everything for a 
 stout resistance ; the ramparts were lined with soldiers, and 
 well mounted with artillery. 
 
 " Here, thou still honored Sobieski," cried he, as he con- 
 ducted Thaddeus to the keep ; " let the worst happen, here I 
 am resolved to dispute the possession of your grandfather's 
 palace until I have not a man to stand by me ! " * 
 
 Thaddeus strained him in silence to his breast ; and after 
 examining the force and dispositions, he approved all with a 
 cold despair of their being of any effectual use, and went to 
 the apartments of his mother. 
 
 The countess's women, who met liim in the vestibule, 
 begged him to be careful how he entered her excellency's room, 
 for she had only just recovered from a swoon, occasioned by 
 alarm at hearing the cannonade against the Polish camp. Her 
 son waited for no more, but not hearing their caution, threw 
 open the door of the chamber, and hastening to his mother's 
 couch, cast himself into her arms. She clung round his neck, 
 and for a while joy stopped her respiration. Bursting into 
 tears, she wept over him, incapable of expressing by words her 
 
 * It was little more than just a century before this awful scene took place that the in- 
 vincible John Sobieski, King of Poland, actinc; upon the old mutually protecting; principles 
 of Christendom, saved the freedom and the faith of Christian Europe from the Turkish 
 yoke. And in this very mansion he passed liis htter years in honored peace. He died in 
 169 1— a remarkable coincidence, th: division of Poland occurring in 1794. 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 95 
 
 tumultuous gratitude at again beholding him alive. He looked 
 on her altered and pallid features. 
 
 " O ! my mother," cried he clasping her to his breast ; 
 *' you are ill ; and what will become of you ? " 
 
 •'My beloved son!" replied she kissing his forehead 
 through the clotted blood that oozed from a cut on his temple ; 
 " iny beloved son, before our cruel murderers can arrive, I shall 
 have found a refuge in the bosom of my God." 
 
 Thaddeus could only answer with a groan. She resumed. 
 "Give me your hand. I must not witness the grandson of 
 Sobieski given up to despair ; let your mother incite you to 
 resignation. You see I have not breathed a complaining word, 
 although I behold you covered with wounds." As she spoke, 
 her eye pointed to the sash and liandkerchief which were bound 
 round his thigh and arm. "Our separation will not be long; 
 a few short years, perhaps hours, may unite us forever in a 
 better world." 
 
 The count was still speechless ; he could only press her 
 hand to his lips. After a pause, she proceeded — 
 
 " Look up, my dear boy ! and attend to me. Should Po- 
 land become the property of other nations, I conjure you, if 
 you survive its fall, to leave it. When reduced to captivity, it 
 will no longer be an asylum for a man of honor. I beseech 
 you, should this happen, go that very hour to England : that 
 is a free country ; and I have been told that the people are 
 kind to the unfortunate. Perhaps you will find that Pembroke 
 Somerset hath not quite forgotten Poland. Thaddeus ! Why 
 do you delay to answer me t Remember, these are your 
 mother's dying words ! " 
 
 *' I will obey them, my mother ! " 
 
 " Then," continued she, taking from her bosom a small 
 miniature, " let me tie this round your neck. It is the por- 
 trait of your father." Thaddeus bent his head, and the coun- 
 tess fastened it under his neck-cloth. " Prize this gift, my 
 child ; it is likely to be all that you will now inherit either from 
 me or that father. Try to forget his injustice, my dear son ; 
 and in memory of me, never part with that picture. O, Thad- 
 deus ! From the moment in which I first received it until 
 this instant, it has never been from my heart ! " 
 
 "And it shall never leave mine," answered he, in a stifled 
 voice, "whilst I have being." 
 
 The countess was preparing to reply, when a sudden volley 
 of firearms made Tliaddeus spring upon his feet. Loud cries 
 succeeded. Women rushed into the apartment, screaming, 
 
q6 TIIAPDEUS OF WARS^iW. 
 
 " The rnnipnrtsaiv stormed ! " ami llic next moment llia( quar- 
 ter of the l)uil(linL; loekeil (o its louiuhitioii. 'J'ho countess 
 cUn\^ to the l)osom of her son. Thadileus chisjied lier close 
 to his breast, and casting nj) his petilicMiini; e)es to heaven, 
 criod, " Shield of the tlesolate ! grant me a shelter for my 
 mother!'* 
 
 Ant)ther burst of cannon was followed by a h.eavy crash, 
 and the most piercini; shrieks echoed through th.e palace. 
 " All is lost I " cried a soldier, who appeared for an instant at 
 the rt)om door, ami tlien vanisluMJ. 
 
 Thaddeus, overwhelmed with despair, p.rasj^ed his swortl, 
 \vhich had fallen to the ground, and crying, '* My mother, wc 
 will die togetiier ! " would have given her one last and assuring 
 embrace, when his eyes met the sight of her before-agitated 
 features tran(|uillizcd in death. She fell from his palsied arms 
 back on the couch, and he stood gazing on her as if struck by 
 a power which had benumbed all his faculties. 
 
 Tiie Imnult in the palace increased every moment ; but he 
 heard it not, until JUit/ou, followed by two or three of his sol- 
 iliers, ran into the apartment, calling out " ( ount, save vour- 
 sclf!" ..... 
 
 Sobicski still UMuainod motionless. The general caught 
 liini by the arm, and instantly covering the botly of the de- 
 ceased countess \\\\\\ the mantle of her son, hurried his un- 
 conscious steps, by an opposite door, th.rough tlie state cham- 
 bers into the gardens. 
 
 Thaddeus did not recover his recollection until he reached 
 the outward gate ; then, breaking from the hold of his friend, 
 was returning to the sorrowful scene he had left, when l^utzou, 
 aware of his intentions, just stopped him in time to prevent his 
 rushing on the bayonets of a party of the enemy's infantry, who 
 were pursuing them at full speed. 
 
 The count now rallied his distracted faculties, and making 
 a stand, with the general and his three Poles, they compelled 
 this merciless detachment to seek refuge among the arcatles of 
 the building. 
 
 l>ut/^on would not allow his young lord to follow in th.at 
 direction, but hurried him across the jiark. He looked back, 
 how.ner ; a column of fire issued from the south towers. Thad- 
 deus sighed, as if his life were in that sigh, *' All is indeed 
 over ; " and pressing his hantl to his foreheatl, in that attitude 
 followed the stcj^s of the general towards the Vistula. 
 
 The wind being very high, the flame soon spread itself over 
 the rool of the palace, and catching at cvciy combustible in its 
 
TI/ADDEUS OF WARSAW. ^y 
 
 mzy, the invadeT3 became so terrified at the quick progress of 
 a fire which threatened to consume themselves as well as their 
 plunder, that they quitted the spot with precipitation. De- 
 scrying the count and his soldiers at a short distance, they 
 directed their motions to that point. Speedily confronting the 
 brave fugitives, they blocked up a bridge by a file of men with 
 fixed pikes, and not only menaced the Polanders as they ad- 
 vanced, but derided their means of resistance. 
 
 Sobieski, indifferent alike to danger and to insults, stopped 
 short to the left, and followed by his friends, plunged into the 
 stream, amidst a shower of musket-balls from the enemy. After 
 hard buffeting with the torrent, he at last reached the opposite 
 bank, and was assisted from the river by some of the weeping 
 inhabitants of Warsaw, who had been watching the expiring 
 ashes of Praga, and the flames then devouring the boasted 
 towers of Villanow. 
 
 Emerged from the water, Thaddeus stood to regain his 
 breath ; and leaning on the shoulder of Butzou, he pointed to 
 his burning palace with a smile of agony. " See," said he, 
 *' what a funeral pile Heaven has given to the manes of my un- 
 buried mother ! " 
 
 The general did not speak, for grief stopped his utterance ; 
 but motioning the two soldiers to proceed, he supported the 
 count into the citadel. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SOBIESKl'S DEPARTT-RE FROM WARSAW. 
 
 From the termination of this awful day, in which a brave 
 and hitherto powerful people were consigned to an abject de- 
 pendence, Thaddeus was confined to his apartment in the gar- 
 rison. 
 
 It was now the latter end of November. General Butzou, 
 supposing that the illness of his young lord might continue 
 some weeks, and aware that no time ought to be lost in main- 
 taining all that was yet left of the kingdom of Poland, obtained 
 his permission to seek its only remaining quarter. Quitting 
 Warsaw, he joined Prince Poniatowski, who was yet at the 
 head of a few troops near Sachor,-n, supported by the undaunted 
 Niemcivitz, tlie bard and the hero, who had fought by the side 
 
98 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 of the then imprisoned Kosciusko in the last battle in which 
 that general fell.* 
 
 Meanwhile the young count, finding himself tolerably re- 
 stored, except in those wounds of the heart which time only can 
 heal, was enabled to leave his room, and breathe the fresh air 
 on the ramparts. His appearance was greeted by the officers 
 with melancholy congratulations ; but their replies to his anx- 
 ious questions displaced the faint smile which he tried to spread 
 over his countenance, and with a contracted brow he listened 
 to the following information : — 
 
 " Praga was not only razed to the ground, but upwards of 
 three thousand persons had perished by the sword, the river, 
 and the flames. All the horrors of Ismail had been re-enacted 
 by its conqueror on the banks of the Vistula. The citizens of 
 Warsaw, intimidated by such a spectacle, assembled in a body, 
 and, driven to desperation, repaired to tlie foot of the throne. 
 On their knees they implored his majesty to forget the contested 
 rights of his subjects, and in pity to theif wives and children, 
 allow them, by a timely submission, to save those dear relatives 
 from the ignominy and cruelty which had been wreaked upon 
 the inhabitants of Praga. Stanislaus saw that opposition would 
 be fruitless. The walls of his capital were already surrounded 
 by a train of artillery, ready to blow the town to atoms ; the 
 fate of Poland seemed inevitable, and with a deep sigh, the 
 king assented to the petition, and sent deputies to the enemy's 
 camp. 
 
 " General Suwarrow, the commander-in-chief," continued 
 the officer, " demands that every man in Warsaw shall not only 
 surrender his arms, but sue for pardon for the past. This is 
 his reply to the submission of the king, and these conditions 
 are accepted." 
 
 "They never shall be by me," said Sobieski ; and turning 
 from his informer, hardly knowing what were his intentions, he 
 walked towards the royal palace. 
 
 When his majesty was apprised that the young Count So- 
 bieski awaited his commands in the audience-chamber, he left 
 his closet and entered the room. Thaddeus, with a swelling 
 
 * Niemcivitz had been a tellovv colleccian with Kosciusko. But being of a more literary 
 disposition, liis pen rather than liis swoid took part in the early struggles between Poland 
 and her enemies ; and in this light he was regarded as the Tyrtceus of his country. But at 
 length he joined the army in person, and, as above noticed, fought in some of the decisive 
 fields of Poland. In one of these, he also was taken prisoner, and put into tlie same prison 
 with the friend of his youth, the severely-wounded General Kosciusko. When the Em- 
 peror Paul, on his succession to the imperial throne, generously, and with_ signal marks of 
 respect, released tlir captive chief, the liberty of Niemcivitz was iikewsie given to him. 
 And both togethf^r shortly afterwuds proceeded to the United State?, on a warm invitation 
 from the President. They took England, ''or a brief visit, on their way. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 99 
 
 heart, would have thrown hnnself on his knee, but the king pre- 
 vented him, and pressed liim with emotion in his arms. 
 
 " Brave young man ! '' cried he, " I embrace in you the last 
 of those Polish youth who were so lately the brightest jewels 
 in my crown." 
 
 Tears stood in the monarch's eyes while he spoke. Sobieski, 
 with hardly a steadier utterance, answered, " I come to receive 
 your majesty's commands. I will obey them in all things but 
 in surrendering this sword (which was my grandfather's) into 
 the hands of your enemies." 
 
 " I will not desire it," replied Stanislaus. *' By my acqui- 
 escence with the terms of Russia, I only comply with the earnest 
 petitions of my people. I shall not require of you to com- 
 promise your country ; but alas ! you must not throw away your 
 life in a now hopeless cause. Fate has consigned Poland to 
 subjection ; and when Heaven, in its mysterious decrees, con- 
 firms the chastisement of nations, it is man's duty to submit. 
 For myself, I am to bury my griefs and indignities in the caslle 
 of Grodno." 
 
 The blood rushed over the cheek of Thaddeus at this dec- 
 laration, to which the proud indignation of his soul could in 
 no way subscribe, and with an agitated voice he exclaimed, " If 
 my sovereign be already at the command of our oppressors, 
 then indeed is Poland no more ! and I have nothing to do but 
 to perform the dying will of my mother. Will your majesty 
 grant me permission to set off for England, before I may be 
 obliged to witness the last calamity of my wretched country ? " 
 
 " I would to Heaven," replied the king, " that I, too, might 
 repose my age and sorrows in that happy kingdom ! Go, So- 
 bieski ; your name is worthy of such an asylum ; my prayers 
 and blessings shall follow you." 
 
 Thaddeus pressed his hand in silence to his lips. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear count," continued Stanislaus, "my 
 soul bleeds at this parting, I know the treasure which your 
 family has always been to this nation ; I know your own indi- 
 vidual merit. I know the wealth which you have sacrificed for 
 me and my subjects, and I am powerless to express my grati- 
 tude." 
 
 " Had I done more than my duty in that," replied Thad- 
 deus, " such words from your majesty would have been a reward 
 adequate to any privation ; but, alas ! no. I have perhaps per- 
 formed less than my duty ; the blood of Sobieski ought not to 
 have been spared one drop when the liberties of his country 
 perished ! " Thaddeus blushed while he spoke, and almost re- 
 
lOo THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 pen ted the too ready zeal of his friends in having saved him 
 from the general destruction at Villanow. 
 
 The voice of the venerable Stanislaus became fainter as he 
 resumed — 
 
 " Perhaps had a Sobieski reigned at this time, these horrors 
 might not have been accomplished. That resistless power 
 which has overwhelmed my people, I cannot forget is the same 
 that put the sceptre into my hand. But Catherine misunder- 
 stood my principles, when assisting in my election to the throne ; 
 she thought she was planting merely her own viceroy there. 
 But I could not obliterate from my heart that my ancestors, 
 Hke your ovs^n, were hereditary sovereigns of Poland, nor cease 
 to feel the stamp the King of kings had graven upon that heart 
 — to uphold the just laws of my fathers ! and, to the utmost, I 
 have struggled to fulfil my trust." 
 
 "Yes, my sovereign," replied Thaddeus; "and whilst there 
 remains one man on earth who has drawn his first breath in 
 Poland, he will bear witness in all the lands through which he 
 may be doomed to wander that he has received from you the 
 care and affection of a father. O ! sire, how will future ages 
 believe that, in the midst of civilized Europe, a brave people 
 and a virtuous monarch were suffered, unaided, and even with- 
 out remonstrance, to fall into the grasp of usurpation ! — nay, 
 of annihilation of their name ! " 
 
 Stanislaus laid his hand on the arm of the count. 
 
 " Man's ambition and baseness," said the king, "are mon- 
 strous to the contemplation of youth only. You are learning 
 your lesson early ; I have studied mine for many years, and 
 with a bitterness of soul which in some measure prepared me 
 for the completion. My kingdom has passed from me at the 
 moment you have lost your country. Before we part forever, 
 my dear Sobieski, take with you this assurance — you have 
 served the unfortunate Stanislaus to the latest hour in which 
 you beheld him. That which you 1.- ve just said, expressive of 
 the sentiments of those who were my subjects, is indeed a 
 balm to my heart, and I will earn its consolations to my 
 prison." 
 
 The king paused. Sobieski, agit.- ^ed, and incapable of 
 speaking, threw himself at his majesty s feet, and pressed his 
 hand with fervency and angui-sh to his lips. The king looked 
 down on his graceful figure, and pierced to the soul by the 
 more graceful feelings which dictated the action, the tear which 
 stood in his eye, rolled over his cheek, and was followed by 
 another before he could add — 
 
TIFADDEUS OF U\l]^SAli^: loi 
 
 " Rise, my young friend. Take from me this ring. It 
 contains my picture. Wear it in remembrance of a man who 
 loves you, and who can never forget your worth or the loyahy 
 and patriotism of your house." 
 
 The Chancellor Zamoyisko at that moment being an- 
 nounced, Thaddeus rose from his knee, and was preparing to 
 leave the room, when his majesty, perceiving his intention, 
 desired him to stop. 
 
 " Stay, count ! " cried he, " I will burden you with one 
 request. I am now a king without a crown, without subjects, 
 without a foot of land in which to bury me when I die. I 
 cannot reward the fidelity of any one of the few friends of 
 whom my enemies have not deprived me ; but you are young, 
 and Heaven may yet smile upon you in some distant nation. 
 Will you pay a debt of gratitude for your poor sovereign ? 
 Should you ever again meet with the good old Butzou, who 
 rescued me when my preservation lay on the fortune of a 
 moment, remember that I regard him as once the saviour of my 
 life ! I was told to-day that on the destruction of Praga this 
 brave man joined the army of my brother. It is now. disbanded, 
 and he, with the rest of my faithful soldiers, is cast forth in his 
 old age, a wanderer in a pitiless world. Should you ever 
 meet him, Sobieski, succor him for my sake." 
 
 " As Heaven may succor me ! " cried Thaddeus ; and put- 
 ting his majesty's hand a second time to his lips, he bowed to 
 the chancellor and passed into the street. 
 
 When the count returned to the citadel, he found that all 
 was as the king had represented. The soldiers in the garrison 
 were reluctantly preparing to give up their arms ; and the 
 nobles, in compassion to the cries of the people, were trying to 
 humble their necks to the yoke of the dictator. The magis- 
 trates lingered as they went to take the city keys from the 
 hands of their good king, and with sad whispers anticipated 
 the moment in which they must surrender them, and their laws 
 and national existence, to the jealous dominion of three 
 despotic foreign powers. 
 
 Poland was now no place for Sobieski. He had survived 
 all his kindred. He had survived the liberties of his country. 
 He had seen the king a prisoner, and his countrymen trampled 
 on by deceit and usurpation. As he walked on, musing o\ er 
 these circumstances, he met with little interruption, for tlie 
 streets were deserted. Here and there a poor miserable v.retch 
 passed him, who seemed, by his uan cheeks and haggard eyes, 
 already to repent the too successful prayers of the deputation. 
 
I02 T'HADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 The shops were shut. Thacldeus stopped a few minutes in tne 
 great square, which used to be crowded with happy citizens, 
 but now, not one man was to be seen. An awful and painful 
 silence reigned over alL His soul felt too truly the dread con- 
 sciousness of this utter annihilation of his country, for him to 
 throw off the heavy load from his oppressed heart, in this his 
 last walk down the east street towards the ramparts which cov- 
 ered the Vistula. 
 
 He turned his eyes to the spot where once stood the mag- 
 nificent towers of his paternal palace. 
 
 " Yes," cried he, " it is now time for me to obey the last 
 command of my mother ! Nothing remains of Poland but its 
 soil — nothing of my home but its ashes ! " 
 
 The victors had pitched a detachment of tents amidst the 
 ruins of Villanow, and were at this moment busying themselves 
 in searching amongst the stupendous fragments for what plun- 
 der the fire might have spared. 
 
 " Insatiate robbers ! " exclaimed Thaddeus ; " Heaven will 
 requite this sacrilege." He thought on his mother, who lay 
 beneath the ruins, and tore himself from the sight, whilst he 
 added, "Farewell ! forever farewell ! thou beloved, revered 
 Villanow, where I was reared in bliss and tenderness ! I quit 
 thee and my country forever ! " As he spoke, he raised his 
 hands and eyes to heaven, and pressing the picture his mother 
 had given him to his lips and bosom, turned from the parapet, 
 determining to prepare that nigkt for his departure the next 
 morning. 
 
 He arose by daybreak, and having gathered together all his 
 little wealth, the whole of which was compressed within the 
 portmanteau that was buckled on his gallant horse, precisely 
 two hours before the triumphal car of General Suwarrov^ 
 entered Warsaw, Sobieski left it. As he rode along tlie streets, 
 he bedewed its stones with his tears. They were the lirst that 
 he had shed during the long series of his misfortunes, and they 
 now flowed so fast, that he could hardly discern his way out of 
 the city. 
 
 At the great gate his horse stopped, and neighed with a 
 strange sound. 
 
 " Poor Saladin ! " cried Thaddeus, stroking his neck ; " are 
 you so sorry at leaving Warsaw that, like your unhappy master, 
 you linger to take a last lamenting look ! " 
 
 His tears redoubled ; and the warder, as he closed the gate 
 after him, implored permission to kiss the hand of the noble 
 Count Sobieski, ere he should turn his back on Poland, never 
 
Til A DDE US OF WARSAW 
 
 103 
 
 to return. Thaddeus looked kindly round, and shaking hands 
 with the honest man, after saying a few friendly words to him, 
 rode on with a loitering pace, until he reached that part of the 
 river which divides Masovia from the Prussian dominions. 
 
 Here he flung himself off his horse, and standing for a 
 moment on the hill that rises near the bridge, retraced, with his 
 almost blinded sight, the long and desolated lands through 
 which he had passed ; then involuntarily dropping on his knees, 
 he plucked a tuft of grass, and pressing it to his lips, exclaimed, 
 "Farewell, Poland! Farewell all my earthly happiness ! " 
 
 Almost stifled by emotion, he put this poor relic of his 
 country into his bosom, and remounting his noble animal, 
 crossed the bridge. 
 
 As one who, flying from any particular object, thinks to 
 lose himself and his sorrows when it lessens to his view, Sobieski 
 pursued the remainder of his journey with a speed which soon 
 brought him to Dantzic. 
 
 Here he remained a few days, and during that interval the 
 firmness of his mind was restored. He felt a calm arising from 
 the conviction that his afflictions had gained their summit, and 
 that, however heavy they were. Heaven had laid them on him 
 for a trial of his faith and virtue. Under this belief, he ceased 
 to weep ; but he never was seen to smile. 
 
 Plaving entered into an agreement with the master of a 
 vessel to carry him across the sea, he found the strength of his 
 finances would barely defray the charges of the voyage. Con- 
 sidering this circumstance, he saw the impossibility of taking 
 his horse to England. 
 
 The first time this idea presented itself, it almost overset 
 his determined resignation. Tears would again have started 
 into his eyes, had he not by force repelled them. 
 
 "To part from my faithful Saladin," said he to himself, 
 "that has borne me since I first could use a sword ; that has 
 carried me through so many dangers, and has come with me 
 even into exile — it is painful, it is ungrateful ! " He was in the 
 stable when this thought assailed him ; and as the reflections 
 followed each other, he again turned to the stall. " But, my 
 poor fellow, I will not barter your services for gold. I will 
 seek for some master who may be kind to you, in pity to my 
 misfortunes." 
 
 He re-entered the hotel where he lodged, and calling a 
 waiter, inquired who occupied the fine mansion and park on 
 the east of the town. The man replied, " Mr. Hopetown, an 
 eminent British merchant, who has been settled at Dantzic 
 above forty years." 
 
104 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " I am glad he is a Briton ! " was the sentiment which suc- 
 ceeded this information in the count's mind. He immediately 
 took his resolution, but hardly had prepared to put it into 
 execution, when he received a summons from the vessel to be 
 on board in half an hour, the wind having set fair. 
 
 Thaddeus, somewliat disconcerted by this hasty call, with 
 an agitated hand wrote the following letter : — 
 
 " To John Hopetown, Esq. 
 " Sir, 
 
 " A Polish officer, who has sacrificed everything but his 
 honor to the last interests of his country, now addresses you. 
 
 " You are a Briton ; and of whom can an unhappy victim 
 to the cause of loyalty and freedom with less debasement solicit 
 an obligation ? 
 
 " I cannot afford support to the fine animal which has 
 carried me through the battles of this fatal war ; I disdain to 
 sell him, and therefore I implore you, by the respect that you 
 pay to the memory of your ancestors, who struggled for and 
 retained that liberty in defence of which we are thus reduced — 
 I implore you to give him an asylum in your park, and to pro- 
 tect him from injurious usage. 
 
 " Perform this benevolent action, sir, and you shall ever be 
 remembered with gratitude by an unfortunate 
 
 " POLANDER. 
 ** Dantzic, November, 1794.'' 
 
 The count, having sealed and directed this letter, went to 
 the hotel yard, and ordered that his horse might be brought 
 out. A few days of rest had restored him to his former mettle, 
 and he appeared from the stable prancing and pawing the 
 earth, as he used to do when Thaddeus was about to mount 
 him for the field. 
 
 The groom was striving in vain to restrain the spirit of the 
 animal, when the count took hold of the bridle. The noble 
 creature knev/ his master, and became gentle as a lamb. After 
 stroking him to or three times, with a bursting heart Thaddeus 
 returned the reins to the man's hand, and at the same time 
 gave him a letter. 
 
 "There," said he ; " take that note and the horse directly 
 to the house of Mr. Hopetown. Leave them, for the letter 
 requires no answer." 
 
 This last pang mastered, he walked out of the yard towards 
 the quay. The wind continuing fair, he entered the ship, and 
 within an hour set sail for En'dand. 
 
ON THE BALTIC. 
 
TIJADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE BALTIC. 
 
 SoETESKT passed the greater part of each day and the whole 
 of every night on the deck of the vessel. He was too much 
 absorbed in himself to receive any amusement from the passen- 
 gers, who, observing his melancholy, thought to dispel it by 
 their company and conversation. 
 
 When any of these people came upon deck, he walked to 
 the head of the ship, took his seat upon the cable which bound 
 the anchor to the forecastle, and while their fears rendered him 
 safe from their well-meant persecution, he gained some respite 
 from vexation, though none from misery. 
 
 The ship having passed through the Baltic, and entered on 
 the British sea, the passengers, running from side to side of 
 the vessels, pointed out to Thaddeus the distant shore of Eng- 
 land, lying like a hazy ridge along the horizon. The happy 
 people, whilst they strained their eyes through glasses, desired 
 him to observe different spots on the hardly-perceptible line 
 which they called Flamborough Head and the hills of York- 
 shire. His heart turned sick at these objects of their delight, 
 for not one of them raised an answering feeling in his breast. 
 England could be nothing to him ; if anything, it would prove 
 a desert, which contained no one object for his regrets or 
 wishes. 
 
 The image of Pembroke Somerset, indeed, rose in his mind, 
 like the dim recollection of one who has been a long time dead. 
 Whilst they were together at Villanow, they regarded each 
 other warmly, and when they parted they promised to corre- 
 spond. One day, in pursuit of the enemy, Thaddeus was so 
 unlucky as to lose the pocket-book which contained his friend's 
 address ; but yet, uneasy at his silence, he ventured two letters 
 to him, directed merely at Sir Robert Somerset's, England. 
 To these he received no answer ; and the palatine evinced so 
 just a displeasure at such marked neglect and ingratitude, that 
 he would not suffer him to be mentioned in his presence, and 
 indeed Thaddeus, from disappointment and regret, felt no in- 
 clination to transgress the command. 
 
 When the young count, during the prominent interests of 
 the late disastrous campaign, remembered these things, he 
 
Io6 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 found little comfort in recollecting the name of his 3'oung 
 English guest ; and now that he was visiting England as a 
 poor exile, with indignation and grief he gave up the wish with 
 the hope of meeting Mr. Somerset. Sensible that Somerset 
 had not acted as became the man to whom he could apply in 
 his distress, he resolved, unfriended as he was, to wipe him at 
 once from his memory. With a bitter sigh he turned his back 
 on the land to which he was going, and fixed his eyes on the 
 tract of sea Vv^hich then divided him from all that he had ever 
 loved, or had given him true happiness. 
 
 " Father of mercy! " murmured he, in a suppressed voice^ 
 " what have I done to deserve this misery .? Why have I been 
 at one stroke deprived of all that rendered existence estimable ? 
 Two months ago, I had a mother, a more than father, to love 
 and cherish me ; I had a country, that looked up to them and 
 to me with veneration and confidence. Now, I am bereft of all. 
 I have neither father, mother, nor country, but I am going to 
 a land of utter strangers." 
 
 Such impatient adjurations were never wrung from Sobieski 
 by the anguish of sudden torture without his ingenuous and 
 pious mind reproaching itself for such faithless repining. His 
 soul was soft as a woman's ; but it knew neither effeminacy nor 
 despair. Whilst his heart bled, his countenance retained its 
 serenity. Whilst affliction crushed him to the earth, and nature 
 paid a few hard-wrung drops to his repeated bereavements, he 
 contemned his tears, and raised his fixed and confiding eye to 
 that Power which poured down its tempests on his head. 
 Thaddeus felt as a man, but received consolation as a Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 When his ship arrived at the mouth of the Thames, the 
 eagerness of the passengers increased to such an excess that 
 they would not stand still, nor be silent a moment ; and when 
 the vessel, under full sail, passed Sheerness, and the dome of 
 St. Paul's appeared before them, their exclamations were loud 
 and incessant. " My home ! my parents ! my wife ! my friends ! " 
 were the burden of every tongue. 
 
 Thaddeus found his calmed spirits again disturbed ; and, 
 rising from his seat, he retired unobserved by the people, who 
 were too happy to attend to anything which did not agree with 
 their own transports. The cabin was as deserted as himself. 
 Feeling that there is no solitude like that of the heart, when it 
 looks around and sees in the vast concourse of human beings 
 not one to whom it can pour forth its sorrows, or receive the 
 answering sigh of sympathy, he threw himself on one of the 
 
rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1 07 
 
 lockers, and with difficulty restrained the tears from gushing 
 from his eyes. He held his hand over them, while he con- 
 temned himself for a weakness so unbecoming his manhood. 
 
 He despised himself : but let not others despise liim. It is 
 difficult for those who lie morning and evening in the lap of 
 domestic indulgence to conceive the misery of being thrown out 
 into a bleak and merciless world ; it is impossible for the happy 
 man, surrounded by luxury and gay companions, to figure to 
 himself the reflections of a fellow-creature who, having been 
 fostered in the bosom of affection and elegance, is cast at once 
 from all society, bereft of home, of comfort, of '' every stay, 
 save innocence and Heaven." None but the wretched can 
 imagine what the wretched endure from actual distress, from 
 apprehended misfortune, from outraged feelings, and ten 
 thousand nameless sensibilities to offence which only the un- 
 fortunate can conceive, dread and experience. But what is it 
 to be not only without a home, but without a country ? Thad- 
 deus unconsciously uttered a groan like that of death. 
 
 The noise redoubled above his head, and in a few minutes 
 afterwards one of the sailors came rumbling down the stairs. 
 
 " Will it please your honor," said he, " to get up ? That 
 be my chest, and I want my clothes to clean myself before I 
 go on shore. Mother I know be waiting me at Blackwall." 
 
 Thaddeus rose, and with a withered heart again ascended 
 to the deck. 
 
 On coming up the hatchway, he saw that the ship was moored 
 in the midst of a large city, and was surrounded by myriads of 
 vessels from every quarter of the globe. He leaned over the 
 railing, and in silence looked down on the other passengers, 
 who where bearing off in boats, and shaking hands with the 
 people who came to receive them. 
 
 " It is near dark, sir," said the captain ; " mayhap you 
 would wish to go on shore ? There is a boat just come round, 
 and the tide won't serve much longer : and asyourfriends don't 
 seem to be coming for you, you are welcome to a place in it 
 with me." 
 
 The count thanked him ; and after defraying the expenses 
 of the voyage, and giving money amongst the sailors, he desired 
 that his portmanteau might be put into the wherry. The 
 honest fellows, in gratitude to the bounty of their passenger, 
 struggled who should obey his commands, when the skipper, 
 angry at being detained, snatched away the baggage, and lling- 
 ing it into the boat, leaped in after it, and was followed by 
 Thaddeus. 
 
I08 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 The taciturnity of the seamen and the deep melancholy 
 of his guest were not broken until they reached the Tower 
 stairs. 
 
 " Go, Ben, fetch the gentleman a coach." 
 
 The count bowed to the captain, who gave the order, and 
 in a few minutes the boy^ returned, saying there was one in 
 waiting. He took up the portmanteau, and Thaddeus, follow- 
 ing him, ascended the Tower stairs, where the carriage stood. 
 Ben threw in the baggage and the count put his foot on the 
 step. 
 
 " Where must the man drive to ? " 
 
 Thaddeus drew it back again. 
 
 " Yes, sir," continued the lad ; " where be your honor's 
 home ? " 
 
 " In my grave," was the response his aching heart made to 
 this question. He hesitated before he spoke. "An hotel," 
 said he, flinging himself on the seat, and throwing a piece of 
 silver into the lad's hat. 
 
 " What hotel, sir .? " asked the coachman. 
 
 ''Any." 
 
 The man closed the door, mounted his box, and drove 
 off. 
 
 It was now near seven o'clock, on a dark December even- 
 ing. The lamps were lighted ; and it being Saturday-night, 
 the streets were crowded with people. Thaddeus looked at 
 them as he was driven along. " Happy creatures ! " thought 
 he ; " you have each a home to go to ; you have each expec- 
 tant friends to welcome you ; every one of you knows some 
 in the world who will smile when you enter ; whilst I, wretched, 
 wretched Sobieski where are now all thy highly-prized treasures, 
 thy boasted glory, and those beloved ones who rendered that 
 glory most precious to thee ? Alas ! all are withdrawn ; vanish- 
 ed like a scene of enchantment, from which I have indeed awa- 
 kened to a frightful solitude." 
 
 His reflections were broken by the stopping of the carriage. 
 The man opened the door. 
 
 " Sir, I have brought you to the Hummums, Covent Garden ; 
 it has as good accommodations as any in the town. My fare is 
 five shillings. 
 
 Thaddeus paid the amount, and followed him and his bag- 
 gage into the coffee-room. At the entrance of a man of his 
 figure, several waiters presented themselves, begging to know 
 his commands. 
 
 " I want a chamber." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 109 
 
 He was ushered into a very handsome dining-room, where 
 one of them laid down the portmanteau, and then bowing low, 
 inquired whether he had dined. 
 
 The waiter having received his orders, (for the count saw 
 that it was necessary to call for something,) hastened into the 
 kitchen to communicate them to the cook. 
 
 " Upon my word, Betty," cried he, "you must do your best 
 to-night ; for the chicken is for the finest-looking fellow you 
 ever set eyes on. By Jove, I believe him to be some Russian 
 nobleman ; perhaps the great Suwarrow himself ! and he speaks 
 English as well as I do myself." 
 
 " A prince, you mean, Jenkins ! " said a pretty girl who 
 entered at that moment. " Since I was borne I never see'd 
 any English lord walk up and down the room with such an 
 air ; he looks like a king. For my part, I should not wonder 
 if he is one of them there emigrant kings, for they say there 
 is a power of them now wandering about the world." 
 
 " You talk like a fool, Sally," cried the sapient waiter. 
 " Don't ycu see that his dress is military .'' Look at his black 
 cap, with its long bag and great feather, and the monstrous 
 sword at his side ; look at them, and then if you can, say I a:n 
 mistaken in deciding that he is some great Russian commander, 
 — most likelv come over as ambassador ! " 
 
 "But he came in a hackney-coach," cried a little dirty boy 
 in the corner. " As I was running up stairs with Colonel 
 Leson's shoes, I see'd the coachman bring in his portman- 
 teau." 
 
 "Well, Jack-a-napes, what of that?" cried Jenkins; "is a 
 nobleman always to carry his equipage about him, like a snail 
 with its shell on its back t To be sure, this foreign lord, or 
 prince, is only come to stay here till his own house is fit for 
 him. I will be civil to him." 
 
 "And so will I, Jenkins," rejoined Sally, smiling; "for I 
 never see'd such handsome blue eyes in my born days ; and 
 they turned so sweet on me, and he spoke so kindly when he 
 bade me stir the fire ; and when he sat down by it, and th rowed 
 off his great fur cloak, I see'd a glittering star on his breast, 
 and a figure so noble, that indeed, cook, I do verily believe he 
 is, as Jenkins says, an enthroned king ! " 
 
 "You and Jenkins be a pair of fools,"cried the cook, who, 
 without noticing their description, had been sulkily basting the 
 fowl. " I will be sworn he's just such another king as that 
 palavering rogue was a Freuch duke who got my master's watch 
 and pawned it ! As for you, Sally, you had better beware of 
 
no THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 hunting after foreign men-folk : it's not seemly for a young 
 woman, and you may chance to rue it." 
 
 The moralizing cook had now brought the whole kitchen on 
 her shoulders. The men abused her for a surly old maid, and 
 the women tittered, whilst they seconded her censure by cutting 
 sly jokes on the blushing face of poor Sally, who stood almost 
 crying by the side of her champion, Jenkins. 
 
 Whilst this hubbub was going forward below stairs, its un- 
 conscious subject was, as Sally had described, sitting in a 
 chair close to the fire, with his feet on the fender, his arms 
 folded, and his eyes bent on the flames. He mused ; but his 
 ideas followed each other in such quick confused succession, it 
 hardly could be said he thought of anything. 
 
 The entrance of dinner roused him from his reverie. It 
 was carried in by at least half a dozen waiters. The count had 
 been so accustomed to a numerous suite of attendants, he did 
 not observe the parcelling out of his temperate meal : one 
 bringing in the fowl, another the bread, his neighbor the solitary 
 plate, and the rest in like order, so solicitous were the male 
 listeners in the kitchen to see this wonderful Russian. 
 
 Thaddeus partook but lightly of the refreshment. Being 
 already fatigued in body, and dizzy with the motion of the ves- 
 sel, as soon as the cloth was withdrawn, he ordered a night 
 candle, and desired to be shown to his chamber. 
 
 Jenkins, whom the sight of the embroidered star confirmed 
 in his decision that the foreigner must be a person of conse- 
 quence, with increased agility whipped up the portmanteau and 
 led the v/ay to the sleeping-rooms. Here curiosity put on a 
 nev/ form ; the women servants, determined to have their wishes 
 gratified as well as the men, had arranged themselves on each 
 side of the passage through which the count must pass. At so 
 strange an appearance, Thaddeus drew back ; but supposing 
 that it might be a custom of the country, he proceeded through 
 this fair bevy, and bowed as he walked along to the low cur- 
 tesies which they continued to make, until he entered his apart- 
 ment and closed the door. 
 
 The unhappy are ever restless ; they hope in every change 
 of situation to obtain some alteration in their feelings. Thad- 
 deus was too miserable awake not to view with eagerness the 
 bed on which he trusted that, for a few hours at least, he might 
 lose the consciousness of his desolation, with its immediate 
 suffering. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. HI 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THADDEUS'S FIRST DAY IN ENGLAND. 
 
 When he awoke in the morning, his head ached, and he 
 felt as unrefreshed as when he had lain down ; he undrew the 
 curtain, and saw, from the strength of the light, it must be mid- 
 day. He got up ; and having dressed himself, descended to 
 the sitting-room, where he found a good fire and the breakfast 
 already placed. He rang the bell, and walked to the window, 
 to observe the appearance of the morning. A heavy snow had 
 fallen during the night ; and the sun, ascended to its meridian, 
 shone through the thick atmosphere like a ball of fire. All 
 seemed comfortless without ; and turning back to the warm 
 hearth, which was blazing at the other end of the room, he was 
 reseating himself, when Jenkins brought in the tea-urn. 
 
 '' I hope, my lord," said the waiter, " that your lordship 
 slept well last night ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, I thank you," replied the count, unmindful that 
 the man had addressed him according to his rank ; " when you 
 come to remove these things, bring me my bill." 
 
 Jenkins bowed and withdrew, congratulating himself on his 
 dexterity in having saluted the stranger with his title. 
 
 During the absence of the waiter, Thaddeus thought it time 
 to examine the state of his purse. He well recollected how he 
 had paid at Dantzic ; and from the style in which he was served 
 here, he did not doubt that to defray what he had already con- 
 tracted would nearly exhaust his all. He emptied the contents 
 of his purse into his hands ; a guinea and some silver was all 
 that he possessed. A flush of terror suffused itself over his 
 face ; he had never known the want of money before, and he 
 trembled now lest the charge should exceed his means of pay- 
 ment. 
 
 Jenkins entered with the bill. On the count's examining 
 it, he was pleased to find it amounted to no more than the only 
 piece of gold his purse contained. He laid it upon the tea- 
 board, and putting half-a-crown into the hand of Jenkins, who 
 appeared waiting for something, wrapped his cloak round him 
 as he was walking out of the room. 
 
 " I suppose, my lord," cried Jenkins, pocketing the money 
 with a smirk, and bowing with the things in liis hands, '* we are 
 
112 TH A DDE US OF JVAKSAIV. 
 
 to have the honor of seeing your lordship again, as you leave 
 your portmanteau behind you? " 
 
 Thaddeus hesitated a few seconds, then again moving tow- 
 ards the door, said, " I will send for it." 
 
 "By what name, my lord ? " 
 
 "The Count Sobieski." 
 
 Jenkins immediately set down the tea-board, and hurrying 
 after Thaddeus along the passage, and through the coffee-room, 
 darted before him, and opening the door into the lobby for him 
 to go out, exclaimed, loud enough for everybody to hear, " De- 
 pend upon it, Count Sobieski, I will take care of your lord- 
 ship's baggage." 
 
 Thaddeus, rather displeased at his noisy ofiiciousness, only 
 bent his head, and proceeded into the street. 
 
 The air was piercing cold ; and on his looking around, he 
 perceived by the disposition of the square in which he was that 
 it must be a market-place. The booths and stands were covered 
 with snow, whilst parts of the pavement were rendered nearly 
 impassable by heaps of black ice, which the market-people of 
 the preceding day had shoveled up out of their way. He recol- 
 lected it was now Sunday, and consequently the improbability 
 of finding any cheaper lodgings on that day.* 
 
 Thaddeus stood under the piazzas for two or three minutes, 
 bewildered on the plan he should adopt. To return to the 
 hotel for any purpose but to sleep, in the present state of his 
 finances, would be impossible ; he therefore determined, inclem- 
 ent as the season was, if he could not find a chapel, to walk 
 the streets until night. He might then go back to the Hum- 
 mums to his bed chamber ; but he resolved to quit it in the 
 morning, for a residence more suitable to his slender means. 
 
 The wind blew keenly from the north-east, accompanied 
 with a violent shower of sleet and rain ; yet such was the ab- 
 straction of his mind, that he hardly observed its bitterness, but 
 walked on, careless whither his feet led him, until he stopped 
 opposite St. Martin's church. 
 
 " God is my only friend ! " and in any house of His I shall 
 surely find shelter ! " 
 
 He turned up the steps, and was entering the porch, when 
 he met the congregation thronging out of it. 
 
 " Is the service over ? " he inquired of a decent old woman 
 
 * Those who remember the terrible winter of 1794, will not call this description exag- 
 gerated. That memorable wniter was one of mourninc: to many in England. Some of lier 
 own brave sons perished amidst the frozen dykes of Holland and th» Netherlands^, vainiy 
 opposing the march of the ?>ench anarchists. Huw strange appeared then to him the doom 
 ol nations} 
 
Til A DDE us OF WARSAW. 1 13 
 
 who was passing him down the stairs. The woman started at 
 this question, asked her in English by a person whose dress 
 was so completely foreign. He repeated it. Smiling and 
 curtseying, she replied — 
 
 "Yes, sir; and I am sorry for it. Lord bless your hand- 
 some face, though you be a stranger gentleman, it does one's 
 heart good to see you so devoutly given ! " 
 
 Thaddeus blushed at this personal compliment, though it 
 came from the lips of a wrinkled old woman ; and begging per- 
 mission to assist her down the stairs, he asked when service 
 would begin again. 
 
 " At three o'clock, sir, and may Heaven bless the mother 
 who bore so pious a son ! " 
 
 While the poor woman spoke, she raised her eyes with a 
 melancholy resignation. The count, touched with her words 
 and manner, almost unconsciously to himself, continued by her 
 side as she hobbled down the street. 
 
 His eyes were fixed on the ground, until somebody pressing 
 against him, made him look round. He saw that his aged com- 
 panion had just knocked at the door of a mean-looking house, 
 and that she and himself were surrounded by nearly a dozen 
 people, besides boys who through curiosity had followed them 
 from the church porch. 
 
 " Ah ! sweet sir," cried she, "these folks are staring at so 
 fine a gentleman taking notice of age and poverty." 
 
 Thaddeus was uneasy at the inquisitive gaze of the by- 
 standers ; and his companion observing the fluctuation of his 
 countenance, added, as the door was opened by a little girl, 
 
 " Will your honor walk in out of the rain, and warm your- 
 self by my poor fire ? " 
 
 He hesitated a moment ; then, accepting her invitation, 
 bent his head to get under the humble door-way, and following 
 her through a neatly-sanded passage, entered a small but clean 
 kitchen. A little boy, who was sitting on a stool near the fire, 
 uttered a scream at the sight of the stranger, and running up 
 to his grandmother, rolled himself in her cloak, crying out, 
 
 " Mammy, mammy, take away that black man ! " 
 
 " Be quiet, William ; it is a gentleman, and no black man. 
 I am so ashamed, sir ; but he is only three years old." 
 
 " I should apologize to you," returned the count, smiling, 
 " for introducing a person so hideous as to frighten your 
 family." 
 
 By the time he finished speaking, the good dame had 
 pacified the shrieking boy, who stood trembling, and looking 
 
114 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 askance at the tremendous black gentleman stroking the head 
 of his pretty sister. 
 
 " Come here, my dear ! " said Thaddeus, seating himself by 
 the fire, and stretching out his hand to the child. He instantly 
 buried his head in his grandmother's apron. 
 
 " William ! William ! " cried his sister, pulling him by the 
 arm, " the gentleman will not hurt you." 
 
 The boy again lifted up his head. Thaddeus threw back 
 his long sable cloak, and taking off his cap, whose hearse-like 
 plumes he thought might have terrified the child, he laid it on 
 the ground, and again stretching forth his arms, called the boy 
 to approach him. Little William now looked steadfastly in his 
 face, and then on the cap, which he had laid beside him ; 
 whilst he grasped his grandmother's apron with one hand, he 
 held out the other, half assured, towards the count. Thaddeus 
 took it, and pressing it softly, pulled him gently to him, and 
 placed him on his knee. " My little fellow," said he, kissing 
 him, " you are not frightened now ? " 
 
 " No," said the child ; " I see you are not the ugly black 
 man who takes away naughty boys. The ugly black man has 
 a black face, and snakes on his head ; but these are pretty 
 curls ! " added he, laughing, and putting his little fingers 
 through the thick auburn hair which hung in neglected masses 
 over the forehead of the count. 
 
 " I am ashamed that your honor should sit in a kitchen," 
 said the old lady ; "but I have not a fire in any other room." 
 
 "Yes," said her granddaughter, who was about twelve years 
 old ; "grandmother has a nice first-floor up stairs, but because 
 we have no lodgers, there be no fire there." 
 
 " Be silent, Nanny Robson," said the dame; "your pert- 
 ness teases the gentleman." 
 
 " O, not at all," cried Thaddeus ; " I ought to thank her, 
 for she informs me you have lodgings to let ; will you allow me 
 to engage them ! " 
 
 " You, sir ! " cried Mrs. Robson, thunderstruck ; " for what 
 purpose ? Surely so noble a gentleman would not live in such 
 a place as this ? " 
 
 " I would, Mrs. Robson : I know not where I could live 
 "with more comfort ; and where comfort is, my good madam, 
 what signifies the costliness or plainness of the dwelling? " 
 
 " Well, sir, if you be indeed serious ; but I cannot think you 
 are ; you are certainly making a joke of me for my boldness in 
 asking you into my poor house." 
 
 " Upon my honor, I am not, Mrs. Robson. I will gladly 
 
THADDE US OF U'A RSA IF. I y ^ 
 
 be your lodp^er if you will admit me ; and to convince you that 
 I am in earnest, my portmanteau shall this moment be brought 
 here." 
 
 " Well, sir," resumed she, " I shall be honored in having 
 you in my house ; but I have no room for any one but yourself, 
 not even for a servant." 
 
 " I have no servant." 
 
 " Then I will wait on him, ^grandmother," cried the little 
 Nanny ; " do let the gentleman have them ; I am sure he looks 
 honest." 
 
 The woman colored at this last observation of the child, 
 and proceeded : 
 
 *' Then, sir, if you should not disdain the rooms when you 
 see them, I shall be too happy in having so good a gentleman 
 under my roof. Pardon my boldness, sir ; but may 1 ask ? I 
 think by your dress you are a foreigner.? " 
 
 " I am," replied Thaddeus, the radiance which played over 
 his features contracting into a glow ; " if you have no objection 
 to take a stranger within your doors, from this hour I shall 
 consider your house my home ? " 
 
 "As your honor pleases," said ]\Irs. Robson ; " my terms 
 are half-a-guinea a week ; and I will tend on you as though you 
 were my own son ! for I cannot forget, excellent young gentle- 
 man, the way in which we first met." 
 
 " Then I will leave you for the present," returned he, rising, 
 and putting down the little William, who had been amusing 
 himself with examining the silver points of the star of St. 
 Stanislaus which the count wore on his breast. " In the mean- 
 while," said he, " my pretty friend," stooping to the child, 
 " let this bit of silver," was just mounting to his tongue, as he 
 put his hand into his pocket to take out half-a-crown ; but he 
 recollected that his necessities would no longer admit of such 
 gifts, and drawing his hand back with a deep and bitter sigh, 
 he touched the boy's cheek with his lips, and added, "let this 
 kiss remind you of your new friend." 
 
 This was the first time the generous spirit of Sobieski had 
 been restrained ; and he suffered a pang, for the poignancy of 
 which he could not account. His had been a life accustomed 
 to acts of munificence. His grandfather's palace was the 
 asylum of the unhappy — his grandfather's purse a treasury for the 
 unfortunate. The soul of Thaddeus did not degenerate from 
 his noble relative : his generosity, begun in inclination, was 
 nurtured by reflection, and strengthened with a daily exercise 
 which had rendered it a habit of his nature. Want never 
 
Ii6 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 appeared before him without exciting a sympathetic emotion in 
 his heart, which never rested until he had administered every 
 comfort in the power of wealth to bestow. His compassion 
 and his purse were the substance and shadow of each other. 
 The poor of his country thronged from every part of the king- 
 dom to receive pity and relief at his hands. With those house- 
 less wanderers he peopled the new villages his grandfather 
 had erected in the midst of lands which in former times were 
 the haunts of wild beasts. Thadcleus participated in the hap- 
 piness of his grateful tenants, and many were the old men 
 whose eyes he had closed in thankfulness and peace. These 
 honest peasants, even in their dying moments, wished to give 
 up that life in his arms which he had rescued from misery. He 
 visited their cottage , he smoothed their pillow ; he joined in 
 their prayers ; and when their last sigh came to his ear, he 
 raised the weeping family from the dust, and cheered them 
 with pious exhortations and his kindest assurances of protec- 
 tion. How often has the countess clasped her beloved son to 
 her breast, when, after a scene like this, he has returned home, 
 the tears of the dying man and his children yet wet upon his 
 hand ! how often has she strained him to her heart, whilst 
 floods of rapture have poured from her own eyes \ Heir to the 
 first fortune in Poland, he scarcely knew the means by which 
 he bestowed all these benefits ; and with a soul as bounteous 
 to others as Heaven had been munificent to him, wherever he 
 moved he shed smiles and gifts around him. How frequently 
 he had said to the palatine, when his carriage-wheels were 
 chased by the thankful multitude, "O my father ! how can I 
 ever be sufiiciently grateful to God for the happiness he hath 
 allotted to me in making me the dispenser of so many bless- 
 ings ! The gratitude of these people overpowers and humbles 
 me in my own eyes; what have I done to be so eminently 
 favored of Heaven t I tremble when I ask myself the ques- 
 tion." " You may tremble, my dear boy," replied his grand- 
 father, " for indeed the trial is a severe one. Prosperity, like 
 adversity, is an ordeal of conduct. Two roads are before the 
 rich man — vanity or virtue ; you have chosen the latter, and 
 the best : and may Heaven ever hold you in it ! May Heaven 
 ever keep your heart generous and pure ! Go on, my dear 
 Thaddeus, as you have commenced, and you will find that your 
 Creator hath bestowed wealth upon you not for what you have 
 done, but as the means of evincing how well you would prove 
 yourself his faithful steward." 
 
 This was the fortune of 'J'liaddeus ; and 7iou' he who had 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. uy 
 
 scattered thousands without counting them drew back his hand 
 with something like horror at his own injustice, when he was 
 going to give away one Httle piece of silver, which he might* 
 want in a day or two, to defray some indispensible debt. 
 
 " Mrs. Robson," said he, as he replaced his cap upon his 
 head, " I shall return before it is dark." 
 
 " Very well, sir," and opening the door, he went out into 
 the lane. 
 
 Ignorant of the town, and thanking Providence for having 
 prepared him an asylum, he directed his course towards Char- 
 ing Cross. He looked about him with deepened sadness ; tlie 
 wet and plashy state of the streets gave to every object so 
 comfortless an appearance, he could scarcely believe himself to 
 be in that London of which he had read with so much delight. 
 Where were the magnificent buildings he expected to see in il:e 
 emporium of the world.? Where that cleanliness, and those 
 tokens of greatness and splendor, which had been the admira- 
 tion and boast of travellers t He could nowhere discover 
 them ; all seemed parts of a dark, gloomy, common-looking 
 city. 
 
 Hardly heeding whither he went, he approached the Horse- 
 Guards ; a view of the Park, as it appears through the wide 
 -porch, promised him less unpleasantness than the dirty pave- 
 #nent, and he turned in, taking his way along the Bird-Caa:e 
 Walk.* 
 
 The trees, stripped of their leaves, stood naked, and drip- 
 ping with melten snow. The season v/as in unison with tl:e 
 count's fate. He was taking the bitter wind for his repast, 
 and quenching his thirst with the rain that fell on his pale and 
 feverish lips. He felt the cutting blast enter his soul, and shut- 
 ting his eyelids to repel the tears which were rising from liis 
 heart, he walked faster ; but in spite of himself, their drops 
 mingled with the wet that trickled from his cap upon i.is face. 
 One melancholy thought introduced another, until his bewil- 
 dered mind lived over again, in memory, every calamity which 
 had reduced him from happiness to all this lonely misery. Two 
 
 * The young readers of these few preceding pages will not recognize this description c f 
 St. Martinis Lane, Charing Cross, and St. James's Park, i:i 1794, in what they now sec there 
 in 1344. St. Martin's noble church was then the centre cf the east side of a lonpr, narrow, 
 and somewh.T. ly lane of mean liouses, particularly in the end below the church. Char- 
 \\\% Cross, with its adjoining streets, showed nothing better than plain tradesmen's shops ; 
 and it was iiot till we saw the Admiralty, and entered the Horse-Guards, that anything 
 presented itself worthy the great name of London. The Park is almost completely altered. 
 The lower part ff the lane has totally disappeared; also its adjimct, the Kings Mews, 
 where now stands the royal National Gallery, while the church of St. ^Lartin's rears its 
 majestic jiortico aiid spire, no longer obscured by its former adjacent common buildirf s ; 
 and the grand naval pillar lately erected to \\\!^ memory rf I'ritam's hero, Nelson, occupies 
 the centre of the new quadrangle now called Trafalgar' Square. 
 
Ii8 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 or three heavy convulsive sighs followed these reflections ; and 
 quickening his pace, he walked several times quite round the 
 Park. The rain ceased. But not marking time, and hardly- 
 observing the people who passed, he threw himself down upon 
 one of the benches, and sat in a musing posture, with his eyes 
 fixed on the opposite tree. 
 
 A sound of voices approaching roused him. Turning his 
 eyes, he saw the speakers were two young men, and by their 
 dress he judged they must belong to the regiment of a sentinel 
 who was patrolling at the end of the Mall. 
 
 "By heavens! Barrington," cried one, "it is the best 
 shaped boot I ever beheld ! I have a good mind to ask him 
 whether it be English make." 
 
 "And if it be," replied the other, "you must ask him 
 who shaped his legs, that you may send yours to be mended." 
 
 " Who the devil can see my legs through that boot "i " 
 
 " Oh, if to veil them be your reason, pray ask him imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " And so I will, for I think the boot perfection." 
 
 At these words, he was making towards Sobieski wath two 
 or three long strides, when his companion pulled him back. 
 
 "Surely, Harwold, you will not be so ridiculous.? He ap- 
 pears to be a foreigner of rank, and may take offence, and give 
 you the length of his foot ! " 
 
 " Curse him and rank too ; he is some paltry emigrant, I 
 warrant ! I care nothing about his foot or his legs, but I should 
 like to know who made his boots ! " 
 
 While he spoke he would have dragged his companion 
 along with him, but Barrington broke from his arm ; and the 
 fool, who now thought himself dared to it, strode up close to 
 the chair, and bowed to Thaddeus, who (hardly crediting that 
 he could be the subject of this dialogue) returned the saluta- 
 tion with a cold bend of his head. 
 
 Harwold looked a little confounded at this haughty de- 
 meanor; and, once in his life, blushing at his own insolence, he 
 roared out, as if in defiance of shame. 
 
 " Pray, sir, where did you get your boots ? " 
 
 " Where I got my sword, sir," replied Thaddeus, calmly ; 
 and rising from his seat, he darted his eyes disdainfully on the 
 coxcomb, and walked slowly down the Mall. Surprised and 
 shocked at such behavior in a British officer, while he moved 
 away he distinctly heard Barrington laughing aloud, and ridi- 
 culing the astonished and set-down air of his impudent asso- 
 ciate. 
 
Til A DD /•: L 'S OF 1 1 'A A\SA ir. , I q 
 
 This incident did not so much ruftle the temper of Thad- 
 deus as it amazed and perplexed him. 
 
 " Is this a specimen," tiiough lie, " of a nation which on 
 the Continent is venerated for courage, manliness, and gener- 
 osity ? Well, I find I have much to learn. I must go through 
 the ills of life to estimate myself thoroughly; and I must study 
 mankind in themselves, and not in reports of them, to have a 
 true knowledge of wliat they are." 
 
 This strange rencontre was of service to him, by diverting 
 his mind from the intense contemplation of his situation ; and as 
 the dusk drew on, he turned his steps towards the Hummum.s. 
 
 On entering the coffee-room, he was met by the obsequious 
 Jenkins, who, being told by Thaddeus that he wanted his bag- 
 gage and a carriage, went for the things himself, and sent a 
 boy for a coach. 
 
 A man dressed in black was standing by the chimney, and 
 seemed to be eyeing Thaddeus, as he walked up and down the 
 room, with great attention. Just as he had taken another turn, 
 and so drew nearer the fireplace, this person accosted him 
 rather abruptly — 
 
 " Pray, sir, is there any news stirring abroad ? You seem, 
 sir, to come from abroad." 
 
 " None that I know of, sir." 
 
 " Bless me, that's strange 1 I thought, sir, you came from 
 abroad, sir ; from the Continent, from Poland, sir ? at least the 
 waiter said so, sir." 
 
 Thaddeus colored. " The waiter, sir? " 
 
 " I mean, sir," continued the gentleman, visibly confused 
 at the dilemma into which he had brought himself, " the waiter 
 said that you were a count, sir — a Polish count ; indeed the 
 Count Sobieski I Hence I concluded that you are from Po- 
 land. If I have offended, I beg pardon, sir; but in these 
 times we are anxious for every intelligence." 
 
 Thaddeus made no other reply than a slight inclination of 
 his head, and walking forward to see whether the coach had 
 arrived, he thought, whatever travellers had related of the 
 English, they were the most impertinent people he had 'ever 
 met with. 
 
 The stranger would not be contented with what he had al- 
 ready said, but plucking up new courage, pursued the count to 
 the glass door through which he was looking, and resumed : 
 
 "I believe, sir, I am not wrong? You are the Count 
 Sobieski ; and I have tlic honor to be now speaking with the 
 bravest champion of Polish liberty ! " 
 
I20 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Thaddeus again bowed. " I thank you, sir, for the compli- 
 ment you intend me, but I cannot take it to myself ; all the 
 men of Poland, old and young, nobles and peasants, were her 
 champions, equally sincere, equally brave." 
 
 Nothing could silence the inquisitive stranger. The coach 
 drew up, but he went on : 
 
 " Then I hope that many of these patriots, besides your ex- 
 cellency, have taken care to bring away their wealth from a 
 land which they must now see is abandoned to destruction ? " 
 
 For a moment Thaddeus forget himself, indignation for his 
 country, and all her rights and all her sufferings rose in his 
 countenance. 
 
 " No, sir ! not one of- those men, and least of all would I 
 have drawn one vital drop from her heart ! I left in her mur- 
 dered bosom all that was dear to me — all that I possessed ; 
 and not until I saw the chains brought before my eyes that 
 were to lay her surviving sons in irons did I turn my back on 
 calamities I could no longer avert or alleviate." 
 
 The ardor of his manner and the elevation of his voice had 
 drawn the attention of every person in the room upon him, 
 when Jenkins entered with his baggage. The door being 
 opened, Sobieski sprang into the coach, and gladly shut him- 
 self there, from a conversation which had awakened all his 
 griefs. 
 
 "Ah, poor enthusiast!" exclaimed his inquisitor, as the 
 carriage drove off. " It is a pity that so fine a young man 
 should have made so ill a use of his birth, and other natural 
 advantages ! " 
 
 " He appears to me," observed an old clergyman who sat 
 in an adjoining box, to have made the best possible use of his 
 natural advantages ; and had I a son, I would rather hear him 
 utter such a sentiment as the one with which that young man 
 quitted the room, than see him master of millions." 
 
 " May be so," cri£d the questioner, with a contemptuous 
 glance ; " ' different minds incline to diilerent objects ! " His 
 has decided for 'the wonderful, the wild;' and a pretty finale 
 he h.-ts made of his choice ! " 
 
 " Why, to be sure," observed another spectator, " young 
 people should be brought up with reasonable ideas of right and 
 wrong, and prudence ; nevertheless, I should not like a son of 
 mine to run harum-scarum through my property, and his own 
 life ; and yet one cannot help, when one hears such a brave 
 speech as that from yonder Frenchman just gone out, — I say 
 one cannot help thinking it very fine." 
 
THADDEL'S OF WARSAW. 12i 
 
 ''True, true," cried the inquisitor; ''you are riglu, sir j 
 very fine indeed, but too tine to wear ; it would soon leave us 
 acreless, as it lias done him ; for it seems, liy his own confes- 
 sion, he is penniless ; and 1 know that a twelvemonth ago he was 
 an heir to a fortune which, however incalculable, he has man- 
 aged, with all his talents, to see the end of." 
 
 "Then he is in distress ! " exclaimed the clergyman, " and 
 you know him. What is his name ? " 
 
 The man colored at this unexpected inference ; and glad 
 the company had not attended to that part of the dialogue in 
 which the name of Sobieski was mentioned, he stammered some 
 indistinct words, took up his hat, and looking at his watch, 
 begged pardon, having an appointment, and hurried out of the 
 room without speaking further ; although the good clergyman, 
 whose name was Blackmore, hastened after him, requesting to 
 know where the young foreigner lived. 
 
 " Who is that spectacled coxcomb ? " cried the reverend doc- 
 tor, as he returned from his unavailing application. 
 
 " I don't know, sir," replied the waiter ; " I never saw him 
 in this house before last night, when he came in late to sleep ; 
 and this morning he was in the coffee-room at breakfast, just as 
 that foreign gentleman walked through ; and Jenkins bawling his 
 name out very loud, as soon as he was gone, this here gentle- 
 man asked him who that count was. I heard Jenkins say some 
 Russian name, and tell him he came last night, and would 
 likely come back again ; and so that there gentleman has been 
 loitering about ail day till now, when the foreign gentleman 
 coming in, he spoke to him." 
 
 " And don't you know anything further of this foreigner ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I forget what he is called ; but I see Jenkins 
 going across the street ; shall I run after him and ask him ? " 
 
 " You are very obliging," returned the old clergyman ; 
 "but does Jenkins know were the stranger lives.-* " 
 
 "No, sir; I am sure he don't." 
 
 "I am sorry for it," sighed the kind questioner; "then 
 3^our inquiry would be of no use ; his name will not do without 
 his direction. Poor fellow ! he has been unfortunate, and I 
 might have befriended him." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, doctor," cried the first speaker, who now 
 rose to accompany him out ; " it is our duty to befriend the un- 
 fortunate ; but charity begins at home; and as all's for the 
 best, perhaps it is lucky we did not hear any more about this 
 young fellow. W^e might have involved ourselves in a vast deal 
 of unnecessary trouble ; and you know people from outlandisli 
 parts have no claims upon us." 
 
122 TH AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the doctor, " none in the world, except- 
 ing those which no human creature can dispute, — the claims of 
 nature. All mankind are born heirs of suffering ; and as joint 
 inheritors, if we do not wipe away each other's tears, it will 
 prove but a comfortless portion." 
 
 "Ah 1 doctor," cried his companion, as they separated at 
 the end of Charles-street, " you have always the best of an 
 argument : you have logic and Aristotle at your finger ends." 
 
 " No, my friend ; my arguments are purely Christian. 
 Nature is my logic, and the Bible my teacher." 
 
 "Ah, there you have me again. You parsons are as bad as 
 the lawyers ; when once you get a poor sinner amongst 3'ou, he 
 finds it as hard to get out of the church as out of chancery. 
 However, have it your own way ; charity is your trade, and 1 
 won't be in a hurry to dispute the monopoly. Good-day ! If 
 I stay much longer, you will make me believe that black is 
 white." 
 
 Dr. Blackmore shook him by the hand, and wishing him 
 good-eveniiig, returned home, pitying the worldliness of his 
 friend's mind, and musing on the interesting stranger, whom he 
 could not but admire, and compassionate with a lively sorrow, 
 for he believed him to be a gentleman, unhappy and unfortu- 
 nate. Had he known that the object of his solicitude was the 
 illustrious subject of many a former eulogiumfrom himself, how 
 increased would have been his regret — that he had seen Count 
 Thaddeus Sobieski, that he had seen him an exile, and that 
 he had suffered him to pass out of the reach of his services ! 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 THE exile's lodgings. 
 
 Meanwhile the homeless Sobieski was cordially received 
 by his humble landlady. He certainly never stood in more 
 need of kindness. A slow fever, which had been gradually 
 creeping over him since he quilted Poland, soon settled on his 
 nerves, and reduced him to such weakness, that he possessed 
 neither strength nor spirits to stir abroad. 
 
 Mrs. Robson was sincerely grieved at this illness of her 
 guest. Her own son, the father of the orphans she protected, 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 123 
 
 had died of consumption, and any appearance of that cruel 
 disorder was a certain call upon her compassion. 
 
 Thaddeus gave himself up to her management. He had no 
 money for medical assistance, and to please lier he took what 
 little medicines she prepared. According to her advice, he 
 remained for several days shut up in his chamber, with a 
 large tire, and the shutters closed, to exclude the smallest por- 
 tion of that air which the good woman thought had already 
 stricken him with death. 
 
 But all would not do ; her patient became worse and worse. 
 Frightened at the symptoms, Mrs. Robson begged leave to 
 send for the kind apothecary who had attended her deceased 
 son. In this instance only she found the count obstinate , no 
 arguments, nor even tears, could move him to assent. When 
 she stood weeping, and holding his burning hand, his answer 
 was constantly the same. 
 
 " My excellent Mrs. Robson, do not grieve on my account ; 
 I am not in the danger you think ; I shall do very well with 
 your assistance." 
 
 '' No, no ; I see death in your eyes. Can I feel this hand and 
 see that hectic cheek without beholding your grave, as it were, 
 opening before me 1 " 
 
 She was not much mistaken ; for during the night after this 
 debate Thaddeus grew so delirious that, no longer able to sub- 
 due her terrors, she sent for the apothecary to come instantly 
 to her house. 
 
 '• Oh, doctor ! " cried she, while he ascended the stairs, " I 
 have the best young gentleman ever the sun shone on dying in 
 that room ! He would not let me send for you ; and now he 
 is raving like a mad creature." 
 
 Mr. Vincent entered the count^s humble apartment, and un- 
 drew the curtains of the bed. Exhausted by delirium, Thad- 
 deus had sunk senseless on his pillow. At this sight, suppos- 
 ing him dead, I\Irs. Robson uttered a shriek, which was echoed 
 by the cries of the little William, who stood near his grand- 
 mother. 
 
 " Hush ! my good woman," said the doctor ; " the gentle- 
 man is not dead. Leave the room till you have recovered 
 yourself, and I will engage that you shall see him alive when 
 you return." 
 
 Blessing these words she quitted the room with her grand- 
 son. 
 
 On entering the chamber, Mr. Vincent had felt that its hot 
 and stifling atmosphere must augment the fever of his patient; 
 
124 THADDEUS OF IVARSAW. 
 
 and before he attempted to disturb Lim from the temporary rest 
 of insensibiUty, he opened the window-shutters and also the 
 room-door wide enough to admit the air from the adjoining 
 apartment. PulUng the heavy clothes from the count's bosom 
 he raised his head on his arm and poured some drops into his 
 mouth. Sobieski opened his eyes and uttered a few incoherent 
 words ; but he did not rave, he only wandered, and appeared 
 to know that he did so, for he several times stopped in the 
 midst of some confused speech, and laying his hand on his 
 forehead, strove to recollect himself. 
 
 Mrs. Robson soon after re-entered the room, and wept out 
 her thanks to the apothecary, whom she revered as almost a 
 worker of miracles. 
 
 " I must bleed him, Mrs. Robson," continued he ; "and for 
 that purpose shall go home for my assistant and lancets ; but 
 in the meanwhile I charge you to let every thing remain in the 
 state I have left it. The heat alone would have given a fever 
 to a man in health." 
 
 When the apothecary returned, he saw that his commands 
 had been strictly obeyed ; and finding that. the change of at- 
 mosphere had wrought the expected alteration in his patient, 
 he took his arm without difficulty and bled him. At the end 
 of the operation Thaddeus again fainted. 
 
 " Poor gentleman ! " cried Tvlr. Vincent, binding up the 
 arm. " Look here, Tom," (pointing to the scars, on the 
 count's shoulder and breast ;) " see what terrible cuts have 
 been here ! This has not been playing at soldiers ! Who is 
 your lodger, Mrs. Robson ? " 
 
 " His name is Constantine, Mr. Vincent ; but for Heaven's 
 sake recover him from that swoon." 
 
 Mr. Vincent poured more drops into his mouth f and a 
 minute afterwards he opened his eyes, divested of their 
 feverish glare, but still dull and heavy. He spoke to Mrs. 
 Robson by her name, which gave her such delight, that she 
 caught his hands to her lips and burst again into tears. The 
 action was so abrupt and violent, that it made him feel the 
 stiffness of his arm. Casting his eyes towards the surgeon's, 
 he conjectured what had been his state, and what the conse- 
 quence. 
 
 "Come, Mrs, Robson," said the apothecary, "you must 
 not disturb the gentleman. How do you find yourself, sir ? " 
 
 As the deed could not be recalled, Thaddeus thanked the 
 doctor for the service he had received, and said a few kind 
 and grateful words to his good hostess. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1 25 
 
 Mr. Vincent was glad to see so promising an issue to his 
 proceedings, and soon after retired with his assistant and Mrs. 
 Robson, to give further directions. 
 
 On entering the parlor, she threw herself into a chair and 
 broke into a paroxysm of lamentations. 
 
 " My good woman, what is all this about?" inquired the 
 .doctor. '• Is not my patient better ? " 
 
 "Yes," cried she, drying her eyes; but the whole scene 
 puts me so in mind of the last moments of my poor misguided 
 son, that the very sight of it goes through my heart like a 
 knife. Oh I had my boy been as good as that dear gentleman, 
 had he been as well prepared to die, I think I would scarcely 
 have grieved ! Yet Heaven spare Mr. Constantine. \\'ill he 
 live ? " 
 
 "I hope so, Mrs. Robson. His fever is high ; but he is 
 young, and with extreme care we may preserve him." 
 
 " The Lord grant it ! " cried she, " for he is the best gentle- 
 man I ever beheld. He has been above a week with me ; and 
 till this night, in which he lost his senses, though hardly able 
 to breath or see, he has read out of books which he brought 
 with him ; and good books too : for it was but yesterday morn- 
 ing that I saw the dear soul sitting by the fire with a book on 
 the table, wdiich he had been studying for an hour. As I was 
 dusting about, I saw him lay his head down on it, and put his 
 hand to his temples. 'Alas! sir,' said I, 'you tease your 
 brains with these books of learning when you ought to be 
 taking rest.' * No, Mrs. Robson,' returned lie, widi a sweet 
 smile, ' it is this book wdiich brings me rest. I may amuse 
 myself with others, but this alone contains perfect beauty, 
 perfect wisdom, and perfect peace. It is the only infallible 
 soother of human sorrows.' He closed it, and put it on the 
 chimney-piece ; and when I looked at it afterwards, I found it 
 was the Bible. Can you wonder that I should love so excellent 
 a gentleman ? " 
 
 " You have given a strange account of him," replied Vin- 
 cent. " I hope he is not a twaddler;* if so, I shall despair 
 of his cure, and think his delirium had another cause be- 
 sides fever." 
 
 "I don't understand you, sir. He is a Christian, and as 
 good a reasonable, sweet-tempered gentleman as ever came 
 into a house. Alas ! I believe he is most likely a papist ; 
 
 * A term of derision, forty years ago, amongst unthinking persons, when speaking of 
 eminently reHgious people. 
 
126 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 though they say papists don't read the Bible, but worship 
 images." 
 
 " Why, what reason have you to suppose that ? He's an 
 EngUshman, is he not?" « 
 
 " No, he is an emigrant." 
 
 " An emigrant ! Oh, ho ! " cried Mr. Vincent, with a con- 
 temptuous twirl of his lip. " What, a poor Frenchman ! Good. 
 Lord ! how this town is overrun with these fellows ! " 
 
 " No, doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Robson, greatly hurt at this 
 scorn to her lodger, whom she really loved ; " whatever he be, 
 he is not poor, for he has a power of fine things ; he has got a 
 w^atch all over diamonds, and diamond rings, and diamond 
 pictures without number. So, doctor, you need not fear you 
 are attending him for charity ; no, I would sell my gown first." 
 
 " Nay, don't be offended, Mrs. Robson ; I meant no offence," 
 returned he, much mollified by this explanation ; "but, really, 
 when we see the bread that should feed our children and our 
 own poor eaten up by a parcel of lazy French drones — all Sans 
 Culottes^ in disguise, for aught we know, who cover our land, 
 and destroy its produce like a swarm of filthy locusts — we 
 
 should be fools not to murmur. But Mr. ■ , Mr. , what 
 
 do you call him, Mrs. Robson ? is a different sort of body." 
 
 " Mr. Constantine," replied she, " and indeed he is ; and 
 no doubt, when you recover him, he w^ill pay you as though he 
 were in his own country." 
 
 This last assertion banished all remaining suspicion from 
 the mind of the apothecary ; and, after giving the good woman 
 what orders he thought requisite, he returned home, promising 
 to call again in the evening. 
 
 Mrs. Robson went up stairs to the count's chamber with 
 other sentiments to her sapient doctor than those with which 
 she came down. She well recollected the substance of his 
 discourse, and she gathered from it that, however clever he 
 might be in his profession, he was a hard-hearted man, who 
 would rather see a fellow-creature perish than administer relief 
 to him without a reward. She had paid him to the uttermost 
 farthing for her poor son. 
 
 But here Mrs. Robson was mistaken. She did him justice 
 in esteeming his medical abilities, which were great. He had 
 made medicine the study of his life, and not allowing any 
 other occupation to disturb his attention, he became master of 
 
 * The democratic rabble were commonly so called at that early period of the French 
 Revolution ; and certainly some of their demac^ogues did cross the Channel at times, coun- 
 terfeiting themselves to be loyal emigrants, while assiduously disseminating their destruc- 
 tive principles wherever they could find an entrance. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 127 
 
 that science, but remained ignorant of every other with which 
 it had no connection. He was the father of a family, and, in 
 the usual acceptation of the term, a very good sort of a man. 
 He preferred his country to every other, because it was his 
 country ; he loved his wife and his children ; he was kind to 
 the poor, to whom he gave his advice gratis, and letters to the 
 dispensary for drugs ; and when he had any broken victuals 
 to spare, he desired that they might be divided amongst them ; 
 but he seldom caught his maid obeying this part of his com- 
 mands without reprimanding her for her extravagance, in giving 
 away what ought to be eaten in the kitchen : " in these times, 
 it was a shame to waste a crumb, and the careless hussy would 
 come to want for thinking so lightly of other people's prop- 
 erty." 
 
 Thus, like many in the world, he was a loyal citizen by 
 habit, an affectionate father from nature, and a man of charity 
 because he now and then felt pity, and now and then heard it 
 preached from the pulpit. He was exhorted to be pious, and 
 to pour wine and oil into the wounds of his neighbor ; but it 
 never once struck him that piety extended further than going 
 to church, mumbling his prayers and forgetting the sermon, 
 through most of which he generally slept ; and his commen- 
 taries on the good Samaritan were not more extensive, for it 
 was so difficult to make him comprehend who was his neighbor, 
 that the subject of the argument might have been sick, dead 
 and buried before he could be persuaded that he or she had 
 any claims on his care. Indeed, his " charity began at home ; " 
 and it was so fond of its residence, that it stopped there. To 
 have been born on the other side of the 13ritish Channel, 
 spread an ocean between every poor foreigner and Mr. Vincent's 
 purse which the swiftest wings of charity ,could never cross. 
 *'He saw no reason," he said, "for feeding the natural enemies 
 of our country. Would any man be mad enough to take the 
 meat from his children's mouths and throw it to a swarm of 
 wolves just landed on the coast ? " "These wolves " w-ere his 
 favorite metaphor when he spoke of the unhappy French, or 
 of any other penniless strangers that came in his way. 
 
 After this explanation, it may appear paradoxical to men- 
 tion an inconsistency in the mind of Mr. Vincent which never 
 permitted him to discover the above Cainish mark of outlawry 
 upon a wealthy visitor, of whatever country. In fact, it was 
 with him as wnth many : riches were a splendid and thick robe 
 that concealed all blemishes ; take it away, and probably the 
 poor stripped wretch would be treated worse than a criminal. 
 
128 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 That his new patient possessed some propert}' was sufficient 
 to ensure the respect and medical skill of Mr. Vincent ; and 
 when he entered his own house, he told his wife he had found 
 " a very good job at Mrs. Robson's, in the illness of her lodger 
 — a foreigner of some sort," he said, "who, by her account, 
 had feathered his nest well in the spoils of battle (like Moore's 
 honest Irishman) with jewels and gold." So much for the 
 accuracy of most quotations adopted according to the con- 
 venience of the speaker. 
 
 When the Count Sobieski quitted the Hummums, on the 
 evening in which he brought away his baggage, he was so dis- 
 concerted by the impertinence of the man who accosted him 
 there, that he determined not to expose himself to a similar 
 insult by retaining a title which might subject him to the 
 curiosity of the insolent and insensible ; and, therefore, v.'hen 
 Mrs. Robson asked him how she should address him, as he 
 was averse to assume a feigned name, he merely said Mr. Con- 
 stantine. 
 
 Under that unobtrusive character, he hoped in time to 
 accommodate his feelings to the change of fortune which 
 Providence had allotted to him. He must forget his nobility^ 
 his pride, and his sensibility ; he must earn his subsistence. 
 But by what means ? He was ignorant of business ; and he 
 knew not hov/ to turn his accomplishments to account. Such 
 were his meditations, until illness and delirium deprived him ol 
 them and of reason together. 
 
 At the expiration of a week, in which Mr. Vincent attended 
 his patient very regularly, Sobieski was able to remove into the 
 front room ; but uneasiness about the debts he had so uninten- 
 tionally incurred retarded his recovery, and made his hours 
 pass away in cheerless musings on his poor means of repaying 
 the good widow and of satisfying the avidity of the apothecary. 
 Pecuniary obligation was a load to which he was unaccustomed ; 
 and once or twice the wish almost escaped his heart that he 
 had died. 
 
 Whenever he was left to think, such were his reflections. 
 Mrs. Robson discovered that he appeared moie feverish and 
 had worse nights after being much alone during the day, and 
 therefore contrived, though she was obliged to be in her little 
 shop, to leave either Nanny to attend his wants or little William 
 to amuse him. 
 
 This child, by its uncommon quickness and artless manner, 
 gained upon the count, who was ever alive to helplessness and 
 innocence. Children and animals had alwavs found a friend 
 
7 -J I A DDE i '.V OF I Ki A'S. III'. I 2 9 
 
 and protector in him. From the " majestic war-horse, with his 
 neck clothed in tluinder,'' to " the poor beetle that we tread 
 upon " — every creature of creation met an advocate of mercy 
 in his breast ; and as human nature is prone to love what it has 
 been kind to, Thaddeus never saw either cliildren, do^s, or even 
 that poor slandered and abused animal, the cat, without show- 
 ing tliem some spontaneous act of attention. 
 
 Whatever of his affections he could spare from memory, 
 the count lavished upon the little William. The child hardly 
 e\er left his side, where he sat on a stool, prattling about any- 
 thing that came into his head ; or, seated on his knee, followed 
 with his eyes and playful fingers the hand of Thaddeus, while 
 he sketched a horse or a soldier for his pretty companion. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A ROBBERY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 By these means Thaddeus slowly acquired sufficient strength 
 to allow him to quit his dressing-gown, and prepare for a walk. 
 
 A hard frost had succeeded to the chilling damps of Novem- 
 ber ; and looking out of the window, he longed, almost eagerly, 
 to inhale again the fresh air. After some tender altercations 
 with Mrs. Robson, who feared to trust him even down stairs, 
 he at length conquered ; and taking the little William by his 
 hand, folded his pelisse round him, and promising to venture 
 no further than the King's Mews, was suffered to go out. 
 
 As he expected, he found the keen breeze act like a charm 
 on his debilitated frame ; and with braced nerves and exhila- 
 rated spirits, he walked twice up and down the place, whilst 
 his companion played before him, throwing stones, and running 
 to pick them up. At this moment one of the king's carriages, 
 pursued by a concourse of people, suddenly drove in at the 
 Charing-Cross gate. The frightened child screamed, and fell. 
 Thaddeus darted forward, and seizing the heads of the horses 
 which were within a yard of the boy, stopped them ; mean- 
 while, the mob gathering about, one of them raised William, 
 who continued his cries. The count now let go the reins, and 
 for a few minutes tried to pacify his little charge ; but finding 
 that his alarm and shrieks were not to be quelled, and that his 
 
I30 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSA\. 
 
 own figure, from its singularity of dress, (his high cap and 
 plume adding to its height,) drew on him the whole attention 
 of the people, he took the trembling child in his arms, and 
 walking through the Mews, was followed by some of the by- 
 standers to the very door of Mrs. Robson's shop. 
 
 Seeing the people, and her grandson sobbing on the breast 
 of her guest, she ran out, and hastily asked what had happened. 
 Thaddeus simply answered, that the child had been frightened. 
 But when they entered the house, and he had thrown himself 
 exhausted on a seat, William, as he stood by his knee, told his 
 grandmother that if Mr. Constantine had not stopped the 
 horses, he must have been run over. The count was now 
 obliged to relate the whole story, which ended with the bless- 
 ings of the poor woman, for his goodness in risking his own 
 life for the preservation of her darling child. 
 
 Thaddeus in vain assured her the action deserved no 
 thanks. 
 
 "Well," cried she, "it is like yourself, !Mr. Constantine: 
 you think all your good deeds nothing ; and yet any odd little 
 thing I can do, out of pure love to serve you, you cry up to the 
 skies. However, we won't fall out ; 1 say, heaven bless you ! 
 and that is enough. Has your walk refreshed you ? But I 
 need not ask ; you have got a fine color." 
 
 " Yes," returned he, rising and taking off his cap and cloak, 
 " it has put me in aglow, and made me quite another creature." 
 As he finished speaking, he dropped the things from the 
 hand that held them, and staggered back a few paces against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Good Lord ! what is the matter ? " cried Mrs. Robson, 
 looking in his face, which was now pale as death ; " what is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," returned he, -recovering himself, and 
 gathering up the cloak he had let fall ; "don't mind me, Mrs. 
 Robson ; nothing : " and he was leaving the kitchen, but she 
 followed him, terrified at his look and manner. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Constantine ! " 
 
 "Nay, my dear madam," said he, leading her back, " I am 
 not well ; I believe my walk has overcome me. Let me be a 
 few minutes alone, till I have recovered myself. It will oblige 
 me." 
 
 " Well, sir, as you please ! " and then, laying her withered 
 hand fearfully upon his arm, " forgive me, dear sir," said she, 
 " if my attentions are troublesome. Indeed, I fear that some- 
 times great love appears like great impertinence ; I would 
 
Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 I.^I 
 
 always oe serving you, and therefore I often forget the uide 
 difference between your honor's station and mine." 
 
 The count could only press her hand gratefully, and with an 
 emotion which made him hurry up stairs to hide. When in Ins 
 own room, he shut the door, and cast a wild and inquisitive 
 gaze around tlie apartment ; then, throwing himself into a chair, 
 he struck his head with his hand, and exclaimed, " It is gone ! 
 What will become of me ? — of this poor woman, whose substance 
 I have consumed ? " 
 
 It was true ; the w^atch, by the sale of which he had calculated 
 to defray the charges of his iUness, was indeed lost. A villain 
 in the crowd, having perceived the sparkling of the chain, had 
 taken it unobserved from his side ; and he knew nothing of his 
 loss until, feeling for his watch to see the hour, he discovered 
 his misfortune. 
 
 The shock went like a stroke of electricity through his 
 frame ; but it was not until the last glimmering of hope was 
 extinguished, on examining his room where he thought he 
 might have left it, that he saw the full horror of his situation. 
 
 He sat for some minutes, absorbed, and almost afraid to 
 think. It was not his own, but the necessities of tl^e poor 
 woman, who had, perhaps, incurred debts on herself to afford 
 him comforts, which bore so hard upon him. At last, rising 
 from his seat, he exclaimed, 
 
 "I must determine on something. Since this is gone, I 
 must seek what else I have to part v.-iih, for I cannot long bear 
 my present feelings 1 " 
 
 He opened the drawer which contained his few valuables. 
 
 With a trembling hand he took them out one by one. There 
 were several trinkets which had been given to him by his mother ; 
 and a pair of inlaid pistols, which his grandfather put into his 
 belt on the morning of the dreadful loth of October ; his minia- 
 ture lay beneath them : the mild eyes of the palatine seemed 
 beaming with affection upon his grandson. Thaddeus snatched 
 it up, kissed it fervently, and then laid it back into the drawer, 
 whilst he hid his face with his hands. 
 
 When he recovered himself, he replaced the pistols, believ- 
 ing that it would be sacrilege to part with them. Without al- 
 lowing himself time to think, he put a gold pencil-case and a 
 pair of brilliant sleeve-buttons into his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 He descended the stairs with a soft step, and passing the 
 kitchen-door unperceived by his landlady, crossed through a 
 little court ; and then anxiously looking from right to left, in 
 quest of some shop where he might probably dispose of the 
 
132 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 trinkets, he took his way up Castle Street, and along Leicester- 
 Square. 
 
 When he turned up the first street to his right, he was im- 
 peded by two persons who stood in his path, the one selling, 
 the other buying a hat. The thought immediately struck Thad- 
 deus to ask one of these men (who appeared to be a Jew, and 
 a vender of clothes) to purchase his pelisse. By parting with 
 a thing to which he annexed no more value than the warmth it 
 afforded him, he should possibly spare himself the pain, for this 
 time at least, of sacrificing those gifts of his mother, which had 
 been bestowed upon him in happier days, and hallowed by her 
 caresses. 
 
 He did not permit himself to hesitate, but desired the Jew 
 to follow him into a neighboring court. The man obeyed ; and 
 having no ideas independent of his trade, asked the count what 
 he wanted to buy. 
 
 " Nothing : I want to sell this pelisse," returned he, open- 
 ing it. 
 
 The Jew, without any ceremony, inspected its covering and 
 its lining of fur. 
 
 " Ay, I see : black cloth and sable ; but who would buy it 
 of me 1 An embroidered collar ! nobody wears such things 
 here." 
 
 "Then I am answered," replied Thaddeus. 
 
 "Stop, sir," cried the Jew, pursuing him, "what will you 
 take for it ? " 
 
 "What would you give me ? " 
 
 " Let me see. It is very long and wide. At the utmost I 
 cannot offer you more than five guineas." 
 
 A few months ago, it had cost the count a hundred ; but 
 glad to get any money, however small, he readily closed with 
 the man's price ; and taking off the cloak, gave it to him, and 
 put the guineas into his pocket. 
 
 He had not walked much further before the piercing cold 
 of the evening, and a shower of snow, which began to fall, made 
 him feel the effects of his loss ; however, that did not annoy 
 him ; he had been too heavily assailed by the pitiless rif::ors of 
 misfortune to regard the pelting of the elements. Whilst the 
 wind blew in his face, and the sleet falling on his dress, lodged 
 in its lappels, he went forward, calculating whether it were 
 likely that this money, with the few shillings he yet possessed, 
 would be sufhcient to discharge what he owed. Unused as he 
 had been to all kinds of expenditure which required attention, 
 he supposed, from what he had already seen of a commerce 
 
TIIADDEUS OF ]VARSAU: 
 
 ^Zl 
 
 with the world, that the sum lie had received from the Jew was 
 not above half what he needed ; and with a beating heart lie 
 walked towards one of those shops which Mrs. Robson had de- 
 scribed, when speaking of the irregularities of her son, who had 
 nearly reduced her to beggary. 
 
 The candles were lit. And as he hovered about the door, 
 he distinctly saw the master through the glass, assorting some 
 parcels on the counter. He was a gentleman-like man, and the 
 count's feelings took quite a different turn from those with 
 which he had accosted the Jew, who, being a low, sordid wretch, 
 looked upon the people with whom he trafficked as mere purvey- 
 ors to his profit. Thaddeus felt little repugnance at bargaining 
 with him : but the sight of a respectable person, before whom 
 he was to present himself as a man in poverty, as one who, in a 
 manner, appealed to charity, all at once overcame the resolu- 
 tion of a son of Sobieski, and he debated whether or not ho 
 should return. Mrs. Robson, and her probable distresses, rose 
 before him ; and fearful of trusting his pride any further, he 
 pulled his cap over his face, and entered the shop. 
 
 The man bowed very civilly on his entrance, and requested 
 to be honored with his commands. Thaddeus felt his face 
 glow ; but indignant at his own weakness, he laid the gold case 
 on the counter, and said, in a voice which, notwithstanding his 
 emotion, he constrained to be without appearance of confusion, 
 *■ I want to part with this." 
 
 Astonished at the dignity of the applicant's air, and the no- 
 bility of his dress, (for the star did not escape the shop-keeper's 
 eye), he looked at him for a moment, holding the case in his 
 hand. Hurt by the steadiness of his gaze, the count, rather 
 haughtily, repeated what he had said. The man hesitated no 
 longer. He had been accustomed to similar requests from the 
 emigrant French noblesse. : but there was a loftiness and aspect 
 of authority in the countenance and mien of this person wliich 
 surprised and awed him ; and with a respect which even the 
 application could not counteract, he opened the case, and in- 
 quired of Thaddeus what was the price he affixed to it. 
 
 " I leave that to you," replied he. 
 
 " The gold is pure," returned the man, " but it is ver}'thin ; 
 I cannot give more than three guineas. Though the workman- 
 ship is fine, it is not in the fashion of England, and will be of 
 no benefit to me till melted." 
 
 " You may have it," said Thaddeus, hardly able to articu- 
 late, while the gift of his mother was passing into a stranger's 
 hand. 
 
134 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 The man directly paid him down the money, and the count, 
 with a bursting heart, darted out of the shop. 
 
 Mrs. Robson was shutting up the windows of her little par- 
 lor, when he hastily passed her and glided up the stairs. 
 Hardly believing her senses, she hastened after him, and just 
 got into the room as he drank off a glass of water. 
 
 " Good lack ! sir,*' where has your honor been ? I thought 
 you were all the while in the house, and I would not come near, 
 though I was very uneasy ; and there h^is been poor William 
 crying himself blind, because you desired to be left alone." 
 
 Thaddeus was unprepared to make an answer. He was in 
 hopes to have gotten in as he had stolen out, undiscovered ; for 
 he determined not to agitate her too kind mind by the history 
 of his loss. He would not allow her to know anything of his 
 embarrassments, from a sentiment of justice, as well as from 
 that sensitive pride which all his sufferings and philosophy 
 could not wholly subdue. 
 
 " I have been taking a walk, Mrs. Robson." 
 
 " Dear heart ! I thought when you staggered back, and 
 looked so ill, after you brought in William, you had over- 
 walked yourself." 
 
 " No ; I fancy my fears had a little discomposed me ; and 
 I hoped that more air might do me good ; I tried it, and it 
 has : but I am grieved for having alarmed you." 
 
 This ambiguous speech satisfied his worthy landlady ; and, 
 fatigued by a bodily exertion, which, in the present feeble state 
 of his frame, nothing less than the resolution of his mind could 
 have carried him through, Thaddeus went directly to bed, 
 where tired nature soon found temporary repose in a profound 
 sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE widow's family. 
 
 Next morning Sobieski found himself rather better than 
 worse by the exertions of the preceding day. When Nanny 
 appeared as usual with his breakfast and little William, (who 
 alwa^^s sat on his knee, and shared his bread and butter,) the 
 count desired her to request her grandmother to send to Mr. 
 Vincent with his compliments, and to say her lodger felt him- 
 
TIIADDEl'S OF WARSAW. 135 
 
 sen SO much recovered as to decline any further medical aid, 
 and therefore wished to have his bill. 
 
 Mrs. Robson, who could not forg;et the behavior of the 
 apothecary, undertook to deliver the message herself, happy in 
 the triumph she should enjoy over the littleness of Mr. Vin- 
 cent's suspicions. 
 
 After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, she i-e-appeared in 
 the count's rooms, accompanied by the apothecary's assistant, 
 who, with many thanks, received the sum total of the account, 
 which amounted to three guineas for ten days' attendance. 
 
 The man having withdrawn, Thaddeus told Mrs. Robson, 
 he should next defray the smallest part of the vast debt he 
 must ever owe to her parental care. 
 
 " Oh, bless your honor, it goes to my heart to take a far- 
 thing of you ! but these poor children," cried she, laying a hand 
 en each, and her eyes glistening, " they look up to me as their 
 all here ; and my quarter-day was yesterday, else, dear sir, I 
 should scorn to be like Doctor Vincent, and take your money 
 the moment you offer it." 
 
 " My good madam," returned Sobieski, giving her a chair, 
 *' I am sensible of your kindness : but it is your just due ; and 
 the payment of it can never lessen your claim on my gratitude 
 for the maternal care with which you have attended me, a total 
 stranger." 
 
 " Then, there, sir," said she, looking almost as ashamed as 
 if she were robbing him, when she laid it on the table ; " there 
 is my bill. I have regularly set down ever}'thing. Nanny will 
 bring it to me." And quite disconcerted, the good woman 
 hurried out of the room. 
 
 Thaddeus looked after her with reverence. 
 
 *' There goes," thought he, ** in that lowly and feeble frame, 
 as generous and noble a spirit as ever animated the breast of 
 a princess! "Here, Nanny," said he, glancing his eye over 
 the paper, " there is the gold, with my thanks ; and tell your 
 grandmother I am astonished at her economy." 
 
 This affair over, the count was relieved of a grievous load ; 
 and turning the remaining money in his hand, how he might 
 replenish the little stock before it were expended next occupied 
 his attention. Notwithstanding the pawnbroker's civil treat- 
 ment, he recoiled at again presenting himself at his shop. Be- 
 sides, should he dispose of all that he possessed, it might not 
 be of sufficient value here to subsist him a month. He must 
 think of some source within himself that was not likely to be 
 so soon exhausted. To be reduced a second time to the misery 
 
J 3 6 THA DDE US OF WA RSA IK 
 
 which he had endured yesterday from suspense and wretched- 
 ness, appeared too dreadful to be hazarded, and he ran over in 
 his memory the different merits of his several accomplishments. 
 
 He could not make any use of his musical talents ; for at 
 public exhibitions of himself his soul revolted ; and as to his 
 literary acquirements, his youth, and being a foreigner, pre- 
 cluded all hopes on that head. At length he found that his 
 sole dependence must rest on his talents for painting. Of this 
 art he had always been remarkably fond ; and his taste easily 
 perceived that there were many drawings exhibited for sale 
 much inferior to those which he had executed for mere amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 He decided at once ; and purchasing, by the means of 
 Nanny, pencils and Indian ink, he set to work. 
 
 When he had finished half-a-dozen draw^ings, and was con- 
 sidering how he might find the street in which he had seen the 
 print-shops, the recollection occurred to him of the impression 
 his appearance had made on the pawnbroker. He perceived 
 the wide difference between his apparel and the fashion of 
 England ; and considering the security from impertinence with 
 which he might walk about, could he so far cast off the relics 
 of his former rank as to change his dress, he rose up with an 
 intention to go out and purchase a surtout coat and a hat for 
 that purpose, when catching an accidental view of his uniform, 
 with the star of St. Stanislaus on its breast, as he passed the 
 glass, he no longer wondered at the curiosity which such ai\ 
 appendage, united with poverty, had attracted. Rather than 
 again subject himself to a similar situation, he summoned his 
 young messenger; and, by her assistance, furnished himself 
 with an English hat. and coat, whilst with his penknife he cut 
 away the embroidery of the order from the cloth to which it 
 was affixed. 
 
 Thus accoutred, with his hat flapped over his face and his 
 great-coat wrapped round him, he put the drawings into his 
 bosom, and about eight o'clock in the evening walked out on 
 his disagreeable errand. After some wearying search, he at 
 last found Great Newport Street, the place he wanted ; but as 
 he advanced, his hopes died away, and his fears and reluctance 
 re-awakened. He stopped at the door of the nearest print- 
 shop. All that he had suffered at the pawnbroker's assailed 
 him with redoubled violence. What he presented there pos- 
 sessed a fixed value, and was at once to be taken or refused ; 
 but now he was going to offer things of mere taste, and he 
 might meet not only with a denial, but affronting remarks. 
 
77/.-/ DDEUS OF U 'A RSA I V. 
 
 137 
 
 He walked to the thresliold of the door, then as hastily 
 withdrew, and hurried two or three paces down the street. 
 
 •' Weak, contemptible that I am ! " said he to himself, as 
 he again turned round ; " where is all my reason, and rectitude 
 of principle, that I would rather endure the misery of dei:fend- 
 ence and self-reproach than dare the attempt to seek support 
 from the fruits of my own industry ? " 
 
 He quickened his step and started into the shop, almost 
 fearful of his former irresolution. He threw his drawings in- 
 stantly upon the counter. 
 
 " Sir, you purchase drawings. I have these to sell. Will 
 they suit you ? " 
 
 The man took them up without deigning to look at the per- 
 son who had accosted him, and turning them over in his hand, 
 '• One, two, three, hum ; there is half-a-dozen. What do you 
 expect for them ? " 
 
 '' I am not acquained with the prices of these things." 
 
 The printseller, hearing this, thought, by managing well, to 
 get them for what he liked, and throwing them over with an 
 air of contempt, resumed — 
 
 " And pray, where may the views be taken ? " 
 
 " They are recollections of scenes in Germany." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the man, " mere drugs !' I wish, honest 
 friend, you could have brought subjects not quite so thread- 
 bare, and a little better executed ; they are but poor things ! 
 But every dauber nowadays sets up fur a fine artist, and thinks 
 we are to pay him for spoilt paper and conceit." 
 
 Insulted by this speech, and, above all, by the manner of 
 the printseller, Thaddeus was snatching up the drawings to 
 leave the shop without a word, when the man, observing his 
 design, aad afraid to lose them, laid his hand on the heap, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " Let me tell you, young man, it does not become a person 
 in your situation to be so huffy to his employers. I will give 
 you a guinea for the six, and you may think yourself well paid." 
 
 Without further hesitation, whilst the count was striving to 
 subdue the choler which urged him to knock him down, the man 
 laid the gold on the counter, and was slipping the drawings into 
 a drawer ; but Thaddeus, snatching them out again, suddenly 
 rolled them up, and walked out of the shop as he said — 
 
 " Not all the money of all your tribe should tempt an honest 
 man to pollute himself by exchanging a second word with one 
 so contemptible." 
 
 Irritated at this unfeelins: treatment, he returned home, too 
 
138 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 much provoked to think of the consequences which might fol- 
 low a similar disappointment. 
 
 Having become used to the fluctuations of his looks and 
 behavior, the widow ceased altogether to tease him with inqui- 
 ries, which she saw he was sometimes loath to answer. She 
 now allowed him to walk in and out without a remark, and 
 silently contemplated his pale and melancholy countenance, 
 when, after a ramble of the greatest part of the day, he re- 
 turned home exhausted and dispirited. 
 
 William was always the first to welcome his friend at the 
 threshold, by running to him, taking hold of his coat, and ask- 
 ing to go with him up stairs. The count usually gratified him, 
 and brightened many dull hours with his innocent caresses. 
 
 This child was literally his only earthly comfort ; for he saw 
 that in him he could still excite those emotions of happiness 
 which had once afforded him his sweetest joy. William ever 
 greeted him with smiles, and when he entered the kitchen, 
 sprang to his bosom, as if that were the seat of peace, as it 
 was of virtue. But, alas ! fate seemed adverse to lend any- 
 thing long to the unhappy Thaddeus which might render his 
 desolate state more tolerable. 
 
 Just risen from a bed of sickness, he required the hand of 
 some tender nurse to restore his wasted vigor, instead of 
 being reduced to the hard vigils of poverty and want. His 
 recent disappointment, added to a cold which he had caught, 
 increased his feverish debility ; yet he adhered to the determina- 
 tion not to appropriate to his own subsistence the few valuables 
 he had assigned as a deposit for the charges of his rent. Dur- 
 ing a fortnight he never tasted anything better than bread and 
 water; but this hermit's fare was accompanied by the resigned 
 thought that if it ended in death, his sufferings v/ould then be 
 ^over, and the widow amply remunerated by what little of his 
 property remained. 
 
 In this state of body and mind he received a most painful 
 shock, when one evening, returning from a walk of many hours, 
 in the place of his little favorite, he met Mrs. Robson m tears 
 at the door. She told him William had been sickening all the 
 day, and was now so delirious, that neither she nor his sister 
 could keep him quiet. 
 
 Thaddeus went to the side of the child's bed, where he lay 
 gasping on the pillow, held down by the crying Nanny. I'he 
 count touched his cheek. 
 
 " Poor child ! " exclaimed he ; " he is in a high fever. Have 
 you sent for Mr. Vincent ? " 
 
THADDECS OF ]VAKSA\V. 13^ 
 
 " O, no ; I had not the heart to leave liini." 
 
 " Then I will go directly," returned Thaddeus "there is 
 not a moment to be lost." 
 
 The poor woman thanked him. Hastening through the 
 streets with an eagerness which nearly overset several of the 
 foot-passengers, he arrived at Lincoln's-Inn-fields ; and in less 
 than five minutes after he quitted Mrs. Robson's door he re- 
 turned with the apothecary. 
 
 On Mr. Vincent's examining the pulse and countenance of 
 his little patient, he declared the symptoms to be the small-pox, 
 which some casualty had repelled. 
 
 In a paroxysm of distress, Mrs. Robson recollected that a 
 girl had been brought into her shop three days ago, just re- 
 covered from that frightful malady. 
 
 Thaddeus tried to subdue the fears of the grandmother, and 
 at last succeeded in persuading her to go to bed, whilst he and 
 Nanny would watch by the pillow of the invalid. 
 
 Towards morning the disorder broke out on the child's face, 
 and he recovered his recollection. The moment he fixed his 
 eyes on the count, who was leaning over him, he stretched out 
 his little arms, and begged to lie on his breast. Thaddeus re- 
 fused him gently, fearing that by any change of position he 
 mi2:ht catch cold, and so asrain retard what had now so fortu- 
 nately appeared ; but the poor child thought the denial unkind, 
 and began to weep so violently, that his anxious friend believed 
 it better to gratify him than hazard the irritation of his fever 
 by agitation and crying. 
 
 Thaddeus took him out of bed, and rolling him in one of 
 the blankets, laid him in his bosom ; and drawing his dressing- 
 gown to shield the little face from the fire, held him in that 
 situation asleep for nearly two hours. 
 
 When Mrs. Robson came down stairs at six o'clock in the 
 morning, she kissed the hand of the count as he sustained her 
 grandson in his arms ; and almost speechless with gratitude to 
 liim, and solicitude for the child, waited the arrival of the 
 apothecary. 
 
 On his second visit, he said a few words to her of comfort, 
 but whispered to the count, while softly feeling William's pulse, 
 that nothing short of the strictest care could save the boy, the 
 infection he had received having been of the most malignant 
 kind. 
 
 These words fell like an unrepealable sentence on the heart 
 of Thaddeus. Looking on the discolored features of the pa- 
 tient infant, he fancied that he already beheld its clay-cold face, 
 
140 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSA W. 
 
 and its little limbs stretched in death. The idea was bitterness 
 to him ; and pressing the boy to his breast, he resolved that no 
 attention should be wanting on his part to preserve him from 
 the grave. And he kept his promise. 
 
 From that hour until the day in which the poor babe ex- 
 pired in his arms, he never laid him out of them for ten minutes 
 together ; and when he did breathe his last sigh, and raised up 
 his little eyes, Thaddeus met their dying glance with a pang 
 which he thought his soul had long lost the power to feel. His 
 heart seemed to stop ; and covering the motionless face of the 
 dead child with his hand, he made a sign to Nanny to leave the 
 room. 
 
 The girl, who from respect had been accustomed to obey 
 his slightest nod, went to her grandmother in the shop. 
 
 The instant the girl quitted the room, with mingled awe and 
 grief the count lifted the litde corpse from his knee ; and with- 
 out allowing himself to cast another glance on the face of the 
 poor infant, now released from suffering, he put it on the bed, 
 and throwing the sheet over it, sunk into a chair and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Robson in some measure restored 
 him ; for the moment she perceived her guest with his handker- 
 chief over his eyes, she judged what had happened, and, with 
 a piercing scream, flew forward to the bed, where, pulling down 
 the covering, she uttered another shriek, and must have fallen 
 on the floor had not Thaddeus and little Nahny, who ran in at 
 her cries, caught her in their arms and bore her to a chair. 
 
 Her soul was too much agitated to allow her to continue 
 long in a state of insensibility; and when she recovered, she 
 would again have approached the deceased child, but the count 
 withheld her, and trying by every means in his power to soothe 
 her, so far succeeded as to melt her agonies into tears. 
 
 Whilst she concealed her venerable head in the bosom of 
 her granddaughter, he once more lifted the remains of the little 
 William ; and thinking it best for the tranquillity of the un- 
 happy grandmother to take him out of her sight, he carried 
 him up stairs, and laid him on his own bed. 
 
 By the time he returned to the humble parlor, one of the 
 female neighbors, having heard the unusual outcry, and sus- 
 pecting the cause, kindly stepped in to offer her consolation 
 and services. Mrs. Robson could only reply by sobs, which 
 were answered by the loud weeping of poor Nanny, who lay 
 with her head against the table. 
 
 When the count came down, he thanked the worthy woman 
 
THA DDE L 'S OF \ V 'A KSA I K 
 
 141 
 
 for her benevolent intentions, and took her up stairs into liis 
 apartments. Pointin.::^ to the open door of tiie bedroom, 
 '•There, madam," said he, "you will fmd the remains of my 
 dear little friend. I beg you will direct everythin<; for his in- 
 terment that you think will give satisfaction to Mrs. Robson. 
 I would spare that excellent woman every pang in my power." 
 
 All was done according to his desire ; and Mrs. Watts, the 
 charitable neighbor, excited by a kindly disposition, and rever- 
 ence for " the extraordinary young gentleman who lodged with 
 her friend," performed her task with tenderness and activity. 
 
 *' Oh ! sir," cried Mrs. Robson, weeping afresh as she en- 
 tered the count's room, " Oh, sir, how shall I ever repay all 
 your goodness ? and Mrs. Watt's } She has acted like a sister 
 to me. But, indeed, I am yet the most miserable creature 
 that lives. I have lost my dearest child, and must strip his 
 poor sister of her daily bread to bury him. That cruel Dr. 
 Vincent, though he might have imagined my distress, sent his 
 account late last night, saying he wanted to make up a large 
 bill, and he wished I would let him have all, or part of the pay- 
 ment. Heaven knows, I have not a farthing in the house ; but 
 I will send poor little Nanny to pawn my silver spoons, for, 
 alas 1 I have no other means of satisfying the cruel man." 
 
 " Rapacious wretch ! " cried Thaddens, rising indignantly 
 from his chair, and for a moment forgetting how incapable he 
 was to afford relief : " you shall not be indebted one instant to 
 his mercy. I will pay him." 
 
 The words had passed his lips ; he could not retract, though 
 conviciion immediately followed that he had not the means ; 
 and he would not have retracted, even should he be necessitated 
 to part with everything he most valued. 
 
 Mrs. Robson was overwhelmed by this generous promise, 
 which, indeed, saved her from ruin. Had her little plate been 
 pledged, it could not have covered one half of Mr. Vincent's 
 demand, who, to do him justice, did not mean to cause any dis- 
 tress. But having been so readily paid by Thaddeus for his 
 own illness, and observing his great care and affection for the 
 deceased child, he did not doubt that, rather than allow Mrs. 
 Robson a minute's uneasiness, her lodger would defray his bill. 
 So far he calculated right ; but he had not sufficient sagacity to 
 foresee that in getting his money this way, he should lose the 
 future business of Mrs. Robson and her friend. 
 
 The child was to be buried on the morrow, the expenses of 
 which event Thaddeus saw he must discharge also ; and he had 
 engaged to pay Mr. \'inccnt that night ! He had not a shilling 
 
142 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 in his purse. Over and over he contemplated the impractica- 
 bility of answering these debts ; yet lie could not for an instant 
 repent of what he had undertaken : he thought he was amply 
 recompensed forbearing so heavy a load in knowing that he had 
 taken it off the worn-down heart of another. 
 
 CHAPTER X\.. 
 
 HE MONEY-LENDER, 
 
 Since the count's unmannerly treatment at the printseller's, 
 he had not sufficiently conquered his pride to attempt an appli- 
 cation to another. Therefore, he had no prospect of collect- 
 ing the money he had pledged himself to Mrs. Robson to pay 
 but by selling some more of his valuables to the pawnbroker. 
 
 For this purpose he took his sabre, his pistols, and the fated 
 brilliants he had brought back on a similar errand. He drew 
 them from their deposit, with less feeling of sacrilege, in so dis- 
 posing of such relics of the sacred past, than he had felt on the 
 former occasion. They were now going to be devoted to gra- 
 titude and benevolence — an act which he knew his parents, 
 were they alive, would warmly apjDrove ; and here he allowed 
 the end to sanctify the means. 
 
 About half-past six in the evening, he prepared himself for 
 the task. Whether it be congenial with melancholy to seek the 
 gloom, or whether the count found himself less observed under 
 the shades of night, is not evident ; but since his exile, he pre- 
 ferred the dusk to any other part of the day. 
 
 Before he went out, he asked Mrs. Robson for Mr. Vincent's 
 bill. Sinking with obligation and shame, she put it into his 
 hand, and he left the house. When he approached a lighted 
 lamp, he opened the paper to see the amount, and finding that 
 it was almost two pounds, he hastened forward to the pawn- 
 broker's. 
 
 The man was in the shop alone. Thaddeus thought him- 
 self fortunate ; and, after subduing a few qualms, entered the 
 door. The moment he laid his sword and pistols on the coun- 
 ter, and declared his wish, the man, even through the disguise 
 of a large coat and slouched hat, recollected him. This honest 
 monev-lender carried sentiments in his breast above his occu- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1^3 
 
 pation. He did not commiserate all who presented themselves 
 before him, because many exhibited too evidently the excesses 
 which brought them to his shop. But there was something in 
 the figure and manner of the Count Sobieski which had struck 
 him at first sight, and by continuing to possess his thoughts, 
 had excited so great an interest towards him as to produce 
 pleasure with regret, when he discerned the noble foreigner 
 again obliged to proffer such things. 
 
 Mr. Burket (for so this money-lender was called) respect- 
 fully asked what he demanded for the arms. 
 
 " Perhaps more than you would give. But I have some- 
 thing else here," laying down the diamonds ; " I want eight 
 guineas." 
 
 Mr. Burket looked at them, and then at their owner, hesita- 
 ted and then spoke. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; I hope I shall not offend-you, but 
 these things appear to have a value independent of their price ; 
 they are inlaid with crests and ciphers." 
 
 The blood flushed over the cheeks of the count. He had 
 forgotten this circumstance. Unable to answer, he v^aited to 
 hear what the man would say further. 
 
 " I repeat, sir, I mean not to offend ; but you appear a 
 stranger to these transactions. I only wish to suggest, in case 
 you should ever like to repossess these valuables — had you not 
 better pledge them ? " 
 
 " How ? " asked Thaddeus, irresolutely, and not knowing 
 what to think of the man's manner. 
 
 At that instant some other people came into the shop ; and 
 Mr. Burket, gathering up the diamonds and the arms in his 
 hand, said, " If you do not object, sir, we will settle this business 
 in my back-parlor." 
 
 The delicacy of his behavior penetrated the mind of Thad- 
 deus, and without demurring, he followed him into a room. 
 While Mr. Burket offered his guest a chair, the count took off 
 his hat and laid it on the table. Burket contemplated the sad- 
 dened dignity of his countenance with renewed interest ; en- 
 treating him to be seated, he resumed the conversation. 
 
 " I see, sir, you do not understand the meaning of pledging, 
 or pawning, for it is one and the same thing ; but I will explain 
 it in two words. If you leave these things with me, I will gi\e 
 you a paper in acknowledgment, and lend on them the guineas 
 you request ; for which sum, when you return it to me with a 
 stated interest, you shall have your deposit in exchange." 
 
 Sobieski received this offer with pleasure and thanks. He 
 
144 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 had entertained no idea of anything more being meant by the 
 trade of a pawnbroker than a man who bought what others 
 wished to sell. 
 
 " Then, sir," continued Burket, opening an escritoire, " I 
 will give you the money, and write the paper I spoke of." 
 
 Just as he put his hand to the drawer, he heard voices in an 
 adjoining passage ; and instantly shutting the desk, he caught 
 up the things on the table, threw them behind a curtain, and 
 hastily taking tl^e count by the hand, said, " My dear sir, do 
 oblige me, and step into that closet ; you will find a chair. A 
 person is coming, whom I will dispatch in a few seconds." 
 
 Thaddeus, rather surprised at such hurry, did as he was de- 
 sired ; and the door was closed on him just as the parlor door 
 opened. Being aware from such concealment that the visiter 
 came on secret business, he found his situation not a little awk- 
 w^ard. Seated behind a curtained window, which the lights in 
 the room made transparent, he could not avoid seeing as well 
 as hearing everything that passed. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Burket," cried an elegant young creature, who 
 ran into the apartment, " positively without your assistance, I 
 shall be undone." 
 
 "Anything in my power, madam," returned My. Burket, 
 with a distant, respectful voice ; " will your ladyship sit down ?" 
 
 " Yes ; give me a chair. I am half dead with distraction. 
 Mr. Burket, I must have another hundred upon those jewels." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, it is not in my power ; you have already 
 had twelve hundred ; and, upon my honor, that is a hundred 
 and fifty more than I ought to have given." 
 
 " Pshaw ! who minds the honor of a pawnbroker ! " cried 
 the lady, laughing ; " you know very well you live by cheat- 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," returned he, with a good-natured smile, " as 
 your ladyship pleases." 
 
 " Then I please that you let me have another hundred. 
 Why, man, you know you let Mrs. Hinchinbroke two thousand 
 upon a case of diamonds not a quarter so many as mine." 
 
 " But consider, madam ; Mrs. Hinchinbroke's w^ere of the 
 best water." 
 
 "Positively, Mr. Burnet," exclaimed her ladyship, purposely 
 miscalling his name, " not better than mine ! The King of 
 Sardinia gave them to Sir Charles when he knighted him. I 
 know mine are the best, and I must have another hundred. 
 Upon my life, my servants have not had a guinea of board 
 wages these four months, and they tell me hey are starving. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 145 
 
 Come, make haste, Mr. Burnet : you cannot expect me to stay 
 here all night ; give me the money." 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, I cannot." 
 
 " Heavens ! what a brute of a man you are ! There," cried 
 she, taking a string of pearls from her neck, and throwing it 
 on the table ; " lend me some of your trumpery out of your 
 sliop, for I am going immediately from hence to take the Misses 
 Dxidas to the opera ; so give me the hundred on that, and let 
 me go." 
 
 "This is not worth a hundred." 
 
 " What a teasing man you are ! " cried her ladyship, an- 
 grily. " Well, let me have the money now, and I will send 
 you the bracelets which belong to the necklace to-morrow." 
 
 " Upon those conditions 1 will give your ladyship another 
 hundred." 
 
 " Oh, do ; you are the veriest miser I ever met with. You 
 are worse than Shylock, or, — Good gracious ! what is this ? " 
 exclaimed sh ;. interrupting herself, and taking up the draft he 
 had laid be. ore her; "and have you the conscience to think, 
 Mr. Pawnbroker, that I v.'ill offer this at your banker's 'i that I 
 w ill expose myself so far ? No, no ; take it back, and give me 
 gold. Come, dispatch ! else I must disappoint my party. 
 Look, there is my purse," added she, showing it ; "make haste 
 and fill it." 
 
 After satisfying her demands, Mr. Burket handed her lady- 
 ship out the way she came in, which was by a private passage ; 
 and having seated her in her carriage, made his bow. 
 
 Meanwhile the Count Sobieski, wrapped in astonishment 
 at the profligacy which the scene he had witnessed implied, re- 
 mained in concealment until the pawnbroker returned, and 
 opened the closet-door. 
 
 " Sir," said he, coloring, " you have, undesignedly on your 
 part, been privy to a very delicate affair ; but my credit, sir, 
 and your honor " 
 
 " Shall both be sacred," replied the count, anxious to re- 
 lieve the poor man from his perplexity, and forbearing to ex- 
 press surprise. But Burket perceived it in his look ; and be- 
 fore he proceeded to fulfill the engagement with him, stepped 
 half way to the escritoire, and resumed. 
 
 " You appear amazed, sir, at what you have seen. And if 
 I am not mistaken, you are Irom abroad .'' " 
 
 "Indeed, I am amazed," replied Sobieski; "and I am 
 from a country where the slightest suspicion of a transaction 
 such as this would brand the woman with infamy." 
 
i4<5 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " And so it ought," answered Burket ; " though by that 
 assertion I speak against my own interest, for it is by such as 
 Lady Hilliars we make our money. Now, sir," continued he, 
 drawing nearer to the table, " perhaps, after what you have 
 just beheld, you will not hesitate to credit what I am going to 
 tell you. I have now in my hands the jewels of one duchess, 
 of three countesses, and of women of fashion without number. 
 When these ladies have an ill run at play, they apply to me in 
 their exigencies ; they bring their diamonds here, and as their 
 occasions require, on that deposit I lend them money, for which 
 they make me a handsome present when the jewels are re- 
 leased." 
 
 " You astonish me ! " exclaimed Thaddeus ; " what a de- 
 grading system of deceit must govern the lives of these 
 women ! " 
 
 "It is very lamentable," returned Burket; "but so it is. 
 And they continue to manage matters very cleverly. By giving 
 me their note or word of honor, (for if these ladies are not 
 honorable with me, I know by what hints to keep them in 
 order,) I allow them to have the jewels out for the birth-days, 
 and receive them again when their exhibition is over. As. a 
 compensation for these little indulgences, I expect considerable 
 additions to the douceur at the end." 
 
 Thaddeus could hardly believe such a history of those 
 women, whom travellers mentioned as not only the most lovely 
 but the most amiable creatures in the world. 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Burket," cried he, " these ladies must de- 
 spise each other, and become contemptible even to our sex." 
 
 " O, no," rejoined the pawnbroker; "they seldom trust 
 each other in these affairs. All my fair customers are not so 
 silly as that pretty little lady who just now left us. She and 
 another woman of quality have made each other confidants in 
 this business. And I have no mercy when both come together ! 
 They are as ravenous of my money as if it had no other use 
 but to supply them. As to their husbands, brothers, and 
 fathers, they are usually the last people who suspect or hear of 
 these matters; their applications, when they run out, are made 
 to Jews and professed usurers, a race completely out of our 
 line." 
 
 " But are all English women of quality of this disgraceful 
 stamp ? " 
 
 " No ; Heaven forbid ! " cried Burket ; " if these female 
 spendthrifts were not held in awe by the dread of superior 
 characters, wc could have no dependence on their promises. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 M7 
 
 Oh, no ; there are ladies about the court whose virtues are as 
 eminent as their rank ; women whose actions mi.L,dit all be 
 performed in mid-day, before the world ; and them 1 never see 
 within my doors." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Burket," rejoined Thaddeus, smiling ; " I am 
 glad to hear that. Yet I cannot forf::et the unexpected viev; of 
 the famous British fair which this night has offered to my eyes. 
 It is strange ! " 
 
 *' It is very bad, indeed, sir," returned the man, givinp; 
 him the money and the paper he had been preparing ; " but if 
 you should have occasion to call again upon me, perhaps you 
 may be astonished still further." 
 
 The' count bowed ; and thanking him for his kindness, 
 wished him a good evening and left the shop.* 
 
 It was about seven o'clock when Thaddeus arrived at the 
 apothecary's. Mr. Vincent was from home. To say the truth, 
 he had purposely gone out of the way. For though he did not 
 hesitate to commit a shabby action, he wanted courage to face 
 its consequence ; and to avoid the probable remonstrances of 
 Mrs. Robson, lie commissioned his assistant to receive tlie 
 amount of the bill. Without making an observation, the count 
 paid the man, and was returning homeward along Duke Street 
 and the piazzas of Drury Lane Theatre, when the crowd around 
 the doors constrained him to stop. 
 
 After two or three ineffectual attempts to get through the 
 bustle, he retreated a little behind the mob, at the moment 
 when a chariot drew up, and a gentleman stepping out with 
 two ladies, darted with them into the house. One glance v»as 
 sufficient for Sobieski, who recognized his friend Pembroke 
 Somerset, in full dress, ga^^ and laughing. The heart of Thad- 
 deus sprang to him at the sight; and forgetting his neglect, 
 and his own misfortunes, he ejaculated — 
 
 " Somerset ! " 
 
 Trembling with eagerness and emotion, he pressed through 
 the crowd, and entered the passage at the instant a green door 
 within shut upon his friend. 
 
 His disappointment was dreadful. To be so near Somerset, 
 and to lose him, was more than he could sustain, xlis bound- 
 ing heart recoiled, and the chill of despair running tlirough 
 his veins turned him faint. Leaning against the passage door, 
 he took his hat off to give himself air. He scarcely had stood 
 a minute in this situation, re\olving whether he should follow 
 
 • The w]io!p of t!i!s scene at the pawnbroker's is too true; the writur knows it from 
 an eye oud car-wituess. 
 
1 48 THA DDE US OF WA RSA W. 
 
 his friend into the house or wait until he came out again, when 
 a gentleman begged him to make way for a party of ladies that 
 were entering. Thaddeus moved to one side ; but the open- 
 ing of the green door casting a strong light both on his face 
 and the group behind, his eyes and those of the impertinent 
 inquisitor of tlie Hummums met each other. 
 
 Whether the man was conscious that he deserved chastise- 
 ment for his former insolence, and dreaded to meet it now, 
 cannot be explained ; but he turned pale, and shuffled by Thad- 
 deus, as if he v/ere fearful to trust himself within reach of his 
 grasp. As for the count, he was too deeply interested in his 
 own pursuit to waste one surmise upon him. 
 
 He continued to muse on the sight of Pembroke Somerset, 
 which had conjured up ten thousand fond and distressing re- 
 collections ; and with impatient anxiety, determining to watch 
 till the performance was over, he thought of inquiring his 
 friend's address of the servants ; but on looking round for that 
 purpose, he perceived the chariot had driven away. 
 
 Thus foiled, he returned to his post near the green door, 
 which was opened at intervals by footmen passing and repass- 
 ing. Seeing that the chamber within was a lobby, in which it 
 would be less likely he should miss his object than if he con- 
 tinued standing without, he entered with the next person that 
 approached ; finding seats along the sides he sat down on the 
 one nearest to the stairs. 
 
 His first idea was to proceed into the playhouse. But he 
 considered the small chance of discovering any particular indi- 
 vidual in so vast a building as not equal to the expense he must 
 incur. Besides, from the dress of the gentlemen who entered 
 the box-door, he was sensible that his greatcoat and round hat 
 were not admissible.* 
 
 Having remained above an hour with his eyes invariably 
 fixed on the stairs, he observed that some curious person, who 
 had passed almost directly after his friend, came down the 
 steps and walked out. In two minutes he was returning with 
 a smirking countenance, when, his eyes accidentally falling on 
 the count, (who sat with his arms folded, and almost hidden by 
 the shadow of the wall,) he faltered in his step. Stretching out 
 his neck towards him, the gay grin left his features ; and ex- 
 claiming, in an impatient voice, " Confound him," he hastened 
 once more into the house. 
 
 This rencontre with his Hummums' acquaintance affected 
 
 • A nearly full dress was worn at that time by ladies nnd gentlemen at the great 
 theatres. And much respect has been lobi to the higher ciasses by the gradual change. 
 
TJIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 149 
 
 Thaddeusas slightly as the former ; and without annexing even 
 a thought to his figure as it tlitted by him, he remained watch- 
 ing in the lobby until half-past eleven. At that hour the doors 
 were thrown open, and the company began to pour forth. 
 
 The count's hopes were again on his lips and in his eyes. 
 With the first party who came down the steps, he rose ; and 
 planting himself close to the bottom stair, drew his hat over his 
 face, and narrowly examined each group as it descended. 
 Every set that approached made his heart palpitate. How 
 often did it rise and fall during the long succession which con- 
 tinued moving for nearly half an hour ! 
 
 By twelve the house was cleared. He saw the middle door 
 locked, and, motionless with disappointment, did not attempt 
 to stir, until the man who held the keys told him to go, as he 
 was about to fasten the other doors. 
 
 This roused Thaddeus ; and as he was preparing to obey, 
 he asked the man if there were any other passage from the 
 boxes. 
 
 " Yes," cried he ; " there is one into Drury Lane." 
 
 " Then, by that I have lost him ! " was the reply which he 
 made to himself. And returning homewards, be arrived there 
 a few minutes after twelve. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 THE MEETING OF EXILES. 
 "And they lifted up their voices and wept." 
 
 Thaddeus awoke in the morning with his heart full of the 
 last night's rencontre. One moment he regretted that he had 
 not been seen by his friend. In the next, when he surveyed 
 his altered state, he was almost reconciled to the disappoint- 
 ment. Then, reproaching himself for a pride so unbecoming 
 his principles and dishonorable to friendship, he asked, if he 
 wefe in Somerset's place, and Somerset in his, whether he could 
 ever pardon the morose delicacy which had prevented the com- 
 munication of his friend's misfortunes, and arrival in the same 
 kingdom with himself. 
 
 These reflections soon persuaded his judgment to what his 
 
ISO 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 heart was so much inclined : determining him to inquire 
 Pembroke's address of every one Ukely to know a man of Sir 
 Robert Somerset's consequence, and then to venture a letter. 
 
 In the midst of these meditations the door opened, and 
 Mrs. Robson appeared, drowned in tears. 
 
 " My dear, dear sir I " cried she, -' my William is going. I 
 have just taken a last look of his sweet face. Will you go 
 down and say farewell to the poor child you loved so dearly.? " 
 
 *' No, my good madam," returned Thaddeus, his straying 
 thoughts at once gathering round this mournful centre ; " I 
 will rather retain you here until the melancholy task be entirely 
 accomplished." 
 
 With gentle violence he forced her upon a seat, and in 
 silence supported her head on his breast, against which she 
 unconsciously leaned and wept. He listened with a depressed 
 heart to the removal of the coffin ; and at the closing of the 
 street door, which forever shut the little William from that 
 house in which he had been the source of its greatest pleasure, 
 a tear trickled down the cheek of Thaddeus ; and the sobbings 
 of the poor grandmother were audible. 
 
 The count, incapable of speaking, pressed her hand in his. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Constantine ! " cried she, "see how my supports, 
 one after the other, are taken from me ! first my son, and now 
 his infant ! To what shall I be reduced ? " 
 
 " You have still, my good Mrs. Robson, a friend in Heaven, 
 who will supply the place of all you have lost on earth." 
 
 " True, dear sir ! I am a wicked creature to speak as I have 
 done ; but it is hard to suffer : it is hard to lose all we loved in 
 the world ! " 
 
 " It is," returned the count, greatly affected by her grief. 
 " But God, who is perfect wisdom as well as perfect love, 
 chooseth rather to profit us than to please us in his dispensa- 
 tions. Our sweet William has gained by our loss : he is blessed 
 in heaven, while we weakly lament him on earth. Besides, you 
 are not yet deprived of all ; you have a grand-daughter." 
 
 " Ah, poor little thing ! what will become of her when I 
 die ? I used to think w^hat a precious brother my darling boy 
 would prove to his sister when I should be no more ! " 
 
 This additional image augmented the affliction of the good 
 old woman ; and Thaddeus, looking on her with affectionate 
 compassion, exclaimed — 
 
 " Mrs. Robson, the same Almighty Being that protected 
 me, the last of my family, will protect the orphan offspring of a 
 woman so like the revered Naomi ! " 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. i-I 
 
 Mrs. Robson lifted up her head for n moment. She had 
 never before heard him utter a sentence of his own history ; and 
 what he now said, added to the tender solemnity of his manner, 
 for an instant arrested her attention. He went on. 
 
 " In me you see a man who, within the short space of three 
 months, has lost a grandfather,who loved him as fondly as you 
 did your William ; a mother, whom he savv expire before l.im, 
 and whose sacred remains he was forced to leave in the hands 
 of her murderers ! Yes, Mrs. Robson, I have neither parents 
 nor a home. I was a stranger, and you took me in ; and 
 Heaven will reward your family, in kind. At least, I promise 
 that whilst I live, whatever be my fate, should you be called 
 hence, I will protect your grand-daughter with a brother's care." 
 
 *' May Heaven in mercy bless you I " cried Mrs. Robson, 
 dropping on her knees. Thaddeus raised her with gushing 
 eyes ; having replaced her in a seat, he left the room to re- 
 cover himself. 
 
 According to the count's desire, Mrs. Watts called in the 
 evening, with an estimate of the expenses attending the child's 
 interment. Fees and every charge collected, the demand on 
 his benevolence was six pounds. The sum proved rather more 
 than he expected, but he paid it without a demur, leaving him- 
 self only a few shillings. 
 
 He considered what he had done as a fulfilment of a duty 
 so indispensible, that it must have been accomplished even by 
 the sacritice of his uttermost farthing. Gratitude and distress 
 held claims upon him which he never allowed his own necessi- 
 ties to transgress. All gifts of mere generosity were beyond 
 his pow-er, and, consequently, in a short time^beyond his wish ; 
 but to the cry of want and wretchedness his hand and heart 
 were ever open. Often has he given away to a starving child 
 in the street that pittance which was to purchase his own scant 
 meal ; and he never felt such neglect of himself a privation. 
 To have turned his eyes and ears from the little mendicant 
 would have been the hardest struggle ; and the remembrance 
 of such inhumanity would have haunted him on his pillow. 
 This being the disposition of Count Sobieski, he found it more 
 difficult to bear calamity, when viewing another's poverty he 
 could not relieve, than when assailed himself by penury, in all 
 its other shapes of desolation. 
 
 Towards night, the idea of Somerset again presented itself. 
 When he fell asleep, his dreams repeated the scene at the play- 
 house ; again he saw him, and again he eluded his grasp. 
 
 His waking thoughts were not less true to their object \ 
 
152 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 and next morning he went to a quiet coffee-house in the lane, 
 where he called for breakfast, and inquired of the master, " did 
 he know the residence of Sir Robert Somerset?" The ques- 
 tion was no sooner asked than it was answered to his satisfac- 
 tion. The Court Guide was examined, and he found this ad- 
 dress : " Sir Robert Somerset^ Bart., Grosvenor Square, — Somer- 
 set Castle, L — shire, Deer hurst, W- shire ^ 
 
 Gladdened by the discovery, Thaddeus hastened home ; 
 and unwilling to affect his friend by a sudden appearance, 
 with an overflowing heart he wrote the following letter : — 
 
 "To Pembroke Somerset, Esq., Grosvenor Square. 
 
 *' Dear Somerset, 
 
 " Will the name at the bottom of this paper surprise you ? 
 Will it give you pleasure ? I cannot suffer myself to retain a 
 doubt ! although the silence of two years might almost convince 
 me I am forgotten. In truth, Somerset, I had resolved never 
 to obtrude myself and my misfortunes on your knowledge, 
 until last Wednesday night, when I saw you going into Drury 
 Lane Theatre ; the sight of you quelled all my resentment, and 
 I called after you, but you did not hear. Pardon me, my dear 
 friend, that I speak of resentment. It is hard to learn resigna- 
 tion to the forgetfulness of those we love. 
 
 " Notwithstanding that I lost the pocket-book in a battle- 
 field which contained your direction, I wrote to you frequently 
 at a venture ; and yet, though you knew in what spot in Poland 
 you had left Thaddeus and his family, I have never heard of 
 you since the da^' of our separation. You must have some 
 good reason for your silence ; at least I hope so. 
 
 " Doubtless public report has afforded you some informa- 
 tion relative to the destruction of my ever-beloved country ! I 
 bear its fate on myself. You will find me in a poor lodging at 
 the bottom of St. Martin's Lane. You will find me changed in 
 everything. But the first horrors of grief have subsided ; and 
 my dearest consolation in the midst of my affliction rises out of 
 its bitterest cause : I thank Heaven, my revered grandfather 
 and mother were taken from a consummation of ills which 
 would have reduced them to a misery I am content to endure 
 alone. 
 
 "Come to me, dear Somerset. To look on you, to press 
 you in my arms, will be a happiness which, even in hope, 
 makes my heart throb with pleasure. 
 
 " I will remain at home all day to-morrow, in the expecta- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1^3 
 
 tion of seeincj you ; meanwhile, adieu, my dear Somerset. Vou 
 will find at No. 5 St. Martin's Lane your ever affectionate 
 
 " TllADDEUS CONSTANTINE, COUNT SOBIESKI. 
 
 " Friday noon. 
 
 " P. S. Inquire for me by the name of Mr. Constantine."* 
 
 With the most delightful emotions, Thaddcus sealed this 
 letter and gave it to Nanny, with orders to inquire at the post- 
 office " when he might expect an answer .? " The child re- 
 turned with information that it would reach Grosvenor Square 
 in an hour, and he could have a reply by three o'clock. 
 
 Three o'clock arrived, and no letter. Thaddeus counted 
 the hours until midnight, but they brought him nothing but 
 disappointment. The v.hole of the succeeding day wore away 
 in the same uncomfortable manner. His heart bounded at 
 every step in the passage ; and throwing opon his room-door, 
 he listened to ever)' person that spoke, but no voice bore any 
 resemblance to that of Somerset. 
 
 Night again shut in ; and overcome by a train of doubts, 
 in which despondence held the greatest share he threw himself 
 on his bed, though unable to close his eyes. 
 
 Whatever be our afflictions, not one human creature who 
 has endured misfortune will hesitate to aver, that of all the 
 tortures incident to mortality, there are none like the rackings 
 of suspense. It is the hell which Milton describes with such 
 horrible accuracy ; in its hot and cold regions, the anxious soul 
 is alternately tossed from the ardors of hope to the petrifying 
 rigors of doubt and dread. Men who have not been suspended 
 between confidence and fear, in their judgment of a beloved 
 friend's faithfulness, are ignorant of " the nerve whence agonies 
 are born." It is when sunk in sorrow, when adversity loads 
 us with divers miseries, and our wretchedness is completed by 
 such desertion ! — it is then w^e are compelled to acknowledge 
 tliat, though life is brief, there are few friendships which have 
 strength to follow it to the end. But how precious are those 
 few ! The are pearls above price ! 
 
 Such were the reflections of the Count Sobieski when he 
 arose in the morning from his sleepless pillow. The idea that 
 the letter might have been delayed afforded him a faint hope, 
 which he cherished all day, clinging to the expectation of seeing 
 his friend before sunset. But Somerset did not appear ; and 
 
 * The huml-i'e En!rli?h liome of Thaddfiis Sobicbki is now totally vanished, along with 
 the whole row of houses of which it was one. 
 
124 TITADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 obliged to seek an excuse for his absence, in the supposition 
 of his apphcation having miscarried, Thaddeus determined to 
 write once more, and to deliver the letter himself at his friend's 
 door. Accordingly, with emotions different from those with 
 which he had addressed him a few days before, he wrote these 
 lines ! — 
 
 "To Pembroke Somerset, Esq., 
 
 " If he who once called Thaddeus Sobieski his friend has 
 receiv^ed a letter which that exile addressed to him on Friday 
 last, this note will meet the same neglect. But if this be the 
 first intelligence that tells Somerset his friend is in town, per- 
 haps he may overlook that friend's change of fortune ; he may 
 visit him in his distress ! who will receive him with open arms, 
 at his humble abode in St. Martin's Lane. 
 
 ■■'Sunday Evening, No. 5, St. Martin's Lane." 
 
 Thaddeus having sealed the letter, walked out in search of 
 Sir Robert Somerset's habitation. After some inquiries, he 
 found Grosvenor Square ; and amidst the darkness of the night, 
 was guided to the house by the light of the lamps and the 
 lustres which shone through the open windows. He hesitated 
 a few minutes on the pavement, and looked up. An old gen- 
 tleman was standing with a little boy at the nearest window. 
 Whilst the count's eyes were fixed on these two figures, he saw 
 Somerset himself come up to the child, and lead it away to- 
 wards a group of ladies. 
 
 Thaddeus immediately flew to the door, with a tremor over 
 his frame which communicated itself to the knocker ; for he 
 knocked with such violence that the door was opened in an 
 instant by half-a-dozen footmen at once. He spoke to one. . 
 
 " Is Mr. Pembroke Somerset at home ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the man, who saw by his plain dress that he 
 could not be an invited guest ; " but he is engaged with com- 
 pany." 
 
 " I do not want to see him now," rejoined the count ; " only 
 give him that letter, for it is of consequence." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied the servant ; and Thaddeus in- 
 stantly withdrew. 
 
 He now turned homeward, with his mind more than com- 
 monly depressed. There was a something in the whole affair 
 which pierced him to the soul. He had seen the house that 
 contained the man he most warmly loved, but he had not been 
 admitted v/ithin it. He could not forbear recollectino; that 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 55 
 
 when his gates opened wide as his heart to welcome Pembroke 
 Somerset, how he had been implored by his then grateful friend 
 to bring the palatine and the countess to England, '* where his 
 father would be proud to entertain them, as the preservers of 
 his son." How different from these professions did he find the 
 reality ! Instead of seeing the doors widely unclose to receive 
 him, he was allowed to stand like a beggar on the threshold ; 
 and he heard them shut against him, whilst the form of Somer- 
 set glided above him, even as the shadow of his buried joys. 
 
 These discomforting retrospections on the past, and pain- 
 ful meditations on the present, continued to occupy his mind, 
 until crossing over from Piccadilly to Coventry Street, he per- 
 ceived a wretched-looking man, almost bent double, accosting 
 a party of people in broken French, and imploring their 
 charity. 
 
 The voice and the accent being Sclavonian, arrested the ear 
 of Thaddeus. Drawing close to the man, as the party pro- 
 ceeded without taking notice of the application, he hastily 
 asked, " Are you a Polander ? " 
 
 " Father of mercies ! " cried the beggar, catching hold of his 
 hand, " am I so blessed ! have I at last met him ? " and, burst- 
 ing into tears, he leaned upon the arm of the count, who, hardly 
 able to articulate with surprise, exclaimed — 
 
 " Dear, worthy Butzou ! What a time is this for you and I 
 to meet ! But, come, you must go home with me." 
 
 " Willingly, my dear lord," returned he ; " for I have no 
 home. I begged my way from Harwich to this town, and have 
 already spent two dismal nights in the streets," 
 
 " O, my country ! " cried the full heart of Thaddeus. 
 
 " Yes," continued the poor old soldier ; " it received its 
 death wounds when Kosciusko and my honored master fell." 
 
 Thaddeus could not reply ; but supporting the exhausted 
 frame of his friend, who was hardly able to walk, after many 
 pauses, gladly descried his own door. 
 
 The widow opened it the moment he knocked ; and seeing 
 some one with him, was retreating, when Thaddeus, who found 
 from the silence of Butzou that he was faint, begged her to 
 allow him to take his companion into her parlor. She instantly 
 made way, and the count placed the now insensible old man in 
 the arm-chair by the fire. 
 
 ■ " He is my friend, my father's friend ! " cried Thaddeus, 
 looking at his pale and haggard face, with a strange wildness 
 in his own features ; " for heaven's sake give me something to 
 restore him." 
 
1^6 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Mrs. Robson, in dismay, and literally having nothing better 
 in the house, gave him a glass of water. 
 
 " That will not do," exclaimed he, still upholding the motion- 
 less body on his arm ; '' have you no wine .'' No anything ? He 
 is dying for want." 
 
 " None, sir ; I have none," answered she, frightened at the 
 violence of his manner. " Run, Nanny, and borrow something 
 warming of Mrs. Watts." 
 
 " Or," cried Thaddeus, " bring me a bottle of wine from the 
 nearest inn." As he spoke, he threw her the only half-guinea 
 he possessed, and added, " Fly, for he may die in a moment." 
 
 The child flew like lightning to the Golden Cross, and 
 brought the wine just as Butzou had opened his eyes, and was 
 gazing at Thaddeus with a languid agony that penetrated his 
 soul. Mrs. Robson held the water to his lips. He swallowed 
 a little, then feebly articulated, " I am perishing for want of 
 food." 
 
 Thaddeus had caught the bottle from Nanny, and pouring 
 some of its contents into a glass, made him drink it. This 
 draught revived him a little. He raised himself in his seat \ 
 but still panting and speechless, leaned his swimming head 
 upon the bosom of his friend, who knelt by his side, whilst Mrs. 
 Robson was preparing some toasted bread, with a little more 
 heated wine, which was fortunately good sherry. 
 
 After much kind exertion between the good landlady and 
 the count, they sufficiently recovered the poor invalid to enable 
 them to support him up stairs to lie down on the bed. The 
 drowsiness usually attendant on debility, aided by the fumes of 
 the wine, threw him into an immediate and deep sleep. 
 
 Thaddeus seeing him at rest, thought it proper to rejoin 
 Mrs. Robson, and by a partial history of his friend, acquaint 
 her with the occasion of the foregoing scene. He found the 
 good woman surprised and concerned, but no way displeased ; 
 and, in a few words, he gave her a summary explanation of the 
 precipitancy with which, without her permission, he had intro- 
 duced a stranger under her roof. 
 
 The substance of what he said related that the person up 
 stairs had served with him in the army; that on the ruin of his 
 country (which he could no longer conceal was Poland), the 
 venerable man had come in quest of him to England, and in his 
 journey had sustained misfortunes which had reduced him to 
 the state she saw. 
 
 " I met him," continued he, " forlorn and alone in the 
 street ; and whilst he lives, I shall hold it my duty to protect 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 157 
 
 him. I love him for his own sake, and I honor him for my 
 grandfather's. Besides, Mrs. Robson," cried he, with addi- 
 tional enerf::y, "before I left my country, I made a vow to my 
 sovereign that wherever I should meet this brave old man, I 
 would serve him to the last hour of his life. Therefore we must 
 part no more. Will you j;ive him shelter ? " added he, in a sub- 
 dued voice. " Will you allow me to retain him in my apart- 
 ments ? " 
 
 " Willinci^ly, sir ; but how can I accommodate him ? he is 
 already in your bed, and I have not one to spare." 
 
 " Leave that to me, best, kindest of women ! " exclaimed 
 the count ; " your permission has rendered me happy." 
 
 He then wished her a good-night, and returning up stairs, 
 wrapped himself in his dressing-gown, and passed the night by 
 the little fire of the sitting-room. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 THE veteran's NARRATIVE. 
 
 Owing to comfortable refreshment and a night of undis- 
 turbed sleep, General Bulzou awoke in the morning much re- 
 covered from the weakness which had subdued him the preced- 
 ing day. 
 
 Thaddeus observed this change with pleasure. Whilst he 
 sat by his bed, ministering to him with the care of a son, he 
 dwelt with a melancholy delight on his revered features, and 
 listened to his languid voice with those tender associations 
 which are dear to the heart, though they pierce it with regret- 
 ful anguish. 
 
 " Tell me, my dear general," said he, "for I can bear to 
 hear it now — tell me what has befallen my unhappy country 
 since I quitted it." 
 
 " Every calamity," cried the brave old man, shaking his 
 head, " that tyranny could devise." 
 
 " Well, go on," returned the count, with a smile, which 
 truly declared that the composure of his air was assumed ; " we, 
 who have beheld her sufferings, and yet live, need not fear hear- 
 ing them described ! Did you see the king before he left 
 Warsaw ? " 
 
 " No," replied Butzou ; " our oppressors took care of that. 
 
158 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Whilst you, my lord, were recovering from your wounds m the 
 citadel, I set off for Sachoryn, to join Prince Poniatowski. In 
 my way thither I met some soldiers, who informed me that his 
 highness, having been compelled to discharge his troops, was 
 returning to support his royal brother under the indignities 
 which the haughtiness of the victor might premeditate. I then 
 directed my steps towards Sendomir, where I hoped to find 
 DombrcKvski, with still a few faithful followers ; but here, too, 
 I was disappointed. Two days before my arrival, that general, 
 according to orders, had disbanded his whole part3\* I now 
 found that Poland was completely in the hands of her ravagers, 
 and yet I prepared to return into her bosom ; my feet naturally 
 took that course. But I was a.2:onized at every step I retrod. 
 I beheld the shores of the Vistula, lined on every side with the 
 allied troops. Ten thousand were posted on her banks, and 
 eighteen thousand amongst the ruins of Praga and Villanow. 
 
 " When I approached the walls of Warsaw, imagine, my dear 
 lord, how great was my indignation ! How barbarous the con- 
 duct of our enemies ! Batteries of cannon were erected around 
 the city, to level it with the ground on the smallest murmur of 
 discontent. 
 
 "On the morning of my arrival, I was hastening to the pal- 
 ace to pay my duty to the king, when a Cossack officer inter- 
 cepted me, whom I formerly knew, and indeed kindly warned 
 me that if I attempted to pass, my obstinacy would be fatal to 
 myself and hazardous to his majesty, whose confinement and 
 suffering were augmented in proportion to the adherents he re- 
 tained amongst the Poles. Hearing this, I was turning away, 
 overwhelmed with grief, when the doors cf the audience cham- 
 ber opened, and the Counts Potocki, Kilinski, and several others 
 of your grandfather's dearest friends, were led forth under a 
 guard. I was standing motionless with surprise, when Potocki, 
 perceiving me, held forth his hand. I took it, and wringing it, 
 in the bitterness of my heart uttered some words which I cannot 
 remember, but my Cossack friend whispered me to beware how 
 I again gave way to such dangerous remarks. 
 
 " ' Farewell, my worthy general,' said Potocki, in a low voice ; 
 ' you see we are arrested. We loved Poland too faithfully, for 
 her enemies : and for that reason we are to be sent prisoners 
 
 * Dombrowski withdrew into France, where he was soon joined by others of his count'-y- 
 men ; which httle band, in process of time, by gradual accession of numbers, became what 
 was afterwards styled the celebrated Po'.ish legion, in the days of Napoleon ; at the head 
 of which lecrion, the Prince Po'.iiatowski, so often mentioned in these pages, lo'^t his 'ife in 
 the fatal frontier river his dauntless courage dared to swim- Ilis remains were taken to 
 Cracow, and buried near to the tomb of John Sobieski. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. ir9 
 
 to St. Petersburg. Sharing tlie fate of Kosciusko, our chains 
 are our distuiction ; such a collar of merit is the most glorious 
 order which the imperial sceptre could bestow on a knight of 
 St. Stanislaus.' 
 
 '• ' Sir, I cannot admit of this conversation,' cried the officer 
 of the guard ; and commanding the escort to proceed, I lost 
 sight of these illustrious patriots, probably forever.* 
 
 *' I understood, from th.e few Poles who remained in the 
 citadel, that the good Stanislaus was to be sent on the same 
 dismal errand of captivity, to Grodno, the next day. They 
 also told me that Poland being no moie, you had torn yourself 
 from its bleeding remains, rather than behold the triumphant 
 entry of its conqueror. 'Phis insulting pageant was performed 
 on the Qth of November last. On the 8th, I believe you left 
 Warsaw for England." 
 
 " Ves," replied the count, who had listened with a breaking 
 heart to this distressing narrative ; " and doubtless I saved my- 
 self much misery." 
 
 " You did. One of the magistrates described to me the 
 whole scene, at which I would not have been present for the 
 world's empire ! He told me that when the morning arrived in 
 which General Suwarrow, attended by the confederated envoys, 
 was to make his public entree, not a citizen could be seen that 
 was not compelled to appear. A dead silence reigned in the 
 streets ; the doors and windows of every house remained so 
 closed that a stranger might ]iave supposed it to be a general 
 mourning ; and it was the bitterest sight which could have 
 fallen upon our souls ! At this moment, when Warsaw, I may 
 say, lay dying at the feet of her conqueror, the foreign troops 
 marched into the city, 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 the victor on the bridge of Praga. When they came near 
 the procession, they presented the keys of Warsaw on their 
 knees." 
 
 " On their knees ! " interrupted Thaddeus, starting up, and 
 the blood flushing over his face. 
 
 "Yes," answered Cutzou, "on their knees." 
 
 "Almighty Justice I " exclaimed the count, pacing the room 
 with emotion ; " why did not the earth open and swallow them I 
 Why did not the blood which saturated the spot whereon they 
 
 • The Potocki family at thnt time had still larpe rossessions In the Crimean country cj 
 tho Cossacks ; for itliafl formerly belonged to the crown of Poland. And hence a kiiul o' 
 kindred memory lincercd amoncst the j^eoplc : not disnffecfing ihcm from their new masters 
 but allowing a i.alural respect for the dcbccndanis of the old. 
 
l6o THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 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 magis- 
 trate who related to me that circumstance urged in excuse for 
 himself and his brethren that such a form w^as necessary ; and 
 had they refused, probably their lives would have been for- 
 feited." 
 
 "Well," inquired Thaddeus, resuming his seat, "but where 
 was the king during this transaction ? " 
 
 " In the castle, w^iere he received orders to be present next 
 day at a public thanksgiving, at which the inhabitants of 
 Warsaw were also commanded to attend, to perform a 
 7e Dcum^ in gratitude for the destruction of their countr3\ 
 Thank heaven ! I was spared from witnessing this blasphemy ; 
 I was then at Sendomir. But the day after I had heard of it, 1 
 sav/ 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 made my way to Hamburgh, where I took a passage to 
 Harwicli. But when there, 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 open 
 air, with no other sustenance than the casual charity of passen- 
 gers, when Heaven sent you, my honored Sobieski, to save me 
 from perishing in the streets." 
 
 Butzou pressed the hand of his young friend, as he con- 
 cluded. Indignation still kept its station on the count's fea- 
 tures. 
 
 The poor expatriated wanderer observed it with satisfaction, 
 well pleased that this strong emotion at the supposed pusillan- 
 imity of his countrymen had prevented those bursts of grief 
 which might have been expected from his sensitive nature, 
 w^hen informed that ruined Poland was not only treated by its 
 ravagers like a slave, but loaded with the shackles and usage 
 of a criminal. 
 
 Towards evening. General Butzou fell asleep. Thaddeus, 
 leaning back in his chair, fixed his eyes on the fire, and mused 
 wdth amazement and sorrow on what had been told him. When 
 it was almost dark, and he was yet lost in reflection, Mrs. Rob- 
 son gently opened the door and presented a letter. " Hero, 
 sir,'' said she, " is a letter which a servant has just left ; he told 
 me it required no answer." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. l6i 
 
 Tliaddeus sprang from his seat at sip:ht of the paper, and 
 ahnost catchinc:; it from her, his former gloomy cogitations dis- 
 persed before the hopes and fond emotions of friendship wliich 
 now lit up in his bosom. Mrs. Robson withdrew. He looked 
 at the superscription — it was the handwriting of his friend. 
 Tearing it asunder, two folded papers presented themselves. 
 He opened them, and they were his own letters, returned with- 
 out a word. His beating heart was suddenly checked. Letting 
 the papers fall from his hand, he dropped back on his seat and 
 closed his eyes, as if he would shut them from the world and 
 its ingratitude. 
 
 Unable to recover from his astonishment, l.is thoughts 
 whirled about in a succession of accusations, s.irmises and 
 doubts, which seemed for a few minutes to drive him to distrac- 
 tion. 
 
 "Was it really the hand of Somerset? " 
 
 Again he examined the envelope. It was ; and the enclos- 
 ures were his own letters, without one word of apology for such 
 incomprehensible conduct. 
 
 "Could he make one? No," replied ThaddeiM to himself. 
 "Unhappy that I am, to have been induced to apply twice to 
 so despicable a man ! Oh, Somerset," cried he, looking at tl:e 
 papers as they lay before him ; " was it necessary that insult 
 siiould be added to unfaithfulness and ingratitude, to throw me 
 off entirely? Good heavens ! did he thin^: because I wrote 
 twice, I would persecute him with applications ? I have been 
 told this of mankind ; but, that I should find it in l;im ? " 
 
 In this way, agitated and muttering, and walking up and 
 down the room, he spent another wakeful and cheerless night. 
 
 When he went down stairs next morning, to beg Mrs. 
 Robson to attend his friend until his return, she mentioned how 
 uneasy she was at having heard him most of the preceding night 
 movrng above her head. He was trying to account to her for 
 his restlessness, by complaining of a headache, but she inter- 
 rupted him by saying, "O no, sir; I am sure it is the hard 
 boards you lie on, to accommodate the poor old gentleman. I 
 am certain you will make yourself ill." 
 
 \.'haddcus thanked her for her solicitude ; but declaring that 
 all beds hard, or soft, were alike to him, he left her more recon- 
 ciled to his pallet on the floor. And with his drawings in his 
 pocket, once more took the path to Great Newport Street. 
 
 Resentment against his fickle friend, and anxiety for the 
 tranquillity of General Butzou, whose age, infirmities and suf- 
 ferings threatened a speedy termination of his life, determined 
 
162 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 the count to sacrifice all false delicacy and morbid feelings, and 
 to hazard another attempt at acquiring the means of affording 
 those comforts to the sick veteran which his condition de- 
 manded. Happen how it would, he resolved that Butzou 
 should never know the complete wreck of his property. He 
 shuddered at loading him with the additional distress of think- 
 ing he was a burden on his protector. 
 
 Thaddeus passed the door of the printseller who had be- 
 haved so ill to him on his first application ; and walking to the 
 farthest shop on the same side, entered it. Laying his draw- 
 ings on the counter, he requested the person who stood there 
 to look at them. They were immediately opened ; and the 
 count, dreading a second repulse, or even more than similar 
 insolence, hastily added — 
 
 "They are scenes in Germany. If you like to have them, 
 their price is a guinea." 
 
 " Are you the painter, sir } " was the reply. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Do they please you ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the tradesman, (for it was the master.) 
 examining them nearer ; '' there is a breadth and freedom in 
 the style which is novel, and may take. I will give you your 
 demand ; " and he laid the money on the counter. 
 
 Rejoiced that he had succeeded where he had entertained 
 no hope, Thaddeus, with a bow, was leaving the shop, when the 
 man called after him, " Stay, sir ! " 
 
 He returned, prepared to now hear some disparaging remark. 
 
 It is strange, but it is true, that those who have been thrust 
 by misfortune into a state beneath their birth and expectations, 
 too often consider themselves the objects of universal hostility. 
 They see contempt in every eye, they suppose insult in every 
 word ; the slightest neglect is sufficient to set the sensitive pride 
 of the unfortunate in a blaze ; and, alas ! how little is this 
 sensibility respected by the rich and gay in their dealings with 
 the unhappy ! To what an addition of misery are the wretched 
 exposed, meeting not only those contumelies which the pros^ 
 perous are not backward to bestow, but those fancied ills which, 
 however unfounded, keep the mind in a feverish struggle with 
 itself, and an uttered warfare with the surrounding world ! 
 
 Repeated insults infused into the mind of Sobieski much of 
 this anticipating irritability; and it was with a very haughty 
 step that he turned back to hear what the printseller meant 
 to say. 
 
 " I only want to ask whether you follow this art as a pro- 
 fession ? " 
 
TIIADDEL'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 ^(^z 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then I shall be glad if you can furnish me with six such 
 drawings every week." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Thaddeus, pleased with the probability 
 of thus securing something towards the support of his friend. 
 
 "Then bring me another half-dozen next ]\Ionday." 
 
 Thaddeus promised, and with a relieved mind took his way 
 homeward. 
 
 Who is there in England, I repeat, who does not remember 
 the dreadfully protracted winter of 1794, when the whole coun- 
 try lay buried in a thick ice which seemed eternal ? Over that 
 ice, and through those snows, the venerable General Butzou 
 had begged his way from Harwich to London. He rested at 
 night under the shelter of some shed or outhouse, and cooled 
 his feverish thirst with a little water taken from under tlie 
 broken ice which locked up the springs. The effect of this was 
 a painful rheumatism, whic'i fixed itself in his limbs, and soon 
 rendered them nearly useless. 
 
 Two or three weeks passed over the heads of the general 
 and his young protector, Thaddeus cheering the old man with 
 his smiles, and he, in return, imparting the only pleasure to him 
 which his melancholy heart could receive — the conviction that 
 his attentions and affection were productive of comfort. 
 
 In the exercise of these duties, the count not only found his 
 health gradually recover its tone, but his mind became more 
 tranquil, and less prone to those sudden floods of regret which 
 were rapidly sapping his life. By a strict economy on his part, 
 he managed to pay the widow and support his friend out of the 
 weekly profits of his drawings, which were now and then aug- 
 mented by a commission to do one or two more than the stipu- 
 lated number. 
 
 Thus, conveising with Butzou, reading to him when awake 
 or pursuing hi^ i^awings when lie slept, Thaddeus spent the 
 time until the beginning of March. 
 
 One fine starlight evening in that month, just before the 
 frost broke up, after painting all day, he desired little Nanny to 
 take care of the general ; and leaving his work at the print- 
 seller's, he then proceeded through Piccadilly, intending to go 
 as far as Hyde Park Corner, and return. 
 
 Pleased with the beauty of the night, he walked on, not re- 
 marking that he had passed the turnpike, until he heard a scream. 
 The sound came from near the Park wall. He hurried along, 
 and at a short distance perceived a delicate-looking woman 
 
1 64 Til A DDE US OF WARS A IV. 
 
 struggling with a man, who was assaulting her in a very offen- 
 sive manner. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, with one blow of his arm 
 Thaddeus sent the fellow reeling against the wall. But whilst 
 he supported the outraged person who seemed fainting, the man 
 recovered himself, and rushing on her champion, aimed a stroke 
 at his head with an immense bludgeon, which the count, catch- 
 ing hold of as it descended, wrenched out of his hand. The 
 horrid oaths of the ruffian and the sobs of his rescued victim 
 collected a mob ; and then the villain, fearing worse usage, made 
 off and left Thaddeus to restore the terrified female at his leisure. 
 
 As soon as she was able to speak, she thanked her deliverer, 
 in a voice and language that assured him it was no common 
 person he had befriended. But in the circumstance of her dis- 
 tress, all would have been the same to him ; — a helpless woman 
 was insulted ; and whatever her rank might be, he thought she 
 had an equal claim on his protection. 
 
 The mob dispersed ; and finding the lady capable of walk- 
 ing, he begged permission to see her safe home. 
 
 " I thank you, sir," she replied, " and I accept your offer 
 with gratitude. Besides, after your geneious interference, it is 
 requisite that I should account to you how a woman of my ap- 
 pearance came out at this hour without attendance. I have 
 no other excuse to advance for such imprudence than that I 
 have often done so with impunity. I have a friend whose hus- 
 band, being in the Life-Guards, lives near the barracks. We 
 often drink tea with each other ; sometimes my servants come 
 for me, and sometimes, when I am wearied and indisposed, I 
 come away earlier and alone. This happened to-night ; and I 
 have to thank your gallantry, sir, for m}»rescue from the first 
 outrage of the kind which ever assailed me." 
 
 By the time that a few more complimentary words on her 
 side, and a modest reply from Thaddeus, had passed, they 
 stopped before a house in Grosvenor Place,"^ The lady knocked 
 at the door ; and as soon as it was opened, the count was tak- 
 ing his leave, but she laid her hand on his arm, and said, in a 
 voice of sincere invitation : 
 
 " No, sir ; I must not lose the opportunity of convincing 
 you that you have not succored a person unworthy of your 
 kindness. I entreat you to walk in ! " 
 
 * All this local scenery is changed. There is no turnpike gate now at the Hyde Park 
 end of Piccadilly ; neither is there a park wall. Splendid railings occupy its place ; and two 
 supirb triumphal arches, in the fashion of France, one leading into the Park and the other 
 leading towards Buckingham Palace, gorgeously fill the sites of the former plain, wayfaring, 
 English turnpike-lodges.— 1845. 
 
THADDF.rS OF WARSAV/. i6 
 
 Thaddeus was too miicli pleased with her manner not to 
 accept this courtesy. He followed iier up stairs into a drawing- 
 room, where a young lady was seated at work. 
 
 " Miss Egerton," cried his conductress, " here is a gentle- 
 man who has this moment saved me from a ruffian. You must 
 assist me to express my gratitude." 
 
 " I would with all my heart," returned she ; " but your lady- 
 ship confers benefits so well, you cannot be at a loss how to 
 receive them." 
 
 Thaddeus took the chair which a servant set for him, and, 
 with mingled pleasure and admiration, turned his eyes on the 
 lovely woman he had rescued. She had thrown off her cloak 
 and veil, and displayed a figure and countenance full of dignity 
 and interest. 
 
 She begged him to lay aside his great-coat, for she must in- 
 sist upon his supping with her. There was a commanding 
 softness in her manner, and a gentle yet unappealable decision 
 in her voice, he could not withstand ; and he prepared to obey, 
 although he was aware the fashion and richness of the military 
 dress concealed under his coat would give her ideas of his 
 situation he could not answer. 
 
 The lady did not notice his hesitation, but, ringing the bell, 
 desired the servant to take the gentleman's hat and coat. Thad- 
 deus instantly saw in the looks of both the ladies what he 
 feared. 
 
 " I perceive," said the elder, as she took her seat, " that 
 my deliverer is in the army : yet I do not recollect having seen 
 that uniform before." 
 
 " I am not an Englishman," returned he. 
 
 " Not an Englishman," exclaimed Miss Egerton, " and 
 speak the language so accurately ! You cannot be Erench ? " 
 
 " No, madam ; I had the honor of serving under the King 
 of Poland." 
 
 " Then his was a very gallant court, I suppose," rejoined 
 Miss Egerton, with a smile ; " for I am sorry to say there are 
 few about St. James's who would have taken the trouble to do 
 what you have done by Lady Tinemouth." 
 
 He returned the young lady's smile. " I have seen too little, 
 madam, of Englishmen of rank to showany gallantry in defend- 
 ing this part of my sex against so fair an accuser." Indeed, he 
 recollected the officers in the Park, and the perfidy of Somer- 
 set, and thought he had no reason to give them more respect 
 than their countrywomen manifested. 
 
 '' Come, come, Sophia," cried Lady Tinemouth \ " thougli 
 
1 66 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 no woman has less cause to speak well of mankind than I have, 
 I will not permit my countrymen to be run down /;/ toto. I 
 dare say this gentleman will agree with me. that it shows neither 
 a candid nor a patriotic spirit." Her ladyship uttered this 
 little rebuke smilingly. 
 
 " I dare say he will not agree with you, Lady Tinemouth. 
 No gentleman yet, who had his wits about him, ever agreed with 
 an ekier lady against a younger. Now, Mr. gentleman ! — for 
 it seems the name by which we are to address you, — what do 
 you say ? Am I so very reprobate ? " 
 
 Thaddeus almost laughed at the singular way she had 
 chosen to ask his name ; and allowing some of the gloom which 
 generally obscured his fine eyes to disperse, he answered with 
 a smile — 
 
 " My name is Constantine." 
 
 *' Well, you have replied to my last question first ; but I 
 will not let you of¥ about my sometimes bearish countrymen. 
 I do assure you, the race of the Raleighs, with their footstep 
 cloaks, is quite hors de combat ; and so don't you think, Mr. 
 Constantine, I may call them so, without any breach of good 
 manners to them or duty to my country t For you see her 
 ladyship hangs much upon a spinster's patriotism ? " 
 
 Lady Tinemouth shook her head. 
 
 " O, Sophia, Sophia, you are a strange mad-cap." 
 
 " I don't care for that ; I will have Mr. Constantine's un- 
 prejudiced reply. I am sure, if he had taken as long a time in 
 answering your call as he does mine, the rufiian might have 
 killed and eaten you too before he moved to your assistance. 
 Come, may I not say they are anything but well-bred men ? " 
 
 " Certainly. A fair lady may say anything." 
 
 " Positively, Mr. Constantine, I won't endure contempt ! 
 Say such another word, and 1 will call you as abominable a 
 creature as the worst of them." 
 
 " But I am not a proper judge, Miss Egerton. I have never 
 been in company with any of these men ; so, to be impartial, I 
 must suspend my opinion." 
 
 " And not believe my word ! " 
 
 Thaddeus smiled and bowed. 
 
 " There, Lady Tinemouth," cried she, affecting pet, " take 
 your champion to yourself ; he is no preux chevalier for me ? " 
 
 " Thank you, Sophia," returned her ladyship, giving her 
 hand to the count to lead her to the supper-room. "This is 
 the way she skirmishes with all your sex, until her shrewd 
 humor transforms them to its own likeness." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 167 
 
 " And where is the man," observed Thaddeiis, " who would 
 not be so metamorphosed under the spells of such a Circe ? " 
 
 '* It won't do, Mr. Constantine," cried she, taking her 
 place opposite to him : *' my anger is not to be appeased by 
 calling me names ; you don't mend the compliment by likening 
 me to a heathen and a witch." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth bore her part in the conversation in a 
 strain more in unison with the count's mind. However, he 
 found no inconsiderable degree of amusement from the unre- 
 flecting volubility and giddy sallies of her friend ; and, on the 
 whole, spent the two hours he passed there with some percep- 
 tions of his almost forgotten sense of pleasure. 
 
 He was in an elegant apartment, in the company of two 
 lovely and accomplished women, and he was the object of their 
 entire attention and gratitude. He had been used to this in 
 his days of happiness, when he was '' the expectancy and rose 
 of the fair state, the glass of fashion and the mould of form, — 
 the observed of all observers ! " and the re-appearance of such 
 a scene awakened, with tender remembrances, an associating 
 sensibility which made him rise with regret when the clock 
 struck eleven. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth bade him good-night, with an earnest re- 
 quest that he would shortly repeat his visit ; and they parted, 
 mutually pleased with each other. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP A STAFF IN HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Pleased as the count was with the acquaintance to which 
 his gallantry had introduced him, he did not repeat his visit for 
 a long time. 
 
 A few mornings after his meeting with Lady Tinemouth, the 
 hard frost broke up. The change in the atmosphere produced 
 so alarming a relapse of the general's rheumatic fever, that his 
 friend watched by his pillow ten days and nights. At the end 
 of this period he recovered sufficiently to sit up and read or to 
 amuse himself by registering the melancholy events of the last 
 campaigns in a large book, and illustrating it with plans of the 
 battles. The sight of this volume would have distressed Thad- 
 deus, had he not seen that it afforded comfort to the poor 
 
1 68 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 veteran, whom it transported back into the scenes on which h% 
 delighted to dwell ; yet he would often lay down his pen, shut 
 the book, and weep like an infant. 
 
 The count left him one morning at his employment, and 
 strolled out, with the intention of calling on Lady Tinemouth. 
 As he walked along by Burlington House, he jDerceived Pem- 
 broke Somerset, with an elderly gentleman, of a very dis- 
 tinguished air, leaning on his arm. They approached him from 
 Bond Street. 
 
 All the blood in the count's body seemed rushing to his 
 heart. He trembled. The ingenuous smile on his friend's 
 countenance, and his features so sweetly marked with frank- 
 ness, made his resolution falter. 
 
 " But proofs," cried he to himself, " are absolute ! " and 
 turn 'ng his face to a stand of books that was near him, he 
 stood there until Somerset had passed. He went past him, 
 speaking these words — 
 
 " I trust, father, that ingratitude is not his vice." 
 
 " But it is yours, Somerset ! " murmured Thaddeus, while 
 for a moment he gazed after them, and then proceeded on his 
 walk. 
 
 When his name was announced at Lady Tinemouth's, he 
 found her with another lady, but not Miss Egerton. Lady 
 Tinemouth expressed her pleasure at this visit, and her surprise 
 that it had been so long deferred. 
 
 "The pain of such an apparent neglect of your ladyship's 
 goodness," replied he, " has been added to my anxiety for the 
 declining health of a friend, whose increased illness is my 
 apology." 
 
 "1 wish," returned her ladyship, her eyes beaming appro- 
 bation, " that all my friends could excuse their absence so 
 well ! " 
 
 " Perhaps they might if they chose," observed the other 
 lady, " and with equal sincerity." 
 
 Thaddeus understood the incredulity couched under these 
 words. So did Lady Tinemouth, who, however, rejoined, " Be 
 satisfied, Mr. Constantine, that I believe you." 
 
 The count bowed. 
 
 " Fie, Lady Tinemouth ! " cried the lady ; "you are partial : 
 nay, you are absurd ; did you ever yet hear a man speak truth 
 to a woman ? " 
 
 " Lady Sara ! " replied her ladyship, with one of those arch 
 glances which seldom visited her eyes, " where will be your 
 vanity if I assent to this ? " 
 
Tir.lDDEUS OF WARSAW. 169 
 
 " In the moon, with man's sincerity." 
 
 Thaddeus paid little attention to this dialop^ue. Ilis 
 thoir^hts, in spite of himself, were wandering after the figures 
 of Somerset and his father. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth, whose fancy had not been quiet about 
 him since his prompt humanity had introduced him to her ac- 
 quaintance, observed his present absence without noticing it. 
 Indeed, the fruitful imagination of Sophia Egerton had not lain 
 still. She declared, " he was a soldier by his dress, a man of 
 rank from his manners, an Apollo in his person, and a hero 
 from his gallantry ! " 
 
 Thus had Miss Egerton described him to Lady Sara Ross ; 
 *' and," added she, '* what convinces me he is a man of fashion, 
 he has not been within these walls since we told him we should 
 take it as a favor." 
 
 Lady Sara was eager to see this handsome stranger ; and 
 having determined to drop in at Lady Tinemouth's every 
 morning until her curiosity was gratified, she was not a little 
 pleased when she heard his name announced. 
 
 Lady Sara was married ; but she was young and of great 
 beauty, and she liked that its power should be acknowledged 
 by others besides her husband. The instant she beheld the 
 Count Sobieski, she formed the wish to entangle him in her 
 flowery chains. She learnt, by his pale countenance and 
 thoughtful air, that he was a melancholy character; and above 
 all things, she sighed for such a lover. She expected to re- 
 ceive from one of his cast a rare tenderness and devotedness ; 
 in short, a fervent and romantic passion ! — the fashion of the 
 day ever since the extravagant French romances, such as Del- 
 phine and the like, came in ; and this unknown foreigner ap- 
 peared to her to be the very creature of whom her fancy had 
 been in search. His abstraction, his voice and eyes, the one 
 so touching and the other so neglectful of anything but the 
 ground, were irresistible, and she resolved from that moment 
 (in her own words) " to make a set at him." 
 
 Not less pleased with this second view of her acquaintance 
 than she had been at the first. Lady Tinemouth directed her 
 discourse to him, accompanied by all that winning interest so 
 endearing to an ingenuous heart. Lady Sara never augured 
 well to the success of her fascinations when the countess ad- 
 dressed any of her victims ; and therefore she now tried every 
 means in her power to draw aside the attention of the count. 
 She played v/ith her ladyship's dog ; but that not succeeding, 
 she determined to strike him at once with the full graces of 
 
lyo TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 her figure. Complaining of heat, she threw off her large green 
 velvet mantle, and rising from her chair, walked towards the 
 window. 
 
 When she looked round to enjoy her victory, she saw that 
 this manoeuvre had failed like the rest, for the provoking 
 countess was still standing between her and Thaddeus. Al- 
 most angr}^, she fiung open the sash, and putting her head out 
 of the window, exclaimed, in her best-modulated tones : 
 
 " How d'ye do ? " 
 
 " I hope your ladyship is well this fine morning ! " was an- 
 swered in the voice of Pembroke Somerset. 
 
 Thaddeus grew pale, and the countess feeling the cold, 
 turned about to ask Lady Sara to whom she was speaking. 
 
 "To a pest of mine," returned she gayly ; and then, stretch- 
 ing out her neck, resumed : " but where, in the name of won- 
 der, Mr. Somerset, are you driving with all that travelling 
 apparatus ? " 
 
 " To Deerhurst : I am going to take Lord Avon down. But 
 I keep you in the cold. Good-morning ! " 
 
 " My compliments to Sir Robert. Good-by ! good-by ! " 
 waving her white hand until his curricle vanished from sight ; 
 and when she turned round, her desires were gratified, for the 
 elegant stranger was standing with his eyes fixed on that hand. 
 But had she known that, for any cognizance they took of its 
 beauty, they might as well have been fixed on vacancy, she 
 would not have pulled down the window, and reseated herself 
 with such an air of triumph. 
 
 The count took his seat with a sigh, and Lady Tinemouth 
 did the same. 
 
 " So that is the son of Sir Robert Somerset 1 " 
 
 " Yes," replied Lady Sara : " and what does your ladyship 
 think of him .? He is called very hnndsome." 
 
 " You forget that I am near-sighted," answered the count- 
 ess ; " I could not discriminate his features, but I think his 
 figure fine. I remember his father was a singularly-admired 
 man, and celebrated for taste and talents." 
 
 " That may be," resumed Lady Sara, laughing, and anxious 
 to excite some emotion of rivalry in the breast of Thaddeus. 
 " I am sure I ought not to call in question his talents and 
 taste, for he has often wished that fate had reserved me for 
 his son." She sighed while she spoke, and looked down. 
 
 This sigh and gesture had more effect upon her victim than 
 all her exhibited personal charms. So difficult is it to break 
 the cords of affection and habit. Anytliing' relating to rem- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 17 
 
 broke Somerset could yet so powerfully interest the desolate 
 yet generous Sobieski, as to stamp itself on his features. JJe- 
 sides, the appearance of any latent disquietude, where all 
 seemed splendor and vivacity, painfully reminded him of the 
 checkered lot of man. His eyes were resting upon her lady- 
 ship, full of a tender commiseration, pregnant with compassion 
 for her, himself, and all the world, when she raised her head. 
 The meeting of such a look from him filled her with agitation. 
 She felt something strange at her heart. His eyes seemed to 
 have penetrated to its inmost devices. Blushing like scarlet, 
 she got up to hide an embarrassment not to be subdued ; and 
 hastilv wishing the countess a good-morning curtseyed to him 
 and left the room. 
 
 Her ladyship entered her carriage with feelings all in com- 
 motion. She could not account for the confusion which his 
 look had occasioned ; and half angry at a weakness so like a 
 raw, inexperienced girl, she determined to become one of Lady 
 Tinemouth's constant visitors, until she should have brought 
 him (as she had done most of the men in her circle) to her feet. 
 
 These were her ladyship's resolutions, while she rolled 
 along towards St. James's Place. But she a little exceeded 
 the fact in the statement of her conquests ; for notwithstand- 
 ing she could have counted as many lovers as most women, 
 yet few of them would have ventured the folly of a kneeling 
 petition. In spite of her former unwedded charms, these 
 worthy lords and gentlemen had, to a man, adopted the oracle 
 of the poet — 
 
 " Love, free as air, at sight of human ties. 
 Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies." 
 
 They all professed to adore Lady Sara ; some were caught by 
 her beauty, others by her eclat, but none had the most distant 
 wish to make this beauty and eclat his own legal property. 
 For she had no other property to bestow. 
 
 The young Marquis of Severn seemed serious towards her 
 ladyship during the first year of his appearance at court ; but 
 at the end of that time, instead of offering her his hand, he 
 married the daughter of a rich banker. 
 
 Lady Sara w^as so incensed at this disappointment, that, to 
 show her disdain of her apostate lover, she set off next day 
 for Gretna Green, with Horace Ross, a young and early cele- 
 brated commander in the navy, whose honest heart had been 
 some time sueing to her in vain. He w^as also nephew to the 
 Earl of Wintown. They were married, and her ladyship had 
 
172 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 the triumph of being presented as a bride the same day with 
 the Marchioness of Severn. 
 
 When the whirlwind of her resentment subsided, she began 
 most dismally to repent her union. She loved Captain Ross 
 as little as she had loved Lord Severn. She had admired the 
 ^ rank and fashion of the one, and the profound adoration of the 
 other had made a friend of her vanity. But now that her re- 
 venge was gratified, and the homage of a husband ceased to 
 excite the envy of her companions, she grew weary of his atten- 
 tions, and was rejoiced when the Admiralty ordered him to 
 take the command of a frigate bound to the Meditterranean. 
 
 The last fervent kiss which he imprinted on her lips, as she 
 breathed out the cold " Good-by, Ross ; take care of yourself !" 
 seemed to her the seal of freedom ; and she returned into her 
 dressing-room, not to weep, but to exult in the prospect of a 
 thousand festivities and a thousand captives at her feet. 
 
 Left at an early age without a mother, and ignorant of the 
 duties of a wife, she thought that if she kept her husband and 
 herself out of Doctor's Commons, she should do no harm by 
 amusing herself with the heart of every man who came in her 
 way. Thus she hardly moved without a train of admirers. She 
 had already attracted every one she deemed worthy of the trou- 
 ble, and listenedto their compliments, and insolent presumptions, 
 until she was wearied of both. In this juncture of ennui, Miss 
 Egerton related to her the countess's recontre with the gallant 
 foreigner. 
 
 As soon as she heard he was of rank, (for Miss Egerton 
 was not backward to affirm the dreams of her own imagination,) 
 she formed a wish to see him ; and when, to her infinite satis- 
 faction, he did present himself, in her eyes he exceeded every- 
 thing that had been described. To secure such a conquest, 
 she thought, would not only raise the envy of the women, but 
 put the men on the alert to discover some novel and attractive 
 way of proving their devotion. 
 
 Whilst Lady Sara was meditating on her new conquest, the 
 count and Lady Tinemouth remained in their tete-a-tete. Her 
 ladyship talked to him on various subjects ; but he answered 
 ill upon them all, and sometimes very wide of the matter. At 
 last, conscious that he must be burdensome, he arose, and, 
 looking paler and more depressed than when he entered, wished 
 her a good-morning. 
 
 " I am afraid, Mr. Constantine, you are unwell." 
 
 Like most people who desire to hide what is passing in 
 their minds, Thaddeus gladly assented to this, as an excuse for 
 a taciturnity he could not overcome. 
 
Til A DDE us OF WARSAW, 173 
 
 " Then," cried her ladyship, " I hope you will let me know 
 where to send to inquire ntter your health." 
 
 Thaddeus was confounded for a moment ; then, returning; 
 into the room, he took up a pen, which lay on the table, and 
 saivl, 
 
 '' I will write my address to a place w^iere any of your lady- 
 ship's commands may reach me ; but I will do myself the honor 
 to repeat my call very soon." 
 
 " I shall always be happy to see you," replied the countess, 
 while he was writing ; " but before I engage you in a promise of 
 which you may afterwards repent, I must tell you that you will 
 meet with dull entertainment at my house. I see very little 
 company; and were it not for the inexhaustible spirits of Miss 
 Egerton, I believe I should become a complete misanthrope." 
 
 " Your house will be my paradise 1 " exclaimed the count, 
 with an expressiveness to the force of which he did not imme- 
 diately attend. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth smiled. 
 
 '"1 must warn you here, too," cried she. "Miss Egerton 
 must not be the deity of your paradise. She is already under 
 engagements." 
 
 Tnaddeus blushed at being mistaken, and wished to explain 
 himself. 
 
 " Vou misunderstand me, madam. I am not insensible to 
 beauty ; but upon my word, at that moment I had nothing else 
 in my thoughts than gratitude for your ladyship's kindness to 
 an absolute stranger." 
 
 *' That is true, Mr. Constantine : you are an absolute stran- 
 ger, if the want of a formal introduction and an ignorance of 
 your family constitute that title. But your protection intro- 
 duced you to me; and there is something in your appearance 
 which convinces me that I need not be afraid of admitting you 
 into the very scanty number of my friends." 
 
 Thaddeus perceived the delicacy of Lady Tinemouth, who 
 wished to know who he w^as, and yet was unwilling to give him 
 pain by a question so direct that he must answer it. As she 
 now proposed it, she left him entirely to his own discretion ; 
 and he determined to satisfy her very proper curiosity, as far as 
 he could without exposing his real name and circumstances. 
 
 The countess, whose benevolent heart was deeply interested 
 in his favor, observed the changes of his countenance with an- 
 anxious hope that he would be ingenuous. Her solicitude did 
 not arise from any doubts of his quality and worth, but she 
 wished to be enabled to reply with promptness to the inquisi- 
 tive people w-ho might sec him at her house. 
 
174 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " I hardly know," said Thaddeus, "in what words to ex- 
 press my sense of your ladyship's generous confidence in me ; 
 and that my character is not undeserving of such distinction, 
 time, I trust, will prove." He paused for a moment, and then 
 resumed : " For my rank, Lady Tinemouth, it is now of little 
 consequence to my comfort ; rather, perhaps, a source of mor- 
 tification ; for " he hesitated, and then proceeded, with a 
 
 faint color tinging his cheek : " exiles from their country, if 
 they would not covet misery, must learn to forget ; hence I am 
 no other than Mr. Constantine^ though, in acknowledgment of 
 your ladyship's goodness, I deem it only just that I should not 
 conceal my real quality from you. 
 
 " My family was one of the first in Poland. Even in ban- 
 ishment, the remembrance that its virtues were as well known 
 as its name, affords some alleviation to the conviction that 
 when my country fell, all my property and all my kindred M-ere 
 involved in the ruin. Soon after the dreadful sealing of its 
 fate, I quitted it, and by the command of a dying parent, v/ho 
 expired in my arms, sought a refuge in this island from degra- 
 dations which otherwise I could neither repel nor avoid." 
 
 Thaddeus stopped; and the countess, struck by the grace- 
 ful modesty with which this simple account was related, laid her 
 hand upon his. 
 
 " Mr. Constantine, I am not surprised at what you have 
 said. The melancholy of your air induced me to suspect that 
 you were not happy, and my sole wish in penetrating your rc^ 
 serve was to show you that a woman can be a sincere friend." 
 
 Tears of gratitude glistened in the count's eyes. Incapable 
 of making a suitable reply, he pressed her hand to his lips. She 
 rose ; and willing to relieve a sensibility that delighted her, 
 added, " I will not detain you longer : only let me see you 
 soon," 
 
 Thaddeus uttered a few inarticulate words, whose signifi- 
 cancy conveyed nothing, but all he felt was declared in their 
 confusion. The countess's eloquent smile showed that she 
 comprehended their meaning ; and he left the room. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 woman's kindness. 
 
 On theV:ount's. return home, he found General Butzou in 
 
 better spirits, still poring over his journal. This book seemed 
 to be the representative of all which had ever been dear to him. 
 He dwelt upon it and talked about it with a doating eagerness 
 bordering on insanity. 
 
 These symptoms, increasing from day to day, gave his 
 young friend considerable uneasiness. He listened with pain 
 to the fond dreams which took possession of the poor old man, 
 who delighted in saying that much might yet be done in Poland 
 when he should be recovered, and they be enabled to return 
 together to Warsaw, and stimulate the people to resume their 
 rights. 
 
 Thaddeus at first attempted to prove the emptiness of these 
 schemes ; but seeing that contradiction on this head threw the 
 general into deeper despondency, he thought it better to affect 
 the same sentiments, too well perceiving that death would soon 
 terminate these visions with the venerable dreamer's life. 
 
 Accordingly, as far as lay in the count's power, he satisfied 
 all the fancied wants of hii revered friend, who on every other 
 subject was perfectly reasonable ; but at last he became so 
 absorbed in this chimerical plot, that other conversation, or 
 his meals, seemed to oppress him with restraint. 
 
 When Thaddeus perceived that his company was rather 
 irksome than a comfort to his friend, he the more readily re- 
 peated his visits to Lady Tinemouth. She now looked for his 
 appearance at least once a day. If ever a morning and an 
 evening passed away without his appearance, he was sure of 
 being scolded by Miss Egerton, reproached by the countess, 
 and frowned at by Lady Sara Ross. In defiance of all other 
 engagements, this lady contrived to drop in every night at 
 Lady Tinemouth's. Her ladyship was not more surprised at 
 this sudden attachment of Lady Sara to her house than pleased 
 with her society. She found she could lay aside in her little 
 circle that tissue of affectation and fasliion which she wore in 
 public, and really became a charming woman. 
 
 Though Lady Sara was vain, she was mistress of sufficient 
 sense to penetrate with tolerable certainty into the characters 
 
,^6 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 of her acquaintance. IMost of the young men with whom she 
 had hitherto associated having lived from youth to manhood 
 amongst those fashionable assemblies where individuality is 
 absorbed in the general mass of insipidity, she saw they were 
 frivolous, though obsequious to her, or, at the best, warped iu 
 taste, if not in principle ; and the fascinations she called forth 
 to subdue them were suited to their objects — her beauty, 
 her thoughtless, or her caprice. But, on the reverse, when 
 she formed the wish to entangle such a man as Thad- 
 deus, she soon discovered that to engage his attention she 
 must appear in the unaffected graces of nature. To this end 
 she took pains to display the loveliness of her form in every 
 movement and position ; yet she managed the action with so 
 inartificial and frank an air, that she seemed the only person 
 present who was unconscious of the versatility and power of 
 her charmSo She conversed with good sense and propriety. 
 In short, she appeared completely different from the gay, ridic- 
 ulous creature he had seen some weeks before in the countess's 
 drawing-room. 
 
 He now admired both her person and her mind. Her win- 
 ning softness, the vivacity of Miss Egerton, and the kindness 
 of the countess, beguiled him many an evening from the con- 
 templation of melancholy scenes at his humble and anxious 
 home. 
 
 One night it came into the head of Sophia Egerton to ban- 
 ter him about his military dress. " Do, for heaven's sake, my 
 dear Don Quixote," cried she, " let us see you out of your 
 rusty armor ! I declare I grow frightened at it. And I can- 
 not but think you would be merrier out of that customary suit 
 of solemn black ! " 
 
 This demand was not pleasing to Thaddeus, but he good- 
 humoredly replied, " I knew not till you were so kind as to 
 inform me that a man's temper depends on his clothes." 
 
 " Else, I suppose," cried she, interrupting him, " you 
 would have changed yours before .? Therefore, I expect you 
 will do as I bid you now, and put on a Christian's coat against 
 you next enter this house." 
 
 Thaddeus was at a loss what to say ; he only bowed ; and 
 the countess and Lady Sara smiled at her nonsense. 
 
 When they parted for the night, this part of the conversa- 
 tion passed off from all minds but that of Lady Tinemouth. 
 She had considered the subject, but in a different way from 
 her gay companion. Sophia supposed that the handsome 
 Constantine wore the dress of his country because it was 
 
THADDEUS OF WARS A \V. 1 7 7 
 
 tlie most becoming. But as such a whim did not correspond 
 with the other parts of his character, Lady Tinemouth, in lier 
 own mind, attributed this adherence to his national habit to 
 the right cause. 
 
 She remarked that whenever she wished him to meet any 
 a'^reeable people at her house, lie always declined these intro- 
 ductions under the plea of his dress, though he never proposed 
 to alter it. This conduct, added to his silence on every sub- 
 ject wiiich related to the public amusements about town, led 
 her to conclude, that, like the banished nobility of France he 
 was encountering the various inconveniences of poverty in a 
 foreign land. She hoped that he had escaped its horrors ; 
 but she could not be certain, for he always shifted the conver- 
 sation when it too closely referred to himself. 
 
 These observations haunted the mind of Lady Tinemouth, 
 and made her anxious to contrive some opportunity in which 
 she might have this interesting Constantine alone, and by a 
 proper management of the discourse, lead to some avowal of 
 his real situation. Hitherto her benevolent intentions had 
 been frustrated by various interruptions at various times. In- 
 deed, had she been actuated by mere curiosity, she would 
 long ago have resigned the attempt as fruitless ; but pity and 
 esteem kept her watchful until the very hour in which her con- 
 siderate heart was fully satisfied. 
 
 One morning, when she was writing in her cabinet, a ser- 
 vant informed her that ]\lr. Constantine was below. Pleased 
 at this circumstance, she took advantage of a slight cold that 
 affected her ; and hoping to draw something out of him in the 
 course of a tete-a-tete^ begged he would favor her by coming into 
 her private room. 
 
 When he entered, she perceived that he looked more pen- 
 sive than usual. He sat down by her, and expressed his con- 
 cern at her indisposition. She sighed heavily, but remained 
 silent. Her thoughts were too much occupied with her kind 
 plan to immediately form a reply. She had determined to give 
 him a cursory idea of her own unhappiness, and thus, by her 
 confidence, attract him. 
 
 " I hope Miss Egerton is well .'' " inquired he. 
 
 *' Very well, Mr. Constantine. A heart at ease almost ever 
 keeps the body in health. May she long continue as happy 
 as at this period, and never know the disappointments of her 
 friend ! " 
 
 He looked at the countess. 
 
 " It is true, my dear sir," continued she. "It is hardly 
 
178 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 probable that the mere effect of thirty-seven years could have 
 made the inroads on my person which you see : but sorrow 
 has done it ; and with all the comforts you behold around me, 
 I am miserable. I have no joy independent of the few friends 
 which Heaven has preserved to me ; and yet," added she, " I 
 have another anxiety united with those of which I complain ; 
 some of my friends, who afford me the consolation I mention, 
 deny me the only return in my power, the office of sharing 
 their griefs." 
 
 Tliaddeus understood the expression of her ladyship's eye 
 and the tenderness of her voice as she uttered these words. 
 He saw to whom the kind reproach was directed, and he looked 
 down confused and oppressed. 
 
 The countess resumed. 
 
 " I cannot deny what your countenance declares ; you think 
 I mean you. I do, Mr. Constantine. I have marked your 
 melancholy ; I have weighed other circumstances ; and I am 
 sure that you have many things to struggle with besides the 
 regrets which must ever hang about the bosom of a brave man 
 who has witnessed the destruction of his country. Forgive me, 
 if I give you pain," added she, observing his heightening color. 
 *' 1 speak from real esteem ; I speak to you as I would to my 
 own son were he in your situation." 
 
 " My dearest madam ! " cried Thaddeus, overcome by her 
 benevolence, "you have judged rightly; I have many things 
 to struggle with. I have a sick friend at home, whom misfor- 
 tune hath nearly bereft of reason, and whose wants are now so 
 complicated and expensive, that never till now did I know the 
 complete desolation of a man without a country or a profession. 
 For myself, Lady Tinemouth, adversity has few pangs ; but 
 for my friend, for an old man whose deranged faculties have 
 forgotten the change in my affairs, he who leans on me for 
 support and comfort, — it is this that must account to your lady- 
 ship for those inconsistencies in my manner and spirits which 
 are so frequently the subject of Miss Egerton's raillery." 
 
 Thaddeus, in the course of this short and rapid narrative, 
 gradually lowered the tone of his voice, and at the close 
 covered his face with his hand. He had never before confided 
 the history of his embarrassments to any creature ; and he 
 thought (notwithstanding the countess's solicitations) he had 
 committed an outrage on the firmness of his character by hav- 
 ing in any way acknowledged the weight of his calamities. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth considered a few minutes, and then ad' 
 dressed him. 
 
THADDECS OF WARSAW 
 
 179 
 
 *' I should ill repay this generous confidence, my noble younp^ 
 friend, were I to hesitate a moment in forming some plan which 
 may prove of service to you. You have told me no more, Mr. 
 Constantine, than I suspected. And I had somethin;^ in view." 
 Here the countess stopped, expecting that her auditor would 
 interrupt her. He remained silent, and she proceeded : " You 
 spolie of a profession, of an employment." 
 
 '' Yes, madam,'' returned he, taking his hands from his eyes ; 
 " I should be glad to engage in any profession or employment 
 you would recommend." 
 
 " I have little interest," answered her ladyship, " with people 
 in power; therefore I cannot propose anything which will in any 
 degree suit with your rank ; but the employment that I have in 
 view, several of the most illustrious French nobility have not 
 disdained to execute." 
 
 " Do not fear to mention it to me," cried the count, perceiv 
 ing her reluctance ; " I would attempt anything that is not dis- 
 honorable, to render service to my poor friend." 
 
 " Well, then, would you have any objection to teach lau' 
 guages ? " 
 
 Thaddeus immediately answered, " Oh, no ! I should be 
 happy to do so." 
 
 " Then," replied she, greatly relieved by the manner in which 
 he received her proposal, " I will now tell you that about a week 
 ago I paid a visit to Lady Dundas, the widow of Sir Hector Dun- 
 das, the rich East Indian director. Whilst I was there, I heard 
 her talking with her two daughters about finding a proper mas- 
 ter to teach them German. That language has become a very 
 fashionable accomplishment amongst literary ladies ; and Miss 
 Dundas, being a member of the Blue-stocking Club,* had de- 
 clared her resolution to make a new translation of Werter. 
 Lady Dundas expressed many objections against the vulgarity 
 of various teachers whom the young ladies proposed, and ended 
 with saying that unless some German gentleman could be found, 
 they must remain ignorant of the language. Your image in- 
 stantly shot across my mind ; and deeming it a favorable oppor- 
 tunity, I told her ladyship that if she could wait a few days, I 
 would sound a friend of mine, who I knew, if he would conde- 
 scend to take the trouble, must be the most eligible person im- 
 aginable. Lady Dundas and the girls gladly left the affair to 
 me, and I now propose it to you." 
 
 • Such was the real name given at the time to Mrs. Montague's celebrated literery par- 
 tics, held at her house m Portman Square. The late venerable Sir William Pepys was o:ie 
 of their last survivors. 
 
i8o TI/ ADD EL'S OF IVARSAIV. 
 
 " And I," replied he, " with a thousand thanks, accept the 
 task." 
 
 " Then I will make the usual arrangements," returned her 
 ladyship, " and send you the result." 
 
 After half an hour's further conversation, Lady Tinemouth 
 became more impressed with the unsophisticated delicacy and 
 dignity of the count's mind ; and he, more grateful than utter- 
 ance could declare, left his respects for Miss Egerton, and took 
 his leave. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FASHIONABLE SKETCHES FROM THE LIFE. 
 
 Next morning, whilst Thaddeus was vainly explaining to the 
 general that he no longer possessed a regiment of horse, which 
 the poor old man wanted him to order out, to try the success of 
 some manoeuvres he had been devising, little Nanny brought in 
 a letter from Slaughter's Coffee-house, where he had noted Lady 
 Tinemouth to direct it to him.* He opened it, and found 
 these contents : — 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " So anxious was I to terminate the affair with Lady Dun- 
 aas, that I went to her house last night. I afhrmed it as a 
 great obligation that you would undertake the trouble to teach 
 her daughters ; and I insist that you do not, from any romantic 
 ideas of candor, invalidate what I have said. I know the world 
 too well not to be convinced of the truth of Dr. Goldsmith's 
 maxim, — ' If you be poor, do not seem poor, if you would avoid 
 insult as well as suffering.' 
 
 " I told Miss Dundas that you had undertaken the task solely 
 at my persuasion, and that I could not propose other terms than 
 a guinea for two lessons. She is rich enough for any expense, 
 and made no objection to my demand ; besides, she presented 
 the enclosed, by way of entrance-money. It is customary. 
 Thus I have settled all preliminaries, and you are to conimence 
 your first lesson on Monday, at two o'clock. But before then, 
 pray let me see you. 
 
 " Cannot you dine with us on Sunday ? A sabbath pri\ i- 
 lege ! to speak of good is blameless. 1 have informed Miss 
 
 * Tliis respectable liotel still exists, near the top of St. Martin's Lane— 1S45. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. igl 
 
 Egerton of as much of the affair as I think necessary to account 
 for your new occupation. In short, gay in spirits as she is, I 
 thought it most prudent to say as little to her and to Lady Sara 
 as I have done to the Dundases ; therefore, do not be uneasy 
 on that head. 
 
 " Come to-morrow, if not before, and you will give real pleas- 
 ure to your sincere friend, 
 
 *' Adeliza Tinemouth. 
 
 " Saturday Morning, Grosvenor Place." 
 
 • Truly grateful to the active friendship of the countess, and 
 looking at the general, who appeared perfectly happy in the 
 prosecution of his wild schemes, Thaddeus inwardly exclaimed, 
 '• By these means I shall at least have it in my power to procure 
 the assistance which your melancholy state my revered friend, 
 requires." 
 
 On opening the enclosed, which her ladyship mentioned, he 
 found it to be a bank note for ten pounds. Both the present 
 and its amount gave him pain : not having done any service yet 
 to the donor, he regarded the money more as a gift than as a 
 bond of engagement. However, he found that this delicacy, 
 with many other painful repugnances, must at this moment be 
 laid aside ; and, without further self-torment, he consigned the 
 money to the use for which he felt aware the countess had 
 wished it to be applied, namely, to provide himself with an Eng- 
 lish dress. 
 
 During these various reflections, he did not leave Lady Tine- 
 mouth's letter unanswered. He thanked her sincerely for her 
 zeal, but declined dining with her the next day, on account of 
 leaving his poor friend so long alone ; though he promised to 
 come in the evening when he should be retired to rest. 
 
 This excuse was regretted by none more than Lady Sara 
 Ross, who, having heard from Lady Tinemouth that she expected 
 Mr. Constantine to dinner on a Sunday, invited herself to be 
 one of the party. She had now seen him constantly for nearly 
 a month, and found, to her amazement, that in seeking to be- 
 guile him, she had only ensnared herself. Every word he ut- 
 tered penetrated to her heart ; every glance of his eyes shook 
 her frame like electricity. 
 
 She had now no necessity to affect softness. A young and 
 unsuspected passion had stolen into her bosom, and imparted 
 to her voice and countenance all its subtle power to enchant 
 and to subdue. Thaddeus was not insensible to this gentle fas- 
 cination ; for it appeared to his ingenuous nature to be uncon- 
 
iS2 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 sciously shown, and from under " veiled lids." He looked on 
 her as indeed a lovely woman, who, with a touching delicacy, he 
 observed, often tried to stifle sigh after sigh, which, fluttering, 
 rose to her silent lips. Thus, as silently remarking her, he be- 
 came deeply interested in her ; for he believed her yearning 
 heart then thought of her gallant husband, far, far at sea. So 
 had been his conclusion when he first noticed these demonstra- 
 tions of an inward unuttered sensibility. But in a little while 
 afterwards, when those veiled lids were occasionally raised, and 
 met his compassionate gaze, she mistook the nature of its ex- 
 pression ; and her responsive glance, wild v/ith ecstac}', retunfed 
 him one that darted astonishment, with an appalling dread of his 
 meaning, through his every vein. But on his pillow the same 
 night, when he reflected on what he had felt on receiving so 
 strange a look from a married woman, and one, too, whom he 
 believed to be a virtuous one ! he could not, he would not, sup- 
 pose it meant anything to him ; and ashamed of even the idea 
 having entered his head, he crushed it at once, indignant at him- 
 self. Though, whenever he subsequently met her at Lady Tine- 
 mouth's, he could not help, as if by a natural impulse, avoiding 
 the encountering of her eyes. 
 
 In the course of conversation at dinner, on the day Thad- 
 deus had been expected by Lady Tinemouth, in a tone of pleas- 
 ure she menti-onecl that she had" conferred a great favor on her 
 young cousins, the Misses Dundas, by having prevailed on Mr. 
 Constantine to undertake the trouble of teaching them German. 
 Lady Sara could not conceal her vexation, nor her wonder at 
 Lady Tinemouth's thinking of such a thing ; and she uttered 
 something like angry contempt at acquiescence, while inwardly 
 she hated her former old friend for having made the proposal. 
 
 Miss Egerton laughed at the scrape into which Lady Tine- 
 mouth had brought his good nature, and declared she would 
 tell him next time she saw him what a mulish pair of misses 
 he had presumed to manage. 
 
 It was the youngest of these misses that excited Lady Sara's 
 displeasure. Euphemia Dundas was very pretty ; she had a 
 large fortune at her disposal ; and what might not such united 
 temptations effect on the mind of a man exposed every day to 
 her habitual flirtation ? Stung with jealousy. Lady Sara caught 
 at a slight intimation of his possibly coming in before the even- 
 ing should close. Rallying her smiles, she resolved to make 
 one more essay on his relapsed insensibility, before she beheld 
 him enter scenes so likely to extinguish her hopes. Hopes of 
 what ? She never allowed herself to inquire. She knew that 
 
Til A DDE C 'S OF M 'A RSA IT. i S3 
 
 jhe never liacl loved her husband, that now she detested him, 
 and was devoted to another. 'J'o be assured of a reciprocal 
 passion from that other, she believed was the extent of her 
 wish. Thinking that she held her husband's honor safe as 
 her life, she determined to do what she pleased with her 
 heart. Her former admirers were now neglected ; and, to 
 the astonishment and admiration of the graver part of her ac- 
 quaintance, she had lately relinquished all the assemblies in 
 which she had so recently been the brightest attraction, to 
 seclude herself by the domestic fireside of the Countess of 
 Tinemouth. 
 
 Thus, whilst the world were admiring a conduct they sup- 
 posed would give a laslin.::: happiness to herself and to her hus- 
 band, she was cherishing a passion which might prove the de- 
 struction of both. 
 
 On Sunday evening, Thaddeus entered Lady Tinemouth 's 
 drawing-room just as Miss Egerton seated herself before the 
 tea equipage. At sight of him she nodded her head, and called 
 him to sit by her. Lady Tinemouth returned the grateful press- 
 ure of his hand. Lady Sara received him with a palpitating 
 heart, and stooped to remove something that seemed to incom- 
 mode her foot ; but it was only a feint, to hide t'.e blushes 
 which wei^J^urning on her cheek. No one obscved her con- 
 fusion. So common is it for those who are the constant wit- 
 nesses of our actions to be the most ignorant of their expres- 
 sion and tendency. 
 
 Thaddeus could not, in spite of himself, be so uninformed, 
 and he gladly obeyed a second summons from the gay Sophia, 
 and drew his chair close to hers. 
 
 Lady Sara observed his motions with a pang she could not 
 conceal ; and pulling her seat as far from the opposite side as 
 possible, began in silence to sip her tea. 
 
 " Ye powers of gallantry 1 " suddenly exclaimed Miss Eger- 
 ton, pushing away the table, and lifting her eye-glass to hxr 
 eye, " I declare I have conquered ! Look, Lady Tinemoutl; ; 
 look, Lady Sara I If Mr. Constantinedoes not better become 
 this English dress than his Polish horribles did him, drown me 
 for a witch 1 " 
 
 " You see I have obeyed you, madam,'' returned Thaddcur, 
 .smiling. 
 
 " Ah ! you are in the right. Most men do that cheerfully. 
 when they know they gain by the bargain. Now, you look like 
 a Christian man ; before, you always reminded me of some 
 Stalking hero in a tragedy." 
 
l84 THADDEUS OF V/ARSAIV. 
 
 " Yes," cried Lady Sara, forcing a smile ; '* and now you 
 have given him a striking resemblance to George Barnwell ! " 
 
 Sophia, who did not perceive the sarcasm couched under 
 this remark, good-humoredly replied : 
 
 " May be so, Lady Sara ; but I don't care for his black suit: 
 obedience was the thing I wanted, and I have it in the present 
 appearance." 
 
 " Pray, Lady Tinemouth," asked her ladyship, seeking to 
 revenge herself on his alacrity to obey Miss Egerton, " what 
 o'clock is it ? I have promised to be at Lady Sarum's concert 
 by ten." 
 
 " It is not nine," returned the countess ; " besides, this is 
 the first time I have heard of your engagement. I hoped you 
 would have spent all the evening with us." 
 
 " No," answered Lady Sara, " I cannot." And ringing the 
 bell, she rose. 
 
 " Bless me. Lady Sara ! " cried Miss Egerton, " you are not 
 going ? Don't you ' ?ar that it is little more than eight o'clock .? " 
 
 Busying herself in tying her cloak, Lady Sara affected not 
 to hear her, and told the servant who opened the door to order 
 her carriage. 
 
 Surprised at this precipitation, but far from guessing the 
 cause. Lady Tinemouth requested Mr. Constantime to see her 
 ladyship down stairs. 
 
 " I would rather not," cried she, "in a quick voice ; and 
 darting out of the room, was followed by Thaddeus, who came 
 up with her just as she reached the street door. He hastened 
 to assist her into the carriage, and saw by the light of the flam- 
 beaux her face streaming with tears. He had already extended 
 his hand, when, instead of accepting it, she pushed it from her, 
 and jumped into the carriage, crying in an indignant tone, " To 
 Berkeley Square." He remained for a few minutes looking after 
 her ; then returned into the house, too well able to translate 
 the meaning of all this petulance. 
 
 When h.e reascended the stairs. Lady Tinemouth expressed 
 her wonder at the whimsical departure of her friend ; but as 
 Thaddeus (who was really disturbed) returned a vague reply, 
 the subject ended. 
 
 Miss Egerton, who hardly thought two minutes on the same 
 thing, sent away the tea-board, and, sitting down by him, ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 "Mr. Constantine, I hold it right that no man should be 
 thrown into a den of wild creatures without knowing what sort 
 of animals li,e must meet there. Hence, as I find you have 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 1S5 
 
 undertaken the laming of tliat ursa major Lady Dundas, and 
 her pretty cubs, 1 must give you a taste of their quality. Will 
 you hear me ? " 
 
 '' Certainly." 
 
 " Will you attend to my advice ? " 
 
 "If I like it." 
 
 " Ha ! " replied she, returning his smile with another ; " that 
 is just such an answer as I would have made myself, so I won't 
 quarrel with you. Lady Tinemouth, you will allow me to draw 
 your kinsfolks' pictures? " 
 
 " Yes, Sophia, provided you don't make them caricatures. 
 Remember, your candor is at stake ; to-morrow Mr. Constan- 
 tine will judge for himself." 
 
 '' And I am sure he v»-iil agree with me. Now, Lady Dun- 
 das, if you please ! I know your ladyship is a great stickler 
 for precedence." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth laughed, and interrupted her — 
 
 " I declare, Sophia, you are a very daring girl. What do 
 you not risk by giving way to this satirical spirit ? " 
 
 " Not anybody's love that I value. Lady Tinemouth : yoit 
 know that I never daub a fair character ; Mr. Constantine takes 
 me on your credit ; and if you mean Charles Montresor, he is 
 as bad as myself, and dare not for his life have any qualms." 
 
 "Well, well, proceed," cried her ladyship; " I will not in- 
 terrupt you again." 
 
 " Then," resumed she, " I must begin with Lady Dundas. 
 In proper historical style, I shall commence with her birth, 
 parentage, and education. For the first, my father remembers 
 her when she was damoiselle a'homieur to Judge Sefton's lady 
 at Surat, and soon after her arrival there, this pretty Abigail 
 by some means captivated old Hector Dundas, (then governor 
 of the province,) who married her. When she returned in tri- 
 umph to England, she coaxed her foolish husband to appro- 
 priate some of his rupee riches to the purchase of a baronet- 
 age. I suppose the appellation Mistress put her in mind of her 
 ci-devant abigailship ; and in a fond hour he complied, and she 
 became My Lady. That over. Sir Hector had nothing more 
 obliging to do in this world but to clear her way to perhaps a 
 coronet. He was so good as to think so himself : and, to add 
 to former obligations, had the civility to walk out of it ; for one 
 night, whether he had been dreaming of his feats in India, or 
 of a review of his grand entry into his governorship palace, I 
 cannot affirm, but he marched out of his bed room windov,- and 
 broke his neck. Ever since that untoward event, Lady Dun- 
 
1 86 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 das has exhibited the finest parties in town. Everybody goes 
 to see her, but whether in comphment to their own taste or lo 
 her silver musHns, I don't know ; for there are half a dozen 
 titled ladies of her acquaintance who, to my certain knowledge, 
 have not bought a ball-dress this twelvemonth. Well, how do 
 you like Lady Dundas ? " 
 
 " I do not like your sketch," replied Thaddeus, with an 
 unconscious sigh. 
 
 " Come, don't sigh about my veracity," interrupted Miss 
 Egerton ; " I do assure you I should have been more correct 
 ]iad I been more severe ; for her Indian ladyship is as ill- 
 natured as she is ill-bred, and is as presumptuous as ignorant ; 
 in short she is a fit mamma for the delectable Miss Dundas, 
 whose description you shall have in two questions. Can you 
 imagine Socrates in \\\s wife's petticoats ? Can you imagine a 
 pedant, a scold, and a coquette in one woman ? If you can, 
 you have a foretaste of Diana Dundas. She is large and ugly, 
 and thinks herself delicate and handsome ; she is self-willed 
 and arrogant, and believes herself wise and learned ; and, to 
 sum up all, she is the most malicious creature breathing." 
 
 " My dear Sophia," cried Lady Tinemouth, alarmed at the 
 effect such high coloring might have on the mind of Thaddeus ; 
 *' for heaven's sake be temperate ! I never heard you so un- 
 becomingly harsh in my life." 
 
 Miss Egerton peeped archly in her face. 
 " Are you serious. Lady Tinemouth ? You know that I 
 would not look unbecoming in your eyes. Besides, she is no 
 real relation of yours. Come, shake hands with me, and I will 
 be more merciful to the gentle Euphemia, for I intend that Mr. 
 Constantine shall be her favorite. Won't you ? " cried she, 
 resigning her ladyship's hand. Thaddeus shook his head. " I 
 don't understand your Lord Burleigh nods ; answer me in 
 words, when I have finished : for I am sure you will delight in 
 the zephyr smiles of so sweet a fairy. She is so tiny and so 
 pretty, that I never see her without thinking of some gay little 
 trinket, all over precious stones. Her eyes are two diamond 
 sparks, melted into lustre ; and her teeth, seed pearl, lying 
 between rubies. So much for the casket ; but for the quality 
 of the jewel within, I leave you to make the discovery." 
 
 Miss Egerton having run herself out of breath, suddenly 
 stopped. Seeing that he was called upon to say something, 
 Thaddeus made an answer which only drew upon him a new 
 volley of raillery. Lady Tinemouth tried to avert it, but she 
 failed ; and Sophia continued talking with little interruption 
 until the party separated for the night. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HONORABLE RESOURCES OF AN EXILE. 
 
 Now that the count thought himself secure of tlie means of 
 payment, he sent for a physician, to consult him respecting the 
 state of the general. When Dr. Cavendish saw and conversed 
 With tlie venerable Butzou, he ga^-e it as his opinion that his 
 malady was chiefly on the nerves, and had originated in grief. 
 
 " I can too well suppose it," replied Thaddeus. 
 
 "Then," rejoined the physician, "I fear, sir, that unless I 
 know something of its cause, my visits will prove almost use- 
 less." 
 
 The count was silent. The doctor resumed — 
 
 " I shall be grieved if his sorrows be of too delicate a 
 nature to be trusted with a man of honor ; for in these cases, 
 unless we have some knowledge of the springs of the derange- 
 ment, v/e lose time, and perhaps entirely fail of a cure. Our 
 discipline is addressed both to the body and the mind of the 
 patient." 
 
 Thaddeus perceived the necessity of compliance, and did 
 so without further hesitation. 
 
 ''Tlie calamities, sir, which have occasioned the disorder of 
 my friend need not be a secret : too many have shared them 
 with him; his sorrows have been public ones. You must have 
 learnt by his language, Dr. Cavendish, that he is a foreigner 
 and a soldier. He held the rank of general in the King of 
 Poland's service. Since the period in which his country fell, 
 his wandering senses have approximated to what you see." 
 
 Dr, Cavendish paused for a moment before he answered the 
 count ; then fixing his eyes on the veteran, who was sitting at 
 the other end of the room, constructing the model of a fortified 
 town, he said — 
 
 " All that we can do at present, sir, is to permit him to 
 follow his schemes without contradiction, meanwhile strength- 
 ening his system with proper medicines, and lulling its irrita- 
 tion by gentle opiates. We must proceed cautiously, and I 
 trust in Heaven that success will crown us at last. I will order 
 something to be taken every night." 
 
 When the doctor had written his prescription, and was pre- 
 paring to go, Thaddeus offered him his fee ; but the good 
 Cavendish, taking the hand that presented it, and closing it on 
 
l8S TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 the guinea, " No, my dear sir," said he ; " real patriotism is 
 too much the idol of my heart to allow me to receive payment 
 when I behold her face. Suffer me, Mr. Constantine, to visit 
 you and your brave companion as a friend, or I never come 
 again.',' 
 
 " Sir, this generous conduct to strangers — " 
 
 " Generous to myself, Mr. Constantine, and not to stran- 
 gers ; I cannot consider you as such, for men who devote 
 themselves to their country must find a brother in every honest 
 breast. I will not hear of our meeting on any other terms." * 
 
 Thaddeus could not immediately form a reply adequate to 
 the sentiment whicii the generous philanthropy of the doctor 
 awakened. Whilst he stood incapable of speaking, Cavendish, 
 with one glance of his penetrating eye, deciphered his counten- 
 ance, and giving him a friendly shake by the hand, disappeared. 
 
 The count took up his hat ; and musing all the way he went 
 on the unexpected scenes we meet in life, — -disappointment 
 where we expected kindness, and friendship where no hope 
 could arise, — he arrived at the door of Lady Dundas, in Har- 
 ley Street. 
 
 He was instantly let in, and with much ceremony ushered 
 into a splendid library, where he was told the ladies would 
 attend him. Before they entered, they allowed him time to 
 examine its costly furniture, its glittering book-cases, bird-cages, 
 globes, and reading-stands, all shining with burnished gilding ; 
 its polished plaster casts of the nine muses, which stood in 
 nine recesses about the room, draperied with blue net, looped 
 up with artificial roses ; and its fine cut-steel Grecian stove, oxi 
 each side of which was placed, on sandal-wood pedestals, two 
 five-feet statues of Apollo and Minerva. 
 
 Thaddeus had twice walked round these fopperies of learn- 
 ing, when the door opened, and Lady Dundas, dressed in a 
 morning wrapper of Indian shawls, waddled into the apartment. 
 She neither bowed nor curtseyed to the count, who was stand- 
 ing when she entered, but looking at him from head to foot, 
 said as she passed, " So you are come ;" and ringing the bell, 
 called to the servant in no very soft tones, " Tell Miss Dundas 
 the person Lady Tinemouth spoke of is here." Her ladyship 
 then sat down in one of the little gilded chairs, leaving Thad- 
 deus still standing on the spot where he had bowed to her 
 entrance. 
 
 * Tins generous man is no fictitious character, the original being Dr. Blackburn e, late 
 of Cavendish Square ; but who, since the above was written, has long retired from his pro- 
 f?s'-,ion, passing a revered old age in the beautiful neighborhood qf our old British classic 
 scenes, the Abbey of Glastonbury. 
 
TIFADDECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 189 
 
 "You may sit down," cried she, stirring the fire, and not 
 deigning to look at him ; '' for my daughter may not choose to 
 come tliis half-hour." 
 
 " I prefer standing," replied the count, who could have 
 laughed at the accuracy of Miss Egerton's picture, had he not 
 prognosticated, more disagreeableness to himself from the ill 
 manners of which this was a specimen. 
 
 Lady Dundas took no further notice of him. Turning from 
 her bloated countenance, (which pride as well as high living 
 had swollen from prettincss to deformity,) he walked to a win- 
 dow and stationed himself there, looking into the street, until 
 the door was again opened, and two ladies made their appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " Miss Dundas," cried her ladyship, " here is the young 
 man that is to teach you German." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed ; the younger of the ladies curtseyed ; 
 and so did the other, not forgetting to accompany such conde- 
 scension with a toss of the head, that the effect of undue hu- 
 mility might be done away. 
 
 Whilst a servant was setting chairs round a table, on which 
 was painted the Judgment of Hercules, Lady Dundas again 
 opened her lips. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Thingumbob, have you brought any grammars, 
 and primers, and dictionaries, and syntaxes with you .'' '' 
 
 Before he had time to reply in the negative, Miss Dundas 
 interrupted her mother. 
 
 "I wish, madam, you would leave the arrangement of my 
 studies to myself. Does your ladyship think we would learn 
 out of any book which had been touched by other people? 
 Thomas," cried she to a servant, " send Stephens hither." 
 
 Thaddeus silently contemplated this strange mother and 
 daughter, whilst the pretty Euphemia paid the same compli- 
 ment to him. During his stay, he ventured to look once only 
 at her sylph-like figure. There was an unreceding something 
 in her liquid blue eyes, when he chanced to meet them, which 
 displeased him ; and he could not help seeing that from the in- 
 stant she entered the room she had seldom ceased staring in 
 his face. 
 
 He was a little relieved by the maid putting the books on 
 the table. Miss Dundas, taking her seat, desired him to sit 
 down by her and arrange the lessons. Lady Dundas was draw- 
 ing to the other side of Thaddeus, when Euphemia, suddenly 
 whisking round, pushed before her mother, and exclaimed — 
 
 "Dear mamma! you don't want to learn I " and squeezed 
 
I ^o THA DDE US OF WA RSA W. 
 
 herself upon the edge of her mother's chair, who, very angrily 
 getting up, declared that rudeness to a parent was intolerable 
 from such well-bred young women, and left the room. 
 
 Euphemia blushed at the reproof more than at her conduct ; 
 and Miss Dundas added to her confusion by giving her a second 
 reprimand. Thaddeus pitied the evident embarrassment of 
 the little beauty, and to relieve her, presented the page in the 
 German grammar with which they were to begin. I'his had 
 the desired effect ; and for an hour and a half they prosecuted 
 their studies with close attention. 
 
 Whilst the count continued his directions to her sister, and 
 then turned his address to herself, Miss Euphemia, wholly un- 
 seen by him, with a bent head was affecting to hear him. though 
 at the same time she looked obliquely through her thick flaxen 
 ringlets, and gazing with wonder and admiration on his face as 
 it inclined towards her, said to herself, " If this man w^ere a 
 gentleman, I should think him the most charming creature in 
 the world." 
 
 " Will your task be too long, madam t " inquired Thaddeus j 
 *' will it give you any inconvenience to remember ? " 
 
 " To remember what ? " asked she, for in truth she had 
 neither seen wdiat he had been pointing at nor heard what he 
 had been saying. 
 
 •' The lesson madam, I have just been proposing." 
 
 " Show it to me again, and then I shall be a better judge." 
 
 lie did as he was desired, and was taking his leave, when 
 she called after him : 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Constantine, come to-morrow at two. I want 
 you particularly." 
 
 7'he count bowed and withdrew. 
 
 " And wdiat do you want with him to-morrow, child ? " asked 
 Miss Dundas ; "you are not accustomed to be so fond of im- 
 provement." 
 
 Euphemia knew very well what she was accustomed to be 
 fond of ; but not choosing to let her austere sister into her pre- 
 dilection for the contemplation of superior beauty, she merely 
 answered, " You know, Diana, you often reproach me for my 
 absurd devotion to novel-reading, and my repugnance to graver 
 books ; now I want at once to be like you, a woman of great 
 erudition : and for that purpose I will study day and night at 
 the German, till I can read all the philosophers, and be a fit 
 companion for my sister." 
 
 Tliis speech from pAiphemia fwlio had always been so de- 
 clared an enemy to pedantry as to aflirm that she learnt German 
 
TII^IDDEUS OF WARSAW. IqI 
 
 merely because it was the fashion) would have awakened Miss 
 Dundas to some suspicion of a covert design, had she not been 
 in the habit of takinj^ down such large draughts of adulation, 
 that whenever herself was the subject, she gave it full confi- 
 dence. Kuphemia seldom administered these doses but to 
 serve particular views ; and seeing in the present case that a 
 little flattery was necessary, she felt no compunction in sacrifi- 
 cing sincerity to the gratification of caprice. Weak in under- 
 standing, she had fed on works of imagination, until her mind 
 loathed all kinds of food. Not content with devouring the ele- 
 gant pages of Mackenzie, Radcliffe, and Lee, she flew with 
 voracious appetite to sate herself on the garbage of any circula- 
 ting librar}' that fell in her way. 
 
 The effects of such a taste were exhibited in her manners. 
 Being very pretty, she became very sentimental. She dressed 
 like a wood nymph, and talked as if hersoul were made of love 
 and sorrow. Neither of these emotions had she ever really 
 felt ; but in idea she was always the victim of some ill-fated 
 passion, fancying herself at different periods in love with one 
 or other of the finest young men in her circle. 
 
 By this management she kept faithful to her favorite princi- 
 ple that " love was a want of her soul ! " As it was the rule of 
 her life, it ever trembled on her tongue, ever introduced the 
 confession of any new attachment, which usually happened 
 three times a-year, to her dear friend Miss Arabella Rothes. 
 Fortunately for the longevity of their mutual friendship, this 
 young lady lived in an ancient house, forty miles to the north of 
 London. This latter circumstance proved a pretty distress 
 for their pens to descant on ; and Arabella remained a most 
 charming sentimental writing-stock, to receive the catalogue of 
 Miss Euphemia's lovers ; indeed, that gentle creature might 
 have matched every lady in Cowley's calendar with a gentle- 
 man. But every throb of her heart must have acknowledged a 
 different master. First, the fashionable sloven, Augustus 
 Somers, lounged and sauntered himself into her good graces ; 
 but his dishevelled hair, and otherwise neglected toilette, not 
 exactly meeting her ideas of an elegant lover, she gave him up 
 at the end of three weeks. The next object her eyes fell upon, 
 as most opposite to her former fancy, was the charming Mar- 
 quis of Inverary. But here all her arrows failed, for she never 
 could extract from him more than a " how d'ye do ? " through 
 the long lapse of four months, during which time she con- 
 tinued as constant to his fine figure, and her own follv, as 
 could have fallen to the lot of any poor despairing damsel. 
 
I )2 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 However, my lord was so cruel, so perfidious, as to allov; 
 several opportunities to pass in which he might have declared 
 his passion ; and she told Arabella, in a letter of six sheets, 
 that she would bear it no longer. 
 
 She put this wise resolution in practice, and had already 
 played the same game with half a score, (the last of whom was 
 a young guardsman, who had just ridden into her heart by 
 mana2;ing his steed with the air of a " feathered Mercury," 
 one day in Hyde Park,) v/hen Thaddeus made his appearance 
 before her. 
 
 The moment she fixed her eyes on him, her inflammable 
 imagination was set in a blaze. She forgot his apparent subor- 
 dinate quality in the nobleness of his figure; and once or twice 
 that evening, while she was flitting about, the sparkling cyno- 
 sure of the Duchess of Orkney's masquerade, her thoughts 
 hovered over the handsome foreigner. 
 
 She viewed the subject first one way and then another, and, 
 in her ever varying mind, " he was everything by turns, and 
 nothing long;'' but at length she argued herself into a belief 
 that he must be a man of rank from some of the German courts, 
 who having seen her somewhere unknown to herself, had fallen 
 in love with her, and so had persuaded Lady Tinemouth to in- 
 troduce him as a niaster of languages to her family that h.e 
 miglU the better appreciate the disinterestedness of her dis- 
 position. 
 
 This wild notion having once got into her head, received 
 instant credence. She resolved, without seeming to suspect it, 
 to treat him as his quality deserved, and to deliver sentiments 
 in his hearing which should charm him with their delicacy and 
 generosity. 
 
 With these chimeras floating in her brain, she returned home, 
 went to bed, and dreamed that Mr. Constantine had turned 
 out to be the Due d'' Enghicn., had offered her his hand, and that 
 she was conducted to the altar by a train of princes and prin- 
 cesses, his brothers and sisters. 
 
 She woke the next morning from these deliriums in an ec- 
 stasy, deeming them prophetic ; and, taking up her book, began 
 with a fluttering attention to scan the lesson which Thaddeus 
 had desired her to learn. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARS A IK 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 193 
 
 *' What are these words ? These seeming flowers ? Maids to call them, ' Love 
 in idleuess.' " 
 
 The following day at noon, as the Count Sobieski \vas cross- 
 ing Cavendish Square to keep his appointment in Hariey Street, 
 he was met by Lady Sara Ross. She had spoken with the 
 Misses Dundas the night before, at the masquerade, where 
 discovering the pretty Euphemia through the dress of Eloisa, 
 her jealous and incensed heart could not withstand the tempta- 
 tion of hinting at the captivating Abelard she had selected to 
 direct her studies. Her ladyship soon penetrated into the situa- 
 tion of Euphemia's heated fancy, and drew from her, without 
 betraying herself, that she expected to see her master the follow- 
 ing day. Stung to the soul, Lady Sara quitted the rooms, and 
 in a paroxysm of disappointment, determined to throw herself 
 in his way as he went to her rival's house. 
 
 With this hope, she had already been traversing the square 
 upw\ards of half an hour, attended by her maid, wlien her anx- 
 ious eye at last caught a view of his figure proceeding along 
 ALirgaret Street. Hardly able to support her tottering frame, 
 shaken as it was with contending emotions, she accosted him 
 first : for he was passing straight onward, without looking to 
 the right or the left. On seeing her ladyship, he stopped, and 
 expressed his pleasure at the meeting. 
 
 " If you rca//y are pleased to meet me," said she, forcing a 
 smile, " take a walk with me round the square. I want to 
 speak with you." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed, and she put her arm through his, but re- 
 mained silent for a few minutes, in evident confusion. The 
 count recollected it must now be quite two. He knew the awk- 
 wardness of making the Misses Dundas wait ; and notwithstand- 
 ing his reluctance to appear impatient with Lady Sara, he found 
 himself obliged to say — 
 
 " I am sorry I must urge your ladyship to honor me with 
 your commands, for it is already past the time when I ought to 
 have been with the Misses Dundas." 
 
 "Yes," cried Lady Sara, angrily, " Miss Euphemia told me 
 as much ; but, I\Ir. Constanline, as a friend, I must warn you 
 against her acts, as well as against those of another lady, who 
 would do well to correct the boldness of her manner." 
 
194 
 
 TH ADD BUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 *'Whom do you mean, madam ? " interrogated Thaddeus, 
 surprised at Iier warmth, and totally at a loss to conjecture to 
 whom she alluded. 
 
 "A little reflection would answer you," returned she, wish- 
 ing to retreat from an explanation, yet stimulated by her double 
 jealousy to proceed : " she may be a good girl, Mr. Constan- 
 tine, and I dare say she is ; but a woman who has promised her 
 hand to another ought not to flirt with you. What business 
 had Miss Egerton to command you to w^ear an English dress } 
 But she must now see the danger of her conduct, by your having 
 presumed io obey her." 
 
 "Lady Sara!'' exclaimed the count, much hurt at this 
 speech, " I hardly understand you ; yet I believe I may venture 
 to affirm that in all which you have just now said, you are mis- 
 taken. Who can witness the general frankness of Miss Eger- 
 ton, or listen to the candid manner with which she avows her 
 attachment to Mr. Montresor, and conceive that she possesses 
 any thoughts which would not do her honor to reveal ? And 
 for myself," added he, lowering the tone of his voice, " I trust 
 the least of my faults is presumption. It never was my character 
 to presume on any lady's condescension ; and if dressing as she 
 approved be deemed an instance of that kind, I can declare, 
 upon my word, had I not found other motives besides her rail- 
 lery, my appearance should not have suffered a change." 
 
 " Are you sincere, Mr. Constantine ? " cried Lady Sara, now 
 smiling with pleasure. 
 
 " Indeed I am, and happy if my explanation have met with 
 your ladyship's approbation." 
 
 " Mr. Constantine," resumed she, " I have no motive but 
 one in my discourse with you, — friendship." And casting her 
 eyes down, she sighed profoundly. 
 
 "Your ladyship does me honor." 
 
 " I would have you to regard me with the same confidence? 
 that you do Lady Tinemouth. My father possesses the first 
 patronage in this countr}% I therefore have it a thousand time^ 
 more in my power than she has to render you a service." 
 
 Here her ladyship overshot herself ; she had not calculate4 
 well on the nature of the mind she wished to ensnare. 
 
 " I am grateful to your generosity," replied Thaddeus ; 
 "but on this head I must decline your kind offices. Whilst 1 
 consider myself the subject of one king, though he be in a prison, 
 I cannot accept of any employment under another who is ir\ 
 alliance with his enemies." 
 
 Lady Sara discovered her error the moment he had mad^ 
 
Til A DDE VS OF WARSAW. 195 
 
 his answer; and, in a disappointed tone, exclaimed, " Then you 
 despise my friendship ! " 
 
 " No, Lady Sara ; it is an honor far beyond my merits ; and 
 my gratitude to Lady Tinemouth must be doubled when I rcc- 
 oliect that I possess such honor through her means." 
 
 "Well," cried her ladyship, "have that as you will ; but I 
 expect, as a s})ecimen of your confidence in me, you will be wary 
 of Euphemia Dundas. I know she is artful and vain ; she fmds 
 amusement in attracting the affections of men ; and then, not- 
 withstanding her affected sensibility, she turns them into a sub- 
 ject for laughter." 
 
 " I thank your ladyship," replied the count ; " but in this 
 respect I think I am safe, both from the lady and myself." 
 
 " How," asked Lady Sara, rather too eagerly, " is your 
 heart ? " She paused and looked down. 
 
 " No, madam ! " replied he, sighing as deeply as herself: 
 but with his thoughts far from her and the object of their dis- 
 course ; " I have no place in my heart to give to love. Besides, 
 the quality in which I appear at Lady Dundas's would preclude 
 the vainest man alive from supposing that such notice from any 
 lady there to him could be possible. Therefore, I am safe, 
 though I acknowledge my obligation to your ladyship's caution." 
 
 Lady Sara was satisfied with the first part of this answer. 
 It declared that his heart was unoccupied ; and, as he had ac- 
 cepted her proffered friendship, she doubted not, when assisted 
 by more frequent displays of her fascinations, she could destroy 
 its lambent nature, and in the end light up in his bosom a simi- 
 lar fire to that which consumed her own. 
 
 The unconscious object of all these devices began internally 
 to accuse his vanity of having been too fanciful in the formation 
 of suspicions which on a former occasion he had believed him- 
 self forced to admit. Blushing at a quickness of perception his 
 contrition now^ denominated folly, he found himself at the bot- 
 tom of Harley Street. 
 
 Lady Sara called her servant to walk nearer to her ; and 
 telling Thaddeus she should expect him the next evening at 
 Lady Tinemouth's, wished him good-morning. 
 
 He was certain that he must have stayed at least half an 
 hour beyond the time when he ought to be with the sisters. 
 Anticipating very haughty looks, and perhaps a reprimand, he 
 knocked at the door, and was again shown into the library. 
 Miss Euphemia was alone. 
 
 He offered some indistinct excuse for having made her wait ; 
 but Euphemia, with good-humored alacrity, interrupted him. • 
 
196 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " O pray, don't mind ; you have made nobody wait but me, 
 and I can easily forgive it ; for mamma and my sister chose to 
 to go out atone, it being May-day, to seethe chimney-sweepers 
 dine at Mrs. Montague's.* They did as they liked, and I pre- 
 ferred staying at home to repeat my lesson." . 
 
 Thaddeus, thanking her for her indulgence, sat down, an ', 
 taking the book, began to question her. Not one word could 
 she recollect. She smiled. 
 
 " I am afraid, madam, you have never thought of it since 
 yesterday morning." 
 
 " Indeed, I have thought of nothing else : you must forgive 
 me. I am very stupid, Mr. Constantine, at learning languages \ 
 and German is so harsh — at least to my ears ! Cannot you 
 teach me any other thing t I should like to learn of you of all 
 things, but do think of something else besides this odious jar- 
 gon ! Cannot you teach me to read poetry elegantly .'' — Shak- 
 speare, for instance ; I doat upon Shakspeare ! " 
 
 " That would be strange presumption in a foreigner ? " 
 
 " No presumption in the least," cried she ; " if you can do 
 it, pray begin ! There is Romeo and Juliet." 
 
 Thaddeus pushed away the book with a smile. 
 
 " I cannot obey. I understand Shakspeare with as much 
 ease as you, madam, will soon do Schiller, if you apply ; but 1 
 cannot pretend to read the play aloud." 
 
 " Dear me, how vexatious ! — but I must hear you read 
 something. Do, take up that Werter. My sister got it from 
 the Prussian ambassador, and he tells me it is sweetest in its 
 own language." 
 
 The count opened the book. 
 
 " But you will not understand a word of it." 
 
 " I don't care for that ; I have it by heart in English ; and 
 if you will only read his last letter to Charlotte, I know I can 
 follow you in my own mind." 
 
 • To please this whimsical little creature, Thaddeus turned to 
 the letter, and read it forward with a pathos natural to his 
 voice and character. When he came to an end and closed the 
 volume, the cadence of his tones, and the lady's memory, did 
 ample justice to her sensibility. She looked up, and smiling 
 through her watery eyes, which glittered like violets wet with 
 
 * This was a gay spectacle, and a most kind act to these poor children, who thus once 
 a-year found themselves refreshed and happy. They resorted to the green court-yard of 
 Mrs- Montague's house every May-day, about one o'clock, dressed in their gala wreaths, 
 and sporting with their brushes and shovels, where they found a good dinner, kind wotIs 
 from their ho'^tess and her gue';f'^, and each little sweep received a shilling at partin;;, Qn 
 tiic death uf M13. Mont>'>guc, thii hunuue and pleasurable spectacle ceaseU* 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. :c)j 
 
 dew, drew out her perfumed handkerchief, and wiping them, 
 said — 
 
 '' I thank you, Mr. Constantinc. Vou see by this irrepressi- 
 ble emotion that I feel Goethe, and did not ask you a vain favor." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed, for he was at a loss to i^uess what kind of 
 a reply could be expected by so strange a creature. 
 
 She continued — 
 
 " You are a German, Mr. Constantine. Did you ever see 
 Charlotte > " 
 
 " Never, madam." 
 
 " I am sorry for that ; I should have liked to have heard 
 what sort of a beauty she was. But don't you think she behaved 
 cruelly to Werter? Perhaps you knew him .'' " 
 
 " No, madam ; this lamentable story happened before I was 
 born." 
 
 " How unhappy for him ! I am sure 3'ou would have, made 
 the most charming friends in the world ! Have you a friend, 
 Mr. Constantine." 
 
 The count looked at her with surprise. She laughed at the 
 expression of his countenance. 
 
 " I don't mean such friends as one's father, mother, sisters 
 and relations : most people have enough of them. I mean 
 a tender, confiding friend, to whom you unbosom all your 
 secrets : who is your other self — a second soul ! In short, a 
 creature in whose existence you forget your own ! " 
 
 Thaddeus followed with his eyes the heightened color of the 
 fair enthusiast, who, accompanying her rhapsody with action 
 expressive as her words, had to repeat her question, " Have you 
 such a friend ? " before he found recollection to answer her in 
 the negative. 
 
 The count, who had never been used to such extravagant 
 behavior in a woman, would have regarded Miss Euphemia 
 Dundas as little better than insane had he not been prepared 
 by Miss Egerton's description ; and he now acquiesced in the 
 young lady's desire to detain him another hour, half amused 
 and half wearied with her aimless and wild fancies. But here 
 he was mistaken. Her fancies were not aimless ; his heart was 
 the game she had in view, and she determined a desperate 
 attack should make it her own, in return for the deep wounds 
 she had received from every tone of his voice, whilst reading 
 the Sorrows of Werter. 
 
1(^8 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LADY TINEMOUTH's BOUDOIR. 
 
 Thaddeus spent nearly a fortnight in the constant exercise 
 of his occupations. In the forepart of each day, until two, he 
 prepared those drawings by the sale of which he w^as empowered 
 every w^eek to pay the good Mrs. Robsoii for her care of his 
 friend. And he hoped, when the ladies in Harley Street should 
 think it time to defray any part of their now large debt to him, 
 he might be enabled to liquidate the very long bill of his friend's 
 apothecar}'. But the Misses Dundas possessed too much 
 money to think of its utility ; they used it as counters ; for they 
 had no conception that to other people it might be the pur- 
 chaser of almost every comfort. Their comforts came so cer- 
 tainly, they supposed they grew of necessity out of their situa- 
 tion, and their great wealth owned no other commission than to 
 give splendid parties and buy fine things. Theirgolden shower 
 being exhaled by the same vanity by w^hich it had been shed, 
 they as little regarded its dispersion as they had marked its 
 descent. 
 
 Hence, these amiable ladies never once recollected that 
 their master ought to receive some weightier remuneration for 
 his visits than the honor of paying them ; and as poets say the 
 highest honors are achieved by suffering, so these two sisters, 
 though in different ways, seemed resolved that Thaddeus should 
 purchase his distinction with adequate pains. 
 
 Notwithstanding that Miss Dundas continued very remiss in 
 her lessons, she unrelentingly required the count's attendance, 
 and sometimes, not in the most gentle language, reproached 
 him for a backwardness in learning she owed entirely to her 
 own inattention and stupidity. The fair Diana w'ould have 
 been the most erudite w^oman in the world could she have 
 found any fine-lady path to the temple of science ; but the 
 goddess w^ho presides there being only to be won by arduous 
 climbing, poor Miss Dundas, like, the indolent monarch who 
 made the same demand of the philosophers, was obliged to lay 
 the fault of her own slippery feet on the weakness of her con- 
 ductors. 
 
 As Thaddeus despised her most heartily, he bore ill-humor 
 from that quarter with unshaken equanimity. But the pretty 
 
Til A DDE US OF M ". / RSA IT. 199 
 
 Eupliemia wa:^ not r.o easily managed. Slie had now com- 
 pletely given up her fanciful soul to this prince in disguise, and 
 already began to act a thousand extravagances. Without sus- 
 pecting the object, Diana soon discovered that her sister was in 
 one of her love fits. Indeed she cared nothing about it ; and 
 leaving her to pursue the passion as she liked, poor Euphemia, 
 according to her custom when laboring under this whimsical 
 malady, addicted herself to solitude. This romantic taste she 
 generally indulged by taking her footman to the gate of the 
 green m Cavendish Square, where he stood until she had per- 
 formed a pensive saunter up and down the walk. After this 
 she returned home, adjusted her hair in the Madonna fashion, 
 (because Thaddeus had one day admired the female head in a 
 Holy Family, by Guido, over the chimney-piece,) and then seat- 
 ing herself in some becoming attitude, usually vvaited, with her 
 eyes constantly turning to the door, until the object of these 
 devices presented himself. She impatiently watched all his 
 motions and looks whilst he attended to her sister; and the 
 moment that was done, she ran over her own lessons with great 
 volubility, but little attention. Her task finished, she shut the 
 books, and employed the remainder of the time in translating a 
 number of little niottoes into German, which she had composed 
 for boxes, baskets, and other frippery. 
 
 One day, when her young teacher was, as usual, tired almost 
 beyond endurance with making common sense out of so much 
 nonsense, Euphemia observed that IJiana had removed to the 
 other end of the room with the Honorable Mr. Lascelles. To 
 give an eclat to her new studies, Miss Dundas had lately opened 
 her library door to morning visitors ; and seeing her sister thus 
 engaged, Euphemia thought she might do what she wished with- 
 out detection. Hastily drawing a folded paper from her 
 pocket, she desired Thaddeus to take it home, and translate it 
 into the language he liked best. 
 
 Surprised at her manner, he held it in his hand. 
 " Put it in your pocket," added she, in a hurr>'ing voice, 
 *' else my sister may see it, and ask what it is ! " 
 
 Full of wonder, he obeyed her ; and the little beauty, having 
 executed her scheme, seemed quite intoxicated with delight. 
 When he was preparing to withdraw, she called to him, and 
 asked when he should visit Lady Tinemouth. 
 
 " This evening, madam." 
 
 " Then," returned she, " tell her ladyship I shall come and 
 sit half-an-hour with her to-night ; and here," added she. run- 
 ning up to him, " present her that rose, with my love." Whilst 
 
200 TITADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 slie put it into his hand, she whispered in a low voice, " and 
 you will tell me what you think of the verses I have given you." 
 
 Thaddeus colored and bowed. He hurried out of the house 
 into the street, as if by that haste he could have gotten out of 
 a dilemma to which he feared all this foolish mystery might be 
 only the introduction. 
 
 Though of all men in the world he was perhaps the least 
 inclined to vanity, yet he must have been one of the most stupid 
 had he not been convinced by this time of the dangerous at- 
 tachment of Lady Sara. Added to that painful certainty he 
 now more than dreaded a similar though a slighter folly in Miss 
 Euphemia. 
 
 Can a man see himself the daily object of a pair of melting 
 eyes, hear everlasting sighs at his entrance and departure, day 
 after day receive tender though covert addresses about disin- 
 terested love, can he witness all this, and be sincere when he 
 affirms it is the language of indifference ? If that be possible, 
 the Count Sobieski has no pretensions of modesty. He com- 
 prehended the "discoursing" of Miss Euphemia's "eye;" 
 also the tendency of the love-sick mottoes which, under vari- 
 ous excuses, she put into his hand ; and with many a pitying 
 smile of contempt he contemplated her childish absurdity. 
 
 A few days piior to that in which she made this appointment 
 with Thaddeus, she had presented to him another of her posies, 
 which ran thus : " Frighted love, like a wild beast, shakes the 
 wood in which it hides." 
 
 Thaddeus almost laughed at the oddity of the conceit. 
 
 "Do, dear Mr. Constantine," cried she, "translate it into 
 the sweetest French you can ; for I mean to have it put into a 
 medallion, and to give it to the person whom I most value on 
 earth ! " 
 
 There was something so truly ridiculous in the sentence, 
 that, reluctant to allow even Miss Euphemia to expose herself 
 so far, he considered a moment how he should make anything 
 so bad better, and then said, " I am afraid I cannot translate 
 it literally ; but surely, madam, you can do it yourself ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but I like your French better than mine ; so pray 
 oblige me." 
 
 He had done the same kind of thing a hundred times for 
 her, and, without further discussion, wrote as follows : — 
 
 " L'amour tel qu'une biche blessee, se trahit lui-meme par 
 sa crainte, qui fait remuer le feuillage qui le couvre." 
 
 " Bless me, how pretty ! " cried she, and immediately put it 
 into her bosom. 
 
T7TADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2oi 
 
 To tliis unlucky addition of the words se trahit lui-mcyne 
 Thaddeus was indebted for the present of the folded paper. 
 The ever-working imagination of Euphemia had seized the in- 
 serted thought as a delicate avowal that lie was the wounded 
 deer he had substituted in place of the wild beast ; and as soon 
 as he arrived at home, he found the fruits of her mistake in tie 
 packet she had given with so much secrecy. 
 
 When he broke the seal, something dropped out and fell on 
 the carpet. He took it up, and blushed for her on finding a gold 
 medallion, with the words he had altered for Miss Euphemia 
 engraved on blue enamel. With a vexed haste he next looked 
 at the envelope ; it contained a copy of verses, with this line 
 written at the top : 
 
 " To him who will apply them." 
 
 On perusing them, he' found them to be Mrs. Phillips's 
 beautiful translation of that ode of Sappho which runs — 
 
 " Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
 The friend who fondly sits by thee, 
 And hears and sees thee all the while 
 Softly speak and sweetly smile ! 
 
 "'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
 And rais'd such tumults in my breast : 
 For while I gazed, in transport tost, 
 My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 
 
 " My bosom glow'd ; the subtle flame 
 Ran quick through all my vital frame ; 
 O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; 
 My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 
 
 " In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd ; 
 My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd : 
 My feeble pulse forgot to play ; 
 I fainted, sunk and died away ! 
 
 " Euphemia. 
 
 Thaddeus threw the verses and the medallion together on 
 the table, and sat for a few minutes considering how he could 
 extricate himself from an affair so truly farcical in itself, but 
 which might be productive of a very distressing consequence to 
 him. 
 
 He was thinking of at once giving up the task of attending 
 either of the sisters, when his eyes falling on the uncomplaining 
 but melancholy features of his poor friend, he exclaimed, " No ; 
 for thy sake, gallant Butzou, I will brave every scene, however 
 abhorrent to my heart.'* 
 
202 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Well aware, from observation, on Miss Euphemia, that the 
 seeming tenckrncss which prompted an act so wild and unbe- 
 coming originated in mere caprice, he did not hesitate in deter- 
 mining to return the things in as handsome a manner as possible, 
 and by so domg, at once crush the whole affair. He felt no 
 pain in forming those resolves, because he saw that not one 
 impulse of her conduct sprung from her heart. It was a whim 
 raised by him to-day, which might be superseded by another to- 
 morrow. 
 
 But how different was the case with regard to Lady Sara ! 
 Her uncontrolled nature could not long brook .the restraints of 
 friendship. Every attention he gave to Lady Tinemouth, every 
 civility he paid to Miss Egerton, or to any other lady whom he 
 met at the countess's, went like a daggerto her soul ; and when- 
 ever she could gain his ear in private, she generally made 
 him sensible of her misery, and his own unhappiness in being 
 its cause, by reproaches which too unequivocally proclaimed 
 their source. 
 
 He now saw that she had given way to a reprehensible and 
 headstrong passion ; and, allowing for the politeness which is 
 due to the sex, he tried, by an appearance of the most stubborn 
 coldness, and an obstinate perversity in shutting his apprehen- 
 sion against all her speeches and actions, to stem a tide that 
 threatened her with ruin. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth at least began to open her eyes to the 
 perilous situation of both her friends. Highly as she esteemed 
 Thaddeus, she knew not the extent of his integrity. She had 
 lived too long near the circle of the heir apparent, and had 
 seen too many men from the courts of the continent, to place 
 much roliance on the firmness of a single and unattached young 
 man v;hen assailed by rank, beauty and love. 
 
 Alarmed at what might be the result of her observations, 
 and fearing to lose any time, she had that very evening in 
 which she expected Thaddeus to supper drawn out of Lady 
 Sara the unhappy state of her heart. 
 
 The dreadful confession was made by her ladyship, with 
 repeated showers of tears, and in paroxysms of agony which 
 pierced the countess to the soul. 
 
 "My dear Lady Sara," cried she, *'for heaven's sake, re- 
 member your duty to Captain Ross ! " 
 
 " I shall never forget it," exclaimed her ladyship, shaking 
 her head mournfully, and striking her breast with her clenched 
 hand, " I never look on the face of Constantine that I do not 
 execrate from my heart the vows which I have sworn to Ross ; 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 203 
 
 but I have bound myself his property, and though I hate him, 
 whatever it may cost me, I will never forget that my faith and 
 honor are my husband's." 
 
 With a countenance bathed in tears, Lady Tinemouth put 
 her arms round the waist of Lady Sara, who now sat motion- 
 less, with her eyes fixed on the fire. 
 
 " Dear Lady Sara ! that was spoken like yourself. Do 
 more ; abstain from seeing Mr. Constantine." 
 
 " Don't require of me that ? " cried she ; " I could easier 
 rid myself of existence. He is the ver)' essence of my happiness. 
 It is only in his company that I forget that I am a wretch." 
 
 " This is obstinacy, my dear Lady Sara ! This is courting 
 danger." 
 
 " Lady Tinemouth, urge me no more. Is it not enough ? " 
 continued she, sullenly, " that I am miserable ? Would you 
 drive me to desperation ? If there be danger; you brought me 
 into it." 
 
 " I ! Lady Sara ? " 
 
 "Yes, you, Lady Tinemouth ; you introduced him to me." 
 
 " But you are married ! Singularly attractive and amiable 
 as indeed he is, could I suppose " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried her ladyship, interrupting her ; " you 
 know that I am married to a mere sailor, more in love with his 
 ugly ship than with me ! But it is not because Constantine is 
 so handsome that I like him. No ; though no human form 
 can come nearer to perfection, yet it was not that : it was you. 
 You and Sophia Egerton were always telling me of his bravery ; 
 what wealth and honors he had sacrificed in the service of his 
 country; how nobly he succored the distresses of others; how 
 heedless he was of his own. This fired my imagination and 
 won my heart. No ; it was not his personal attractions : I am 
 not so despicable ! " 
 
 " Dear Lady Sara, be calm ! " entreated the countess, com- 
 pletely at a loss how to manage a spirit of such violence. 
 " Think, my dear friend, what horrors you would experience 
 if Mr. Constantine were to discover this predilection, and 
 presume upon it ! You know where even the best men are vul- 
 nerable." 
 
 The eyes of Lady Sara sparkled with pleasure. 
 
 " Why, surely, Lady Sara ! " exclaimed Lady Tinemouth, 
 doubtingly. 
 
 " Don't fear me. Lady Tinemouth ; I know my own dignity 
 too well to do anything disgraceful ; yet I would acquire the 
 knowledge that he loves me at almost any price. But he is 
 
204 
 
 TH A DDE us OF WARS A IV. 
 
 cold," added she i " he is a piece of obstinate petrefaction, 
 which Heaven itself could not melt! " 
 
 Lady Tinemouth was glad to hear this account of Thad- 
 deus 3 but ere she could reply, the drawing-room door opened, 
 and Miss Euphemia Dundas was announced. 
 
 When the little beauty expressed her amazement at not 
 seeing Mr. Constantine, Lady Sara gave her such a withering 
 look, that had her ladyship's eyes been Medusan, poor Euphe- 
 mia would have stood there forever after, a stone statue of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF TINEMOUTH's STORY. 
 
 Meanwhile the count, having seen Dr. Cavendish, and 
 received a favorable opinion of his friend, wrote the following 
 note to Miss Euphemia : — 
 
 "To Miss Euphemia Dundas. 
 
 " Mr. Constantine very much admires the taste of Miss 
 Euphemia Dundas in her choice of the verses which she did 
 him the honor of requesting he would translate into the most 
 expressive language, and to the utmost of his abilities he has 
 obeyed her commands in Italian, thinking that language the 
 best adapted to the versification of the original. 
 
 " Mr. Constantine equally admires the style of the medal- 
 lion which Miss E. Dundas has condescended to enclose for 
 his inspection, and assures her the letters are correct." 
 
 Having sealed his note, and seen the general in bed, with 
 little Nanny seated by him to watch his slumbers, Thaddeus 
 pursued his way to Grosvenor Place. 
 
 When he entered Lady Tinemouth's drawing-room, he saw 
 that his young i?ia77iorata had already arrived, and was in close 
 conversation with the countess. Lady Sara, seated alone on a 
 sofa, inwardly upbraided Constantine for what she thought an 
 absolute assignation with Euphemia. 
 
 Her half-resentful eyes, yet dewed with the tears which her 
 discourse with Lady Tinemouth had occasioned, sought his 
 averted face, while he looked at Miss Dundas with evident 
 
TH AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 205 
 
 surprise and disgust. This pleased her : and the more so as 
 he only bowed to her rival, shook the countess by the hand, 
 and then turning, took his station beside herself on the sofa. 
 
 She would not trust her triumphant eyes towards Lady 
 Tinemouth, but immediately asked him some trifling question. 
 At the same moment Euphemia tapped him on the arm with 
 her fan, and inquired how it happened that she had arrived 
 first. 
 
 He was answering Lady Sara. Euphemia impatiently re- 
 peated her demand, ''How did it happen that I arrived first ? " 
 
 " I suppose, madam," replied he, smiling, " because you 
 were so fortunate as to set out first. But had I been so 
 liappy as to have preceded you, the message and present with 
 wliich I was honored would have been faithfully delivered, and 
 I hope your ladyship will permit me to do it now," said he, 
 rising, and taking Euphemia's rose from his button, as he ap- 
 proached the countess ; " Miss Euphemia Dundas had done 
 me the honor to make me the bearer of sweets to the sweet ; 
 and thus I surrender my trust." He bowed, and put the 
 flower into Lady Tinemouth's hand, who smiled and thanked 
 Euphemia. But the little beauty blushed like her own rose ; 
 and murmuring within herself at the literal apprehension of 
 her favorite, whom she thought as handsome as Cimon, and 
 as stupid too, she flirted her fan, and asked Miss Egerton 
 whether she had read Charlotte Smith's last delightful novel. 
 
 The evening passed off more agreeably to Thaddeus than 
 he had augured on his entrance. Lady Sara always embar- 
 rassed and pained him ; Miss Euphemia teased him to death ; 
 but to-night the storm which had agitated the breast of her 
 ladyship having subsided into thoughtfulness, it imparted so 
 abstracted an air to her ever-lovely countenance, that, merely 
 to elude communication w'ith Euphemia, he remained near her, 
 and by paying those attentions which, so situated, he could not 
 avoid, he so deluded the wretched Lady Sara, as to subdue 
 her melancholy into an enchanting softness which to any other 
 man might have rendered her the most captivating woman on 
 earth. 
 
 The only person present who did not approve this change 
 was Lady Tinemouth. At ever}' dissolving smile of her Cir- 
 cean ladyship, she thought she beheld the intoxicating cup at 
 the lips of Thaddeus, and dreaded its effect. Euphemia was 
 too busily employed repeating some new poems, and too in- 
 tensely dreaming of what her tutor might say on the verses 
 and medallion in his jjosscssion, to observe the dangerous 
 
2o6 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 ascendency which the superior charms of Lady Sara might aC' 
 quire over his heart. Indeed, she had no suspicion of finding 
 a rival in her ladyship ; and when a servant announced the 
 arrival of her mother's coach, and she saw by her watch that 
 it was twelve o'clock, she arose reluctantly, exclaiming, 
 
 " I dare say some plaguing people have arrived who are to 
 stay with us, else mamma would not have sent for me so soon." 
 
 " I call it late," said Lady Sara, who would not lose an op- 
 portunity of contradicting her ; " so I will thank you, Mr. Con- 
 stantine," addressing herself to him, " to hand me to my coach 
 at the same time." 
 
 Euphemia bit her lip at this movement of her ladyship, and 
 followed her down stairs, reddening with anger. Her carriage 
 being first, she was obliged to get into it, but would not suffer 
 the servant to close the door until she had seen Lady Sara 
 seated in hers ; and then she called to Mr. Constantine to 
 speak with her. 
 
 Lady Sara leaned her head out of the window. While she 
 saw the man she loved approach Lady Dundas's carriage, she, 
 in her turn, bit her lips with vexation. 
 
 " Home, my lady 1 " asked the servant, touching his hat. 
 
 " No j not till Miss Dundas's coach drives on. 
 
 Miss Euphemia desired Thaddeus to step in for a moment, 
 and he reluctantly obeyed. 
 
 "Mr. Constantine !" cried the pretty simpleton, trembling 
 with expectation, as she made room for him beside her, " have 
 you opened the paper I gave you ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam," returned he, holding the door open, and 
 widening it with one hand, whilst with the other he presented 
 his note, " and I have the honor, in that paper, to have exe- 
 cuted your commands." 
 
 Euphemia caught it eagerly ; and Thaddeus immediately 
 leaping out, wished her a good-night, and hurried back into 
 the house. Whilst the carriages drove away, he ascended to 
 the drawmg-room, to take leave of the countess. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth, seated on the sofa, was leaning thought- 
 fully against one of its arms when he re-entered. He ap- 
 proached her. 
 
 " I wish you a good-night. Lady Tinemouth." 
 
 She turned her head. 
 
 " Mr. Constantine, I wish you would stay a little longer 
 with me ! My spirits are disturbed, and I am afraid it will be 
 near morning before Sophia returns from Richmond. These 
 rural balls are sad, dissipated amusements ! "' 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 207 
 
 Thaddeus laid down his hat and took a seat by her side. 
 
 *' I am happy, dear Lady Tinemoulh, at all times to be 
 with you ; but 1 am sorry to hear that you have met with any 
 thing to discompose you. I was afraid when I came in that 
 something disagreeable had happened ; your eyes " 
 
 " Alas ! if my eyes were always to show when I have been 
 weeping, they might ever be telling tales ! " Her ladyship 
 passed her hand across them, while she added, "We may think 
 on our sorrows with an outward air of tranquillity, but we can- 
 not always speak of them without some agitation." 
 
 " Ah, Lady Tinemouth ! " exclaimed the count, drawing 
 closer to her ; " could not even your generous sympathizing 
 heart escape calamity ? " 
 
 " To cherish a sympathizing heart, my young friend," re- 
 plied she, " is not a very effectual way to avoid the pressure of 
 affliction. On the reverse, such a temper extracts unhappiness 
 from causes which would fail to extort even a sigh from dispo- 
 sitions of less susceptibility. Ideas of sensibility and sympathy 
 are pretty toys for a novice to play with ; but change those 
 wooden swords into weapons of real metal, and you will find 
 the points through your heart before you are aware of the dan- 
 ger — at least, I find it so. Mr. Constantine, I have frequently 
 promised to explain to you the reason of the sadness which so 
 often tinges my conversation ; and I know not when I shall be 
 in a fitter humor to indulge myself at your expense, for I never 
 was more wretched, never stood more in need of the consola- 
 tions of a friend." 
 
 She covered her face with her handkerchief, and remained 
 so for some time. Thaddeus pressed her hand several times, 
 and waited in respectful silence until she recommenced. 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear sir ; I am very low to-night — very 
 nervous. Having encountered two or three distressing cir- 
 cumstances to-day, these tears relieve me. You have heard 
 me speak of my son, and of my lord ; yet I never collected re- 
 solution to recount how we were separated. This morning I 
 saw my son pass my window ; he looked up ; but the moment 
 I appeared, he turned away and hastened down the street. 
 Though I have received many stronger proofs of dislike, both 
 from his father and himself, yet slight as this offence may 
 seem, it pierced me to the soul. O, Mr. Constantine, to know 
 that the child to whom I gave life regards me with abhorrence, 
 is dreadful — is beyond even the anxious partiality of a mother 
 either to excuse or to palliate ! " 
 
 "Perhaps, dear Lady Tinemouth, you misjudge Lord Hai- 
 
2o8 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 wold ; he may be under the commands of his father, and yet 
 yearn to show you his affection and dut3^" 
 
 " No, Mr. Constantine ; your heart is too good even to 
 guess what may be the guilt of another. Gracious Heaven ! 
 am I obliged to speak so of my son ! — he who was my darling! 
 —he who once loved me so dearly ! But hear me, my dear 
 sir ; you shall judge for yourself, and you will wonder that I 
 am now alive to endure more. I have suffered by him, by his 
 father, and by a dreadful woman, who not only tore my hus- 
 band and children from me, but stood by till I was beaten to 
 the ground. Yes, Mr. Constantine, any humane man would 
 shudder as you do at such an assertion ; but it is too true. 
 Soon after Lady Olivia Lovel became the mistress of my lord, 
 and persuaded him to take my son from me, I heard that the 
 poor boy had fallen ill through grief, and lay sick at his lord- 
 ship's house in Hampshire. I heard he was dying. Imagine! 
 my agonies. Wild with distress, I flew to the park lodge, and, 
 forgetful of anything but my child, was hastening across the 
 park, when I saw this woman, this Lady Olivia, approaching 
 me, followed by two female servants. One of them carried my 
 daughter, then an infant, in her arms ; and the other, a child 
 of which this unnatural wretch had recently become the mother. 
 I was flying towards my little Albina, to clasp her to my heart, 
 when Lady Olivia caught hold of my arm. Her voice now 
 rings in my ears. * Woman ! ' cried she, ' leave this place \ 
 there are none here to whom you are not an object of abhor- 
 rence.' 
 
 " Struggling to break from her, L implored to be permitted 
 to embrace my child ; but she held me fast, and, regardless of 
 my cries, ordered both the women to return into the house. 
 Driven to despair, I dropped on my knees, conjuring her, by 
 her feelings as a mother, to allow me for one moment to see 
 my dying son, and that I would promise, by my hopes of ever- 
 lasting happiness, to cherish her child as my own should it ever 
 stand in need of a friend. The horrid w^oman only laughed at 
 my prayers, and left me in a swoon. When I recovered, the 
 first objects I beheld were my lord and Lady Olivia standing 
 near me, and myself in the arms of a man-servant, whom they 
 had commanded to carry me outside the gate. At the sight of 
 my husband, I sprang to his feet, when with one dreadful blow 
 of his hand he struck me to the gR>und. Merciful Providence ! 
 how did I retain my senses ! I besought this cruel husband to 
 give mc a second blow, that I might suffer no more. 
 
 " ' Take her out of my sight,' cried he ; ' she is mad,' 
 
Til ADD EL'S OF WARSAW. 2 09 
 
 " I was taken out of his sight, more dead than alive, and 
 led by his pilying servants to an inn, where I was afterwards 
 confined for three weeks with a brain fever. From that hour I 
 have never had a day of health." 
 
 Thaddeus was shocked beyond utterance at this relation. 
 The paleness of his countenance being the only reply he made, 
 the anguished narrator resumed. 
 
 " I have gone out of order. I proposed to inform you 
 clearly of my situation, but the principal outrage of my heart 
 rose immediately to my lips. I will commence regularly, if I 
 can methodize my recollection. 
 
 " The Earl of Tinemouth married me from passion : I will 
 not sanctify his emotions by the name of affection ; though," 
 added she, forcing a smile, " these faded features too plainly 
 show that of all mankind, I loved but him alone. I was just 
 fifteen when he came to visit my father, who lived in Berkshire. 
 My father, Mr, Cumnor, and his father. Lord Harwold, had 
 been friends at college. My lord, then Mr. Stanhope, was 
 young, handsome, and captivating. He remained the autumn 
 with us, and at the end of that period declared an affection for 
 me which my heart too readily answered. About this time he 
 received a summons from his father, and we parted. Like 
 most girls of my age, I cherished an unconquerable bashfulness 
 against admitting any confidant to my attachment; hence my 
 parents knew nothing of the affair until it burst upon them in 
 the crudest shape. 
 
 " xA.bout two months after Mr. Stanhope's departure, a letter 
 arrived from him, urging me to fly with him to Scotland. He 
 alleged as a reason for such a step that his grandfather, the 
 Earl of Tinemouth, insisted on his forming a union with Lady 
 Olivia Lovel, who w^as then a young widow, and the favorite 
 niece of the most powerful nobleman in the kingdom. Upon 
 this demand, he confessed to the earl that his affections were 
 engaged. His lordship, whose passions were those of a mad- 
 man, broke into such horrible execrations of myself and my 
 family, that Mr. Stanhope, himself, alas ! enraged, intempcr- 
 ately swore that no power on earth should compel him to marry 
 so notorious a woman as Lady Olivia Lovel, nor to give me up. 
 After communicating these particulars, he concluded with re- 
 peating his eitreaties that I would consent to marry him in 
 Scotland. The whole of this letter so alarmed me, that I 
 showed it to my parents. My father answered it in a manner 
 befitting his own diameter ; but that only irritated the impet- 
 uous passions of my lover. In the paroxysm of his rage, he 
 
2IO TH A DDE US OF WARSAW. 
 
 flew to the earl his grandfather, upbraided him with the ruin of 
 his happiness, and so exasperated the old man, that he drew 
 his sword upon him ; and had it not been for the interference 
 of his father, Lord Harwold, who happened to enter at the 
 moment, a most fatal catastrophe might have ensued. To end 
 the affair at once, the latter, whose gentle nature embraced the 
 mildest measures, obtained the earl's permission to send Mr. 
 Stanhope abroad. 
 
 " Meanwhile I was upheld by my revered parent, who is 
 now no more, in firmly rejecting my lover's entreaties for a 
 private marriage. And as his grandfather continued resolutely 
 deaf to his prayers or threats, he was at length persuaded by 
 his excellent father to accompany some friends to France. 
 
 "At the end of a few weeks Mr. Stanhope began to regard 
 them as spies on him ; and after a violent quarrel, they parted, 
 no one knowing to what quarter my lover directed his steps. I 
 believe I was the first who heard any tidings of him. I remem- 
 ber well ; it was in 1773, about four-and-twenty years ago, that 
 I received a letter from him. Oh ! how legibly are these cir- 
 cumstances written on my memory ! It was dated from Italy, 
 where, he told me, he resided m complete retirement, under the 
 assumed name of Sackville." 
 
 At this name, with every feature fixed in dismay, Thaddeus 
 fell back on the sofa. 
 
 The countess caught his hand. 
 
 *' What is the matter ? You are ill ? What is the matter ? " 
 The bolt of indelible disgrace had struck to his heart. It 
 was some minutes before he could recover ; but when he did 
 speak, he said, '' Pray go on, madam ; I am subject to this. 
 Pray forgive me, and go on ; I shall become better as you 
 proceed." 
 
 " No, my dear friend ; I will quit my dismal story at present, 
 and resume it some other time." 
 
 " Pray continue it now," rejoined Thaddeus ; " I shall never 
 be more fit to listen. Do, I entreat you." 
 
 " Are you sincere in your request.'* 1 fear I have already 
 affected you too much." 
 
 " No ; I am sincere : let me hear it all. Do not hold back 
 anything which relates to that stain to the name of Englishman, 
 who completed his crimes by rendering you wretched ! " 
 
 "Alas! he did," resumed her ladyship ; " for when he re- 
 turned, which was in consequence of the Earl of Tinemouth's 
 death, my father was also dead, wlio might have stood between 
 me and my inclina^Pjns, and so preserved me from many sue- 
 
7IIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2ri 
 
 ceedlng sorrows. I sealed my fate, and became Stanhope's 
 wife. 
 
 " The father of my husband was then Earl of Tinemouth ; 
 and as he had never been averse to our union, he presented me 
 with a cottage on the banks of the Wye, where I passed three 
 deli;;htful years, the happiest of womankind. My husband, my 
 mother, and niy infant son formed my felicity ; and greatly I 
 prize it — too greatly to be allowed a long continuance ! 
 
 '' At the end of this period, some gay friends paid us a visit. 
 When they returned to town, they persuaded my lord to be of the 
 party. He went ; and from that fatal day all my sufferings arose. 
 
 " Lord Harwold, instead of being with me in a fortnight, as 
 he had promised, procrastinated his absence under various ex- 
 cuses from week to week, during which interval my Albina was 
 born. Day after day I anticipated the delight of putting her 
 into the arms of her father ; but, what a chasm ! she was three 
 months old before he appeared ; and ah ! how changed. He 
 was gloomy to me, uncivil to my mother, and hardly looked at 
 the child." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth stopped at this part of her narrative to 
 wipe away her tears. Thaddeus was sitting forward to the 
 table, leaning on his arm, with his hand covering his face. The 
 countess was grateful for an excess of sympathy she did not ex- 
 pect ; and taking his other hand, as it lay motionless on his 
 knee, "What a consolation would it be to me," exclaimed she, 
 " durst I entertain a hope that I may one day behold but half 
 such pity from my own son ! " 
 
 Thaddeus pressed her hand. He did not venture to reply ; 
 he could not tell her that she deceived herself even here ; that it 
 was not her sorrows only which so affected him, but the remem- 
 bered agonies of his own mother, whom he did not doubt the 
 capricious villany of this very earl, under the name of Sackville 
 (a name that had struck like a death-bolt to the heart of Thad- 
 deus when he first heard his mother utter it), had devoted to a 
 life of uncomplaining but ceaseless self-reproach. And had he 
 derived his existence from such a man — the reprobate husband 
 of Lady Tinemouth ! The conviction humbled him, crushed 
 him, and trod him to the earth. He did not look up, and the 
 countess resumed : 
 
 " It would be impossible, my dear sir, to describe to you 
 the gradual changes which assured me that I had lost the heart 
 of my husband. Before the end of the winter he left me again, 
 and I saw him no more until that frightful hour in which he 
 struck me to the ground. 
 
SI2 Til A DDE US OF WARSAW. 
 
 " The good earl came into Monmouthshire about six weeks 
 after I parted with my lord. I was surprised and rejoiced to 
 see my kind father-in-law ; but how soon w^ere my emotions 
 driven into a different course ! He revealed to me that during 
 Lord Harwold's first visit to town he had been in the habit of 
 spending entire evenings with Lady Olivia Lovel. 
 
 " ' This woman,' added he, ' is the most artful of her sex. In 
 spite of her acknowledged dishonor, you well know my deceased 
 father would gladly have married her to my son; and now it 
 seems, actuated by revenge, she resents Lord Harwold's refusal 
 of her hand by seducing him from his wife. Alas ! I am too 
 well convinced that the errors of my son bear too strict a 
 resemblance to those of his grandfather. Vain of his superior 
 abilities, and impatient of contradiction, flattery can mould him 
 to what it pleases. Lady Olivia had discovered these weak 
 points in his character ; and, I am informed, she soon persuaded 
 him that you impose on his affection by detaining him from the 
 world ; and, seconded by other fascinations, my deluded son 
 has accompanied her into Spain.' 
 
 " You may imagine, Mr. Constantine, my distraction at this 
 intelligence. I was like one lost ; and the venerable earl, fear' 
 ing to trust me in such despair out of his sight, brought me 
 and my children with him to London. In less than four months 
 afterwards, I was deprived of this inestimable friend by a para- 
 lytic stroke. His death summoned the new earl to England. 
 Whilst I lay on a sick bed, into which I had been thrown by 
 the shock of my protector's death, my lord and his mistress 
 arrived in London. 
 
 "They immediately assumed the command of my lamented 
 father-in-law's house, and ordered my mother to clear it directly 
 of me. My heart-broken parent obeyed, and I was carried in 
 a senseless state to a lodging in the nearest street. But when 
 this dear mother returned for my children, neither of them were 
 permitted to see her. The malignant Lady Olivia, actuated 
 by an insatiable hatred of me, easily wrought on my frantic 
 husband (for I must believe him mad) to detain them entirely. 
 A short time after this, that dreadful scene happened which I 
 have before described. 
 
 " Year succeeded year, during which time I received many 
 cruel insults from my husband, many horrible ones from my 
 son ; for I had been advised to institute a suit against my lord, 
 in which I only pleaded for the return of my children. I lost 
 my cause, owing, I hope, to bad counsel, not the laws of my 
 country. I was adjudged to be separated from the carl, with 
 
rilADDEL'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 fli3 
 
 a maintenance of six hundred a-5'ear, whicli lie hardly pays. 
 I was tied down never to speak to him, nor to his son nor his 
 daughter. Though this sentence was passed, I never acknowl- 
 edged its justice, but wrote several times to my children. Lord 
 Harwold, who is too deeply infected with his father's cruelty, 
 has either returned my letters unopened or with insulting re- 
 plies. For my daughter, she keeps an undeviating silence ; and 
 I have not even seen her since the moment in which she was 
 hurried from my eyes in Tinemouth Park. 
 
 " In vain her brother tries to convince me that she detests 
 me. I will not believe it ; and the hope that, should 1 survive 
 her father, I may yet embrace my child, has been, and will be, 
 my source of maternal comfort until it be fulfilled, or I bury 
 my disappointment in ti.e grave." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth put her handkerchief to her eyes, which 
 were again flowing with tears. Thaddeus thought he must 
 speak, if he would not betray an interest in her narrative, which 
 he determined no circumstance should ever humble him to re- 
 veal. Raising his head from his hand, he unconsciously dis- 
 covered to the countess his agonized countenance. 
 
 " Kind, affectionate Constantine ! surely such a heart as 
 thine never would bring sorrow to the breast of a virtuous hus- 
 band ! You could never betray the self-deluded Lady Sara to 
 any fatal error ! " 
 
 Lady Tinemouth did not utter these thoughts. Thaddeus 
 rose from his seat. 
 
 " Farewell, my honored friend !" said he; "may Heaven 
 bless you and pardon your husband ! " 
 
 Then grasping her hand, with what he intended should be 
 a pressure of friendship, but which his internal tortures rendered 
 almost intolerable, he hastened down stairs, opened the outward 
 door, and got into the street. 
 
 Unknowing and heedless whither he went, with the steps of 
 a man driven by the furies, he traversed one street and then 
 another. As he went along, in vain the watchmen reminded 
 him by their cries that it was past three o'clock : he still wan- 
 dered on, forgetting that it was night, that he had any home, 
 any destination. 
 
 His father was discovered ! — that father of whom he had 
 entertained a latent hope, should they ever meet, that he might 
 produce some excuse for having been betrayed into an act dis- 
 graceful to a man of honor. But when all these filial dreams 
 were blasted by the conviction that he owed his being to the 
 husband of Lady Tinemouth, that his mother was the victim of 
 
214 
 
 Til A DDE us OF WARS A W. 
 
 a profligate, that he had sprung from a man who was not merely 
 a villain, but the most wanton, the most despicable of villains, 
 he saw himself bereft of hope and overwhelmed with shame 
 and horror. 
 
 Full of reflections which none other than a son in such cir- 
 cumstances can conceive, he was lost amidst the obscure alleys 
 of Tottenham Court Yard, v/hen loud and frequent cries recalled 
 his attention. A quantity of smoke, with flashes of light, led 
 him to suppose that they were occasioned by afire ; and a few 
 steps further the awful spectacle burst upon his sight. 
 
 It was a house from the windows of which the flames were 
 breaking out in every direction, whilst a gathering concourse of 
 people were either standing in stupefied astonishment or use- 
 lessly shouting for engines and assistance. 
 
 At the moment in which he arrived, two or three naked 
 wretches just escaped from their beds, were flying from side to 
 side, making the air echo with their shrieks. 
 
 " Will nobody save my children ? " cried one of them, ap- 
 proaching Thaddeus, and wringing her hands in agony; "will 
 nobody take them from the fire .'' " 
 
 "Where shall I seek them 1 " replied he. 
 
 " Oh ! in that room," exclaimed she, pointing ; " the flames 
 are already there ; they will be burnt ! they will be burnt ! " 
 
 The poor woman was hurrying madly forward, when the 
 count stopped her, and giving her in charge of a bystander, 
 cried : "Take care of this woman, if possible, I will save her 
 children." Darting through the open door, in defiance of the 
 smoke and danger, he made his way to the children's room, 
 where, almost suffocated by the sulphurous cloud that sur- 
 rounded him, he at last found the bed ; but it contained one 
 child only. This he instantly caught up in his arms, and was 
 hastening down the stairs, when the cries of the other from a 
 distant part of the building made him hesitate ; but thinking it 
 better to secure one than to hazard both by lingering, he rushed 
 into the street just as a post-chaise had stopped to inquire the 
 particulars of the accident. The carriage-door being open, 
 Thaddeus, seeing ladies in it, without saying a word, threw the 
 sleeping infant into their laps, and hastened back into the 
 house, where he hoped to rescue the other child before the fire 
 could increase to warrant despair. 
 
 The flames having now made dreadful progress, his face, 
 hands, and clothes were scorched by their fury as he flew from 
 the room, following the shrieks of the child, who seemed to 
 change its situation with every exertion that he made to reach 
 
Til ADD EL'S or WARS A \V. 2 i - 
 
 it. At length, when every moment he expected the house 
 would sink under his feet, as a last attempt he directed his steps 
 along a passage he had not before observed, and to his great 
 joy beheld the object of his search flying down a back staircase. 
 The boy sprung into his arms ; and Thaddeus, turning round, 
 leaped from one landing-place to another, until he found him- 
 self again in the street, surrounded by a crowd of people. 
 
 He saw the poor mother clasp this second rescued child to 
 her breast ; and whilst the spectators were loading her with 
 congratulations, he slipped away unseen, and proceeded home- 
 wards, with a warmth at his heart which made him forget, in the 
 joy of a benevolent action, that petrifying shock which had 
 been occasioned by the vices of one too nearly allied to his 
 beins: to be hated without horror. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE KINDREDSHIP OF MINDS. 
 
 When Thaddeus awoke next morning, he found himself 
 more refreshed, and freer from the effects of the last night's 
 discovery, than he could have reasonably hoped. The pres- 
 ence of mind and activity which the fire called on him to exert, 
 having forced his thoughts into a different channel, had afforded 
 his nerves an opportunity to regain some portion of their usual 
 strength. He could now reflect on what he had heard without 
 suffering the crimes of another to lay him on the rack. Tlie 
 reins were again restored to his hand, and neither agitation nor 
 anxiety showed themselves in his face or manner. 
 
 Though the count's sensibility was very irritable, and when 
 suddenly excited he could not always conceal hi? emotion, yet 
 he possessed a power of look which immediately repressed the 
 impertinence of curiosity or insolence. Indeed, this mantle of 
 repulsion proved to be his best shield ; for never had man more 
 demands on the dignity of his soul to shine out about his person. 
 
 Not unfrequently has his sudden appearance in the study- 
 room at Lady Dundas's at once called a natural glow through 
 the ladies' rouge, and silenced the gentlemen, when he has 
 happened to enter while Miss Dundas and half-a-dozen other 
 beaux and belles have been ridiculing Euphemia on the absurd 
 civilities she paid to her language-master i 
 
2 if) THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 The morning after the fire, a little bevy of these fashionable 
 butterflies were collected in this way at one corner of Miss 
 Dundas's Hercules table, wdien, during a moment's pause, " I 
 hope, Miss Beaufort," cried the Honorable Mr. Lascelles, " I 
 hope you don't intend to consume the brightness of your eyes 
 over this stupid language ? " 
 
 " What language, Mr. Lascelles ?" inquired she ; " I have 
 this moment entered the room, and I don't know what you are 
 talking about." 
 
 " Good Lud ! that is very true," cried he ; " I mean a 
 shocking jargon, which a shocking penseroso man teaches to 
 these ladies. We want to persuade Miss Euphemia that it 
 spoils her mouth." 
 
 " You are always misconceiving me, Mr. Lascelles," inter- 
 rupted Miss 'Dundus, impatiently ; " I did not advance one 
 word against the language ; I merely remonstrated with Phemy 
 against her preposterous attentions to the man we hire to 
 teach it." 
 
 " That was what I meant, madam," resumed he, with a low 
 bow. 
 
 " You meant w^hat, sir .? " demanded the little beauty, con- 
 temptuously ; " but I need not ask. You are like a bad mirror, 
 W'hich from radical defect always gives false reflections." 
 
 " Very good, faith, Miss Euphemia ! I declare, sterling 
 wit ! It would honor Sheridan, or your sister." 
 
 " Mr. Lascelles," cried Euphemia, more vexed than before, 
 " let me tell you such impertinence is very unbecoming a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " Upon my soul. Miss Euphemia ! " 
 
 " Pray allow the petulant young lady to get out of her airs, 
 as she has, I believe, got out of her senses, without our help 1 " 
 exclaimed Miss Dundas ; " for I declare I know not where she 
 picked up these vile democratic ideas." 
 
 " I am not a democrat, Diana," answered Euphemia, rising 
 from her seat ; " and I won't stay to be abused, when I know 
 it is all envy, because Mr. Constantine liappened to say that I 
 have a quicker memory than you have." 
 
 She left the room as she ended. Miss Dundas, ready to 
 storm with passion, but striving to conceal it, burst into a vio- 
 lent laugh, and turning to Miss Beaufort, said : " You now see, 
 my dear Mary, a sad specimen of Euphemia's temper ; yet I 
 hope you won't think too severely of her, for, poor thing, she 
 lias been spoilt by us all." 
 
 '' Pray, do not apologize tome in particular ! " replied Miss 
 
r II ADD ECS OF WARSAW 
 
 217 
 
 Beaufort ; " but, to be frank, I think it probable she would 
 have shown her temper less had that little admonition been 
 given in private. I doubt not she has committed something 
 wrong, yet " 
 
 " Ves, some^iing very wrong," interrupted Miss Dundas, 
 reddening at this rebuke ; '• botii Mr. Lascelles and Lord Ber- 
 rington there " 
 
 " Don't l^ing \x\ my name, I pra}'. Miss Dundas," cried the 
 viscount, who was looking over an old edition of Massinger's 
 plays ; you know I haie being squeezed into squabbles." 
 
 Miss Dundas dropped the corners of her mouth in contempt, 
 and went on. 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Lascelles, and Miss Poyntz, here, have 
 both at different times been present when Phemy has con- 
 ducted herself in a very ridiculous way towards a young man 
 Lady Tinemouth sent here to teach us German. Can you be- 
 lieve it possible that a girl of her fashion could behave in this 
 style without having first imbibed some very dangerous notions "i 
 I am sure I am right, for she could not be more civil to him if 
 he were a gentleman." ]\Iiss Dundas supposed she had now 
 set the affair beyond controversy, and stopped with an air of 
 triumph. Miss Beaufort perceived that her answer was ex- 
 pected. 
 
 " I really cannot discover anything in the matter so very 
 reprehensible," replied she. " Perhaps the person you speak 
 of may have the qualifications of a gentleman ; he may be 
 above his situation." 
 
 "Ah! above it, sure enough!" cried Lascelles, laughing 
 boisterously at his own folly. He is tall enough to be above 
 everything, even good manners; for notwithstanding his plebe- 
 ian calling, I find he doesn't know how to keep his distance." 
 
 " I am sorry for that, Lascelles," cried Berrington, measur- 
 ing the puppy with his good-natured eye ; " for these Magog 
 men are terrible objects to ns of meaner dimensions ! ' A sub- 
 stitute shines bri^j^iitly as a king until a king be by,' " 
 
 "Why, my lord, you do not mean to compare me with such 
 a low fellow as this 1 I don't understand Lord Berring- 
 ton " 
 
 "Bless me, gentlemen!" cried Miss Dundas, frightened at 
 the angry looks of the little honorable; "why, my lord, I 
 thought you hated squabbles } " 
 
 " So I do, Miss Dundas," replied he, laying down his book 
 and coming forward; "and upon my honor, Mr. Lascelles." 
 added he, smiling, and turning towards the coxcoyib, who 
 
2i8 THADDEUS OP WARSAW. 
 
 Stood nidging his head with anger by Miss Beaufort's chair, — > 
 ^'upon my honor, Mr. Lascelles, I did not mean to draw any 
 jDarallel between your person and talents and those of this Mr. 
 
 , I forget his name, for truly I never saw him in my 
 
 life ; but I dare swear no comparison can exist between you." 
 
 Lascelles took the surface of this speech, and bowed, whilst 
 his lordship, turning to Miss Beaufort, began to compliment 
 himself on possessing so fair an ally in defence pf an absent 
 person. 
 
 '' I never have seen him," replied she ; *' and what is more, 
 I never heard of him, till on entering the room Mr. Lascelles 
 arrested me for my opinion about him. I only arrived from 
 the country last night, and cai-i have no guess at the real 
 grounds of this ill-judged bustle of Miss Dundas's regarding a 
 man she styles despicable. If he be so, why retain him in her 
 service ? and, what is more absurd, why make a person in 
 that subordinate situation the subject of debate amongst her 
 friends .'' " 
 
 " You are right. Miss Beaufort, returned Lord Berrington ; 
 but the eloquent Miss Dundas is so condescending to her 
 friends, she lets no opportunity slip of displaying her sceptre, 
 both over the republic of words and the empire of her mother's 
 family." 
 
 *' Are not you severe now, Lord Berrington 1 I thought 
 you generous to the poor tutor ! " 
 
 " No ; I hope I am just on both subjects. I know the lady, 
 and it is true that I have seen nothing of the tutor ; but it is 
 natural to wield the sword in favor cf the defenceless, and I 
 always consider the absent in that light." 
 
 Whilst these two conversed at one end of the room, the 
 otlier group were arraigning the presumption of the vulgar, 
 and the folly of those who gave it encouragement. 
 
 At a fresh burst of laughter from Miss Dundas, Miss Beau- 
 fort mechanically turned her head ; her eye was arrested by 
 the appearance of a gentleman in black, who was standing a 
 few paces within the door. He was regarding the party before 
 him with that lofty tranquillity which is inseparable from high 
 rank, when accompanied by a consciousness of as high inward 
 qualities. His figure, his face, and his air contained that pure 
 simplicity of contour which portrays all the graces of youth 
 with the dignity of manhood. 
 
 Miss Beaufort in a moment perceived that he was unob- 
 served ; rising from her seat, she said, " Miss Dundas, here is 
 a gentleman." - - 
 
Til A DDK us OF WARSAW. 219 
 
 Miss Dundas looked round carelessly. 
 
 " You may sit down, Mr. Conslantine." 
 
 " Is it possible ! " thought Miss Beaufort, as he approached, 
 and the ingenuous expression of his fine countenance was 
 directed towards her ; " can this noble creature have been the 
 subject of such impertinence 1 " 
 
 " I commend little Phemy's taste ! " whispered Lord Ber- 
 rington, leaving his seat. " Ha ! Miss Beaufort, a young 
 Apollo .? " 
 
 "And not in disguise ! " replied she in the same manner, 
 just as Thaddeus had bowed to her; and, with "veiled lids," 
 was taking up a book from the table : not to read, but literally 
 to have an object to look on which could not insult him. 
 
 " What did Miss Dundas say was his name ? " whispered 
 the viscount. 
 
 "Constantine, I think." 
 
 " Mr. Constantine," said the benevolent Berrington, "will 
 you accept this chair ? " 
 
 Thaddeus declined it. But the viscount read in the " proud 
 humility " of his bow that he had not always waited, a depend- 
 ent, on the nods of insolent men and ladies of fashion ; and, 
 with a good-humored compulsion, he added, " pray oblige me 
 for by that means I shall have an excuse to squeeze into the 
 Sulta7ie, which is so ' happy as to bear the weight of Beaufort ! ' " 
 
 Though Miss Beaufort was almost a stranger to his lord- 
 ship, having seen him only once before, with her cousin in 
 Leicestershire, she smiled at this unexpected gallantry, and in 
 consideration of the motive, made room for him on the sofa. 
 
 Offence was not swifter than kindness in its passage to the 
 heart of Thaddeus, who, whilst he received the viscount's chair, 
 raised his face towards him with a look beaming such gracious- 
 ness and obligation, that Miss Beaufort turned with a renewed 
 glance of contempt on the party. The next instant they left 
 the study. 
 
 The instant Miss Dundas closed the door after her. Lord 
 Berrington exclaimed, " Upon my honor, Mr. Constantine, I 
 have a good mind to put that terrible pupil of yours into my 
 next comedy ! Don't you think she would beat Katharine and 
 Petruchio all to nothing? I declare I will have her." 
 
 ''\x\ propria persona, I hope?" asked Miss Beaufort, with a 
 plavful smile. Lord Berrington answered with a gay sally from 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The count remained silent during these remarks, though he 
 fully appreciated the first civil treatment which had greeted 
 
220 TH A DDE US OF WARS A IK 
 
 him since his admission within the doors of Lady Dundas. 
 Miss Euphemia's attentions owned any other source than be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 Miss Beaufort wished to relieve his embarrassment by ad- 
 dressing him ; but the more she thought, the less she knew what 
 to say ; and she had just abandoned it as a vain attempt, when 
 Euphemia entered the room alone. She curtseyed to Thaddeus, 
 and took her place at the table. Lord Berrington rose. 
 
 " I must say good-by. Miss Euphemia j I will not disturb 
 your studies. Farewell, Miss Beaufort ! " added he, addressing 
 her, and bending his lips to her hand. "Adieu! 1 shall look 
 in upon you to-morrow. Good-morning, Mr. Constantine ! " 
 
 Thaddeus bowed to him, and the viscount disappeared. 
 
 "I am surprised. Miss Beaufort," observed Euphemia, pet- 
 tishly (her temper not having subsided since her sister's lecture), 
 *• how you can endure that coxcomb ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, Euphemia," replied she ; " though I did not 
 exactly expect the ceremony his lordship adopts in taking leave, 
 yet 1 think there is a generosity in his sentiments which deserves 
 a better title." 
 
 "i know nothing about his sentiments, for I always run 
 away from his conversation. A better title ! I declare you 
 make me laugh. Did you ever see such fantastical dressing? 
 I vow I never meet him without thinking of Jemmy Jessamy, 
 and the rest of the gossamer beaux who squired our grand- 
 mothers ! " 
 
 " My acquaintance with Lord Berrington is trifling," re- 
 turned Miss Beaufort, withdrawing her eyes from the pensive 
 features of the count, who was sorting the lessons; "yet I am 
 so far prepossessed in his favor, that I see little in his appear- 
 ance to reprehend. However, I will not contest that point, as 
 perhaps the philanthropy I this morning discovered in his heart, 
 the honest warmth with which he defended an absent character, 
 after you left the room, might render his person as charming 
 in my eyes as I certainly found his mind." 
 
 Thaddeus had not for a long time heard such sentiments 
 out of Lady Tinemouth's circle ; and he now looked up to take 
 a distinct view of the speaker. 
 
 In consequence of the established mode, that the presiding 
 lady of the house is to give the tone to her guests, many were 
 the visitors of Miss Dundas whose faces Thaddeus was as igno- 
 rant of when they went out of the library as when they came in. 
 They took little notice of him ; and he, regarding them much 
 less, pursued his occupation without evincing a greater con« 
 
Til A DDE L'S OF \VA KSA IV. 22 1 
 
 sciousness of their presence than what mere ceremony de- 
 manded. 
 
 Accordingly, when in compHance with Lord Berrington's 
 politeness he received his chair, and saw him remove to a sofa 
 beside a very beautiful woman, in the bloom of youth, Thaddeus 
 supposed her manner might resemble the rest of Miss Dundas's 
 friends, and never directed his glance a second time to her 
 figure. But when he heard her (in a voice Hiat was melody 
 itself) defend his lordship's character, on principles which bore 
 the most honorable testimony to her own, his eyes were riveted 
 on her face. 
 
 Though a large Turkish shawl involved her fine person, a 
 modest grace was observable in its every turn. Her exquisi:e!y 
 moulded arm, rather veiled than concealed by the muslin sleeve 
 that covered it, was extended in the gentle energy of her vindi- 
 cation. Her lucid eyes shone with a sincere benevolence, and 
 her lips seemed to breathe balm while she spoke. His soul 
 startled within itself as if by some strange recognition that 
 agitated him, and drew him inexplicably towards its object. Jt 
 was not the beauty he beheld, nor the v/ords she utiered, but 
 he did not withdraw his fixed gaze until it encountered an 
 accidental turn of her eyes, which instantly retreated with a 
 deep blush mantling her face and neck. She had never met 
 such a look before, except in an octasional penetrating glance 
 from an only cousin, who had long watched the movements of 
 her heart with a brother's care. 
 
 But little did Thaddeus think at that time who she was, and 
 how nearly connected with that friend whose neglect has been 
 a venomed shaft unto his soul ! 
 
 Mary Beaufort was the orphan heiress of Admiral Beaufort, 
 one of the most distinguished ofticers in the British navy. He 
 was the only brother of the now lamented Lady Somerset, the 
 beloved mother of Pembroke Somerset, so often the eloquent 
 subject of his discourse in the sympathizing ear of Thaddeus 
 Sobieski ! The admiral and his wife, a person also of high 
 quality, died within a few months after the birth of their only 
 child, a daughter, having bequeathed her to the care of her 
 paternal aunt; and to the sole guardianship of that exemplary 
 lady's universally-honored husband, Sir Robert Somerset, 
 baronet, and M. P. for the county. When Lady Somerset's 
 death spread mourning throughout his, till then, happy home, 
 (which unforeseen event occurred hardly a week before her 
 devoted son returned from the shores of the Baltic,) a double 
 portion of Sir Robert's tenderness fell upon her cherished niece. 
 
222 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 In her society alone be foimcl any consolation for his loss. 
 And soon after Pembroke's arrival, his widowed father, relin- 
 quishing the splendid scenes of his former life in London, re- 
 tired into the country, sometimes residing at one family seat, 
 sometimes at another, hoping by change of place to obtain some 
 alleviating diversion from his ever sorrow-centred thoughts. 
 
 Sir Robert Somerset, from the time of his marriage with the 
 accomplished sifter of Admiral Beaufort to the hour in which 
 he followed her to the grave, was regarded as the most admired 
 man in every circle, and yet more publicly respected as being 
 the magnificent host and most munificent patron of talent, 
 particularly of British growth, in the whole land. Besides, by 
 his own genius as a statesman, he often stood a tower of 
 strength in the senate of his country ; and his general probity 
 was of such a stamp, that his private friends were all solicitous 
 to acquire the protection of his name over any important trusted 
 interests for their families. For instance, the excellent Lord 
 Avon consigned his only child to his guardianship, and his 
 wealthy neighbor. Sir Hector Dundas, made him sole trustee 
 over the immense fortunes of his daughters. 
 
 This latter circumstance explains the intimacy between two 
 families, the female parts of which might otherwise have 
 probably seldom met. 
 
 On Sir Robert Somerset's last transient visit to London, 
 (which had been only on a call of business, on account of his 
 minor charge. Lord Avon,) Lady Dundas became so urgent in 
 requesting him to permit Miss Beaufort to pass the ensuing 
 season with her in town, that he could not, without rudeness, 
 refuse. In compliance with this arrangement, the gentle Mary, 
 accompanied by Miss Dorothy Somerset, a maiden sister of the 
 baronet's, quitted Deerhurst to settle themselves with her im- 
 portunate ladyship in Harley Street for the remainder of the 
 winter — at least the winter of fashion ! which, by a strange effect 
 of her magic wand, in defiance of grassy meadows, leafy trees, 
 and sweetly-scented flowers, extends its nominal sceptre over 
 the vernal months of April, May, and even the rich treasures 
 of "resplendent June." 
 
 The summer part of this winter Miss Beaufort reluctantly 
 consented should be sacrificed to ceremony, in the dust and 
 heat of a great city ; and if the melancholy which daily increased 
 upon Sir Robert since the death of his wife had not rendered 
 her averse to oppose his wishes, she certainly would have made 
 objections to the visit. 
 
 During the journey, she could not refrain from drawing a 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 
 
 223 
 
 comparison to Miss Dorothy between the dissipated insipidity 
 of Lady Dundas's way of life and the rationality as well as 
 splendor of her late lamented aunt's. 
 
 Lady Somerset's monthly assemblies were not the most 
 elegant and brilliant parties in town, but her weekly cotn'ersazi- 
 oncs surpassed everything of the kind in the kingdom. On these 
 nights her ladyship's rooms used to be filled with the most 
 eminent characters which England could produce. There the 
 young Mary Beaufort listened to pious divines of every Chris- 
 tian persuasion. There she gathered wisdom from real phi- 
 losophers ; and in the society of our best living poets, amongst 
 \vhom were those leaders of our classic song, Rogers and 
 William Souihey, and the amiable Jerningham, cherished an 
 enthusiasm for all that is great and good. On these evenings 
 Sir Robert Somerset's house reminded the visitor of what he 
 had read or imagined of the school of Athens. He beheld not 
 only sages, soldiers, statesmen, arwi poets, but intelligent and 
 amiable women. And in this rare assembly did the beautiful 
 Mary imbibe that steady reverence for virtue and talent which 
 no intermixture with the ephemera of the day could ever after 
 either displace or impair. 
 
 Notwithstanding this rare freedom from the chains with 
 v^hich her merely fashionable friends would have shackled her 
 mind. Miss Beaufort possessed too much judgment and delicacy 
 to Hash her liberty in their eyes. Enjoying her independence 
 Avith meekness, she held it more secure. Mary was no de- 
 claimer, not even in the cause of oppressed goodness or in- 
 jured genius. Aware that direct opposition often incenses 
 malice, she directed the shaft from its aim, if it were in her 
 power, and when the attempt failed, strove by respect or sym- 
 pathy to heal the wound she could not avert. Thus, whatever 
 she said or did bore the stamp of her soul, whose leading attrib- 
 ute was modesty. By having learned much, and thought more, 
 she proved in her conduct that reflection is the alchemy which 
 turns knowledge into wisdom. 
 
 Never did she feel so much regret at the shrinking of her 
 powers from coming forth by some word or deed in aid of 
 offended worth, as wlien she beheld the foreign stranger, so 
 noble in aspect, standing under the overbearing insolence of 
 Miss Dundas's parasites. But she perceived that his dignified 
 composure rebounded their darts upon his insulters, and re- 
 spect took the place of pity. The situation was new to her ; 
 and when she dropped her confused eyes beneath his unex- 
 pected gaze, she marvelled within herself at the case with which 
 
2 24 rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 she had just taken up the cause of Lord Berrington, and the 
 difficulty she had found to summon one word as a repellant to 
 the unmerited attack on the man before her. 
 
 Euphemia cared nothing about Lord Berrington : to her his 
 faults or his virtues were alike indifferent ; and forgetting that 
 civility demanded some reply to Miss Beaufort's last observa- 
 tion, or rather taking advantage of the tolerated privilege 
 usurped by many high-bred people of being ill-bred, when and 
 how they pleased, she returned to Thaddeus, and said with a 
 forced smile — 
 
 " Mr. Constantine, I don't like your opinion upon the ode 
 I showed to you ; I think it a very absurd opinion ; or perhaps 
 you did not understand me rightly ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort took up a book, that her unoccupied atten- 
 tion might not disturb their studies. 
 
 Euphemia resumed, with a more natural dimple, and touch- 
 ing his glove with the rosy points of her fingers, said, 
 "You are stupid at translation." 
 
 Thaddeus colored, and sat uneasily ; he knew not how to 
 evade this direct though covert attack. 
 
 " I am a bad poet, madam. Indeed, it would be dangerous 
 even for a good one to attempt the same path with Sappho and 
 Phillips." 
 
 Euphemia now blushed as deeply as the count, but from 
 another motive. Opening her grammar, she whispered, " You 
 are either a very dull or a very modest man ! " and, sighing, 
 began to repeat her lesson. 
 
 While he bent his head over the sheet he was correcting, 
 she suddenly exclaimed, " Bless me, Mr. Constantine, what 
 have you been doing ? I hope you don't read in bed ! The 
 top of your hair is burnt to a cinder ! Why, you look much more 
 like one who has been in a fire than Miss Beaufort does." 
 Thaddeus put his hand to his head. 
 
 *' I thought I had brushed away all marks of a fire, in which 
 I really was last night." 
 
 " A fire ! " interrupted Miss Beaufort, closing her book ; 
 *' was it near Tottenham Court Road ? " 
 
 " It was, madam," answered he, in a tone almost as sur- 
 prised as her own. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Euphemia, exerting her little voice, 
 that she might be heard before Miss Beaufort could have time 
 to reply; *' then I vow you are the gentleman who Miss Beau- 
 fort said ran into the burning house, and, covered with flames, 
 saved two children from perishing ! " 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 225 
 
 *' And I am so happy as to meet one of the ladies," replied 
 he, turning with an animated air to Miss Beaufort, "in you, 
 madam, who so humanely assisted the poor sufferers, and re- 
 ceived the child from my arms ? " 
 
 " It was indeed myself, Mr. Constantine," returned she, a 
 tear swimming over her eye, which ui a moment gave the cue 
 to the tender Eupliemia. She drew out her handkerchief ; and 
 whilst her pretty cheeks overflowed, and her sweet voice was 
 rendered sweeter by an emotion raised by ten thousand de- 
 lightful fancies, she took hold of Miss Deaufort^s hand. 
 
 " Oh ! my lovely friend, wonder not that 1 esteem this brave 
 Constantine far beyond his present station ! " 
 
 Thaddeus drew back. Miss Beaufort looked amazed ; but 
 Euphemia had mounted her romantic Pegasus, and the scene 
 was too sentimental to close. 
 
 " Come here, Mr. Constantine," cried she, extending her 
 other hand to his. Wondering where this folly would terminate, 
 he gave it to her, when, instantly joining it with that of Miss 
 Beaufort, she pressed them together, and said, " Sweet Mary I 
 heroic Constantine ! I thus elect you the two dearest friends of 
 my heart. So charmingly associated in the delightful task of 
 compassion, you shall ever be commingled in my faithful 
 bosom." 
 
 Then putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walked out 
 of the room, leaving Miss Beaufort and the count, confused 
 and confounded, by the side of each other. Miss Beaufort, 
 suspecting that some extravagant fancy had taken possession 
 of the susceptible Euphemia towards her young tutor, declined 
 speaking first. Thaddeus, fixing his gaze on her downcast and 
 revolving countenance, perceived nothing like offended pride 
 at his undesigned presumption. He saw that she was only em- 
 barrassed, and after a minute's hesitation, broke the silence. 
 
 " I hope that Miss Beaufort is sufficiently acquainted with 
 the romance of Miss Euphemia's character to pardon the ac- 
 tion, unintentional on my part, of having touched her hand? 
 I declare I had no expectation of Miss Euphemia's design." 
 
 "Do not make any apology to me, Mr. Constantine," re- 
 turned she, resuming her seat ; " to be sure I was a little elec- 
 trified by the strange situation in which her vivid feelings have 
 just made us actors. But 1 shall not forego my claim on what 
 she promised — your acquaintance." 
 
 Thaddeus expressed his high sense of her condc:scension. 
 
 " I am not fond of fine terms," continued she, smiling ; 
 *' but I know that tmic and merit must purchase esteem. I 
 
226 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 can engage for the first, as I am to remain in town at least 
 three months ; but for the last, I fear I shall never have the 
 opportunity of giving such an earnest of my desert as you did 
 last night of yours." 
 
 Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Thaddeus took up his 
 hat, and bowing, replied to her compliment with such a modest 
 yet noble grace, that she gazed after him with wonder and con- 
 cern. Before he closed the door he again bowed. Pleased 
 with the transient look of a soft pleasure which beamed from 
 his eyes, through whose ingenuous mirrors every thought of 
 his soul might be read, she smiled a second adieu, and as he 
 disappeared, left the room by another passage. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SUCH THINGS WERE. 
 
 When the count appeared the succeeding day in Harley 
 Street, Miss Beaufort introduced him to Miss Dorothy Somer- 
 set as the gentleman who had so gallantly preserv^ed the lives 
 of the children at the hazard of his own. 
 
 Notwithstanding the lofty tossings of Miss Dundas's head, 
 the good old maid paid him several encomiums on his intre- 
 pidity ; and telling him that the sufferers were the wife and 
 family of a poor tradesman, who was then absent in the coun- 
 try, she added, " But we saw them comfortably lodged before 
 w^e left them ; and all the time we stayed, I could not help con- 
 gratulating myself on the easy compliance of Mary with my 
 whims. I dislike sleeping at an inn ; and to prevent it then, 
 I had prevailed on Miss Beaufort to pursue our road to town 
 even through the night. It was lucky it happened so, for I am 
 certain Mar}'- will not allow these poor creatures a long lament 
 over the wreck of their little property." 
 
 " How charmingly charitable, my lovely friend ! " cried 
 Euphemia ; " let us make a collection for this unfortunate 
 woman and her babes. Pray, as a small tribute, take that 
 from me ! " She put five guineas into the hand of the glowing 
 Mary. 
 
 The ineffable grace with which the confused Miss Beaufort 
 laid the money on her aunt's knee did not escape the observa- 
 
 I 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 227 
 
 tion of Thaddeus ; neither did the unintended approbation oE 
 his eye pass unnoticed by its amiable object. 
 
 When Lady Tineinouth was informed that evening by the 
 count of the addition to the Harley Street party, she was de- 
 li_2:hted at the news, sayinc; she had been well acquainted with 
 Miss Dorothy and her neice during the lifetime of Lady Somer- 
 set, and would take an early day to call upon them. During 
 this part of her ladyship's discourse, an additional word or two 
 had unfolded to her auditor the family connection that had 
 subsisted between the lady she regretted and his estranged 
 friend. And when the countess paused, Thaddeus, struck with 
 a forgiving pity at this intelligence, was on the point of express- 
 ing his concern that Pembroke Somerset had lost so highly- 
 prized a mother ; but recollecting that Lady Tinemouth was 
 ignorant of their ever having known each other, he allowed her 
 to proceed without a remark. 
 
 " I never have been in company with Sir Robert's son," 
 continued the countess ; " it was during his absence on the 
 Continent that I was introduced to Lady Somerset. She was a 
 woman who possessed the rare talent of conforming herself to 
 all descriptions of people ; and whilst the complacency of her 
 attentions surpassed the most refined flattery, she commanded 
 the highest veneration for herself. Hence you may imagine 
 my satisfaction in an acquaintance w-hich it is probable would 
 never have been mine had I been the happy Countess of Tine- 
 mouth, instead of a deserted wife. Though the Somersets are 
 related to my lord, they had long treated him as a stranger ; 
 and doubly disgusted at his late behavior, they commenced a 
 friendship with me, I believe, to demonstrate more fully their 
 detestation of him. Indeed, my husband is a creature of in- 
 consistency. No man possessed more power to attract friends 
 than Lord Tinemouth, and no man had less power to retain 
 them ; as fast as he made one he offended the other, and has 
 at last deprived himself of every individual out of his own house 
 who would not regard his death as a fortunate circumstance." 
 
 " But, Lady Somerset," cried Thaddeus, impatient to change 
 a subject every word of which was a dagger to his heart, " I 
 mean Miss Dorothy Somerset, IMiss Beaufort " 
 
 " Yes," returned her ladyship ; " I see, kind Mr. Constan- 
 tine, your friendly solicitude to disengage me from retrospec- 
 tions so painful ! Well, then, 1 knew and ver}' much esteemed 
 the two ladies you mention ; but after the death of Lady Somer- 
 set, their almost constant residence in the country has greatly 
 prevented a renewal of this pleasure. However, as they are 
 
228 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 now in town, I will thank you to acquaint them with my inten- 
 tion to call upon them in Harley Street. I remember always 
 thinking Miss Beaufort a very charming girl." 
 
 Thaddeus thought her more. He saw that she was beau- 
 tiful ; he had witnessed instances of her goodness, and the rec- 
 coUection filled his mind with a complacency the more tendtr, 
 since it had so long been a stranger to his bosom ; and again 
 he felt the strange emotion which had passed over his heart at 
 their first meeting. But further observations were prevented 
 by the entrance of Miss Egerton and Lady Sara Ross. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, Mr. Constanline," cried the lively 
 Sophia, shaking hands with him : '' you are the very person I 
 have been plotting against." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth was uneasy at the care with which Lady 
 Sara averted her face, well knowing that it was to conceal the 
 powerful agitation of her features, which always took place at 
 the sight of Thaddeus. 
 
 " What is your plot. Miss Egerton ? " inquired he ; " I shall 
 consider myself honored by your commands, and do not require 
 a conspiracy to entrap my obedience." 
 
 " That's a good soul ! Then I have only to apply to you, 
 Lady Tinemouth. Your ladyship must know," cried slie, 
 ** that as Lady Sara and I were a moment ago driving up the 
 Haymarket, I nodded to Mr. Coleman, who was coming out of 
 the playhouse. He stopped, I pulled the check-string, and we 
 had a great deal of confab out of the window. He tells me a 
 new farce is to come out this day week, and he hoped I would 
 be there ! ' No,' said I, ' I cannot, for I am on a visit with 
 that precise bod}^, the Countess of Tinemouth, who would not, 
 to save you and all your generation, come into such a mob.' 
 * Her ladyship shall have my box,' cried he ; ' for I would not 
 for the world lose the honor of your opinion on the merits of 
 my farce.' ' To be sure not ! ' cries I ; so I accepted his box, 
 and drove off, devising with Lady Sara how to get your lady- 
 ship as our chaperon and Mr. Constantine to be our beau. 
 He has just promised ; so dear Lady Tinemouth, don't be in- 
 flexible ! " 
 
 Thaddeus was confounded at the dilemma into which his 
 ready acquiescence had involved his prudence. The countess 
 shook her head. 
 
 "Now I declare, Lady Tinemouth," exclaimed Miss Egerton, 
 " this is an absolute stingy fit ! You are afraid of your purse ! 
 You know this private box precludes all awkward meetings, 
 and you can have no excuse." 
 
Til A DL EL'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 229 
 
 " But it cannot preclude all awkward sights," answered her 
 ladyship. " You know, Sophia, I never go into public, for fear 
 of being met by the angry looks of my lord or my son." 
 
 " Disagreeable people ! " cried Miss Egerton, pettishly ; 
 " I wish some friendly whirlwind would take your lord and son 
 out of the world together." 
 
 " Sophia ! " retorted her ladyship, with a grave air. 
 
 " Rebuke me, Lady Tinemouth, if you like ; I confess I am 
 no Serena, and these trials of temper don't agree with my con- 
 stitution. There," cried she, throwing a silver medal on the 
 table, and laughing in spite of herself : " there is our passport ; 
 but I will send it back, and so break poor Coleman's heart." 
 
 " Fie ! Sophia," answered her ladyship, patting her half- 
 angry cheeks ; " would you owe to your petulance what was 
 denied to your good humor ? " 
 
 "Then your ladyship will go ! " exclaimed she, exultingly. 
 *' You have yielded ; these sullens were a part of my stratagem, 
 and I won't let you secede." 
 
 Lady Tineniouth thought this would be a fair opportunity 
 to show one of the theatres to her young friend, without invol- 
 ving him in expense or obligation, and accordingly she gave 
 her consent. 
 
 " Do you intend to favor us with your company. Lady Sara ? " 
 asked the countess, with a hope that she might refuse. 
 
 Lady Sara, who had been standing silently at the v/indow, 
 rather proudly answered — 
 
 " Yes, madam, if you will honor me with your protection." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth was the only one present who understood 
 the resentment which these words conveyed ; and, almost be- 
 lieving that she had gone too far, by implying suspicion, she 
 approached her with a pleading anxiety of countenance, " Then, 
 Lady Sara, perhaps you will dine with me ? I mean to call on 
 ISIiss Dorothy Somerset, and would invite her to be of the 
 party." 
 
 Lady Sara curtseyed her acceptance of the invitation, and, 
 smiling, appeared to think no more of the matter. But she 
 neither forgot it nor found herself able to forgive Lady Tine- 
 mouth for having betrayed her into a confidence which her own 
 turbulent passions had made but too easy. She had listened 
 unwillingly to the reasonable declaration of the countess, that 
 her only way to retreat frcm an error which threatened crim- 
 inality was to avoid the object. 
 
 " When a married woman," observed her ladyship, in that 
 confidential conference, " is so unhappy as to love any man be- 
 
230 TJIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 sides her husband, her only safety rests in the resolution to 
 quit his society, and to banish his image whenever it obtrudes." 
 
 Lady Sara believed herself incapable of this exertion, and 
 hated the woman who thought it recessary. By letter and 
 conversation Lady Tinemouth tried to display in every possible 
 light the enormity of giving encouragement to such an attach- 
 ment, and ended with the unanswerable climax — the considera- 
 tion of her duty to Heaven. 
 
 Of this argument Lady Sara knew little. She never reflected 
 on the true nature of religion, though she sometimes went to 
 church, repeated th.e prayers, without being conscious of their 
 spirit ; and when the coughing, sneezing, and blowing of noses 
 which commonly accompany the text subsided, she generally 
 called up the remembrance of the last ball, or an anticipation 
 of the next assembly, to amuse herself until the prosing busi- 
 ness was over. From church she drove to the Park, where, 
 bowling round the ring, or sauntering in the gardens, she soon 
 forgot that there existed in the universe a Power of higher con- 
 sequence to please than her own vanity — and the admiration 
 of the spectators. 
 
 Lady Sara would have shuddered at hearing any one declare 
 himself a deist, much more an atheist ; but for any influence 
 which her nominal belief held over her desires, she might as 
 well have been either. She never committed an action deserv- 
 ing the name of premeditated injury, nor went far out of her 
 way to do her best friend a service, — not because she wanted 
 inclination, but she ceased to remember both the petitioner and 
 his petition before he had been five minutes from her sight. 
 She had read as much as most fine ladies have read : a few 
 histories, a few volumes of essays, a few novels, and now and 
 then a little poetry comprised the whole range of her studies ; 
 these, with morning calls and evening assemblies, occupied her 
 whole day. Such had been the routine of her life until she met 
 the once " young star " of Poland, Thaddeus Sobieski, in an 
 unknown exile, an almost nameless guest, at Lady Tinemouth's, 
 which event caused a total revolution in her mind and conduct. 
 
 The strength of Lady Sara's understanding might have 
 credited a better education ; but her passions bearing an equal 
 power with this mental vigor, and having taken a wrong direc- 
 tion, she neither acknowledged the will nor the capability to 
 give the empire to her reason. When love really entered her 
 heart, its first conquest was over her universal vanity ; she sur- 
 rendered all her admirers, in the* hope of securing the admira- 
 tio.i of Thaddeus ; its second victory mastered her discretion ; 
 
Til ADD EL'S OF ll'AKSAlV. 2-^1 
 
 she revealed her unhappy affection to Lady 'I'inemoiilh, and 
 more than hinted it to himself. What had she else to lose ? 
 She believed her honor to be safer than iier life. Wqx /umor 
 was the term. She had no conception, or, at best, a faint one, 
 that a breach of the marria;j;e vow could be an outrage on the 
 laws of Heaven. The word sin had been i^radually ii^nored by 
 the oligarchy of fashion, from the hour in which Charles the 
 Second and his profligate court trod down piety with hypoc- 
 risy ; and in this day the new philosophy has accomplished 
 its* total outlawry, denouncing it as a rebel to decency and the 
 freedom of man. 
 
 Thus, the Christian religion being driven from the haunts 
 of the great, pagan morality is raised from that prostration 
 where, I)agon-like, it fell at the feet of the Scriptures, and is 
 again erected as the idol of adoration. Guilt against Ilea^'cn 
 fades before the decrees of man ; his law of ethics reprobates 
 crime. But crime is only a temporal transgression, in opposi- 
 tion to the general good ; it draws no consequent punishment 
 heavier than the judgment of a broken human law, or the re- 
 sentment of the offended private parties. Morality neither 
 promises rewards after death nor denounces future chastise- 
 ment for error. The disciples of this independent doctrine 
 hoUl forth instances of the perfectibility of human actions, i)rO' 
 duced by the unassisted decisions of human intellect on the 
 limits of right and wrong. 'J'hey admire virtue, because it is 
 beautiful. They practice it, because it is heroic. They do not 
 abstain from the gratification of an intemperate wish under the 
 belief that it is sinful, but in obedience to their reason, which 
 rejects the commission of a vicious act because it is uncomely. 
 In the first case, God is their judge ; in the latter, themselves. 
 The comparison need only be proposed, to humble the pride 
 that made it necessan,'. How do these systematizers refine 
 and subtilize 1 How do they dwell on the principle of virtue, 
 and turn it in every metaphysical light, until their philosophy 
 rarifies it to nothing ! Some degrade, and others abandon, the 
 only basis on which an upright ciiaracter can stand with firm- 
 ness. The bulwark which Revelation erected between the 
 passions and the soul is levelled first; and then that instinctive 
 rule of right which the modern casuist denominates the citadel 
 of virtue falls of course. 
 
 l]y such gradations the progress of depravity is accom- 
 plished ; and the general leaven having worked to Lady Sara's 
 mind on such premises, (though she might not arrange them 
 so distinctly,") she deduced that what is called conjugal right is 
 B mere establishment of man, and might be extended or limited 
 
2 32 THADDEUS OF V/ARSAIV. 
 
 by him to any length he pleased. For instance, the Turks 
 uere not content with one wife, but appropriated hundreds to 
 one man ; and because such indulgence was permitted by 
 Mohammed, no other nation presumed to call them culpable. 
 
 Hence she thought that if she could once reconcile herself 
 to believe that her own happiness was dearer to her than the 
 notice of half a thousand people to whom she was indifferent ; 
 that only in their opinion and the world's her flying to the pro- 
 tection of Thaddeus would be crime; — could she confrdenlly 
 think this, wliat should deter her from instantly throwing her- 
 self into the arms of the man she loved ? '"* 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the thus self-deluded Lady Sara, one night, 
 as she traversed her chamber in a paroxysm of tears ; ''what 
 are the vows I have sworn ? How can I keep them ? I have 
 sworn to love, to honor Captain Ross ; but in spite of myself, 
 without any action of my own, I have broken both these oaths. 
 I cannot love him ; I hate him ; and I cannot honor the man 
 I hate. What have I else to break ? Nothing. Ny nuptial 
 \'0w is as completely annihilated as if I had left him never to 
 return. How ? " cried she, after a pause of some minutes, 
 " how shall I know what passes in the mind of Constantine 1 
 Did he love me, would he protect me, I would brave the whole 
 universe. Oh, I should be the happiest of the happy ! " 
 
 Fatal conclusion of reflection ! It infected her dreaming 
 and her waking fancy. She regarded everything as an enemy 
 that opposed her passion ; and as the first of these enemies, 
 she detested Lady Tinemouth. The countess's last admonish- 
 ing letter enraged her by its arguments; and, throwing it into 
 the fire with execrations and tears, she determined to pursue 
 her own will, but to affect being influenced by her ladyship's 
 counsels. 
 
 The Count Sobieski, who surmised not the hundredth part 
 of the infatuation of Lady Sara, began to hope that her ardent 
 manner had misled him, or that she had seen the danger of 
 such imprudence. 
 
 Under these impressions, the party for the theatre was 
 settled ; and Thaddeus, after sitting an hour in Grosvenor 
 Place, returned to his humble home, and attendance on his 
 venerated friend. 
 
 * Such were the moral tactics for human conduct at the commencement of this century. 
 But, thanks to the patience of God, he has given a better spirit to the present age, — to his 
 philosophy an admirable develonnunt of tiie wisdom and beneficence of his works, instead 
 of the former metaphysical vanities and contradictory bewilderments of opinions concerning 
 the divine nature and the elements of man, which, as far as a demon-spirit could go, had 
 plunged the created world, both i-)hysically and morally, into the darkness of chaos again. 
 Tiie Holy Scriptures are now th^ foundation studies of our country, and her ark is safe.— 
 1845. 
 
TIIADDBi'S OF WARSAW. 233 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MARY BEAUFORT AND HER VENERABLE AUNT. 
 
 The addition of Miss Dorothy Somerset and Miss Beaufort 
 to the morning group at Lady Dundas's imparted a less reluc- 
 tant motion to the before tardy feet of the count, whenever he 
 turned them towards Harley Street. 
 
 Miss Dorothy readily supposed him to have been bettei 
 born than he appeared ; and displeased with the treatment he 
 had received from Miss Dundas and her guests, behaved to 
 him herself with the most gratifying politeness. 
 
 Aunt Dorothy (for that was the title by which every branch 
 of the baronet's family addressed her) was full twenty years 
 the senior of her brother, Sir Robert Somerset. Having in her 
 youth been thouG:ht very like the famous and lovely Mrs. Wof- 
 fington, she had been considered the beauty of her time, and, 
 as such, for ten years continued the reigning belle. Never- 
 theless, she arrived at the age, of seventy-two without having 
 been either the object or the subject of a fervent passion. 
 
 Possessing a fine understanding, a refined taste, and fine 
 feelings, by some chance she had escaped love. It cannot be 
 denied that she was much admired, much respected, and much 
 esteemed, and that she received two or three splendid proposals 
 from men of rank. Some of those men she admired, some she 
 respected, and some she esteemicd, but not one did she love, 
 and she successively refused them all. Shortly after their dis- 
 charge, they generally consoled themselves by marrying other 
 women, who, perhaps, wanted both the charms and the sense 
 of Miss Somerset ; yet she congratulated them on their choice, 
 and usually became the warm friend of the happy couple. 
 
 Thus year passed over year; Miss Somerset continued the 
 esteemed of every worthy heart, though she could not then 
 kindle the embers of a livelier glow in any one of them ; and at 
 the epoch called a certain age, she found herself an old maid, 
 but possessing so much good humor and affection towards the 
 young people about her, she did not need any of her own to 
 mingle in the circle. 
 
 This amiable old lady usually took her knitting into the 
 library before the fair students ; and whenever Tliaddeus en- 
 tered the room, (so natural is it for generous natures to sym- 
 
234 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 pathize,) his eyes first sought her venerable figure ; then glan- 
 cing around to catch an assuring beam from the lo\ely coun- 
 tenance of her niece, he seated himself with confidence. 
 
 The presence of these ladies operated as a more than suf- 
 ficient antidote to the disagreeableness of his situation. To 
 them he directed all the attention that was not required by his 
 occupation ; he heard them only speak when a hundred others 
 were talking ; he saw them only when a hundred others were in 
 company. 
 
 In addition to this pleasant change, Miss Euphemia's pas- 
 sion assumed a less tormenting form. She had been reading 
 Madame d'Arblay's Camilla ; and becoming enamored of the 
 delicacy and pensive silence of the interesting heroine, she de- 
 termined on adopting the same character ; and at the same time 
 taking it into her ever-creative brain that Constantine's coldness 
 bore a striking affinity to the caution of Edgar Mandelbert, 
 she wiped the rouge from her pretty face, and prepared to " let 
 concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask 
 cheek." 
 
 To afford decorous support to this fancy, her gayest clothes 
 were thrown aside, to make way for a negligence of apparel 
 which cost her two hours each morning to compose. Her dimp- 
 ling smiles were now quite banished. She was ever sigliing, 
 and ever silent, and ever lolling and leaning about ; reclining 
 along sofas, or in some disconsolate attitude, grouping herself 
 with one of the marble urns, and sitting " like Patience on a 
 monument smiling at grief." 
 
 Thaddeus preferred this pathetic whim to her former Sap- 
 phic follies ; it afforded him quiet, and relieved him from much 
 embarrassment. 
 
 Every succeeding visit induced Miss Beaufort to observe 
 him with a more lively interest. The nobleness yet humility 
 with which he behaved towards herself and her aunt, and the 
 manly serenity with which he suffered the insulting sarcasms of 
 IVIiss Dundas, led her not merely to conceive but to entertain 
 many doubts that his present situation was that of his birth. 
 
 The lady visitors who dropped in on the sisters' studies were 
 not backward in espousing the game of ridicule, as it played 
 away a few minutes, to join in a laugh with the " witty Diana." 
 These gracious beings thought their sex gave them privilege to 
 offend ; but it was not always that the gentlemen durst venture 
 beyond a shrug of the shoulder, a drop of the lip, a wink of the 
 eye, or a raising of the brows. Mary observed with contempt 
 that they were prudent enough not to exercise evei^ these 
 
MISS EUPHEMIA DUNDAS. 
 
TJIA DDE L 'S OF \ \ 'A KSA IK 235 
 
 specimens of a mean hostility except wlien its noble object bad 
 turned his back, and regarding him with increased admiration, 
 she was indignant, and then disdainful, at the envy which actu- 
 ated tiiese men to treat with affected scorn him whom they 
 secretly feared. 
 
 The occasional calls of Lady Tinemouth and Miss Egerton 
 S-imulated the cabal against Thaddeus. The sincere sentiment 
 of equality with themselves which these two ladies evinced by 
 their behavior to him, and the same conduct being adopted by 
 ]\Iiss Dorothy and her beautiful niece, besides the evident par- 
 tiality of Euphemia, altogether inflamed the spleen of Miss 
 Dundas, and excited her coterie to acts of the most extravagant 
 rudeness. 
 
 The little phalanx, at the head of which was the superb 
 Diana, could otier no real reason for disliking a man who was 
 not only their inferior, but who had never offended them even 
 by implication. It was a sufficient apology to their easy con- 
 sciences that " he gave himself such courtly airs as were quite 
 ridiculous — that his presumption was astonishing. Iw short, 
 they were all idle, and it was exceedingly amusing to lounge a 
 morning with the rich Dundases and hoax Monsieur." 
 
 Had Thaddeus known one fourth of the insolent derision 
 with which his misfortunes were treated behind his back, per- 
 haps even his friend's necessity could not have detained him in 
 his employment. The brightness of a brave man's name makes 
 shadows perceptible which might pass unmarked over a duller 
 surface. Sobieski's delicate honor would have supposed itself 
 sullied by enduring such contumely with toleration. But, as 
 was said before, the male adjuncts of Miss Dundas had received 
 so opportune a warning from an accidental knitting of the 
 count's brow, they never after could muster temerity to sport 
 their wit to his face. 
 
 These circumstances were not lost upon Mary ; she collected 
 them as part of a treasure, and turned them over on her pillow 
 with the jealous examination of a miser. Like Euphemia, she 
 supposed Thaddeus to be other than he seemed. Yet her 
 fancy did not suppose him gifted with the blood of the Bour- 
 bons ; she merely believed him to be a gentleman ; and from 
 the maternal manner of Lady Tinemouth towards him, she sus- 
 pected that her ladyship knew more of his history than she 
 chose to reveal. 
 
 Things were in this state, when the countess requested that 
 Miss Dorothy would allow her niece to make one in her party 
 to the Haymarket Theatre. The good lady having, consented, 
 
236 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Ivliss Beaufort received the permission with pleasure ; and as 
 she was to sup in Grosvenor Place, she ventured to hope that 
 something might fall from her hostess or Miss Egerton v/hich 
 would throw a light on the true situation of Mr. Cons'dntine. 
 
 From infancy Miss Beaufort had loved with enthusiasm all 
 kinds of excellence. Indeed, she esteemed no person warmly 
 whom she did no think exalted by their virtues above the com- 
 mon race of mankind. She sought for something to respect in 
 every character ; and when she found anything to greatly ad- 
 mire, her ardent soul blazed, and by its own pure flame lit her 
 to a closer inspection of the object about whom she had become 
 more than usually interested. 
 
 In former years Lady Somerset collected all the virtue and 
 talent in the country around her table, and it was now found 
 that they were not brought there on a vain errand. From them 
 Miss Beaufort gathered her best lessons in conduct and taste, 
 and from them her earliest perceptions of friendship. Mary 
 was the beloved pupil and respected friend of the brightest 
 characters in England ; and though some of them were men who 
 had not passed the age of forty, she never had been in love, nor 
 had she mistaken the nature of hei esteem so far as to call it 
 by that name. Hence she was neither afraid nor ashamed to 
 acknowledge a correspondence she knew to be her highest dis- 
 tinction. But had the frank and innocent Mary exhibited half 
 the like attentions which she paid to these men in one hour to 
 the common class of young men through the course of a month, 
 they would have declared that the poor girl was over head and 
 ears in love with them, and have pitied what they would have 
 justly denominated her folly. Foolish must that woman be who 
 would sacrifice the most precious gift in her possession — her 
 heart — to the superficial graces or empty blandishments of a 
 self-idolized coxcomb ! 
 
 Such a being was not Mary Beaufort ; and on these prin- 
 ciples she contemplated the extraordinary fine qualities she saw 
 in the exiled Thaddeus with an interest honorable to her penc 
 tration and her heart. 
 
 When Miss Egerton called with Lady Sara Ross to take 
 Miss Beaufort to the Haymarket, Mary was not displeased at 
 seeing Mr. Constantine step out of the carriage to hand her 
 in. During their drive. Miss Egerton informed her that Lady 
 Tinemouth had been suddenly seized with a headache, but 
 that Lady Sara had kindly undertaken to be their chaperon, 
 and had promised to return with them to sup in Grosvenor 
 Place. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 237 
 
 Lady Sara had never seen Mary, though she had frequently 
 heard of her beauty and vast fortune. 'I'his last qualihcaiion 
 her ladyship hoped might have given an unmerited eclat to lie 
 first ; therefore when she saw in Miss Beaufort the most beauti- 
 ful creature slie hSd ever beheld, nothing could equal her sur- 
 prise and vexation. 
 
 The happy lustre that beamed in the fine eyes of Mary 
 shone like a vivifying influence around her ; a bright glow ani- 
 mated her cheek, whilst a pleasure for which she did not seek 
 to account bounded at her heart, and modulated every tone of 
 her voice to sweetness and enchantment. 
 
 " Syren ! " thought Lady Sara, withdrawing her large dark 
 eyes from her face, and turning them full of dissolving languor 
 upon 'i^haddeus ; "here are all thy charms directed!" then 
 drawing a sigh, so deep that it made her neighbor start, she 
 fixed her eyes on her fan, and never looked up again until they 
 had reached the playhouse. 
 
 The curtain was raised as the little party seated themsehes 
 in the box. 
 
 '' Can anybody tell me what the play is ? " asked Lady 
 Sara. 
 
 " I never thought of inquiring," replied Sophia. 
 
 "I looked in the newspaper this morning," said Miss Beau- 
 fort, " and I think it is called Sighs^ — a translation from a 
 drama of Kotzebue's." 
 
 " A strange title ! " was the general observation. When 
 Mr. Suett, who personated one of the characters, began to 
 speak, their attention was summoned to the stage. 
 
 On the entrance of Mr. Charles Kemble in the character 
 of Adelbert, the count unconsciously turned pale. He per- 
 ceived by the dress of the actor that he was to personate a 
 Pole ; and alarmed at the probability of seeing something to 
 recall recollections which he had striven to banish, his agitation 
 did not allow him to hear anything that was said for some 
 minutes. 
 
 Miss Egerton was not so tardy in the use of her eyes and 
 ears ; and stretching out her hand to the back of the box, 
 where Thaddeus was standing by Lady Sara's chair, she caught 
 hold of his sleeve. 
 
 "There, Mr. Constantine ! " cried she; "look at Adelbert! 
 that is exactly the figure you cut in your outlandish gear two 
 months ago." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed with a forced smile, and glancing at the 
 stage, replied — 
 
238 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Then, for the first time in my life, I regret having followed 
 a lady's advice ; I think I must have lost by the change." 
 
 " Yes," rejoined she, *'you have lost much fur and much 
 embroidery, but you now look much more like a Christian.'" 
 
 The substance of these speeches was not lost on Mary, 
 who continued with redoubling interest to mark the changes 
 his countenance underwent along with the scene. As she sat 
 forward, by a slight turn of the head she could discern the 
 smallest fluctuation in his features, and they were not a few. 
 Placing himself at the back of Lady Sara's chair, he leaned 
 over, with his soul set in his eye, watching every motion of 
 Mr. Charles Kemble. 
 
 Mary knew, by some accidental words from Lady Tine- 
 mouth, that Constantine was a Polander, and the surmise she 
 had entertained of his being unfortunate received full corrob- 
 oration at the scene in which Adelbert is grossly insulted by 
 the rich merchant. During the whole of it, she scarcely dared 
 trust her eyes towards Constantine's flushed and agitated face. 
 
 The interview between Adelbert and Leopold commented. 
 When the former was describing his country's miseries with 
 his own, Thaddeus unable to bear it longer, unobserved by 
 any but Mar}^, drew back into the box. In a moment or two 
 afterwards Mr. Charles Kemble made the following reply to 
 an observation of Leopold's, that '' poverty is no dishonor." 
 
 "Certainly none to me! To Poland, to my struggling 
 country, I sacrificed my wealth, as I would have sacrificed my 
 life if she had required it. My country is no more ; and we 
 are wanderers on a burdened earth, finding no refuge but in 
 the hearts of the humane and virtuous." 
 
 The passion and force of these words could not fail of 
 reaching the ears of Thaddeus. Mary's attention followed 
 them to their object, by the heaving of whose breast s^le plainly 
 discovered the anguish of their effect. Her heart beat with 
 increased violence. How willingly would she have approached 
 him, and said soir-ething of sympathy, of consolation ! but she 
 durst not ; and she turned away her tearful eye, and looked 
 again towards the stage. 
 
 Lady Sara now stood up, and hanging over Mary's chair, 
 listened with congenial emotions to the scene between Adel- 
 bert and the innocent Rose. Lady Sara felt it all in her own 
 bosom ; and looking round to catch what was passing in the 
 count's mind, she beheld him leaning against the box, with his 
 head inclined to the curtain of the door. *' Mr. Constantine ! " 
 almost unconsciously escaped her lips. He started, and dis- 
 
7\' I ADD EL'S OF WARSAW. 239 
 
 covered by the humidity on his eyelashes why he had with- 
 drawn. Her hidyship's tears were gUding down her cheeks. 
 Miss Egerton, greatly amazed at the oddness 'of this closet 
 scene, turned to Miss Beaufort, who a moment before having 
 caugiit a glimpse of the distressed countenance of the count, 
 could only bow her head to Sophia's sportive observation. 
 
 Who is there that can enter into the secret folds of the 
 heart and know all its miseries ? Who participate in that 
 joy which dissolves and rarifies man to the essence of heaven ? 
 Soul must mingle with soul, and the ethereal voice of spirits 
 must speak before these things can be comprehended. 
 
 Ready to suffocate with the emotions she repelled from her 
 eyes, iMary gladly affected to be absorbed in the business of 
 the stage, (not one object of which she now saw), and with 
 breathless attention lost not one soft whisper which Lady Sara 
 poured into the ear of Thaddeus. 
 
 " Why," asked her ladyship, in a tremulous and low tone, 
 " why should we seek ideal sorrows, when those of our own 
 hearts are beyond alleviation 1 Happy Rose ! " sighed her 
 ladyship. "Mr. Constantine," continued she, "do not you 
 think that Adelbert is consoled, at least, by the affection of 
 that lovely woman .'* " 
 
 Like Miss Beaufort, Constantine had hitherto replied wilh 
 bows only. 
 
 " Come," added Lady Sara, laying her soft hand on his 
 arm, and regarding him with a look of tenderness, so unequivo- 
 cal that he cast his eyes to the ground, while its sympathy 
 really touched his heart. " Come," repeated she, animated by 
 the faint color which tinged his cheek ; "you know that I have 
 the care of this party, and I must not allow our only cavalier 
 to be melancholy." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lady Sara," returned he, gratefully 
 pressing the hand that yet rested on his arm ; " I am not very 
 well. I wish that I had not seen this play." 
 
 Lady Sara sunk into the seat from which she had risen. 
 He had never before taken her hand, except when assisting 
 her to her carriage ; this pressure shook her very soul, and 
 awakened hopes which rendered her for a moment incapable 
 of sustaining herself or venturing a reply. 
 
 There was something in the tones of Lady Sara's voice 
 and in her manner far more expressive than her words : mutual 
 sighs which breathed from her ladyship's bosom and that of 
 Thaddeus, as they sat down, made a cold shiver run from the 
 head to the foot of Miss Beaufort. >Liry's surprise at the 
 
240 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 meaning of this emotion caused a second tremor, and with a 
 palpitating heart slie asked herself a few questions. 
 
 Could this interesting young man, whom every person of 
 sense appeared to esteem and respect, sully his virtues by par- 
 ticipating in a passion with a married woman ? No ; it was 
 impossible. 
 
 Notwithstanding this decision, so absolute in his exculpa- 
 tion, her pure heart felt a trembling, secret resolve, " even for 
 the sake of the honor of human nature," (she whispered to 
 herself), to observe him so hereafter as to be convinced of the 
 real worth of his principles before she would allow any increase 
 of the interest his apparently reversed fate had created in her 
 compassionate bosom. 
 
 What might be altogether the extent of that "reversed fate," 
 she could form no idea. For though she had heard, in com- 
 mon with the rest of the general society, of the recent " melan- 
 choly fate of Poland ! " she knew little of its particulars, poli- 
 tics of every kind, and especially about foreign places, being 
 an interdicted subject in the drawing-rooms of Sir Robert 
 Somerset. Therefore the simply noble mind of Mary thought 
 more of the real nobility that might dwell in the soul of this 
 expatriated son of that country than of the possible appendages 
 of rank he might have left there. 
 
 With her mind full of these reflections, she awaited the farce 
 without observing it when it appeared. Indeed, none of the 
 party knew anything about the piece (to see which they had 
 professedly come to the theatre) excepting Miss Egerton, whose 
 ever merry spirits had enjoyed alone the humor of Totum in 
 the play, and who now laughed heartily, though unaccompanied, 
 through the ridiculous whims of the farce. 
 
 Nothing that passed could totally disengage the mind of 
 Thaddeus from those remembrances which the recent drama 
 had aroused. When the melting voice of Lady Sara, in wliis- 
 pers, tried to recall his attention, by a start only did he evince 
 his recollection of not being alone. Sensible, however, to th.e 
 kindness of her motive, he exerted himself ; and by the time 
 the curtain dropped, he had so far rallied his presence of mind 
 as to be able to attend to the civility of seeing the ladies safe 
 out of the theatre. 
 
 Miss Egerton, laughing, as he assisted her into the carriage, 
 said, "I verily believe, Mr. Constantine, had I glanced round 
 during the play, I should have seen as pretty a lachrymal scene 
 between you and Lady Sara as any on the stage. I won't have 
 this flirting ! I declare I will tell Captain Ross " 
 
TI IAD DECS OF WARSAW. 241 
 
 She continued talking ; but turning about to offer his ser- 
 vice to Miss Ueaufort, he heard no more. 
 
 Miss Beaufort, however self-composed in thought, felt 
 strangely : she felt cold and reserved ; and undesignedly she 
 appeared what she felt. There ^vas a grave dignity in her air, 
 accompanied with a collectedness and stillness in her before 
 animated countenance, which astonished and chilled Thaddeus, 
 though she had bowed her head and given him her hand to put 
 her into the coach. 
 
 On theii way home IMiss Egerton ran over the merits of the 
 play and farce /rallied Thaddeus on the " tall Pole," which she 
 threatened should be his epithet whenever he offended her ; 
 and then, flying from subject to subject, talked herself and her 
 hearers so weary, that they internally rejoiced when the carriage 
 stopped in Grosvenor Place. 
 
 After they had severally paid their respects to Lady Tine- 
 mouth, who, being indisposed, was lying on the sofa, she de- 
 sired Thaddeus to draw a chair near her. 
 
 " I want to learn," said she, " what you think of our Eng- 
 lish theatre ? " 
 
 " Prithee, don't ask him ! " cried Miss Egerton, pouring out 
 a glass of water ; '' we have seen a tremendous brother Pole of 
 his, who I believe has ' hopped off ' with all his spirits ! \Mi3', 
 he has been looking as rueful as a half-drov/ned man all the 
 night ; and as for Lady Sara, and I could vow Miss Beaufort, 
 too, they have been two Niobes — 'all tears.' So, good folks, 
 I must drink better health to you, to save myself from the 
 vapors." 
 
 " What is all this, Mr. Constantine ? " asked the countess, 
 addressing Thaddeus, whose eyes had glanced with a ray of 
 delighted surprise on the blushing though displeased face of 
 Miss Beaufort. 
 
 '' Aly weakness," replied he, commanding down a rising 
 tremor in his voice, and turning to her ladyship ; " the play re- 
 lates to a native of Poland, one who, like myself, an exile in a 
 Strang* land, is subjected to sufferings and contumelies the 
 bravest spirits may find hard to bear. Any man may combat 
 misery; but even the most intrepid will shrink from insult. 
 This, I believe, is the sum of the story. Its resemblance in 
 some points to my own affected me ; and," added he, looking 
 grateful :y at Lady Sara, and timidly towards Miss Beaufort, 
 "if the^ac ladies have sympathized with emotions against w-hich 
 T strove, but could not entirely conceal, I owe to it the sweetest 
 consolation now in the power of fate to bestow." 
 
^42 ■ THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Poor Constantine ! " cried Sophia Egerton, patting his 
 head with one hand, whilst with the other she wiped a tear 
 from her ahvays smiling eye, " forgive me if I have hurt you. 
 I like you vastly, though I must now and then laugh at you ; 
 you know I hate dismals, so let this tune enliven us all ! " and 
 flying to her piano, she played and sang two or three merry 
 airs, till the countess commanded her to the supper-table. 
 
 At this most sociable repast of the whole day, cheerful- 
 ness seemed again to disperse the gloom which had threatened 
 the circle. Thaddeus set the example. His unrestrained and 
 elegant conversation acquired new pathos from the anguish that 
 was driven back to his heart ; like the beds of rivers, which 
 infuse their own nature with the current, his hidden grief im- 
 parted an indescribable interest and charm to all his sentiments 
 and actions.* 
 
 Mary now beheld him in his real character. Unmolested 
 by the haughty presence of Miss Dundas, he became unreserved, 
 intelligent, and enchanting. He seemed master of every sub- 
 ject talked on, and discoursed on all with a grace which cor- 
 roborated her waking visions that he was as some bright star 
 fallen from his sphere. 
 
 With the increase of Miss Beaufort's admiration of the 
 count's fine talents, she gradually lost the recollection of what 
 had occupied her mind relative to Lady Sara ; and her own 
 beautiful countenance dilating into confidence and delight, the 
 evening passed away with chastened pleasure, until the little 
 party separated for their several homes. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth was more than ever fascinated by the lovely 
 Miss Beaufort. Miss Beaufort was equally pleased with the 
 animation of the countess ; but when she thought on Thaddeus, 
 she was surprised, interested, absorbed. 
 
 Lady Sara Ross's reflections were not less delightful. She 
 dwelt with redoubled passion on that look from the count's 
 eyes, that touch of his hand, which she thought were signs of 
 a reciprocal awakened flame. Both actions were forgotten by 
 him the moment after they w^ere committed ; yet he was not 
 ungrateful ; but whilst he acknowledged her generous sympathy 
 at that time, he could not but see that she was straying to the 
 verge of a precipice which no thoroughly virtuous woman should 
 ever venture to approach. 
 
 He found a refuge from so painful a meditation in the idea 
 of the ingenuous Mary, on whose modest countenance virtue 
 
 "* When this was written, (in the year 1^04,') domestic hours were earlier ; and the "sup- 
 per hour " had not then dissipation and broken rest for a consequence. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 243 
 
 seemed to have "set her seal." Whilst recollecting the pity- 
 ing kindness of her voice and looks, his heart owned the empire 
 of purity, and in the contemplation of her unaffected excellence, 
 he the more deplored the witcheries of Lady Sara, and the dan- 
 gerous uses to which her impetuous feelings addressed them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HYDE PARK. 
 
 Next morning, when Thaddeus approached the general's 
 bed to give him his coffee, he found him feverish, and his mind 
 more than usually unsettled. 
 
 The count awaited with anxiety the arrival of the benevolent 
 Cavendish, whom he expected. When he appeared, he declared 
 his increased alarm. Dr. Ca\endish having felt the patient's 
 pulse, expressed a wish that he could be induced to take a little 
 exercise. Thaddeus had often urged this necessity to his 
 friend, but met with constant refusals. He hopelessly repeated 
 the entreaty now, when, to his surprise and satisfaction, the 
 old man instantly consented. 
 
 Having seen him comfortably dressed, (for the count at- 
 tended to these minutiae with the care of a son,) the doctor 
 said they must ride with him to Hyde Park, where he w^ould put 
 them out to walk until he had made a visit to Piccadilly, whence 
 he would return and take them home. 
 
 The general not only expressed pleasure at the drive, but 
 as the air was warm and balmy, (it being about the beginning 
 of June,) he made no objection to the proposed subsequent 
 walk. 
 
 He admired the Park, the Serpentine River, the cottages on 
 its bank, and seemed highly diverted by the horsemen and car- 
 riages in the ring. The pertinence of his remarks afforded 
 Thaddeus a ray of hope that his senses had not entirely lost 
 their union with reason ; and with awakened confidence he was 
 contemplating what might be th.e happy effects of constant ex- 
 ercise, when the general's complaints of weariness obliged him 
 to stop near Piccadilly Gate, and wait the arrival of the doc- 
 tor's coach. 
 
 He was standing against tiic railing, supporting Butzou, and 
 
244 
 
 Til ADD BUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 with his hat in his hand shading his aged friend's face from 
 the sun, when two or three carriages driving in, he met the eyes 
 of Miss Euphemia Dundas, who pulling the check-string, ex- 
 claimed, " Bless me, Mr. Constantine ! Who expected to see 
 you here ? Why, your note told us you were confined with a 
 sick friend." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed to her, and still sustaining the debilitated 
 frame of the general on his arm, advanced to the side of the 
 coach. Miss Beaufort, who now looked out, expressed her 
 hope that his invalid was better. 
 
 " This is the friend I mentioned," said the count, turning 
 his eyes on the mild features of Butzou ; " his physician havmg 
 ordered him to walk, I accompanied liim hither." 
 
 " Dear me ! how ill you look, sir," cried Euphemia, ad- 
 dressing the poor invalid ; " but you are attended by a kind 
 friend." 
 
 " My dear lord ! " exclaimed the old man, not regarding 
 what she said, " I must go home. I am tired ; pray call up 
 the carriage." 
 
 Euphemia was again opening her mouth to speak, but Miss 
 Beaufort, perceiving a look of distress in the expressive feat- 
 ures of Thaddeus, interrupted her by saying, " Good-morning I 
 Mr. Constantine. I know we detain you and oppress that gen- 
 tleman, whose pardon we ought to beg." She bowed her head 
 to the general, whose white hairs were blowing about his face, 
 as he attempted to pull the count towards the pathway. 
 
 " My friend cannot thank you, kind Miss Beaufort," cried 
 Thaddeus, with a look of gratitude that called the brightest 
 roses to her cheeks ; " but I do from my heart ! " 
 
 " Here it is ! Pray, my dear lord, come along ! " cried 
 Butzou. Thaddeus, seeing that his information was right, 
 bowed to the ladies, and their carriage drove off. 
 
 Though the wheels of Lady Dundas's coach rolled away 
 from the retreating figures oi: Thaddeus and his friend, the im- 
 ages of both occupied the meditations of Euphemia and Miss 
 Beaufort whilst, tete-a-tete and in silence, they made the circuit 
 of the Park. 
 
 When the carriage again passed the spot on which the sub- 
 ject of their thoughts had stood, Mary almost mechanically 
 looked out towards the gate. 
 
 " Is he gone yet ? " asked Euphemia, sighing deeply. 
 
 Mary drew in her head with the quickness of conscious 
 guilt ; and whilst a color stained lier face, which of itself might 
 have betrayed her prevarication, she asked, " Who t " 
 
Til A DDE us 01- WARSAW. 
 
 245 
 
 " Mr. Constantine," replied Eupliemia, with a second si_:;h. 
 " Did you remark, Mary, how p^racefully he supported that sick 
 old gentleman ? Was it not the very personilication of Youth 
 upholding the fainting steps of Age ? He put me in mind of 
 the charming young prince, whose name I forget, leading tliO 
 old Celisarius." 
 
 " Yes," returned Tvlary ashamed of the momentary- insin- 
 cerity couched in her former uncertain replying word, " Who ? " 
 yet still adding, while trying to smile, " but some people might 
 call our ideas enthusiasm." 
 
 "So all tell me," replied Euphcmia ; so all say who 
 neither possess the sensibility nor the candor to allow that 
 great merit may exist without being associated with great rank. 
 Yet," cried she, in a more animated tone, " I have my doubts, 
 Mary, of his being what he seems. Did you observe the sick 
 gentleman call him My lordV 
 
 " I did," returned jNIary, " and I was not surprised. Such 
 manners as Mr. Constantine's are not to be acquired in a 
 cottage." 
 
 " Dear, dear ^Mary ! " cried Euphemia, flinging her ivory 
 arms round her neck ; " how I love you for these words ! You 
 are generous, you think nobly, and I will no longer hestitate to 
 — to — " and breaking off, she hid her head in Miss Beaufort's 
 bosom. 
 
 Mary's heart throbbed, her cheeks grew pale, and almost 
 unconsciously she wished to stop the tide of Miss Dundas's 
 confidence. 
 
 " Dear Euphemia ! " answered she, " your regard for this 
 
 interesting exile is very praiseworthy. But beware of ." 
 
 She hesitated ; a remorseful twitch in her own breast stayed 
 the warning that was rising to her tongue ; and blushing at a 
 motive she could not at the instant assign to friendship, selfish- 
 ness, or to any interest she would not avow to herself, she 
 touched the cheek of Euphemia with her quivering lips. 
 
 Euphemia had finished the sentence for her, and raising her 
 head, exclaimed, " What should I fear in esteeming Mr. Con- 
 stantine ? Is he not the most captivating creature in the world ! 
 And for his person ! Oh, Mary, he is so beautiful, that when 
 the library is filled with the handsomest men in town, the mo- 
 ment Constantine enters, their reign is over. I compare them 
 with his godlike figure, and I feel as one looking at the sun ; 
 all other objects appear dim and shapeless." 
 
 " I hope," returned Mary, — pressing her own forehead with 
 her hand, her head beginning to ache strangely, — " that Mr. 
 
246 Til A DDE us OF WARS A IV. 
 
 Constantine does not owe your friendship to his fine person. I 
 think his mental qualities are more deserving of such a gift." 
 
 " Don't look so severe, dear Mary!" cried Miss Dundas, 
 observing her contracting brow ; " are you displeased with 
 me ? " 
 
 Mary's displeasure was at the austerity of her own words, 
 and not at her auditor. Raising her eyes with a smile, she 
 gently replied, " I do not mean, my dear girl, to be severe ; but 
 I would wish, for the honor of our sex, that the objects which 
 attract either our love or our compassion should have some- 
 thing more precious than mere exterior beauty to engage out 
 interest." 
 
 '' Well, I will soon be satisfied," cried Euphemia, in a gayer 
 tone, as they drove through Grosvenor Gate; "we all know 
 that Constantine is sensible and accomplished : he writes poe- 
 try like an angel, both in French and Italian. I have hundreds 
 of mottoes composed by him ; one of them, Mary, is on the 
 work-box I gave you yesterday ; and, what is more, I will ask 
 him to-morrow why that old gentleman called him My lord ? 
 If he be a lord ! " exclaimed she. 
 
 " What then ? " inquired the eloquent eyes of Mar}^ 
 
 '' Don't look so impertinent, my dear," cried the now ani- 
 mated beauty : '' I positively won't say another word to vou to- 
 day." 
 
 Miss Beaufort's headache became so painful, she rejoiced 
 v;hen Euphemia ceased and the carriage drew up to Lady Dun- 
 das's door. 
 
 A night of almost unremitted sleep performed such good 
 effects on the general condition of General Butzou, that Dr. 
 Cavendish thought his patient so much better as to sanction 
 his hoping the best consequences from a frequent repetition of 
 air and exercise. When the drive and walk had accordingly 
 been repeated the following day, Thaddeus left his friend to his 
 maps, and little Nanny's attendance, and once more took the 
 way to Harley Street. 
 
 He found only Miss Dundas with her sister in the study. 
 Mary (against her will, which she opposed because it was her 
 will) had gone out shopping with Miss Dorothy and Lady 
 Dundas. 
 
 Miss Dundas left the room the moment she had finished 
 her lessons. 
 
 Delighted at being tete-a-tete with the object of her romantic 
 fancies, Euphemia forgot that she was to act the retreating 
 character of Madame d'Arblay's heroine; and shutting her 
 
TIIADDIii'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 247 
 
 book the instant Diana disappeared, all at once oi)enod her 
 attack o\\ his confidence. 
 
 To iier eager questions, which the few words of the general 
 had excited, the count afforded no other reply than that his 
 poor friend knew not what he said, having been a long time in 
 a state of mental derangement. 
 
 This explanation caused a momentary mortification in the 
 imaginative Euphemia ; but her busy mind was nimble in its 
 erection of airy castles, and she rallied in a moment with 
 the idea that " he might be more than a lord." At any rate, 
 let him be what he may, he charmed her ; and he had much 
 ado to parry the increasing boldness of her speeches, without 
 letting her see they were understood. 
 
 *• You are very diffident, Mr. Constantine," cried she, look- 
 ing down. " If I consider you worthy of my friendship, why 
 should jw/ make disqualifying assertions? " 
 
 " Every man, madam," returned Thaddeus, bowing as he 
 rose from his chair, " must be diffident of deserving the honor 
 of your notice." 
 
 " There is no man living," replied she, " to whom I would 
 o.Ter my friendship but yourself." 
 
 Thaddeus bit his lip ; he knew not what to answer. Bow- 
 ing a second time, he stretched out his hand and drew his hat 
 towards him. Euphemia's eyes followed the movement. 
 
 *' You are in a prodigious haste, Mr. Constantine ! " 
 
 " I know I intrude, madam ; and I have promised to be 
 with my sick friend at an early hour." 
 
 " Well, you may go, since you are obliged," returned the 
 pretty Euphemia, rising, and smiling sweetly as she laid one 
 hand on his arm and put the other into her tucker. She drew 
 out a little white leather souve?iir, marked on the back in gold 
 letters with the words, ''^ Toujours cher ;'' and slipping it into 
 his hand, " There, receive that, monsignor^ or whatever else 
 you may be called, and retain it as the first pledge of Euphemia 
 Dundas's friendship." 
 
 Thaddeus colored as he took it ; and again having recourse 
 to the convenient reply of a bow, left the room in embarrassed 
 vexation. 
 
 There was an indelicacy in this absolutely wooing conduct 
 of Miss Euphemia which, notwithstanding her beauty and tlie 
 softness that was its vehicle, filled him with the deepest dis- 
 gust. He could not trace real alTection in her words or man- 
 ner ; and that any woman, instigated by a mere whim, should 
 lay aside the maidenly reserves of her sex, and actually court- 
 his regard, surprised whilst it impelled Hin to loathe her. 
 
248 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 They who adopt Euphemia's sentiments, — and, alas ! there 
 are some, — can be little aware of the conclusion which society 
 infer from such intemperate behavior. The mistaken creature 
 who, either at the impulsion of her own disposition or by the 
 influence of example, is induced to despise the guard of mod- 
 esty, literally " forsakes the guide of her youth," and leaves 
 herself open to every attack which man can devise against her. 
 By levelling the barrier raised by nature, she herself exposes 
 the stronghold of virtue, and may find, too late for recovery, 
 that what modesty has abandoned is not long sjoared by honor. 
 
 Euphemia's affected attachment suggested to Thaddeus a 
 few unpleasant recollections respecting the fervent and un- 
 equivocal passion of Lady Sara. Though guilty, it sprung 
 from a headlong ardor of disposition which formed at once the 
 error and its palliation. He saw that love was not welcomed 
 by her (at least he thought so) as a plaything, but struggled 
 against as with a foe. He had witnessed her tortures • he 
 pitied them, and to render her happy, would gladly have made 
 any sacrifice short of his conscience. Too well assured of be- 
 ing all the world to Lady Sara, the belief that Miss Euphemia 
 liked him only from idleness, caprice, and contradiction, caused 
 him to repay her overtures with decided contempt. 
 
 When he arrived at home, he threw on his table the pocket- 
 book whose unambiguous motto made him scorn her, and al- 
 most himself for being the object of such folly. Looking 
 round his humble room, whose wicker-chairs, oil-cloth floor, 
 and uncurtained windows announced anything but elegance : 
 "Poor Euphemia!" said he; "how would you be dismayed 
 were the indigent Constantine to really take you at your word, 
 and bring you home to a habitation like this 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 INFLUENCES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 The recital of the preceding scene, which was communi- 
 cated to Miss Beaufort by Euphemia, filled her with still more 
 
 doubting thoughts. 
 
 Mary could discover no reason why the old gentleman s 
 mental derangement should dignify his friend with titles he 
 
TH AD DECS OF WARSAW 
 
 249 
 
 had never borne. She remarked to herself that his answer to 
 Euplieniia was evasive; she remembered liis emotion and 
 apology on seeing Mr. C. Kemble in Adelbert ; and uniting 
 with these facts his manners and acquirements, so far beyond 
 the charges of any subordinate rank, she could finally retain 
 no doubt of his being at least well born. 
 
 Thus this mysterious Constantine continued to occupy her 
 hourly thoughts during the space of two months, in whicli time 
 she had full opportunity to learn much of a character with 
 whom she associated almost every day. At Lady Tinemouth's 
 (one of whose evening guests she frequently became) she be- 
 held him disencumbered of that armor of reserve which lie 
 usually wore in Harley Street. 
 
 In the circle of the countess, Mary saw him welcomed like 
 an idolized being before whose cheering influence all frowns 
 and clouds must disappear. When he entered, the smile re- 
 sumed its seat on the languid features of Lady Tinemouth ; 
 ;Miss Egerton's eye lighted up to keener archness ; Lady Sara's 
 Circassi'an orbs floated in pleasure ; and for Mary herself, her 
 breast heaved, her cheeks glowed, her hands trembled, a quick 
 sigh fluttered in her bosom ; and whilst she remained in his 
 presence, she believed that happiness had lost its usual evanes- 
 cent property, and become tangible, to hold and press upon 
 her heart. 
 
 Mary, who investigated the cause of these tremors on her 
 pillow, bedewed it w^ith delicious though bitter tears, when her 
 alarmed soul whispered that she nourished for this amiable 
 foreigner " a something than friendship dearer," 
 
 ''Ah! is it come to this?" cried she, pressing down her 
 saturated eyelids with her hand. "Am I at last to love a man 
 who, perhaps, never casts a thought on me t How despicable 
 shall I become in my own eyes ! " 
 
 The pride of woman puts this charge to her taken heart — 
 that heart which seems tempered of the purest clay, and 
 warmed with the fire of heaven ; that tender and disinterested 
 heart asks as its appeal — What is love ? Is it not an admira- 
 tion of all that is beautiful in nature and in the soul ? Is it 
 not a union of loveliness with truth ? Is it not a passion whose 
 sole object is the rapture of contemplating the supreme beauty 
 of this combined character ? 
 
 "Where, then," cried the enthusiastic Mary, "where is 
 the shame tliat can be annexed to my loving Constantine 1 If 
 it be honorable to love delineated excellence, it must be equally 
 $0 to love it when embodied in a human shape. Such it is in 
 
2;o 
 
 TIIADDKUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 (Jonstantine ; and if love be the reflected light of virtue, I may 
 cease to arraign myself of that which otherwise 1 would have 
 scorned. Therefore, Constantine," cried she, raising her 
 clasped hands, whilst renewed tears streamed over her face, 
 " I will love thee ! I will pray for thy happiness, though its 
 partner should be Euphemia Dundas." 
 
 Mary's eager imagination would not allow her to perceive 
 those obstacles in the shapes of pride and prudence, which 
 would stand in the way of his obtaining Euphemia's hand ; its 
 light showed to her only a rival in the person of the little beauty ; 
 but from her direct confidence she continued to retreat with 
 abhorrence. 
 
 Had Euphemia been more deserving of Constantine, Miss 
 Beaufort believed she would have been less reluctant to hear 
 that she loved him. But Mary could not avoid seeing that 
 Miss E. Dundas possessed little to ensure connubial comfort, if 
 mere beauty and accidental flights of good humor were not to 
 be admitted into the scale. She was weak in understanding, 
 timid in principle, absurd in almost every opinion she adopted ; 
 and as for love, true, dignified, respectable love, she knew 
 nothing of the sentiment. 
 
 Whilst Miss Beaufort meditated on this meagre schedule of 
 her rival's merits, the probability that even such a man as 
 Constantine might sacrifice himself to flattery and to splendor 
 stung her to the soul. 
 
 The more she reflected on it, the more she conceived it 
 possible. Euphemia was considered a beauty of the day ; her 
 affectation of refined prettiness pleased many, and might charm 
 Constantine : she was mistress of fifty thousand pounds, and 
 did not esteem it necessary to conceal from her favorite the 
 empire he had acquired. Perhaps there was generosity in this 
 openness ? If so, what might it not effect on a grateful dispo- 
 sition ? or, rather, (her mortified heart murmured in the words 
 of her aunt Dorothy,) " how might it not operate on the mind 
 of one of that sex, which, at the best, is as often moved by ca- 
 price as by feeling." 
 
 Mary blushed at her adoption of this opinion ; and, angry 
 with herself for the injustice which a lurking jealousy had 
 excited in her to apply to Constantine's noble nature, she re- 
 solved, whatever might be her struggles, to promote his hap- 
 piness, though even with Euphemia, to the utmost of her 
 power. 
 
 The next morning, when Miss Beaufort saw the study door 
 opened for her entrance, she found Mr. Constantine at his 
 
TIIADDELS OI- W'AKSAVV. 251 
 
 Station, literally baited between IMiss iJundar, and her honor- 
 able lover. At such moments Mary appeared the kindest of 
 the kind. She loved to see Constantine smile ; and whenever 
 she could produce that eflect, by turning the spleen of these 
 polite sneerers against themselves, Ins smiles, which ever 
 entered her heart, afforded her a banquet for hours after his 
 departure. 
 
 Mary drew out her netting, (which was a purse for Lady 
 Tinemouth,) and taking a seat beside Euphemia, united with 
 her to occupy his attention entirely, that he might not catch 
 even one of those insolent glances which were passing between 
 Lascelles and a new visitant, the pretty lady Hilliars. 
 
 'I'his lady seemed to take extreme pleasure in accosting 
 Thaddeus by the appellation of " Friend," " i\Iy good man," 
 *• Mr. What's-your-name," and similar squibs of insult, with 
 which the prosperous assail the unfortunate. Such random 
 shots they know often inflict the most galling wounds. 
 
 However, " Friend," " My good man," and " Mr. What's- 
 your-name," disappointed this lady's small artiller)^ of effect. 
 Fie seemed invulnerable both to her insolence and to her affec- 
 tation ; for to be thought a wit, by even Miss Dundas's emigrant 
 tutor, was not to be despised ; though at the very moment in 
 which she desired his admiration, she supposed her haughtiness 
 had impressed him with a proper sense of his own meanness 
 and a high conception of her dignity. 
 
 She jumped about the room, assumed infantine airs, played 
 with Euphemia's lap-dag, fondled it, seated herself on the floor 
 and swept the carpet with her fine flaxen tresses ; but she per- 
 formed the routine of captivation in vain. Thaddeus recol- 
 lected having seen this pretty full-grown baby, in her peculiar 
 character of a profligate wife, pawning her own and her hus- 
 band's property ; he remembered this, and the united shafts of 
 her charms and folly fell unnoticed to the ground. 
 
 When Thaddeus took his leave. Miss Beaufort, as was her 
 custom, retired for an hour to read in her dressing-room, before 
 she directed her attention to the toilet. She opened a book, 
 and ran over a few pages of Madame de Stael's Treatise on the 
 Passions ; but such reasoning was too abstract for her present 
 frame of mind, and she laid the volume down. 
 
 She dipped her pen in the inkstand. Being a letter in debt 
 to her guardian, she thought she would defray it now. She ac- 
 complished " My dear uncle," and stopped. Whilst she rested 
 on her elbow, and, heedless of what she was doing, picked the 
 feather of her quill to pieces, no other idea offered itself than 
 
2-2 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS AW. 
 
 the figure of Thaddeus sitting *' severe in youthful beauty! " 
 and surrounded by the contumelies with which the unworthy 
 hope to disparage the merit they can neither emulate nor over- 
 look. 
 
 Uneasy with herself, she pushed the table away, and, lean- 
 ing her cheek on her arm, gazed into the rainbow varieties of a 
 beaupot of flowers which occupied the fireplace. Even their 
 gay colors appeared to fade before her sight, and present to 
 her vacant eye the form of Thaddeus, with the melancholy air 
 which shaded his movements. She turned round, but could 
 not disengage herself from the spirit that was within her; liis 
 half-suppressed sighs seemed yet to thrill in her ear and weigh 
 upon her heart. 
 
 " Incomparable young man ! " cried she, starting up, " why 
 art thou so wretched? Oh! Lady Tinemouth, why have you 
 told me of his many virtues ? Why have I convinced myself 
 that what you said is true ? Oh ! why was I formed to love an 
 excellence which I never can approach ?" 
 
 The natural reply to these self-demanded questions sug- 
 gesting itself, she assented with a tear to the whisperings of her 
 heart — that when cool, calculating reason would banish the af- 
 fections, it is incapable of filling their place. 
 
 She rang the bell for her maid. 
 
 "Marshall, who dines with Lady Dundas to-day? " 
 
 " I believe, ma'am," replied the girl, " Mr. Lascelles, Lady 
 Hilliars, and the Marquis of Elesmere." 
 
 "I dislike them all three ! " cried Mary, with an impatience 
 to which she was little liable ; " dress me how you like : 1 am 
 indifferent to my appearance." 
 
 Marshall obeyed the commands of her lady, who, hoping to 
 divert her thoughts, took up the poems of P^gerton Brydges. 
 But the attempt only deepened her emotion, for every line in 
 that exquisite little volume "gives a very echo to the seat where 
 love is throned ! " 
 
 She closed the book and sighed. Marshall having fixed the 
 last pearl comb in her mistress's beautiful hair, and obser\ing 
 that something was wrong that disquieted her, exclaimed, 
 " Dear ma'am, you are so pale to-day ! I wish I might put on 
 some gayer ornaments ! " 
 
 " No," returned Mary, glancing a look at her languid feat- 
 ures ; "no, Marshall: I appear as well as I desire. Any 
 chance of passing unnoticed in company I dislike is worth re- 
 taining. No one will be here this evening whom I care to 
 please/' 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 253 
 
 She was mistaken; other company had been invited besides 
 those whom the maid mentioned. But Miss ]3eaufort continued 
 from seven o'clock until ten, the period at whicli the LacHcs left 
 the table, the annoyed victim of the insipid and pert compli- 
 ments of Lord Elesmere. 
 
 Sick of his subjectless and dragging conversation, she 
 gladly followed Lady Dundas to the drawing-room, wlicre, 
 opening her knitting case, she took her station in a remote 
 corner. 
 
 After half an hour had elapsed, the gentlemen from below, 
 recruited by fresh company, thronged in fast ; and, notwith- 
 standing it was styled a family party. Miss Beaufort saw many 
 new faces, amongst whom she observed an elderly clergyn'ian, 
 who was looking about for a chair. The yawning Lascelles 
 threw himself along the only vacant sofa, just as the reverend 
 gentleman approached it. 
 
 Miss Beaufort immediately rose, and was moving on to 
 another room, when the coxcomb, springing up, begged permis- 
 sion to admire her work ; and, without permission, taking 't 
 from her, pursued her, twisting the purse around his fingers and 
 talking all the while. 
 
 Mary walked forward, smiling with contempt, until they 
 reached the saloon, where the Misses Dundas were closely en- 
 gaged in conversation with the i\Lirquis of Elesmere. 
 
 Lascelles, who trembled for his Golconda at this sight, 
 stepped briskly up. Miss Beaufort, who did not wish to lose 
 sight of her purse whilst in the power of such a Lothario, fol- 
 lowed him, and placed herself against the arm of the sofa on 
 which Euphemia sat. 
 
 Lascelles now bowed his scented locks to Diana in vain ; 
 Lord Elesmere was describing the last heat at Newmarket, and 
 the attention of neither lady could be withdrawn. 
 
 The beau became so irritated by the neglect of Euphemia, 
 and so nettled at her sister's overlooking him, that assuming a 
 gay air, he struck Miss Dundas's arm a smart stroke with ^liss 
 Beaufort's purse ; and laughing, to show the strong opposition 
 between his broad white teeth and the miserable mouth of his 
 lordly rival, hoped to alarm him by his familiarity, and to obtain 
 a triumph over the ladies by degrading them in the eyes of the 
 peer. 
 
 " Miss Dundas," demanded he, "who was that quiz of a 
 man in black your sister walked with the other day in Portland 
 Place ? ' 
 
 **Me ! " cried Euphemia, surprised. 
 
254 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 " Ay ! " returned he ; " I was crossing from Weymouth Street, 
 when I perceived you accost a strange-looking person — a courier 
 from the moon, perhaps ! You may remember you sauntered 
 with him as far as Sir William Miller's. I would have joined 
 you, but seeing the family standing in the balcony, I did not 
 wish them to suppose that I knew anything of such queer 
 company." 
 
 " Who was it, Euphemia ? " inquired Miss Dundas, in a 
 severe tone. 
 
 " I wonder he affects to be ignorant," answered her sister, 
 angrily ; " he knows very well it was only Mr. Constantine." 
 
 " And who is Mr. Constantine t " demanded the marquis. 
 Mr. Lascelles shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " E'faith, my lord ! a fellow whom nobody knows — a 
 teacher of languages, giving himself the airs of a prince — a 
 writer of poetry, and a man who will draw you, your house or 
 dogs, if you will pay him for it." 
 
 Mary's heart swelled. 
 
 " What, a French emigrant ? " drawled his lordship, drop- 
 ping his lip ; " and the lovely Euphemia wishes to soothe his 
 sorrows." 
 
 " No, my lord," stammered Euphemia, "he is — he is " 
 
 " What ! " interrupted Lascelles, with a malicious grin. " A 
 wandering beggar, who thrusts himself into society which may 
 some day repay his insolence with chastisement ! And for the 
 people who encourage him, they had better beware of being 
 themselves driven from all good company. Such confounders 
 of degrees ought to be degraded from the rank they disgrace. 
 I understand his chief protectress is Lady Tinemouth ; his 
 second. Lady Sara Ross, v/ho, by way of passant le temps, 
 shows she is not quite inconsolable at the absence of her hus- 
 band." 
 
 Mary, pale and trembling at the scandal his last words in- 
 sinuated, opened her lips to speak, when Miss Dundas (whose 
 angry eyes darted from her sister to her lover) exclaimed, " Mr. 
 Lascelles, I know not what you mean. The subject you have 
 taken up is below my discussion ; yet I must confess, if Euphe- 
 mia has ever disgraced herself so far as to be seen walking with 
 a schoolmaster, she deserves all you have said." 
 
 " And why might I not walk with him, sister ? " asked the 
 poor culprit, suddenly recovering from her confusion, and look- 
 ing pertly up ; "who knew that he was not a gentleman ? " 
 
 " Everybody, ma'am," interrupted Lascelles ; " and when 
 a young woman of fashion condescends to be seen equalizing 
 
THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 255 
 
 herself with a creature depending on his \vits for support, shiO 
 is very likely to incur the contempt of her acquaintance and 
 the censure of her friends." 
 
 " She is, sir," said Mary, holding down her indignant heart 
 and forcing her countenance to appear serene ; "for she ought 
 to know that if those men of fashion, who have no wit to be 
 either their support or ornament, did not proscribe talents from 
 their circle, they must soon find ' the greater glory dim the 
 less.'" 
 
 "True, madam," cried Lord Berrington, who, having en- 
 tered during the contest, had stood unobserved until this mo- 
 ment ; " and their gold and tinsel would prove but dross and 
 bubble, if struck by the Ithuriel touch of Merit when so advo- 
 cated." 
 
 Mary turned at the sound of his philanthropic voice, and 
 gave him one of those glances which go immediately to the 
 soul. 
 
 " Come, ^Miss Beaufort," cried he, taking her hand ; " I see 
 the young musician yonder who has so recently astonished the 
 public. I believe he is going to sing. Let us leave this dis- 
 cordant corner, and seek harmony by his side." 
 
 Mary gladly acceded to his request, and seating herself a 
 few paces from the musical party, Berrington took his station 
 behind her chair. 
 
 When the last melting notes of " From shades of night " 
 died upon her ear, Mary's eyes, full of admiration and trans- 
 port, which the power of association rendered more intense, 
 remained fixed on the singer. Lord Berrington smiled at the 
 vivid expression of her countenance, and as the young Orpheus 
 moved from the instrument, exclaimed, " Come, ]\Iiss Beau- 
 fort, I won't allow you quite to fancy Braham the god on whom 
 
 Enamored Clitie turned and gazed ! * 
 
 Listen a little to my merits. Do you know that if it were not 
 for my timely lectures, Lascelles would grow^ the most insuffer- 
 able gossip about town ? There is not a match nor a divorce 
 near St. James's of which he cannot repeat all the whys and 
 wherefores. I call hyii Sir Benjamin Backbite ; and I believe 
 he hates me worse than Asmodeus himself." 
 
 " Such a man's dislike," rejoined Mary, " is the highest en- 
 comium he can bestow. I never yet heard him speak well of 
 any person who did not resemble himself." 
 
 • This accomplished singer md composer ttill lives — one cf the most admired oma- 
 ments of ihc LiiliS'h orclicbtra.— 1S45. 
 
256 THADDEUS OF IVARSAW. 
 
 '• And he is not consistent even there," resumed the vis- 
 count : " I am not sure I have always heard him speak in the 
 gentlest terms of Miss Dundas. Yet, on that I cannot quite 
 blame him ; for, on my honor, she provokes me beyond any 
 woman breathing." 
 
 " Many women," replied Mary, smiling, " v/ould esteem that 
 a flattering instance of power." 
 
 "And, like everything that flatters," returned he, " it would 
 tell a falsehood. A shrew can provoke a man who detests her. 
 As to Miss Dundas, notwithstanding her parade of learning, 
 she generally espouses the wrong side of the argument ; and 1 
 may say with somebody, whose name I have forgotten, that any 
 one who knows Diana Dundas never need be at a loss for a 
 woman to call impertinent." 
 
 " You are not usually so severe, my lord ! " 
 
 '' I am not usually so sincere. Miss Beaufort," answered 
 he ; *• but I see you think for yourself, therefore I make no 
 hesitation in speaking what I think — to you." 
 
 His auditor bowed her head sportively but modestly. Lady 
 Dundas at that moment beckoned him across the room. She 
 compelled him to sit down to whist. He cast a rueful glance 
 at Mary, and took a seat opposite to his costly partner. 
 
 " Lord Berrington is a very worthy young man," observed 
 the clergyman to whom at the beginning of the evening Miss 
 Beaufort had resigned her chair ; " I presume, miadam, you 
 have been honoring him with 3^our conversation 1 " 
 
 "Yes," returned Mary, noticing the benign countenance of 
 the speaker; " I have not had the pleasure of long knowing 
 his lordship, but what I have seen of his character is highly to 
 his advantage." 
 
 " I was intimate in his father's house for years," rejoined 
 the gentleman : " I knew this young nobleman from a boy. If 
 he has faults, he owes them to his mother, who doated on him, 
 and rather directed his care to the adornment of his really 
 handsome person than to the cultivation of talents he has since 
 learned to appreciate." 
 
 " I believe Lord Berrington to be very sensible, and, above 
 all, very humane," returned Miss Beaufort. 
 
 " He is so," replied the old gentleman ; "yet it was not till 
 he had attained the age of twenty-two that he appeared to 
 know he had anything to do in the world besides dressing and 
 attending on the fair sex. His taste produced the first, whilst 
 the urbanity of his disposition gave birth to the latter. When 
 Berrington arrived at his title, he was about five-and-twenty. 
 
TIIADDE US Of \ I A ASA / F. 257 
 
 Sorrow for the death of his amiable parents, wlio died in the 
 same month, afforded him leisure to find his reason. He dis- 
 covered that he had been acting a part beneath him, and he 
 soon implanted on the good old stock those excellent acquire- 
 ments which you see he possesses. In spite of his regenera- 
 tion," continued the clergyman, casting a good-humored glance 
 on the dove-colored suit of the viscount, "you perceive that 
 first impressions will remain. He loves dress, but he loves 
 justice and philanthropy better." 
 
 " This eulogy, sir," said Mary, " affords me real pleasure. 
 May I know the name of the gentleman with whom I have the 
 honor to converse } " 
 
 "Mv name is Blackmore," returned he. 
 
 '' Dr. Blackmore .? " 
 
 *' The same." 
 
 He was the same Dr. Blackmore who had been struck by 
 the appearance of the Count Sobieski at the Hurnmums, but 
 had never learned his name, and who, being a rare visitor at 
 Lady Dundas's, had never by chance met a second time with 
 the object of his compassion. 
 
 "I am happy," resumed ]\Iiss Beaufort, "in having the 
 good fortune to meet a clergyman of whom I have so frequently 
 heard my guardian, Sir Robert Somerset, speak with the high- 
 est esteem." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied he, " I have not seen him since the death 
 of his lady ; I hope that he and his son are well I "' 
 
 " Both are perfectly so now," returned she, " and are to- 
 gether in the country ! " 
 
 " You, madam, I suppose are my lady's niece, the daughter 
 of the brave Admiral Beaufort ? " 
 
 "I am, sir." 
 
 "Well, I rejoice at this incident," rejoined he, pressing her 
 hand ; " I knew your mother when she was a lovely girl. She 
 used to spend her summers with the late Lady Somerset, at the 
 castle. It was there I had the honor of cultivating her friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " I do not remember ever having seen my mother," replied 
 the now thoughtful Mary. Dr. Blackmore observing the ex- 
 pression of her countenance, smiled kindly, and said, " I fear I 
 am to blame here. This is a somewhat sad way of introducing 
 myself. But your goodness must pardon me," continued he ; 
 " for I have so long accustomed myself to speak v.hat I think 
 to those in whom 1 see cause to esteem, that sometimes, as 
 now, I undesignedl}- inflict pain." 
 
258 THADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 
 
 " Not in this case," returned Miss Beaufort. " I am always 
 pleased when listening to a friend of my mother, and particu- 
 larly so when he speaks in her praise." 
 
 The breaking up of the card-tables prevented further con- 
 versation. Lord Berrington again approached the sofa where 
 Mary sat, exclaming, as he preceived her companion, '' Ah ! 
 my good doctor ; have you presented yorjself at this fair shrine ? 
 I declare you eccentric folk may dare anything. Whilst you are 
 free, Miss Beaufort," added he turning to her, " adopt the ad- 
 vice which a good lady once gave me, and which I have im- 
 plicitly followed : ' When you are young, get the character of 
 an oddity, and it seats you in an easy chair for life.' " 
 
 Mary was interrupted in her reply by a general stir amongst 
 the company, who, now the cards were over, like bees and 
 wasps were swarming about the room, gathering honey or sting- 
 ing as they went. 
 
 At one the house was cleared ; and Miss Beaufort threw 
 herself on the pillow, to think, and then to dream of Thaddeus. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE GREAT AND THE SMALL OF SOCIETY. 
 
 If it be true what the vivid imaginations of poets have fre- 
 quently asserted, that when the soul dreams, it is in the actual 
 presence of those beings whose images present themselves to 
 their slumbers, then have the spirit, of Thaddeus and Mary 
 been often commingled at the hour of midnight ; then has the 
 young Sobieski again visited his distant country, again seen it 
 victorious, again knelt before his sainted parents. 
 
 From such visions as these did Thaddeus awake in tlie 
 morning, after having spent the preceding evening with Lady 
 Tinemouth. 
 
 He had walked with her ladyship in Hyde Park till a late 
 hour. By the mild light of the moon, which shone brightly 
 through the still, balmy air of a midsummer night, they took 
 their v/ay along the shadowy bank of the Serpentine. 
 
 There is a solemn appeal to the soul in the repose of nature 
 that " makes itself be felt," No syllable frora either Thad- 
 
ADY TINF.MOUTH. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 259 
 
 deus or the countess for some time broke the universal silence. 
 Thaddeus looked around on the clear expanse of water, over- 
 shaded by the long reflection of the darkening trees ; then rais- 
 ing his eyes to that beautiful planet which has excited tender 
 thoughts in every feeling breast since the creation of the world, 
 he drew a deep sigh. Tlie countess echoed it. 
 
 " In such a night as this," said Thaddeus, in a low voice, 
 as if afraid to disturb the sleeping deity of the place, " I used 
 to walk the ramparts of Villanowwith my dear departed mother, 
 and gaze on that lovely orb ; and when I was far from her, I 
 have looked at it from the door of my tent, and fancying that 
 her eyes were then fixed on the same object as mine, I found 
 happiness in the idea." 
 
 A tear stole down the cheek of Thaddeus. That moon 
 yet shone brightly ; but his mother's eyes were closed in the 
 grave. 
 
 " Villanow ! " repeated the countess, in a tone of tender 
 surprise; ''surely that was the seat of the celebrated Palatine 
 of Masovia ! You have discovered yourself, Constantine ! I am 
 much mistaken if you be not his grandson, the young, yet far- 
 famed, Thaddeus Sobieski 1 " 
 
 Thaddeus had allowed the remembrances pressing on his 
 mind to draw him into a speech which had disclosed to the 
 quick apprehension of the countess what his still too sensitive 
 pride would forever have concealed. 
 
 " I have indeed betrayed my secret," cried he, incapable of 
 denying it ; " but, dear lady Tinemouth, as you value my feel- 
 ings, never let it escape your lips. Having long considered you 
 as my best friend, and loved you as a parent, I forgot, in the 
 recollection of mv beloved mother, that I had withheld any of 
 my history from you." 
 
 " Mysterious Providence ! " exclaimed her ladyship, after a 
 pause, in which ten thousand admiring and pitying reflections 
 thronged on her mind : " is it possible ? Can it be the Count 
 Sobieski, that brave and illustrious youth of whom every 
 foreigner spoke with wonder ? Can it be him that I behold in 
 the unknown, unfriended Constantine ? " 
 
 " Even so," returned Thaddeus, pressing her hand. " My 
 country is no more. I am now forgotten by the world, as 1 
 have been by fortune. I have nothing to do on the earth but 
 to fulfil the few duties which a filial friendship has enjoined, 
 and then it will be a matter of indifference to me how soon I 
 am laid in its bosom." 
 
 " You are too young, dear Constantine, (for I am still to 
 
26o TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 call you by that name,) to despair of happiness being yet re- 
 served for you." 
 
 " No, my dear Lady Tinemouth, I do not cheat myself with 
 such hope ; I am not so importunate with the gracious Being 
 who gave me life and reason. He bestowed upon me for awhile 
 the tenderest connections — friends, rank, honors, glory. All 
 these were crushed in the fall of Poland ; yet I survive. ] 
 sought resignation only, and I have found it. It cost me man}! 
 a struggle ; but the contest was due to the decrees of that alh 
 wise Creator who gave my first years to happiness." 
 
 " Inestimable young man ! " cried the countess, wiping the 
 flowing tears from her eyes ; " you teach misfortune dignity I 
 Not when all Warsaw rose in a body to thank you, not when 
 the king received you in the senate with open arms, could you 
 have appeared to me so worthy of admiration as at this moment, 
 when, conscious of having been all this, you submit to the 
 direct reverse, because you believe it to be the will of your 
 Maker ! Ah ! little does Miss Beaufort think, when seated by 
 your side, that she is conversing with the youthful hero whom 
 she has so often wished to see ! " 
 
 " Miss Beaufort ! " echoed Thaddeus, his heart glowing 
 with delight. '' Do you think she ever heard of me by the name 
 of Sobieski ? ' 
 
 " Who has not ? " returned the countess ; " every heart that 
 could be interested by heroic virtue has heard and well remem- 
 bers its glorious struggles against the calamities of your country. 
 Whilst the newspapers of the day informed us of these things, 
 they noticed amongst the first of her champions the Palatine 
 of Masovia, Kosciusko, and the young Sobieski. Many an 
 evening have I passed wilh Miss Dorothy and Mary Beaufort, 
 lamenting the fate of that devoted kingdom." 
 
 During this declaration, a variety of indeed happy emotions 
 agitated the mind of Thaddeus, until, recollecting with a bitter 
 pang the shameless ingratitude of Pembroke, when all those 
 glories were departed from him, and the cruel possibility of 
 being recognized by the Earl of Tinemouth as his son, he ex- 
 claimed, " My dearest madam, I entreat that what I have re- 
 vealed to you may never be divulged. Miss Beaufort's friend- 
 ship would indeed be happiness ; but I cannot purchase even 
 so great a bliss at the expense of memories which are knit with 
 my life." 
 
 " How ? " cried the countess ; "is not your name, aad all its 
 attendant ideas, an honor which the proudest man might boast .'*" 
 
 Thaddeus pressed her hand to his heart. 
 
Tir ADD EL'S OF IVARSAW. 261 
 
 "You are kind — very kind 1 yet I cannot retract. Confide, 
 dear Lady Tinemouth, in the justice of my resolution. I could 
 not bear cold pity ; I could not bear the heartless comments ot 
 people who, pretending to compassion, would load me with a 
 heavy sense of my calamities. Presides, there are persons in 
 Eni;land who are so much the objects of my aversion, I would 
 rather die than let them know I exist. Therefore, once again, 
 dear Lady Tinemouth, let me implore you to preserve my secret.'' 
 
 She saw by the earnestness of his manner that she ought to 
 comply, and without further hesitation promised all the silence 
 he desired. 
 
 This long moonlight conversation, by awakening all those 
 dormant remembrances which were cherished, though hidden 
 in the depths of his bosom, gave birth to that Diirage of imagin- 
 ation which painted that night, in the rapid series of his tumult- 
 uous dreams, the images of every being whom he had ever 
 loved, or now continued to regard with interest. 
 
 Proceeding next morning towards Harley Street, he mused 
 on what had happened ; and pleased that he had, though unpre- 
 meditatedly, paid the just compliment of his entire confidence 
 to the uncommon friendship of the countess, he arrived at Lady 
 Dundas's door before he was sensible of the ground he had 
 passed over, and in a few minutes afterwards was ushered into 
 ins accustomed purgatory. 
 
 When the servant opened the study-door. Miss Euphemia 
 was again alone. Thaddeus recoiled, but he could not retreat. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Constantine," cried the little beauty, in a 
 languid tone ; "my sister is going to the riding-school with Mr. 
 Lascelles. Miss Beaufort wanted me to drive out with her ana 
 my mother, but I preferred waiting for you." 
 
 The count bowed ; and almost retreating with fear of what 
 might next be said, he gladly heard a thundering knock at tlie 
 door, and a moment after the voice of Miss Dundas ascending 
 the stairs. 
 
 He had just opened his books when she entered, followed 
 by her lover. Panting under a heavy riding-habit, she fiung 
 herself on a sofa, and began to vilify "the odious lieat of 
 Pozard's odious place ;" then telling Euphemia she would play 
 truant to-day, ordered her to attend to her lessons. 
 
 Owing to the warmth of the weather, Thaddeus came cut 
 this morning without boots ; and it being the first time the 
 exquisite proportion of his figure had been so fully seen by any 
 of the present company excepting Euphemia, Lascelles, burst- 
 ing with an emotion which he would not call envy, measured 
 
262 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 the count's graceful limb with his scornful eyes ; then declaring 
 he was quite in a furnace, took the corner of his glove and wav- 
 ing it to and fro, half-nuittered, "Come gentle air." 
 
 "The fairer Lascelles cries ! " exclaimed Euphemia, looking 
 off her exercise. 
 
 " What ! does your master teach you wit ? " drawled the cox- 
 comb, with a particular emphasis. 
 
 Thaddeus, affecting not to hear, continued to direct his 
 pupil. 
 
 The indefatigable Lascelles having observed the compla- 
 cence with which the count always regarded Miss Beaufort, 
 determined the goad should fret; and drawing the knitting out 
 of his pocket which he had snatched the night before from 
 Mary, he exclaimed, " 'Fore heaven, here is my little Beaufort's 
 purse ! " 
 
 Thaddeus started, and unconsciously looking up, beheld the 
 well-known work of Mary dangling in the hand of Lascelles. 
 He suffered pangs unknown to him ; his eyes became dim ; and 
 hardly knowing what he saw or said, he pursued the lesson with 
 increased rapidity. 
 
 Finding that his malice had taken effect, with a careless air 
 the malicious puppy threw his clumsy limbs on the sofa, which 
 Miss Dundas had just quitted to seat herself nearer the window, 
 and cried out, as in a voice of sudden recollection : 
 
 " By the bye, that Miss Mary Beaufort, when she chooses 
 to be sincere, is a staunch little Queen Bess." 
 
 "You may as well tell me," replied Miss Dundas, with a 
 deriding curl of her lip, "that she is the Empress of Russia." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! " cried he, and raising his voice to be 
 better heard, " I do not mean in the way of learning. But I 
 will prove in a moment her creditable high-mightiness in these 
 presumptuous times, though a silly love of popularity induces 
 her to affect now and then a humble guise to some people 
 beneath her. When she gave me this gewgaw," added he, 
 flourishing the purse in his hand, "she told me a pretty tissue 
 about a fair friend of hers, whose music-master, mistaking some 
 condescension on her part, had dared to press her snowy fingers 
 while directing them towards a tender chord on her harp. You 
 have no notion how the gentle Beaufort's blue eyes blazed up 
 while relating poor Tweedledum's presumption ! " 
 
 " I can have a notion of anything these boasted meek young 
 ladies do when throvv^n off their guard," haughtily returned his 
 contemptuous auditress, " after Miss Beaufort's violent sally of 
 impertinence to you last night." 
 
Til A DDE i IS- OF U 'A RSA \V. 2 63 
 
 •• Impertinence to me!^' echoed the fop, at the same time 
 dipping tbiC end of the knitting into Diana's lavender-bottle, 
 and dabbing his temples ; " she was always too civil by half. 
 I hate forward girls." 
 
 Thaddeus shut the large dictionary which lay before him 
 with a force that make the puppy start, and rising hastily from 
 his chair, with a face all crimson, was taking his hat, when the 
 door opened, and Mary appeared. 
 
 A white-chip bonnet was resting lightly on the glittering 
 tresses which waved over her forehead, whilst her lace-shade, 
 gently discomposed by the air, half veiled and half revealed her 
 graceful figure. She entered with a smile, and walking up to 
 tiie side of the table where Thaddeus was standing, inquired 
 after his friend's health. He answered her in a voice unusually 
 agitated. All that he had been told by the countess of her 
 favorable opinion of him, and the slander he had just heard 
 from Diana's lover, were at once present in his mind. 
 
 He was yet speaking, when Miss Beaufort, casually looking 
 towards the other side of the room, saw her purse still acting 
 the part of a handkerchief in the hand of Mr. Lacelles. 
 
 " Look, Mr. Constantine," said she, gayly tapping his arm 
 with her parasol, " how the most precious things may be de- 
 graded ! There is the knitting you have so often admired, and 
 which I intended for Lady Tinemouth's pocket, debased to do 
 the office of Mr, Lascelles's napkin." 
 
 " You gave it to him, Miss Beaufort," cried Miss Dundas ; 
 " and after that, surely he may use it as he values it ! " 
 
 *' If I could have given it to Mr. Lascelles, madam, I should 
 hardly have taken notice of its fate." 
 
 Believing what her lover had advanced, Miss Dundas was 
 displeased at Mary for having, by presents, interfered with any 
 of her danglers, and rather angrily replied, *' Mr. Lascelles 
 said you gave it to him ; and certainly you would not insinuate 
 a word against his veracity ? " 
 
 "No, not insinuate," returned Miss Beaufort, *'but afHrm, 
 that he has forgotten his veracity in this statement." 
 
 Lascelles yawned. " Lord bless me, ladies, how you quarrel ! 
 You will disturb Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Mr. Constantine," returned Mary, blushing with indigna- 
 tion, "cannot be disturbed by nonsense." 
 
 Thaddeus again drew his hat towards him, and bowing to 
 his lovely champion, with an expression of countenance which 
 he little suspected had passed from his heart to his eyes, he 
 was preparing to take his leave, when Euphemia requested him 
 
264 THAD DEC'S OF JVARSAIV. 
 
 to inform her whether she had folded down the right pages for 
 the next exercise. He approached her, and was leaning over 
 her chair to look at the book, when she w-hispered, *' Don't be 
 hurt at what Lascelles says ; he is always jealous of anybody 
 who is handsomer than himself." 
 
 Thaddeus dropped his eyelids with a face of scarlet ; for 
 on meeting the eyes of Mary, he saw that she had heard this 
 intended comforter as well as himself. Uttering a few incoher- 
 ent sentences to both ladies he hurried out of the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE OBDURACY OF VICE THE INHUMANITY OF FOLLY. 
 
 The Count Sobieski was prevented paying his customary 
 visit next morning in Harley Street by a sudden dangerous in- 
 crease of illness in the general, who had been struck at seven 
 o'clock by a ^t of palsy. 
 
 When D'-. Cavendish beheld the poor old mian stretched on 
 the bed, an^"' hardly exhibiting signs of life, he pronounced it to 
 be a death- croke. At this remark, Thaddeus, turning fearfully 
 pale, staggered to a seat, with his eyes fixed on the altered feat- 
 ures of his friend. Dr. Cavendish took his hand. 
 
 "Recollect yourself, my dear sir! Happen when it may, 
 his death must be a release to him. But he may yet linger a 
 few days." 
 
 " Not in pain, I hope ! " said Thaddeus. 
 
 " No," returned the doctor ; " probably he will remain as 
 you now see him, till he expires like the last glimmer of a dying 
 taper." 
 
 The benevolent Cavendish gave proper directions to Thad- 
 deus, also to Mrs. Robson, who promised to act carefully as 
 nurse ; and then with regret left the stunned count to the mel- 
 ancholy task of watching by the bedside of his last early friend. 
 
 Thaddeus now retained no thought that was not riveted to 
 the emaciated form before him. Whilst the unconscious invalid 
 struggled for respiration, he listened to his short and convulsed 
 breathing with sensations which seemed to tear the strings of 
 his own breast. Unable to bear it longer, he moved to the fire- 
 side, and seating himself, with his pallid face and aching head 
 supported on his arm, which rested on a plain deal table, he 
 
TH A DDE us OF WARSAW. 265 
 
 remained ; meeting no other suspension from deep and awe- 
 struck meditation llian tiie occasional appearance of Mrs. Rob- 
 son on tiptoes, peeping in and inquiring whether he wanted 
 anything. 
 
 From this reverie, like unto the shadow of death, he was 
 aroused next morning at nine o'clock by the entrance of Dr. 
 Cavendish. Thaddeus seized his hand with the eagerness of 
 his awakened suspense. '• My dear sir, may I hope " 
 
 Not suffering him to finish with what he hoped, the doctor 
 shook his head in gentle sign of the vanity of that hope, and 
 advanced to the bed of the general. He felt his pulse. No 
 change of opinion was the consequence, only that he now saw 
 no threatenings of immediate dissolution. 
 
 "Poor Butzou ! " murmured Thaddeus, when the doctor 
 withdrew, putting the general's motionless hand to his quivering 
 lips ; " I never will leave thee ! I will watch by thee, thou last 
 relic of my country ! It may not be long ere we lie side by 
 side." 
 
 With anguish at his heart, he wrote a few hasty lines to the 
 countess ; then addressing Miss Dundas, he mentioned as the 
 reason for his late and continued absence the danger of his 
 friend. 
 
 His note found Miss Dundas attended by her constant sha- 
 dow, Mr. Lascelles, Lady Hilliars, and two or th: ae more fine 
 ladies and gentlemen, besides Euphemia and Miss Beaufort, 
 who, with pensive countenances, were waiting the arrival of its 
 writer. 
 
 When Miss Dundas took the billet off the silver salver on 
 which her man presented it, and looked at the superscription, 
 she threw it into the lap of Lacelles. 
 
 "There," cried she, "is an excuse, I suppose, from Mr. 
 Constantine, for his impertinence in not coming hither yester- 
 day. Read it, Lascelles." 
 
 " 'Fore Gad, I w^ouldn't touch it for an earldom ! " exclaimed 
 the affected puppy, jerking it on the table. " It might affect 
 me with the hypochondriacs. Pray, Phemy, do you peruse it." 
 
 Euphemia, in her earnestness to learn what detained Mr. 
 Constantine, neglected the insolence of the request, and hastily 
 breaking the seal, read as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Constantine hopes that a sudden and dangerous dis- 
 order which has attacked, the life of a very dear friend with 
 whom he resides will be a sufficient appeal to the humanity of 
 the Misses Dundas, and obtain their pardon for his relinquish- 
 ing the honor of attending them yesterday and to-day." 
 
2 66 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried Euphemia, piteously ; '' how sorry I am ! 
 I dare say it is that white-haired old man we saw in the park. 
 You remember, Mary, he was sick ? " 
 
 " Probably," returned Miss Beaufort, with her eyes fixed on 
 the agitated handwriting of Thaddeus. 
 
 " Throw the letter into the street, Phemy ! " cried Miss 
 Dundas, affecting sudden terror ; " who knows but what it is a 
 fever the man has got, and we may all catch our deaths." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " exclaimed Mary, in a voice of real 
 alarm ; but it was for Thaddeus — not fear of any infection 
 which the paper might bring to herself. 
 
 " Lascelles, take away that filthy scrawl from Phemy. How 
 can you be so headstrong, child t " cried Diana, snatching the 
 letter from her sister and throwing it from the window. " I de- 
 clare you are sufficient to provoke a saint." 
 
 " Then you may keep your temper, Di," returned Euphemia, 
 with a sneer ; " you are far enough from that title." 
 
 Miss Dundas made a very angry reply, which was retaliated 
 by another ; and a still more noisy and disagreeable altercation 
 might have taken place had not a good-humored lad, a brother- 
 in-law of Lady Hilliars, in hopes of calling off the attention of 
 the sisters, exclaimed, " Bless me, Miss Dundas, your little dog 
 has pulled a folded sheet of paper from under that stand of 
 flowers ! Perhaps it may be of consequence." 
 
 " Fly ! Take it up, George ! " cried Lady Hilliars ; " Esop 
 will tear it to atoms whilst you are asking questions." 
 
 After a chase round the room, over chairs and under tables, 
 George Hilliars at length plucked the devoted piece of paper 
 out of the dog's mouth ; and as Miss Beaufort was gathering 
 up her working materials to leave the room, he opened it and 
 cried, in a voice of triumph, " By Jove, it is a copy of verses ! " 
 
 " Verses ! " demanded Euphemia, feeling in her pocket, 
 and coloring ; "let me see them." 
 
 " That you sha'n't," roared Lascelles, catching them out of 
 the boy's hand ; "if they are your writing, we will have them." 
 
 " Help me, Mary ! " cried Euphemia, turning to Miss Beau- 
 fort; " I know that nobody is a poet in this house but myself. 
 They must be mine, and I will have them." 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Lascelles," said Mary, compassionating the 
 poor girl's anxiety, "you will not be so rude as to detain them 
 from their right owner ? " 
 
 " Oh ! but I will," cried he, mounting on a table to get out 
 of Euphemia's reach, who, half crying, tried to snatch at the 
 paper. " Let me alone, Miss Phemy. I will read them ; so 
 here goes it." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2C7 
 
 Miss Dundas laughed at her sister's confused looks, whilst 
 Lascelles prepared to read in a loud voice the following verses. 
 They had been hastily written in pencil by Thaddeus a long 
 time ago ; and having put them, by mistake, with some other 
 papers into his pocket, he had dropped them next day, in tak- 
 ing out his handkerchief at Lady Dundas's. Lascelles cleared 
 his throat with three hems, then raising his right hand with a 
 flourishing action, in a very pompous tone began — 
 
 " Like one whom Etna's torrent fires have sent 
 Far from the land where his first youth was spent ; 
 Who, inly drooping on a foreign shore, 
 Broods over scenes which charm his eyes no more : 
 And while his country's ruin wakes the groan, 
 Yearns for the buried hut he called his own. 
 So driv'n, O Poland! from thy ravaged plains, 
 So mourning o'er thy sad and but loved remains, 
 A houseless wretch, I wander through the world, 
 From friends, from greatness, and from glory hurl'd I 
 
 •*Oh ! not that each long night my weary eyes 
 Sink into sleep, unlull'd by Pity's sighs ; 
 Not that in bitter tears my bread is steep'd — 
 Tears drawn by insults on my sorrows heap'd ; 
 Not that my thoughts recall a mother's grave — 
 Recall the sire I would have died to save, 
 Who fell before me, bleeding on the field, 
 Whilst I in vain opposed the useless shield. 
 Ah ! not for these I grieve ! Though mental woe. 
 More deadly still, scarce Fancy's self could know! 
 O'er want and private griefs the soul can climb, — 
 Virtue subdues the one, the other Time : 
 But at his country's fall, the patriot feels 
 A grief no time, no drug, no reason heals. 
 
 •'Mem'ry! remorseless murderer, whose voice 
 Kills as it sounds; who never says, Rejoice ! 
 To my deserted heart, by joy forgot ; 
 Thou pale, thou midnight spectre, haunt me not I 
 Thou dost but point to where sublimely stands 
 A glorious temj)le, reared by Virtue's hands. 
 Circled with palms and laurels, crown'd with light, 
 Darting Truth's piercing sun on mortal sight : 
 Then rushing on, leagued fiends of hellish birth 
 Level the mighty fabric with the earth ! 
 Slept the red bolt of Vengeance in that hour ' 
 When virtuous Freedom fell the slave of Power I 
 Slumber'd the God of Justice ! that no brand 
 Blasted with blazing wing the impious band ! 
 Dread God of Justice ! to thy will I kneel. 
 Though still my filial heart must bleed and feel ; 
 Though still the proud convulsive throb will rise, 
 When fools my country's wrongs and woes despise ; 
 
268 Til ADD BUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 When low-soul'd Pomp, vain Wealth, that Pity gives, 
 Which Virtue ne'er bestows and ne'er receives, — 
 That Pity, stabbing where it vaunts to cure, 
 Which barbs the dart of Want, and makes it sure. 
 How far removed from what the feeling breast 
 Yields boastless, breathed in sighs to the distress'd 1 
 Which whispers sympathy, with tender fear, 
 And almost dreads to pour its balmy tear. 
 But such I know not now ! Unseen, alone, 
 I heave the heavy sigh, I draw the groan ; 
 And, madd'ning, turn to days of liveliest joy. 
 When o'er my native hills I cast mine eyes, 
 And said, exulting — " Freemen here shall sow 
 The seed that soon in tossing gold shall glow! 
 While Plenty, led by Liberty, shall rove, 
 Gay and rejoicing, through the land they love ; 
 And 'mid the loaded vines, the peasant see 
 His wife, his children, breathing out, — ' We're free !* 
 But now, O wretched land ! above thy plains, 
 Half viewless through the gloom, vast Horror reigns, 
 No happy peasant, o'er his blazing hearth, 
 Devotes the supper hour to love and mirth ; 
 No flowers on Piety's pure altar bloom; 
 Alas ! they wither now, and strew her tomb! 
 From the' Great Book of Nations fiercely rent, 
 My country's page to Lethe's stream is sent — 
 But sent in vain ! The historic Muse shall raise 
 O'er wronged Sarmatia's cause the voice of praise, — 
 Shall sing her dauntless on the field of death, 
 And blast her royal robbers' bloody wrath ! " 
 
 " It must be Constantine's ! " cried Euphemia, in a voice 
 of surprised delight, while springing up to take the paper out 
 of the deriding reader's hand when he finished. 
 
 " I dare say it is," answered the ill-natured Lascelles, hold- 
 ing it above his head. " You shall have it ; only first let us 
 hear it again, it is so mighty pretty, so very lackadaisical ! " 
 
 " Give it to me ! " cried Euphemia, quite angry. 
 
 " Don't, Lascelles," exclaimed Miss Dundas, " the man 
 must be a perfect idiot to write such rhodomontade." 
 
 " O ! it is delectable ! " returned her lover, opening the 
 paper again ; " it would make a charming ditty ! Come, I will 
 sing it. Shall it be to the tune of ' The Babes in the Wood,' 
 or ' Chevy Chase,' or ' The Bes^gar of Bethnal Green ? " 
 
 " Pitiless, senseless man ! " exclaimed Mary, rising from 
 her chair, where she had been striving to subdue the emotions 
 with which every line in the poem filled her heart. 
 
 " Monster ! " cried the enraged Euphemia, taking courage 
 at Miss Beaufort's unusual warmth ; " 1 will have the paper." 
 
 " You sha'n't," answered the malicious coxcomb ; and rais« 
 
Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 269 
 
 ing his arm higher than her reach, he tore it in a hundred 
 pieces. " Til teach pretty hidies to call names ! " 
 
 At this sight, no longer able to contain herself, Mary rushed 
 out of the room, and hurrying to her chamber, threw herself 
 upon the bed, where she gave way to a paroxysm of tears which 
 shook her almost to suffocation. 
 
 During the first burst of her indignation, her agitated spirit 
 breathed every appellation of abhorrence and reproach on Las- 
 celles and his malignant mistress. Then wiping her flowing 
 eyes, she exclaimed, " Yet can I wonder, when I compare 
 Constantine with what they are ? The man who dares to be 
 virtuous beyond others, and to appear so, arms the self-love of 
 all common characters against him." 
 
 Such being her meditations, she excused herself from join- 
 ing the family at dinner, and it w^as not until evening that she 
 felt herself at all able to treat the ill-natured group with decent 
 civility. 
 
 To avoid spending more hours than were absolutely neces- 
 sary in the company of a woman she now loathed, next morn- 
 ing Miss Beaufort borrowed Lady Dundas's sedan-chair, and 
 ordering it to Lady Tinemouth's, found her at home alone, but 
 evidently much discomposed. 
 
 " I intrude on you, Lady Tinemouth ! " said Mary, observ- 
 ing her looks, and withdrawing from the offered seat. 
 
 "No, my dear Miss Beaufort," replied she, "I am glad you 
 are come. I assure you I have few pleasures in solitude. Read 
 that letter," added she, putting one into her hand : " it has 
 just conveyed one of the crudest stabs ever offered by a son 
 to the heart of his mother. Read it, and you will not be sur- 
 prised at finding me in the state you see." 
 
 The countess looked on her almost paralyzed hands as she 
 spoke ; and Miss Beaufort taking the paper, sat down and read 
 to herself the following letter : 
 
 *' To THE Right Honorable the Countess of Tinemouth. 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 " I am commissioned by the earl, my father, to inform you 
 that if you have lost all regard for your own character, he con- 
 siders that some respect is due to the mother of his children ; 
 therefore he watches your conduct. 
 
 " He has been apprized of your frequent meetings, during 
 these many months past, in Grosvenor Place, and at other peo- 
 ple's houses, with an obscure foreigner, your declared lover. 
 
270 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAWr 
 
 The earl wished to suppose this false, until your shameless be- 
 havior became so flagrant, that he esteems it worthy neither of 
 doubt nor indulgence. 
 
 " With his own eyes he saw you four nights ago alone with 
 this man in Hyde Park. Such demonstration is dreadful. 
 Your proceedings are abominable ; and if you do not, without 
 further parley, set off either to Craighall, in Cornwall, or to the 
 Wolds, you shall receive a letter from my sister as well as m}''- 
 self, to tell the dishonored Lady Tinemouth how much she 
 merits her daughter's contempt, added to that of her brother 
 
 *' Harwold." 
 
 Mary was indeed heart-struck at the contents of this letter, 
 but most especially at the accusation which so distinctly pointed 
 out the innocent object of her already doubly-excited pity. 
 " Oh ! why these persecutions," cried her inward soul to hea- 
 ven, "against an apparently obscure but noble, friendless stran- 
 ger ? " Unable to collect her thoughts to make any proper re- 
 marks whatever on the letter to Lady Tinemouth, she hastily 
 exclaimed, " It is indeed horrible ; and what do you mean to 
 do, my honored friend 1 " 
 
 " I will obey my lord ! " returned the countess, with a 
 meek but firm emphasis. " My last action will be in obedience 
 to his will. I cannot live long ; and when I am dead, perhaps 
 the earl's vigilance may be satisfied ; perhaps some kind friend 
 may then plead my cause to my daughter's heart. One cruel 
 line from her would kill me. I will at least avoid the comple- 
 tion of that threat, by leaving town to-morrow night." 
 
 " What ! so soon t But I hope not so far as Cornwall ? " 
 
 " No," replied her ladyship ; " Craighall is too near Ply- 
 mouth ; I determine on the Wolds. Yet why should I have a 
 choice ? It is almost a matter of indifference to what spot I 
 am banished — in what place I am to die ; anywhere to which 
 my earthly lord would send me, I shall be equally remote from 
 the sympathy of a friend." 
 
 Miss Beaufort's heart was oppressed when she entered the 
 room ! Lady Tinemouth's sorrows seemed to give her a license 
 to weep. She took her ladyship's hand, and with difficulty 
 sobbed out this inarticulate proposal : — " Take me with you, 
 dear Lady Tinemouth 1 I am sure my guardian will be happy 
 to permit me to be with you, where and how long you please." 
 
 " My dear young friend," replied the countess, kissing her 
 tearful cheek, " I thank you from my heart ; but I cannot take 
 so ungenerous an advantage of your goodness as to consign 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 271 
 
 yoiit- tender nature to the harassing; task of attending on sorrow 
 and sickness. How strangely different may even amiable dis- 
 positions be tempered ! Sophia Egerton is better framed for 
 such an office. Kind as she is, the hilarity of her disposition 
 does not allow the sympathy she bestows on others to injure 
 either her mind or her body." 
 
 Mary interrupted her. '' Ah ! I should be grieved to believe 
 that my very aptitude to serve my friends will prove the first 
 reason why I should be denied the duty. It is only in scenes 
 of affliction that friendship can be tried, and declare its truth. 
 If Miss Egerton were not going with you, I should certainly 
 insist on putting my affection to the ordeal.' 
 
 " You mistake, my sweet friend," returned her ladyship ; 
 " Sophia is forbidden to remain any longer with me. You have 
 overlooked the postscript to Lord Harwold's letter, else you 
 must have seen the whole of my cruel situation. Turn over 
 the leaf." 
 
 Miss Beaufort re-opened the sheet, and read the following 
 few lines, which, being written on the interior part of the paper, 
 had before escaped her sight : — 
 
 " Go where you will, it is our special injunction that you 
 leave Miss Egerton behind you. She, we hear, has been the 
 ambassadress in this intrigue. If we learn that you disobey, it 
 shall be worse for you in every respect, as it will convince us, 
 beyond a possibility of doubt, how uniform is the turpitude of 
 your conduct." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth grasped Miss Beaufort's hand when she 
 laid the matricidal letter back upon the table. " And that is 
 from the son for whom I felt all a mother's throes — all a 
 mother's love ! — Had he died the first hour in which he saw 
 the light, what a mass of guilt might he not have escaped 1 It 
 is he," added she, in a lower voice, and looking wildly round, 
 " that breaks my Heart. I could have borne his father's perfidy \ 
 but insult, oppression, from my child ! Oh, Mary, may you 
 never know its bitterness 1 " 
 
 Miss Beaufort could only answer with her tears. 
 
 After a pause of many minutes, in which the countess strove 
 to tranquillize her spirits, she resumed in a more composed 
 voice. 
 
 " Excuse me for an instant, my dear Miss Beaufort ; I must 
 write to Mr. Constantine. I have yet to inform him that my 
 absence is to be added to his other misfortunes." 
 
 With her eyes now raining down upon the paper, she took 
 up a oen and hastily writing a few lines, was sealing them 
 
2 72 Til A DDE US OF IVA RSA I F. 
 
 when Mary, looking up, hardly conscious of the words which 
 escaped her, said, with inarticulate anxiety, "Lady Tinemouth, 
 you know much of that noble and unhappy young man ? " Her 
 eyes irresolute and her cheek glowing, she awaited the answer of 
 the countess, wlio continued to gaze on the letter she held in 
 her hand, as if in profound thought ; then all at once raising her 
 head, and regarding the now downcast face of her lovely friend 
 with tenderness, she replied, in a tone which conveyed the deep 
 interest of her thoughts : — 
 
 " I do. Miss Beaufort ; but he has reposed his griefs in my 
 friendship and honor, therefore I must hold them sacred." 
 
 " I will not ask you to betray them," returned Mary, in a 
 faltering voice ; " yet I cannot help lamenting his sufferings, 
 and esteeming the fortitude with which he supports his fall." 
 
 The countess looked steadfastly on her fluctuating counte- 
 nance. " Has Constantine, my dear girl, hinted to you that he 
 ever was otherwise than as he now appears ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort could not reply. She would not trust her 
 lips with words, but shook her head in sign that he had not. 
 Lady Tinemouth was too w^ell read in the human heart to doubt 
 foran instant the cause of her question, and consequent emo- 
 tion. Feeling that something was due to an anxiety so disin- 
 terested, she took her passive hand, and said, '' Mary, you have 
 guessed rightly. Though I am not authorized to tell you the 
 real name of Mr. Constantine, nor the particulars of his history, 
 yet let this satisfy your generous heart, that it can never be 
 more honorably employed than in compassionating calamities 
 which ought to wreath his young brows with glory." 
 
 Miss Beaufort's eyes streamed afresh, whilst her exulting 
 soul seemed ready to rush from her bosom. 
 
 " Mary ! " continued the countess, w^armed by the recollec- 
 tion of his excellence, "you have no need to blush at the in- 
 terest which you take in this amiable stranger ! Every trial of 
 spirit which could have tortured youth or manhood has been 
 endured by him with the firnmess of a hero. Ah, my sweet 
 friend," added the countess, pressing the hand of the confused 
 Miss Beaufort, who, ashamed, and conscious that her behavior 
 betrayed how dearly she considered him, had covered her face 
 with her handkerchief, " when you are disposed to believe that 
 a man is as great as his titles and personal demands seem to 
 assert, examine with a nice observance whether his pretensions 
 be real or artificial. Imagine him disrobed of splendor and 
 struggling with the world's inclemencies. If his character 
 cannot stand this ordeal, he is only a vain pageant, inflated 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 ^n 
 
 and garnished ; and it is reasonable to punish such arrogance 
 willi contempt. Lut on the contrary, when, Hke Constantine, 
 he rises from the ashes of his fortunes in a brighter blaze of 
 virtue, then, dearest girl," cried the countess, encircling her 
 with her arms, ^' it is the sweetest privilege of loveliness to con- 
 sole and bless so rare a being." 
 
 Mary raised her weeping face from the bosom of her friend, 
 and clasping her hands together with trepidation and anguish, 
 implored her to be as faithful to her secret as she had proved' 
 herself to Constantine's. " I w'ould sooner die," added she, 
 *' than have him know my rashness, perhaps my indelicacy! 
 Let me possess his esteem, Lady Tinemouth ! Let him suppose 
 that I only esteem him ! More I should shrink from. I have 
 seen him beset by some of my sex ; and to be classed with 
 them — to have him imagine that my affection is like theirs ! — 
 I could not bear it. I entreat you, let him respect me ! " 
 
 Tile impetuosity, and almost despair, with which Miss Beau- 
 fort uttered these incoherent sentences penetrated the soul of 
 Lady Tinemouth with admiration. How different w^as the 
 spirit of this pure and dignified love to the wild passion she had 
 seen shake the frame of Lady Sara Ross. 
 
 They remained silent for some time. 
 
 " May I see your ladyship to-morrow ? " asked Mar}-, draw- 
 ing her cloak about her. 
 
 " I fear not," replied the countess ; " I leave this house to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 Miss Beaufort rose ; her lips, hands, and feet trembled so 
 that she could hardly stand. Lady Tinemouth put her arm 
 round her waist, and kissing her forehead, added, " Heaven 
 bless you, my sweet friend ! May all the wishes of your inno- 
 cent heart be gratified ! " 
 
 The countess supported her to the door. Mary hesitated 
 an instant; then flinging her snowy arms over her ladyship's 
 neck, in a voice scarcely audible, articulated, " Only tell me, 
 does he love Euphemia ? " 
 
 Lady Tinemouth strained her to her breast. "No, my 
 dearest girl ; I am certain, both from what I have heard him 
 say and observed in his eyes, that did he dare to love any one, 
 you would be the object of his choice." 
 
 How ]\Iiss Beaufort got into Lady Dundas's sedan-chair she 
 had no recollection, so completely was she absorbed in the 
 recent scene. Her mind was perplexed, her heart ached ; and 
 she arrived in Harlcy Street so much disordered and unwell as 
 to oblige her to retire immediately to her room, with the excuse 
 of a violent pain in her head. 
 
274 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 
 
 This interview induced Lady Tinemouth to destroy the note 
 she had written toThaddeus, and to frame another, better cal- 
 culated to produce comfort to all parties. What she had de- 
 clared to Mary respecting the state of the count's affecUDns 
 was sincere. 
 
 She had early pierced the veil of bashfulness with which 
 Miss Beaufort overshadowed, when in his presence, that coun- 
 tenance so usually the tablet of her soul. The countess easily 
 translated the quick receding of her eye whenever Thaddeus 
 turned his attention towards her, the confused reply that fol- 
 lowed any unexpected question from his lips, and, above all, 
 the unheeded sighs heaved by her when he left the room, or 
 when his name was mentioned during his absence. These 
 symptoms too truly revealed to Lady Tinemouth the state of 
 her young friend's bosom. 
 
 Lut the circumstances being different, her observations on 
 Thaddeus were not nearly so conclusive. Mary had absolutely 
 given the empire of her happiness, with her heart, into his 
 hands. Thaddeus felt that his ruined hopes ought to prevent 
 him laying his at her feet, could he even be made t ) believe 
 that he had found any favor in her sight ! and regarding her as 
 a being beyond his reach, he conceived no suspicions that she 
 entertained one dearer thought of him than what mere philan- 
 thropy could authorize. 
 
 He contemplated her unequalled beauty, graces, talents and 
 virtues with an admiration bordering on idolatry ! yet his heart 
 flew from the confession that he loved her ; and it was not until 
 reason demanded of his sincerity why he felt a pang on seeing 
 Mary's purse in the hands of Mr. Lascelles, that with a glowing 
 cheek he owned to himself that he was jealous : that although 
 he had not presumed to elevate one wish towards the posses- 
 sion of Miss Beaufort, yet when Lascelles flaunted her name 
 on his tongue, he found how deep would be the wound in his 
 peace should she ever give her liand to another than himself ! 
 
 Confounded at this discovery of a passion the seeds of which 
 he supposed had been crushed by the weight of his misfortunes 
 and the depths of his griefs, he proceeded homewards in a 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 275 
 
 trance of thought, not far differing from that of the dreamer 
 who sinks into a harassing shnnber, and, filled with terror, 
 doubts whether he be sleeping or awake. 
 
 The sudden illness of General Butzou having put these ideas 
 to flight, Thaddeus was sitting on the bedside, with his anxious 
 thoughts fixed on the pale spectacle of mortality before him, 
 when Nanny brought in a letter from the countess. He took 
 it, and going to the window, read with mingled feelings the fol- 
 lowing epistle : — 
 
 ''To Mr. Coxstantine. 
 
 " I know not, my dear count, when I shall be permitted to 
 see you again : perhaps never on this side of the grave ! 
 
 "Since Heaven has denied me the tenderness of my own 
 children, it would have been a comfort to me might I have con- 
 tinued to act a parent's part by you. But my cruel lord, and 
 my more cruel son, jealous of the consolation I meet in the 
 society of my few intimate friends, command me to quit Lon- 
 don ; and as I have ever made it a rule to conform to their in- 
 junctions to the furthest extent of my power, I shall go. 
 
 " It pierces me to the soul, my dear son ! (allow my mater- 
 nal heart to call you by that name) it distresses me deeply that 
 I am compelled to leave the place where you are, and the more 
 that I cannot see you before my departure, for I quit town early 
 to-morrow. 
 
 " Write to me often, my loved Sobieski ; your letters will be 
 some alleviation to my lot during the fulfilment of my hard 
 duty. 
 
 " Wear the enclosed gold chain for my sake ; it is one oi 
 two given me a long time ago by Miss Beaufort. If I have 
 not greatly mistaken you, the present will now possess a double 
 value in your estimation : indeed it ought. Sensibility and 
 thankfulness being properties of your nature, they will not deny 
 a lively gratitude to the generous interest with which that 
 amiable and noble young woman regards your fate. It is im- 
 possible that the avowed Count Sobieski (whom, a year ago, I 
 remember her animated fancy painted in colors worthy of his 
 actions) could excite more of her esteem than I know she has 
 bestowed on the untitled Cons^antine. 
 
 " She is all nobleness and affection. For, although I am 
 sensible that she would leave much behind her in London to 
 regret, she insists on accompanying me to the Wolds. Averse 
 to transgress so far on her goodness, I firmly refused hci' offer 
 
276 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 until this evening, when I received so warm and urgent a letter 
 from her disinterested, generous heart, that I could no longer 
 withhold my grateful assent. 
 
 " Indeed, this lovely creature's active friendship proves of 
 high consequence to me now, situated as I am with regard to a 
 new whim of the earl's. Had she not thus urged me, in obe- 
 dience to my lord's commands I should have been obliged to 
 go alone, he having taken some wild antipathy to Miss Egerton, 
 whose company he has interdicted. At any rate, her parents 
 would not have allowed me her society much longer, for Mr. 
 Montresor is to return this month. 
 
 " I shall not be easy, my dear count, until I hear from you. 
 Pray write soon, and inform me of every particular respecting 
 the poor general. Is he likely to recover.? 
 
 "In all things, my loved son, in which I can serve you, re- 
 member that I expect you will refer yourself to me as to a 
 mother. Your own could hardly have regarded you with deeper 
 tenderness than does your affectionate and faithful 
 
 " Adeliza Tinemouth. 
 
 ** Grosvenor Place, T/ncrsday, midnight. 
 
 '' Direct to me at Harwold Place, Wolds, Lincolnshire." 
 
 Several opposite emotions agitated the mind of Thaddeus 
 'whilst reading this epistle, — increased abhorrence of the man 
 whom he believed to be his father, and distress at the increase 
 of his cruelty to his unhappy wife ! Yet these could neither 
 subdue the balmy effect of her maternal affection towards him- 
 self nor wholly check the emotion v/hich the unusual men- 
 tioning of Miss Beaufort's name had caused his heart to throb. 
 He read the sentence which contained the assurance of her 
 esteem a third time. 
 
 " Delicious poison ! " cried he, kissing the paper ; " if ador- 
 ing thee, lovely Mary, be added to my other trials, I shall be 
 resigned ! There is sweetness even in the thought. Could I 
 credit all which my dear lady Tinemouth affirms, the conviction 
 that I possess one kind solicitude in the mind of Miss Beaufort 
 would be ample compensation for " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but sighing profoundly, rose 
 from his chair. 
 
 " For anything, except beholding her the bride of another ! " 
 was the sentiment with which his heart swelled. Thaddeus had 
 never known a selfish wish in his life ; and this first instance 
 of his desiring that good to be unappropriated which he might 
 not himself enjoy, made him start. 
 
TIIADDEL'S OF WARSAW. ^'jf 
 
 "There is an evil in niy l)reast I wotted not of! " Dissatis- 
 fied with himself at this, he was preparing to answer her lady- 
 ship's letter, when turning to the date, he discovered tiiat it had 
 been written on Thursday night, and in consequence of Nanny's 
 neglect in not calling at the coffee-house, had been delayed 
 a day and a half before it reached him. 
 
 His disappointment at this accident ^vas severe. She was 
 gone, and I\Iiss Beaufort along with her. 
 
 " Then, indeed, I am unfortunate. Yet this treasure ! " 
 cried he, fondly clasping the separated bracelet in his hand ; 
 *'it will, indeed, be a representative of both — honored, beloved 
 — to this deserted heart ! " 
 
 He put the chain round his neck, and, with a true lover-like 
 feeling, thought that it warmed the heart which mortification 
 had chilled ; but the fancy was evanescent, and he again turned 
 to watch the fading life of his friend. 
 
 During the lapse of a few days, in which the general 
 appeared merely to breathe, Thaddeus, instead of his attend- 
 ance, despatched regular notes of excuse to Harley Street. In 
 answer to these, he commonly received little tender billets from 
 pAiphemia, the strain of which he seemed totally to overlook, 
 by the cold respect he evinced in his continued diurnal apolo- 
 gies for absence. 
 
 This young lady was so full of her own lamentations over 
 the trouble which her elegant tutor must endure in watching his 
 sick friend, that she never thought it worth while to mention in 
 her notes any creature in the house excepting herself, and her 
 commiseration. Thaddeus longed to inquire about Miss Beau- 
 fort ; but the more he wished it, the greater was his reluctance 
 to write her name. 
 
 Things were in this situation, when one evening, as he was 
 reading by the light of a solitary candle in his little sitting-room, 
 the door opened, and Nanny stepped in, followed by a female 
 wrapped in a large black cloak. Thaddeus rose. 
 
 " A lady, sir," said Nanny, curtseying. 
 
 The moment the girl withdrew, the visitor cast herself into a 
 chair, and sobbing aloud, seemed in violent agitation. Thad- 
 deus, astonished and alarmed, approached her, and, though she 
 was unknown, offered her every assistance in his power. 
 
 Catching hold of the hand which, v/ith the greatest respect, 
 he extended towards her, she instantly displayed to his dismayed 
 sight the features of Lady Sara Ross. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! " exclaimed he, involuntarily starting 
 back. 
 
278 Til ADD ECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Do not cast me off, Constantine ! " cried she, clasping his 
 arm, and looking up to him with a face of anguish ; " on you 
 alone I now depend for happiness — for existence ! " 
 
 A cold damp stood on the forehead of her auditor. 
 
 " Dear Lady Sara, w^hat am I to understand by this emotion ; 
 has anything dreadful happened ? Is Captain Ross " 
 
 Lady Sara shuddered, and still grasping his hand, answered 
 with words every one of which palsied the heart of Thaddeus. 
 *• He is coming home. He is now at Portsmouth. O, Con- 
 stantine ! I am not yet so debased as to live with him when my 
 heart is yours." 
 
 At this shameful declaration, Thaddeus clenched his teeth 
 in agony of spirit ; and placing his hand upon his eyes, to shut 
 her from his sight, he turned suddenly round and walked 
 towards another part of the room. 
 
 Lady Sara followed him. Her cloak having fallen off, now 
 displayed her fine form in all the fervor of grief and distraction. 
 She rung her fair and jewelled arms in despair, and wdth accents 
 rendered more piercing by the anguish of her mind, exclaimed, 
 " What ! You hate me ? You throw me from you 1 Cruel, bar- 
 barous Constantine ! Can you drive from your feet the woman 
 who adores you .'' Can you cast her who is without a home into 
 the streets ? " 
 
 Thaddeus felt his hand wet with her tears. He fixed his eyes 
 upon her with almost delirious horror. Her hat being off, gave 
 freedom to her long black hair, which, falling in masses over her 
 figure and face, gave such additional wildness to the imploring 
 and frantic expression of her eyes, that his distracted soul felt 
 reeling within him. 
 
 " Rise, madam ! For Heaven's sake, Lady Sara ! " and he 
 stooped to raise her. 
 
 "Never!" cried she, clinging to him — "never! till you 
 promise to protect me. My husband comes home to-night, and 
 I have left his house forever. You — you ! " exclaimed she, ex- 
 tending her hand to his averted face ; " Oh, Constantine ! you 
 have robbed me of my peace ! On your account I have flown 
 from my home. For mercy's sake, do not abandon me ! " 
 
 " Lady Sara," cried he, looking in desperation around him, 
 " I cannot speak to you in this position ! Rise, I implore you ! " 
 
 " Only," returned she, " only say that you will protect me ! 
 — that I shall find shelter here ! Say this, and I will rise and 
 bless you forever." 
 
 Thaddeus stood aghast, not knowing how to reply. Terror- 
 struck at the violent lengths to w^hich she seemed determined 
 
TIIADDEVS OF WARSAW. 279 
 
 to carry Her unhappy and guilty passion, he in vain sough. t to 
 evade this direct demand. Lady Sara, perceiving the rekictance 
 and horror of his looks, sprang from her knees, while in a more 
 resolute voice she exclaimed, "Then, sir, you will not protect 
 me? You scorn and desert a woman whom you well know ]\as 
 long loved you? — whom, by your artful behavior, you have 
 seduced to this disgrace ! " 
 
 The count, surprised and shocked at this accusation, with 
 gentleness, but resolution, denied the charge. 
 
 Lady Sara again melted into tears, and supporting her tot- 
 tering frame against his shoulder, replied, in a stifled voice, " I 
 know it well : I have nothing to blame for my wretched state 
 but my own weakness. Pardon, dear Constantine, the dictates 
 of my madness ! Oh ! I would gladly owe such miser)' to any 
 other source than myself ! " 
 
 " Then, respected lady," rejoined Thaddeus, gaining cour- 
 age from the mildness of her manner, '• let me implore you to 
 return to your own house ! " 
 
 "Don't ask me," cried she^. grasping his hand. " O, Con- 
 stantine ! if you knew what it \\'as to receive with smiles of af- 
 fection a creature whom you loathe, you would shrink with dis- 
 gust from what you require. I detest Captain Ross. Can I 
 open my arms to meet him, when my heart excludes him for- 
 ever ? Can I welcome him home when I wish him in his grave ? " 
 
 Sobieski extricated his hand from her grasp. Her ladyship 
 perceived the repugnance which dictated this action, and with 
 renewed violence ejaculated, " Unhappy woman that I am ! to 
 hate where I am loved ! to love where I am hated ! Kill me, 
 Constantine ! " cried she, turning suddenly towards him, and 
 sinking down on a chair, " but do not give me such another look 
 as that ! " 
 
 "Dear Lady Sara," replied he, seating himself by her side, 
 " what would you have me do ? You see that I have no proper 
 means of protecting you. I have no relations, no friends to re- 
 ceive you. You see that I am a poor man. Besides, your char- 
 acter " 
 
 " Talk not of my character ! " cried she : " I will have none 
 that does not depend on you ! Cruel Constantine ! you will net 
 understand me. I want no riches, no friends, but yourself. 
 Give me j'^?/r home a.nd jour arms," added she, throwing her- 
 self in an agony on his bosom, " and beggary would be paradise ! 
 But I shallnot'bring you poverty; I have inherited a fortune 
 since I married Ross, on which he has no claim." 
 
 Thaddeus now shrunk doubly from her. Why had she not 
 
2 So THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 felt a sacred spell in that husband's name ? He shuddere J, 
 and tore himself from her clinging arms. Holding her off with 
 his hand, he exclaimed, in a voice of mental iigony, " Infatuated 
 woman ! leave me, for his honor and your own peace." 
 
 " No, no!" cried she. hoping she had gained some advan- 
 tage over his agitated feelings, and again casting herself at his 
 feet, exclaimed, "Never will I leave this spot till you consent 
 that your home shall be my home ; that I shall serve you for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 Thaddeus pressed his hands upon his eyes, as if he would 
 shut her from his sight. But with streaming tears she added, 
 while clasping his other hand to her throbbing bosom, " Exclude 
 me not from those dear eyes ! reject me not from being your 
 true wife, your willing slave ! " 
 
 Thaddeus heard this, but he did not look on her, neither 
 did he answer. He broke from her, and fled, in a stupor of 
 horror at his situation, into the apartment where the general lay 
 in a heavy sleep. 
 
 Little expecting to see anyone but the man she loved. Lady 
 Sara rushed in after him, and was again wildly pressing towards 
 her determined victim, when her eyes were suddenly arrested 
 by a livid, and, she thought, dead face of a person lying on the 
 bed. Fixed to the spot, she stood for a moment ; then putting 
 her spread hand on her forehead, uttered a faint cry, and fell 
 soul-struck to the floor. 
 
 Having instant conviction of her mistake, Thaddeus eagerly 
 seized the moment of her insensibility to convey her home. He 
 hastily went to the top of the stairs, called to Nanny to run for 
 a coach, and then returning to the extended figure of Lady Sara, 
 lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the room they had 
 left. 
 
 By the help of a little water, he restored her to a sense of 
 existence. She slowly opened her eyes ; then raising her head, 
 looked round with a terrified air, when her eye falling on the 
 still open door of the general's room, she caught Thaddeus by 
 the arm, and said, in a shuddering voice, " Oh ! take me hence." 
 
 Whilst she yet spoke, the coach stopped at the door. The 
 count rose, and attempted to support her agitated frame on his 
 arm ; but she trembled so, he was obliged to almost carry her 
 down stairs. 
 
 When he placed her in the carriage, she said, in a faint 
 tone, " You surely will not leave me ? " 
 
 Thaddeus made no reply ; then desiring Nanny to sit by 
 the general until his return, which should be in a few minutes, 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 281 
 
 find liaviriG^ stepped into the coach, Lady Sara snatched his 
 hand, while in chsmayed accents she quickly said, 
 
 *' Who was that fearful person ? " 
 
 " Alas 1 the revered friend whose long illness Lady Tine- 
 mouth has sometimes mentioned in your presence." 
 
 Lady Sara shuddered ac:ain, but with a rush of tears, while 
 she added imploringly, "Then, whither are you going to take 
 me ? " 
 
 "You shall again, dear Lady Sara," replied he, "return to 
 a guiltless and peaceful home." 
 
 " I cannot meet my husband," cried she, wringing her hands ; 
 "he will see all my premeditated i^uilt in my countenance. O ! 
 Constantine, have pity on me ! Miserable creature that I am ! 
 It is horrible to live w ithout you ! It is dreadful to live with him ! 
 Take me not home, I entreat you ! " 
 
 The count took her clasped hands in his, saying, 
 
 " Reflect for a moment. Lady Tinemouth's eulogiums on 
 our first acquaintance taught me to honor you. I believe that 
 when you distinguished me with any portion of your regard, it 
 was in consequence of virtues which you thought I possessed." 
 
 " Indeed, you do me justice 1 " cried she, with renewed 
 energy. 
 
 He continued, feeling that he must be stern in words as 
 well as in purpose if he would really rescue her from herself. 
 " Think, then, should I yield to the influence of your beauty, 
 and sink your respected name to a level with those " — and he 
 pointed to a group of wretched women assembled at the corner 
 of Pali-Mall. "Think, where would be the price of your inno- 
 cence ? I being no longer worthy of your esteem, you would 
 hate yourself ; and we should contmue together, two guilty 
 creatures, abhorring each other, and justly despised by a vir- 
 tuous world." 
 
 Lady Sara sat as one dumb, and did not inarticulate any 
 sound — except the groan of horror whicli had shot through her 
 when she had glanced at those women — until the coach stopped 
 in James's Place. 
 
 " Go in with me," were all the words she could utter, while, 
 pulling her veil over her face, she gave him her hand to assist 
 her down the steps. 
 
 " Is Captain Ross arrived ? " asked Thaddeus of a servant, 
 who, to his great joy, replied in the negative. During the drive, 
 he had alarmed himself by anticipating the disagrceal:)le sus- 
 picions which might rise in the mind of the husband should he 
 see his wife in her present strange and distracted state. 
 
282 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 When Thaddeus sealed Lady Sara in her drawing room, he 
 oftered to take a respectful leave ; but she laid one hand on 
 his arm, whilst with tl.e other she covered her convulsed feat- 
 ures, and said, " Constantine, before you go, before we part, 
 perhaps eternally, O ! tell me that you do not, even now, hate 
 me ! — that you do not hate me ! " repeated she, in a firmer 
 tone ; " I know too well how deeply I am despised." 
 
 " Cease, ah, cease these vehement self-reproaches ! " re- 
 turned he, tenderly replacing her on the sofa. " Shame does 
 not depend on possessing passions, but in yielding to them. 
 You have conquered yours, dear Lady Sara ; and in future I 
 must respect and love you like a sister of my heart." 
 
 " Noble Constantine ! there is no guile in thee," exclaimed 
 she, straining his hand to her lips. " May Heaven bless you 
 wherever you go ! " 
 
 He dropped on his knees, imprinted on both her hands a 
 true brother's sacred kiss, and, hastily rising, was quitting the 
 room without a word, when he heard, in a short, low sound from 
 her voice, " O, why had I not a mother, a sister, to love and 
 pity me ! Should I have been such a wretch as now ? " 
 
 Thaddeus turned from the door at the tone and substance 
 of this apparently unconsciously uttered apostrophe. She was 
 standing with her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed on the 
 ground. By an irresistible impulse he approached her. " Lady 
 Sara," said he, with a tender reverence in his voice, " there is 
 penitence and prayer to a better Parent in those words ! Look 
 up to Him, and He will save you from yourself, and bless you 
 in your husband." 
 
 She did raise her eyes at this adjuration, and without one 
 earthward glance at her young monitor in their movement to 
 the heaven she sought. Neither did she speak, but pressed, 
 with an unutterable emotion, the hand which now held hers, 
 while his own heart did indeed silently re-echo the prayer he 
 saw in her upward eyes. Turning gently away, he glided, in a 
 suffusion of grateful tears, out of the apartment. 
 
TliADDtU^ OJ' ll'AKSAPK 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 REQUIESCAT IN PACE. 
 
 The dream-like amazement which enveloped the count's 
 faculties after the preceding scene was dissipated next morning 
 by the appearance of Dr. Cavendish. \\'hen he saw the 
 general, he declared it to be his opinion that, in consequence 
 of his long and tranquil slumbers, some favorable crisis seemed 
 near. " Probably," added he, " the recovery of his intellects. 
 Such phenomena in these cases often happen immediately be- 
 fore death." 
 
 " Heaven grant it may in this ! " ejaculated Thaddeus ; " to 
 hear his venerable voice again acknowledge that 1 have acted 
 by him as became the grandson of his friend, would be a com- 
 fort to me." 
 
 " But, sir," replied the kind physician, touching his burning 
 hand, " you must not forget the cares which are due to your 
 own life. If you wish well to the general during the few days 
 he may have to live, you are indispensably obliged to preserve 
 your own strength. You are already ill, and require air. I 
 have an hour of leisure," continued he, pulling out his watch ; 
 " I will remain here till you have taken two or three walks 
 round St. James's Park. It is absolutely necessary ; in this 
 instance I must take the privilege of friendship, and insist on 
 obedience." 
 
 Seeing the benevolent Cavendish would not be denied, 
 Thaddeus took his hat, and with harassed spirits v/alked down 
 the lane towards Charing Cross. 
 
 On entering Spring Garden gate, to his extreme surprisQ 
 the first objects that met his sight were Miss Euphemia Dun- 
 das and Miss Beaufort. 
 
 Euphemia accosted him with ten thousand inquiries re- 
 specting his friend, besides congratulations on his own good 
 looks. 
 
 Thaddeus bowed ; then smiling faintly, turned to the blush- 
 ing Mary, who, conscious of what had passed in the late con- 
 versation between herself and Lady Tinemouth, trembled so 
 much that, fearing to excite the suspicion of Euphemia by such 
 tremor, she withdrew her arm, and walked forward alone, tot- 
 tering at every step. 
 
284 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " I thought, Miss Beaufort," said he, addressing himself to 
 her, " that Lady Tinemouth was to have had the happiness of 
 your company at Harwold Park ? " 
 
 " Yes," returned she, fearfully raising her eyes to his face, 
 the hectic glow of which conveyed impressions to her different 
 from those which Euphemia expressed ; " but to my indescribable 
 alarm and disappointment, the morning after I had written to 
 fix my departure with her ladyship, my aunt's foot caught in 
 the iron of the stair-carpet as she was coming down stairs, and 
 throwing her from the top to the bottom, broke her leg. I 
 could not quit her a moment during her agonies ; and the sur- 
 geons having expressed their fears that a fever might ensue, I 
 was obliged altogether to decline my attendance on the coun- 
 tess." 
 
 " And how is Miss Dorothy ? " inquired Thaddeus, truly 
 concerned at the accident. 
 
 " She is better, though confined to her bed," replied Eu- 
 phemia, speaking before her companion could open her lips ; 
 "and, indeed, poor Mary and myself have been such close 
 nurses, my mother insisted on our walking out to-day." 
 
 " And Lady Tinemouth," returned Thaddeus, again address- 
 ing Miss Beaufort, " of course she went alone 1 " 
 
 " Alas, yes ! " replied she ; " Miss Egerton was forced to 
 join her family in Leicestershire." 
 
 " I believe," cried Euphemia, sighing, " Miss Egerton is 
 going to be married. Hers has been a long attachment. Happy 
 girl ! I have heard Captain Ross say (whose lieutenant her in- 
 tended husband was) that he is the finest young man in the 
 navy. Did you ever see Mr. Montresor ? " added she, turning 
 her pretty eyes on the count. 
 
 " I never had that pleasure." 
 
 " Bless me ! that is odd, considering your intimacy with 
 Miss Egerton. I assure you he is very charming." 
 
 Thaddeus neither heard this nor a great deal more of tho 
 same trifling chit-chat which was slipping from the tongue of 
 Miss Euphemia, so intently were his eyes (sent by his heart) 
 searching the downcast but expressive countenance of Miss 
 Beaufort. His soul was full ; and the fluctuations of her color, 
 ivith the embarrassment of her step, more than affected him. 
 
 " Then you do not leave town for some time. Miss Beaufort ?'* 
 
 inquired he ; "I may yet anticipate the honor of seeing " 
 
 he hesitated a moment, then added in a depressed tone— 
 "your aunt, when I next wait on the Misses Dundas." 
 
 " Our slay depends entirely on her health " returned she, 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 285 
 
 striving to rally herself ; *' and I am sure she will be happy to 
 find you better ; for 1 am sorry to say I cannot agree with 
 Euphemia in thinking you look well." 
 
 " Merely a slight indisposition," replied he, " the effect of 
 an anxiety which I fear will too soon cease in the death of its 
 cause. I came out now for a little air, whilst the physician re- 
 mains with my revered friend." 
 
 " Poor old gentleman ! " sighed Mary ; " how venerable was 
 his appearance the morning in which we saw him in the Park ! 
 What a benign countenance ! " 
 
 " His countenance," replied Thaddeus, his eyes turning 
 mournfully towards the lovely speaker, " is the emblem of his 
 character. He was the most amiable of men." 
 
 " And you are likely to lose so interesting a friend , dear 
 Mr. Constantine, how I pity you ! " While Euphemia uttered 
 these words, she put the corner of her glove to her eye. 
 
 The count looked at her, and perceiving that her commis- 
 eration was affectation, he turned to Miss Beaufort, who was 
 walking pensively by his side, and made further inquiries re- 
 specting Miss Dorothy. Anxious to be again with his invalid, 
 he was preparing to quit them, when Mary, as with a full heart 
 she curtseyed her adieu, in a hurried and confused manner, 
 said — " Pray, Mr. Constantine, take care of yourself. You have 
 other friends besides the one you are going to lose. I know 
 
 Lady Tinemouth, I know my aunt " She stopped sliort, and, 
 
 covered with blushes, stood panting for another word to close 
 the sentence ; when Thaddeus, forgetting all presence but her 
 own, with delighted precipitancy caught hold of the hand which, 
 in her confusion, was a little extended towards him, and press- 
 ing it with fervor, relinquished it immediately ; then, overcome 
 by confusion at the presumption of the action, he bowed with 
 agitacion to both ladies, and hastened through the Friar)- passage 
 into St. James's Street. 
 
 *' Miss Beaufort ! " cried Euphemia, reddening with vexation, 
 and returning a perfumed handkerchief to her pocket, " I did 
 not understand that you and Mr. Constantine were on such in- 
 timate terms ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, Euphemia ? " 
 
 '•That you have betrayed the confidence I reposed in you," 
 cried the angry beauty, wiping away the really starting tears 
 with her white lace cloak. " I told you the elegant Constantine 
 w'ias the lord of my heart ; and you have seduced him from me ! 
 Till you came, he was so respectful, so tender, so devoted ! 
 But I am rightly used ! I ought to have carried my secret to 
 the grave." 
 
286 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 In vain Miss Beaufort protested ; in vain she declared her- 
 self ignorant of possessing any power over even one wish of 
 Constantine's. Euphemia thought it monstrous pretty to be 
 the injured friend and forsaken mistress ; and all along the 
 Park, and up Constitution-hill, until they arrived at Lady 
 Dundas's carriage, which was waiting opposite Devonshire- 
 wall, she affected to weep. When seated, she continued her 
 invectives. She called Miss Beaufort ungenerous, perfidious 
 traitor to friendship, and every romantic and disloyal name which 
 her inflamed fancy could devise ; till the sight of Harley Street 
 checked her transports, and relieved her patient hearer from a 
 load of impertinence and reproach. 
 
 During this short interview, Thaddeus had received an im- 
 pulse to his affections which hurried them forward with a force 
 that neither time nor succeeding sorrows could stop nor stem. 
 
 Mary's heavenly-beaming eyes seemed to have encircled his 
 head with love's purest halo. The command, " Preserve your- 
 self for others besides your dying friend," yet throbbed at hi* 
 heart ; and with ten thousand rapturous visions flitting before 
 his sight, he trod in air, until the humble door of his melan- 
 choly home presenting itself, at once wrecked the illusion, and 
 offered sad reality in the person of his emaciated friend. 
 
 On the count's entrance to the sick chamber, Doctor Caven- 
 dish gave him a few directions to pursue when the general 
 should awake from the sleep into which he had been sunk for 
 so many hours. With a heart the more depressed from its late 
 unusual exaltation, Thaddeus sat down at the side of the in- 
 valid's bed for the remainder of the day. 
 
 At five in the afternoon. General Butzou awoke. Seeing 
 the count, he stretched out his withered hand, and as the doc- 
 tor predicted, accosted him rationally. 
 
 " Come, dear Sobieski ! Come nearer, my dear master." 
 
 Thaddeus rose, and throwing himself on his knees, took the 
 offered hand with apparent composure. It was a hard struggle 
 to restrain the emotions which were roused by this awful con- 
 templation — the return of reason to the soul on the instant she 
 was summoned into the presence of her Maker ! 
 
 " My kind, my beloved lord ! " added Butzou, "to me you 
 have indeed performed a Christian's part ; you have clothed, 
 sheltered and preserved me in your bosom. Blessed son of my 
 most honored master ! " 
 
 The good old man put the hand of Thaddeus to his lips. 
 Thaddeus could not speak. 
 
 "I am going, dear Sobieski," continued the general, in a 
 
Til ADD ECS OF WARSAW. 287 
 
 lower voice, " where I sliall meet your noble grandfather, your 
 mother, and my brave countrymen ; and if Heaven grants me 
 power, I will tell them by whose labor I have lived, on whose 
 breast I have expired." 
 
 Thaddeus could no longer restrain his tears. 
 
 " Dear, dear general 1 " exclaimed he, grasping his hand ; 
 " my grandfather, my mother, my country ! 1 lose them all 
 again in thee ! O ! would that the same summons took, me 
 hence ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " returned the dying man ; " Heaven reserves you, 
 my honored lord, for wise purposes. Youth and health are the 
 marks of commission : * you possess them, with virtues which 
 will bear you through the contest, /have done ; and my mer- 
 ciful Judge has evinced his pardon of my errors by sparing me 
 in my old age, and leading me to die with you." 
 
 Thaddeus pressed his friend's hand to his streaming eyes, 
 and promised to be resigned. iJutzou smiled his satisfaction ; 
 then closing his eyelids, he composed himself to a rest that was 
 neither sleep nor stupor, but a balmy serenity, which seemed to 
 be tempering his lately recovered soul for its immediate en- 
 trance on a world of eternal peace. 
 
 At nine o'clock hi:, breath became broken wdth quick sighs. 
 The count's heart trembled, and he drew closer to the pillow. 
 Butzou felt him ; and opening his eyes languidly, articulated, 
 " Raise my head." 
 
 Thaddeus put his arm under his neck, and Jifting him up, 
 reclined him against his bosom. Butzou grasped his hands, 
 and looking gratefully in his face, said, "The arms of a soldier 
 should be a soldier's death-bed. I am content." 
 
 He lay for a moment on the breast of the almost fainting 
 Thaddeus ; then suddenly quitting his hold, he cried, " I lose 
 you, Sobieski ! But there is " and he gazed fixedly for- 
 ward. 
 
 * I cannot but pause here, in revising the volume, to publicly express the emotion (grate- 
 ful to Heaven) 1 experienced on receiving a letter quoting these words, many, many years 
 ago. It was from the excellent Joseph Fox, the well-known Christian philanthropist of 
 our country, who spent both his fortune and hi:i life in establishing and sustaining several 
 of our be, t charitable and otherwise patriotic institutions. And once, when some of his 
 anxious friends wouid gladly have persuaded him to grant hunseif more persona! indulRcnces, 
 and to labor less in the then recently-begun plans for national education, he wrote *' to the 
 author of Thaddeus of Warsaw," and, quoting to her those words from the work, declared 
 " they were on his heart ! and he would, with the blessing of God, perform what he believed 
 to be his commission to the last powers of his youth and liealth." 
 
 This admirable man has now been long removed to his heavenly country — to the ever- 
 lasting dwelling-plac; of the just made perfect. And such recollections cannot but make 
 an hislorica'. novel-writer at least feel answerable for more, in his or her pages, than the 
 purposes of mere amusement. They guide by examples. Plutarch, in his lives of (Jrecian 
 and Roman Worthies taught more erfectualiy the heroic and virtuous science of life than 
 did all his piuloioplucal works put lo^eihcu 
 
288 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 "I am here,*' exclaimed the count, catching his motionless 
 hand. The dying general murmured a few words more, and 
 turning his face inward, breathed his last sigh on the bosom of 
 his last friend. 
 
 For a minute Sobieski continued incapable of thought or 
 action. When he recovered recollection, he withdrew from his 
 melancholy station. Laying the venerable remains back on 
 the bed, he did not trust his rallied faculties with a second 
 trial, but hastening down stairs, was met by Mrs. Robson. 
 
 '* My dear madam," said he, " all is over with my poor 
 friend. Will you do me the kindness to j^erform those duties 
 to his sacred relics which 1 cannot 1 " 
 
 Thaddeus would not allow any person to watch by his 
 friend's coffin besides himself. The meditations of this solitary 
 night presented to his sound and sensible mind every argument 
 rather to induce rejoicing than regret that the eventful life of 
 the brave Butzou was terminated. 
 
 " Yes, illustrious old man ! ' cried he, gazing on his mar- 
 ble features ; " if valor and virtue be the true sources of nobil- 
 ity, thou surely wast noble ! Inestimable defender of Stanis- 
 laus and thy country ! thou hast run a long and bright career ; 
 and though thou art fated to rest in the humble grave of 
 poverty, it will be embalmed by the tears of Heaven — it will be 
 engraven ow my heart." 
 
 Thaddeus did not weep whilst he spoke. Nor did he weep 
 when he beheld the mold of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, close 
 from his view the last remains of his friend. It began to rain. 
 The uncovered head of the officiating minister was wet ; and so 
 was that of a little delicate boy, in a black cloak, who stood 
 near, holding the aged rector's hat during the service. As the 
 shower descended faster. Dr. Cavendish put his arm through 
 the count's to draw him away, but he lingered an instant, look- 
 ing on the mold while the sexton piled it up. " Wretched 
 Poland ! " sighed he ; " how far from thee lies one of thy 
 bravest sons ! " The words were breathed in so low a mur- 
 mur, that none heard them except the ear of Heaven ! and 
 that little boy, whose gaze had been some time fixed on Thad- 
 deus, and whose gentle heart never forgot them. 
 
 Dr. Cavendish, regarding with redoubled pity the now 
 doubly desolated exile in this last resignation of his parental 
 friend to a foreign grave, attempted to persuade him to return 
 with him to dinner. He refused the kind invitation, alleging, 
 with a faint smile, that under every misfortune he found his 
 best comforter in solitude. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2S9 
 
 Respecting the resignation and manliness of this answer, 
 Doctor Cavendish urged him no furtlier ; but expressing his 
 regret that he could not see him again until the end of the 
 week, as he was obliged to go to Stanford next day on a 
 medical consultation, he shook hands with him at the door of 
 Mrs. Robson and bade him farewell. 
 
 Thaddeite entered his lonely room, and fell on his knees 
 before the " ark of his strength," — the Holy Book, that had 
 been the gift of his mother. The first page he opened pre- 
 sented to "him the very words which had poured consolation 
 into his sad heart, from the lips of the venerable clergyman 
 when he met him on his entrance into the church-porch before 
 the coffin of his friend ! 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He 
 that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet sliall he live ; 
 and whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die." 
 
 After reading this, how truly did the young mourner feel 
 that "Death had lost its sting—the grave its victory." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 DEEP ARE THE PURPOSES OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Next morning, when the Count Sobieski unfolded the 
 several packets of papers which were put into his hands by 
 little Nanny, he laid them one after the other on the table, and 
 sighing heavily, said to himself, " Now comes the bitterness of 
 poverty ! Heaven only knows by what means I shall pay these 
 heavy charges." 
 
 Mere personal privations, induced by his fallen fortunes, 
 excited little uneasiness in the mind of Thaddeus. As he 
 never had derived peculiar gratification from the enjoyment of 
 a magnificent house, splendid table, and numerous attendants, 
 he was contented in the field, where he slept on the bare 
 ground, and snatched his hasty meals at uncertain intervals. 
 Watching, rough fare, and other hardships were dust in the 
 path of honor ; he had dashed through them with light and 
 buoyant spirits ; and he repined as little at the actual wants of 
 his forlorn state in exile, until, compelled by friends'.iip to con- 
 tract demands which he could not defray, he was plunged at 
 once into the full horrors of poverty and debt. 
 
290 TIIADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 
 
 He looked at the amount of the bills. The apothecar}^'?* 
 was twelve pounds ; the funeral fifteen. Thaddeus turned pale. 
 The value of all that he possessed would not produce one half 
 of the sum ; besides, he owed five guineas to his good landlady, 
 for numerous little comforts procured for his deceased friend. 
 
 '•'■ Whatever be the consequence," cried he, " that excellent 
 woman shall not suffer by her humanity ! If I have to part 
 with the last memorial of those who were so dear, she shall be 
 repaid." 
 
 He scarcely had ceased speaking, when Nanny re-entered 
 the room, and told him the apothecary's young man and the 
 undertaker were both below, waiting for answers to their let- 
 ters. Reddening with disgust at the unfeeling haste of these 
 men, he desired Nanny to say that he could not see either of 
 them to-day, but would send to their houses to-morrow." 
 
 In consequence of this promise, the men made their bows 
 to Mrs. Robson (who too well guessed the reason of this mes- 
 sage), and took their leave. 
 
 When Thaddeus put the pictures of his mother and the 
 palatine, with other precious articles, into his pocket, he could 
 not forbear an internal invective against the thoughtless mean- 
 ness of the Misses Dundas, who had never offered any further 
 liquidation of the large sum they now stood indebted to huii 
 than the trifling note which had been transmitted to him, prior 
 to his attendance, through the hands of Lady Tinemouth. 
 
 Whilst his necessities reproached them for this illiberal 
 conduct, his proud heart recoiled at making a request to their 
 charity ; for he had gathered from the haughty demeanor of 
 Miss Diana that what he was entitled to demand would be 
 given, not as a just remuneration for labor received, but as 
 alms of humanity to an indigent emigrant. 
 
 "I would rather perish," cried he, putting on his hat, "than 
 ask that woman for a shilling," 
 
 When the count laid his treasure on the table of the worthy 
 pawnbroker, he desired to have the value of the settings of the 
 pictures, and the portraits themselves put into leather cases. 
 With the other little things, there were a pair of gold spurs, the 
 peculiar insignia of his princely rank, wdiich the palatine him- 
 self had buckled on his grandson's heels on mounting his noble 
 charger for his first field. There was a peculiar pang in part- 
 ing with these — a sort of last relic of what he had been ! But 
 there was no alternative : all that had any intrinsic value must 
 pass from him. 
 
 Having examined tlie setting of the miniatures, and the 
 
rrrAnnEUS of wars a w. 291 
 
 gold of the other trinkets, \vith that of the spurs (which their 
 hard service had sometiung marred), Mr. Lurket decLared, on 
 the word of an honest man, that he could not give more than 
 fifteen pounds. 
 
 With difficulty Thaddeus stifled as torturing a sigh as ever 
 distended his breast, whilst he said, 
 
 "I will take it. I only implore you to be careful of the 
 things, trifling as they are ; circumstances with which they 
 were connected render them valuably to me to redeem." 
 
 " You may depend on me, sir," replied the pawnbroker, 
 presenting him the notes and acknowledgment. 
 
 When Thaddeus took them, Mr. Burket's eye w^as caught by 
 the ring on his finger. , i 
 
 " That ring seems curious ? If you won't thmk me im- 
 pertinent, may I ask to look at it ? " -/ 
 
 The count pulled it off, and forcing a smile, replied, " I 
 suppose it is of little jewel value. The setting is slight, though 
 the painting is fine." 
 
 Burket breathed on the diamonds. *' If you were to sell 
 it," returned he, " I don't think it would fetch more than three 
 guineas. The diamonds are flawed, and the emeralds would 
 be of little use, being out of fashion here ; as for the miniature, 
 it goes for nothing." 
 
 " Of course," said Thaddeus, putting it on again; "but I 
 shall not part with it." While he drew on his glove, Mr. Bur- 
 ket asked him "whether the head were not intended for Uie 
 King of Poland ? " 
 
 The count, surprised, answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " I thought so," answered the man ; " it is very like two or 
 three prints which I had in my shop of that king."* Indeed, 
 I believe I have them somewhere now : these matters are but 
 a nine-day's wonder, and the sale is over." 
 
 His auditor did not clearly comprehend him, and he told 
 him so. 
 
 '• 1 meant nothing," continued he, " to the disparagement 
 of the King of Poland, or of any other great personage who is 
 much the subject of conversation. I only intended to say that 
 everything has its fashion. The ruin of Poland was the fash- 
 ionable topic for a month after it happened ; and now nobody 
 minds it — it is forgotten." 
 
 Thaddeus, in whose bosom all its miseries were written, 
 
 ■* The author has a very correct likeness of this mcmornble kinpr, copied from an original 
 miniature ; and it is not one of the least valued portraits in a little room which contains 
 those of several other heroes of different countrie.-,— friends and ga'.lant fucs. 
 
29? THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 with a clouded brow bowed to the remarks of Mr. Burket, and 
 \\\ silence quitted the shop. 
 
 Having arrived at home, he discharged his debt to the 
 worthy Mrs. Robson ; then entering his room, he laid the re- 
 mainder of his money on the bills of the two claimants. It 
 was unequal to the demands of either ; yet, in some measure 
 to be just to both, he determined on dividing it between them, 
 and to promise the liquidation of the rest by degrees. 
 
 Surely he might hope that, even should the Misses Dundas 
 entirely forget his claims on them, he could, in the course of 
 time make drawings sufficient to discharge the residue of the 
 debt ; but he was not permitted to put this calculation to the 
 trial. 
 
 When he called on the apothecary, and offered him only 
 half his demand, the man refused it with insolence, insisting 
 upon having the whole then, " or he would make him pay for 
 it ! " Unused to the language of compulsion and vulgarity, 
 the count quitted the shop saying "he was at liberty to act as 
 he thought fit." With no very serene countenance, he entered 
 \\\Q. undertaker's warehouse. This man was civil \ to him 
 Thaddeus gave the entire sum, half of which the apothecary 
 had rejected with so much derision. The undertaker's polite- 
 ness a little calmed the irritated feelings of the count, who re- 
 turned home musing on the vile nature of that class of man- 
 kind who can with indifference heap insult upon distress. 
 
 Judging men by his own disposition, he seldom gave cre- 
 dence to the possibility of such conduct. He had been told of 
 dastardly spirits, but never having seen them, and possessing 
 no archetype within his own breast of what he heard, the re- 
 peated relation passed over his mind without leaving an im- 
 pression. He had entered the world filled with animating 
 hopes of virtue and renown. He was virtuous ; he became 
 powerful, great, and renowned. Creation seemed paradise to 
 his eyes ; it was the task of adversity to teach him a different 
 lesson of mankind. Not less virtuous, not less great, his for- 
 tunes fell : he became poor. The perfidy, the hard-heartednes5 
 of man, made and kept him friendless. When he wanted suc- 
 cor and consolation, he found the world peopled by a race too 
 mean even to bear the stamp of the devil. 
 
 Whilst Sobieski was employed next morning at his drawing, 
 Mrs. Robson sent Nanny to say that there were two strange- 
 looking men below who wanted to speak with him. Not doubt- 
 ing they were messengers from the apothecary, he desired the 
 girl to show them up stairs. When they entered his room, the 
 
TI/ADDECS OF WARS AH''. 293 
 
 count rose. One of the men stepped forward, and laying a 
 slip of paper on the table, said, " I arrest yv'ii, sir, at the suit 
 of Messrs. Mncent and Jackson, apothecaries ! " 
 
 Thaddeus colored ; but suppressing his indignant emotion, 
 he calmly asked the men whither they were going to take him ? 
 
 "If you like," replied one of them, "you may be well 
 enough lodged. I never heard a word against Clement's iu 
 Wych Street." 
 
 " Is that a prison ? " inquired Thaddeus. 
 
 " No, not exactly that, sir," answered the other man, laugh- 
 ing. " You seem to know little of the matter, which, for a 
 Frenchman, is odd enough ; but mayhap you have never a lock- 
 upd-house in France, since ye pulled down the bastile ! How- 
 soever, if you pay well, Mr. Clements will give you lodgings as 
 long as you like. It is only poor rogues who are obligated to 
 go to Newgate ; such gemmen as you can live as ginteely in 
 Wych Street as at their own houses." 
 
 There was such an air of derision about this fellow while he 
 spoke, and glanced around the room, that Thaddeus, sternly 
 contracting his brows, took no further notice of him, but, turn- 
 ing towards his more civil companion, said : 
 
 " Has this person informed me rightly .? Am I going to a 
 prison, or am I not ? If I do not possess money to pay Mr. 
 Jackson, I can have none to spend elsewhere." 
 
 " Then you must go to Newgate ! " answered the man, in 
 as surly a tone as his comrade's had been insolent. 
 
 " I'll run for a coach, Wilson," cried the other, opening thQ 
 room door. 
 
 " I will not pay for one," said Thaddeus, at once compre- 
 hending the sort of wretches into whose custody he had fallen j 
 " follow me down stairs. I shall walk." 
 
 Mrs. Robson was in her shop as he passed to the street, 
 She called out, " You will come home to dinner, sir? " 
 
 " No," replied he ; " but you shall hear from me before 
 night." 
 
 "The men, winking at each other, sullenly pursued his 
 steps down the lane. In the Strand, Thaddeus asked them 
 which way he was to proceed ? " 
 
 " Straight on," cried one of them ; " most folks fmd the 
 road to a jail easy enough." 
 
 Involved in thought, the count walked forward, unmindful 
 of the stare which the well-known occupation of his attendants 
 attracted towards him. When he arrived at Somerset House, 
 one of the men stepped up to him, and said, " \\q are now 
 
294 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 nearly opposite Wych Street. You had better take your mind 
 again, and 2^0 there instead of Newgate. I don't think your 
 honor will like the debtor's hole." 
 
 Thaddeus, coldly thanking him, repeated his determination 
 to be led to Newgate. But when he beheld the immense walls, 
 within which he believed he should be immured for life, his 
 feet seemed rooted to the ground ; and when the massive doors 
 were opened and closed upon him, he felt as if suddenly de- 
 prived of the vital spring of existence. A mist spread over 
 his eyes, his soul shuddered, and with difficulty he followed the 
 men into the place where his commitment was to be ratified. 
 Here all the proud energies of his nature again rallied round 
 his heart. 
 
 The brutal questions of the people in office, re-echoed by 
 taunts from the wretches who had brought him to the prison, 
 were of a nature so much beneath his answering, that he stood 
 perfectly silent during the business ; and when dismissed, with- 
 out evincing any signs of discomposure, he followed the turn- 
 key to his cell. 
 
 One deal chair, a table, and a miserable bed, were all the 
 furniture it contained. The floor was paved with flags, and the 
 sides of the apartment daubled with disclored plaster, part of 
 which, having been peeled off by the damp, exposed to view 
 large spaces of the naked stones. 
 
 Before the turnkey withdrew he asked Thaddeus whether 
 he wanted anything ? 
 
 " Only a pen, ink, and paper." 
 
 The man held out his hand. 
 
 *' I have no money," replied Sobieski. 
 
 " Then you get nothing here," answered the fellow, pulling 
 the door after him. 
 
 Thaddeus threw himself on the chair, and in the bitterness 
 of his heart exclaimed, " Can these scoundrels be Christians ? 
 • — can they be men ? " He cast his eyes round him with the 
 wildness of despair. " Mysterious Heaven, can it be possible 
 that for a few guineas I am to be confined in this place for 
 life ? In these narrow bounds am I to waste my youth, my ex- 
 istence ? Even so ; I cannot, I will not, degrade the spirit of 
 Poland by imploring assistance from any native of a land in 
 which avarice has extinguished the feelings of humanity." 
 
 By the next morning, the first paroxysm of indignation hav- 
 ing subsided, Thaddeus entertained a cooler and more reason- 
 able opinion of his situation. He considered that though he 
 was a prisoner, it was in consequence of debts incurred in be- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 295 
 
 half of a friend whose latter hours were rendered less wretched 
 by such moans. Notwithstanding "all that man could do unto 
 him," h had brought an approving conscience to lighten the 
 gloom of his dungeon ; and resuming his wonted serenity, he 
 continued to distance the impertinent freedom of his jailers 
 by a calm dignity, which extorted civility and commanded re- 
 spect. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 AN ENGLISH PRISON. 
 
 Several days elapsed without the inhabitants of Harley 
 Street hearing any tidings of Thaddeus. 
 
 Miss Dundas never bestowed a thought on his absence, ex- 
 cept when, descanting on her favorite subject, " the insolence 
 of dependent people," she alleged his daring to withdraw him- 
 self as an instance. Miss Euphemia uttered all her complaints 
 to iVIiss Beaufort, whom she accused of not being satisfied with 
 seducing the affections of Mr. Constantine, but she must also 
 spirit him away, lest by remorse he should be induced to renew 
 his former devotion at the shrine of her tried constancy. 
 
 Mary found these secret conferences very frequent and very 
 teasing. She believed neither the count's past devoirs to 
 Euphemia nor his present allegiance to herself. With anxiety 
 she watched the slow decline of every succeeding day, hoping 
 that each knock at the door would present either himself or an 
 apology for his absence. 
 
 In vain her reason urged the weakness and folly of giving 
 way to the influence of a sentiment as absorbing as it was un- 
 foreseen. " It is not his personal graces," murmured she, 
 whilst her dewy eyes remained riveted on the floor ; " they have 
 not accomplished this effect on me ! No ; matchless as he is, 
 though his countenance, when illumined by the splendors of his 
 mind, expresses consummate beauty, yet my heart tells me I 
 would rather see all that perfection demolished than lose one 
 beam of those bright charities which first attracted my esteem. 
 Yes, Constantine!" cried she, rising in agitation, "I could 
 adore thy virtues were they even in the bosom of deformity. 
 It is these that I love ; it is these that are thyself ! it is thy 
 
2()6 'IIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 noble, godlike soul that so entirely fills my heart, and must for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 She recalled the hours which, in his society, had glided so 
 swiftly by to pass in review before her. They came, and her 
 tears redoubled. Neither his words nor his looks had been 
 kinder to her than to Miss Egerton or to Lady Sara Ross. She 
 remembered his wild action in the park : it had transported her 
 at the moment ; it even now made her heart throb ; but she 
 ceased to believe it intended more than an animated expression 
 of gratitude. 
 
 An adverse apprehension seemed to have taken possession 
 of her breast. In proportion to the vehemence of INIiss Euphe- 
 mia's reproaches (who insisted on the passion of Thaddeus 
 for Mary), she the more doubted the evidence of those delight- 
 ful emotions which had rushed over her soul when she found 
 her hand so fervently pressed in his. 
 
 Euphemia never made a secret of the tenderness she pro- 
 fessed ; and Miss Beaufort having been taught by her own heart 
 to read distinctly the eyes of Lady Sara, the result of her obser- 
 vations had long acted as a caustic on her peace ; it had often 
 robbed her cheeks of their bloom, and compelled her to number 
 the lingering nnnutes of the night with sighs. But her deep 
 and modest fiame assumed no violence ; removed far from sight, 
 it burnt the more intensely. 
 
 Instead of over-valuing the fine person of Thaddeus, the 
 encomiums which it extorted, even from the lips of prejudice, 
 occasioned one source of her pain. She could not bear to think 
 it probable that the man whom she believed, and knew, to be 
 gifted with every attribute of goodness and of heroism, might 
 one day be induced to sacrifice the rich treasure of his mind to 
 a creature who would select him from the rest merely on ac- 
 count of his external superiority. 
 
 Such was the train of Mary's meditations. Covering her 
 face with her handkerchief, she exclaimed in a tender and 
 broken voice, " Ah, why did I leave my quiet home to expose 
 myself to the vicissitudes of society ? Sequestered from the 
 world, neither its pageants nor its mortifications could have 
 reached me there. I have seen thee, matchless Constantine ! 
 Like a bright planet, thou has passed before me ! — like a being 
 of a superior order! And I never, never can debase my nature 
 to change that love. Thy image shall follow me into solitude 
 — shall consecrate mv fouI to the practice of every virtue ! I 
 will emulate thy excellence, when, perhaps, thou hast forgotten 
 that 1 exist.' 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2C)'J 
 
 The fit of despondence which threatened to succeed this hist 
 melancholy reflection was interrupted by the sudden entrance 
 of Euphemia. Miss Beaufort hastily rose, and drew her ringlets 
 over her eyes. 
 
 " O, Alary ! " cried the little beauty, holding up her pretty 
 hands, "what do you think has happened ? " 
 
 " What ? " demanded she in alarm, and hastening towards 
 the door; " anything to my aunt ? " 
 
 " No, no," answered Euphemia, catching her by the arm ; 
 " but could my injured heart derive satisfaction from revenge, 
 I should now be happy. Punishment has overtaken the faith- 
 less Constantine." 
 
 j\Iiss Beaufort looked aghast, and grasping the back of the 
 chair to prevent her from falling, breathlessly inquired what she 
 meant ? 
 
 " Oh ! he is sent to prison," cried Euphemia, not regarding 
 the real agitation of her auditor (so much was she occupied in 
 appearing overwhelmed herself), and wringing her hands, she 
 continued, "That frightful wretch Mr. Lascelles is just come 
 in to dinner. You cannot think with what fiendish glee he told 
 me that several days ago, as he was driving out of town, he saw 
 Mr. Constantine, with two bailiffs behind him, walking down 
 Fleet Street ! And, besides, I verily believe he said he had 
 irons on." 
 
 " No, no ! " ejaculated Mary, with a cry of terror, at this ^^ 
 libitnvi of Euphemia's ; " what can he have done ? '' 
 
 " Bless me I " returned Euphemia, staring at her pale face ; 
 " why, what frightens you so? Does not everybody run in 
 debt, without minding it ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort shook her head, and looking distractedly 
 about, put her hand to her forehead. Euphemia, determining 
 not to be outdone in " tender woe," drew forth her handker- 
 chief, and putting it to her eyes, resumed in a piteous tone — 
 
 " I am sure I shall hate Lascelles all my life, because he 
 did not stop the men and inquire what jail they were taking 
 him to ? You know, my dear, you and I might have visited 
 him. It would have been delightful to have consoled his sad 
 hours ! We might have planned his escape." 
 
 " In irons ! " ejaculated ]\Iary, raising her tearless eyes to 
 heaven. 
 
 Euphemia colored at the agonized manner in which these 
 words were reiterated, and rather confusedly replied, " Not 
 absolutely in irons. You know that is a metaphorical term for 
 captivity." 
 
298 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 "Then he was not in irons?" cried Miss Beaufort, seizing 
 her hand eagerly : " for Heaven's sake, tell me he was not in 
 irons ? " 
 
 " Why, then," returned Euphemia, half angry at being 
 obliged to contradict herself, "if you are so dull of taste, and 
 cannot understand poetical language, I must tell you he was 
 not." 
 
 Mary heard no further, but even at the moment, overcome 
 by a revulsion of joy, sunk, unable to speak, into the chair. 
 
 Euphemia, supposing she had fainted, fiew to the top of the 
 stairs, and shrieking violently, stood wringing her hands, until 
 Diana and Lady Dundas, followed by several gentlemen, has- 
 tened out of the saloon and demanded what was the matter ? 
 As Euphemia pointed to Miss Beaufort's dressing-room, she 
 staggered, and sinking into the arms of Lord Elesmere, fell 
 into the most outrageous hysterics. The marquis, who had 
 just dropped in on his return from St. James's, was so afraid 
 of the agitated lady's tearing his point-lace ruffles, that, in al- 
 most as trembling a state as herself, he gladly shuffled her into 
 the hands of her maid ; and scampering down stairs, as if all 
 Bedlam were at his heels, sprung into his vis-d-vis, and drove 
 off like lightning. 
 
 When Miss Beaufort recovered her scattered senses, and 
 beheld this influx of persons entering her room, she tried to 
 dispel her confusion, and rising gently from her seat, while 
 supporting herself on the arm of Miss Dorothy's maid, thanked 
 the company for their attention and withdrew into her chamber. 
 
 Meanwhile, Euphemia, who had been carried down into the 
 saloon, thought it time to raise her lily head and utter a few 
 incoherent words. The instant they were breathed, Miss Dun- 
 das and Mr. Lascelles, in one voice, demanded what was the 
 matter > 
 
 " Has not Mary told you ? " returned her sister, languidly 
 opening her eyes. 
 
 " No," answered Lascelles, rubbing his hands with delighted 
 curiosity ; " come, let us have it." 
 
 Euphemia, pleased at this, and loving mystery with all her 
 heart, waved her hand solemnly, and in an awful tone replied, 
 " Then it passes not my lips." 
 
 "What, Phemy ! " cried he, "you want us to believe you 
 have seen a ghost .? But you forget, they don't walk at mid- 
 day." 
 
 " Believe what you like," returned she, with an air of con- 
 sequential contempt ; " I am satisfied to keep the secret." 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 299 
 
 Miss Dundas burst into a provokinj]^ laiigli ; and calling 
 her tlie most incorrigible little idiot in tlie world, encouraged 
 Lascelles to fool her to the top of his bent. Determining to 
 gratify his spleen, if he could not satisfy his curiosity, this wit- 
 less coxcomb continued the whole day in Harley Street, for the 
 mere pleasure of tormenting Euphemia. From the dinner hour 
 until twelve at night, neither his drowsy fancy nor wakeful mal- 
 ice could find one other weapon of assault than the stale jokes 
 of mysterious chambers, lovers incognito, or the silly addition 
 of two Cupid-struck sweeps popping down the chimney to pay 
 their addresses to the fair friends. Diana talked of Jupiter 
 with his thunder ; and patting her sister under tlie chin, added, 
 " I cannot doubt that Miss Beaufort is the favored Semele ; 
 but, my dear, you over-acted your character ? As confidant, a 
 few tears were enough when your lady fainted," During these 
 attacks, Euphemia reclined ponipously on a sofa, and not 
 deigning a reply, repelled them with much conceit and haughti- 
 ness. 
 
 Miss Beaufort remained above an hour alone in her cham- 
 ber before she ventured to go near her aunt. Hurt to the soul 
 that the idle folly of Euphemia should have aroused a terror 
 which had completely unveiled to the eyes of that inconsiderate 
 girl the empire which Thaddeus held over her fate, Mary, over- 
 whelmed with shame, and arraigning her easy credulity, threw 
 herself on her bed. 
 
 Horror-struck at hearing he was led along the streets in 
 chains, she could have no other idea but that, betrayed into 
 the commission of some dreadful deed, he had become amen- 
 able to the laws, and might suffer an ignominious death. Those 
 thoughts having rushed at once on her heart, deprived her of 
 self-command. In the conviction of some fatal rencontre, she 
 felt as if her life, her honor, her soul, were annihilated. And 
 when, in consequence of her agonies, Euphemia confessed that 
 she had in this last matter told a falsehood, the sudden peace 
 to her soul had for an instant assumed the appearance of in- 
 sensibility. 
 
 Before Miss Beaufort quitted her room, various plans were 
 suggested by her anxiety and inexperience, how to release the 
 object of her thoughts. She found no hesitation in believing 
 him poor, and perhaps rendered wretchedly so by the burden 
 of that sick friend, who, she suspected, might be a near rela- 
 tion. At any rate, she resolved that another sun should not 
 pass over her head and shine on him in a prison. Having de- 
 termined to pay his debts herself, she next thought of how she 
 
2^-,o THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 mi^hc manage the affair without discovering the hand whence 
 the assistance came. Had her aunt been well enough to leave 
 the house, she would not have scrupled unfolding to her the 
 recent calamity of Mr. Constantine. But well aware that Miss 
 Dorothy's maidenly nicety would be outraged at a young woman 
 appearing the sole movei in such an affair, she conceived her- 
 self obliged to withhold her confidence at present, and to de- 
 cide on prosecuting the whole transaction alone. 
 
 In consequence of these meditations, her spirits became 
 less discomposed. Turning towards Miss Dorothy Somerset's 
 apartments, she found the good lady sipping her coffee. 
 
 " What is this I have just heard, my dear Mary t Williams 
 tells me you have been ill ! " 
 
 Miss Beaufort returned her aunt's gracious inquiry with an 
 affectionate kiss ; and informing her that she had only been 
 alarmed by an invention of Miss Euphemia's, begged that the 
 subject might drop, it being merely one out of the many 
 schemes which she believed that young lariy had devised to 
 render her visit to London as little pleasant as possible. 
 
 "Ah!" replied Miss Dorothy, "I hope I shall be well 
 enough to travel in the course of a few days. I can now walk 
 with a stick ; and upon my word, I am heartily tired both of 
 Lady Dundas and her daughters." I 
 
 Mary expressed similar sentiments ; but as the declaration 
 passed her lips, a sigh almost buried the last word. Go when 
 she would, she must leave Constantine behind ; leave him 
 without an expectation of beholding him more — without a hope 
 of penetrating the thick cloud which involved him, and with 
 which he had ever baffled any attempt she had heard to dis- 
 cover his birth or misfortunes. She wept over this refinement 
 on delicacy, and " loved him dearer for his mystery." 1 
 
 When the dawn broke next morning, it shone on Miss Beau- 
 fort's yet unclosed eyes. Sleep could find no languid faculty in 
 her head whilst her heart was agitated with plans for the relief 
 of Thaddeus. The idea of visiting the coffee-house to which 
 she knew the Misses Dundas directed their letters, and of ask- 
 ing questions about a young and handsome man, made her 
 timidity shrink. ■ 
 
 "But," exclaimed she, "I am going on an errand which I 
 ought not to spread a blush on the cheek of prudery itself. I 
 am going to impart alleviation to the sufferings of the noblest 
 creature that ever walked the earth ! " , 
 
 Perhaps there are few persons who, being auditors of this 
 speech, would have decided quite so candidly on the superla- 
 
Til ADD ECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 301 
 
 tive by which it was concluded. !Mary herself was not wholly 
 dixested of doubt about the issue of her conduct ; but con- 
 scious that her motive was pure, she descended to the break- 
 fast-room with a quieter mind than countenance. 
 
 Never before having- had occasion to throw a gloss on her 
 actions, she scarcely looked up during breakfast. When the 
 cloth was removed, she rose suddenly from her chair, and turn- 
 ing to Miss Dorothy, who sat at the other end of the parlor, 
 with her foot on a stool, said in a low voice, "Good-by, aunt ! 
 I am going to make some particular calls ; but I shall be back 
 in a few hours." Luckily, no one observed her blushing face 
 whilst she spoke, nor the manner in which she shook hands 
 with the old lady and hurried out of the room. 
 
 Breathless with confusion, she could scarceV stand when 
 she arrived in her own chamber ; but aware that no time ought 
 to be lost, she tied on a long, light silk cloak, of sober gray, 
 over her white morning-dress, and covering her head with a 
 Ftraw summer bonnet, shaded by a black lace veil, hesitated a 
 moment within her chamber-door — her eyes filling with tears, 
 drawn from her heart by that pure spirit of truth which had 
 ever been the guardian of her conduct ! Looking up to heaven, 
 she sunk on her knees, and exclaimed with impetuosity, 
 " Father of mercy ! thou only knowest my heart ! Direct me, 
 I beseech thee ! Let me not commit anything unworthy of 
 myself nor of the unhappy Constantine — for whom I would 
 sacrifice my life, but not my duty to thee ! " 
 
 Reassured by the confidence which this sim'ple act of 
 devotion inspired, she took her parasol and descended the 
 stairs. The porter was aione in the hall. She inquired for her 
 servant. 
 
 " He is not returned, madam," 
 
 Having foreseen the necessity of getting rid of all attendants, 
 she had purposely sent her footman on an errand as far as Ken- 
 sington. 
 
 " It is of no consequence," returned she to the porter, wlio 
 was just going to propose one of Lady Dundas's men, " I can- 
 not meet with anything disagreeable at this time of day, so I 
 shall walk alone." 
 
 The man opened the door ; and with a bounding heart 
 Mary hastened down the street, crossed the square, and at the 
 bottom of Orchard Street stepped into a hackney-coach, which 
 she ordered to drive to Slaughter's Coffee-house, St. Martin's 
 Lane. 
 
 She drew up the glasses and closed her eyes. Various 
 
302 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 thoughts agitated her anxious mind whilst the carriage rolled 
 along ; and when it drew up at the coffee-house, she involun- 
 tarily retreated into the corner. The coach-door was opened. 
 
 " Will you alight, ma'am ? " 
 
 *' No ; call a waiter." 
 
 A waiter appeared ; and Miss Beaufort, in a tolerably 
 collected voice, inquired whether Mr. Constantine lived there ? 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 A cold dew stood on her forehead ; but taking courage from 
 a latent and last hope, she added, " I know he has had letters 
 directed to this place." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon, ma'am ! " returned the man re- 
 collecting himself ; " I remember a person of that name has 
 received letters from hence, but they were always fetched away 
 by a little girl." 
 
 " And do you not know where he lives ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am," answered he; "yet some one else in the 
 house may ; I will inquire." 
 
 Miss Beaufort bowed her head in token of acknowledgment, 
 and sat shivering with suspense until he returned, followed by 
 another man. 
 
 "This person, ma'am," resumed he, " says he can tell you.'* 
 
 "Thank you, thank you!" cried Mary; then, blushing at 
 her eagerness, she stopped and drev/ back into the carriage. 
 
 " I cannot for certain," said the man, "but I know the girl 
 very well by sight who comes for the letters ; and I have often 
 seen her standing at the door of a chandler's shop a good way 
 down the lane. I think it is No. 5, or 6. I sent a person there 
 who came after the same gentleman about a fortnight ago. I 
 dare say he lives there." 
 
 Miss Beaufort's expectations sunk again, when she found 
 that she had nothing but a dare say to depend on ; and giving 
 half-a-crown to each of her informers, she desired the coachman 
 to drive as they would direct him. 
 
 While the carriage drove down the lane, with a heart full of 
 fears she looked from side to side, almost believing she should 
 know by intuition the house which had contained Constantine. 
 When the man checked his horses, and her eyes fell on the 
 little mean dwelling of Mrs. Robscn, she smothered a deep sigh. 
 
 " Can this be the house in which Constantine has lived ? 
 How comfortless ! And should it not," thought she, as the 
 man got off the box to inquire, " whither shall I go for infor- 
 mation ? " 
 
 The appearance of Mrs. Robson, and her immediate affirm- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 303 
 
 ative to the question, " Are these Mr. Constantine's loclginp:s ? " 
 at once dispelled this last anxiety. Encouraged by the motherly 
 expression of the good \voman's manner, Mary begged leave to 
 alight. Mrs, Robson readily offered her arin, and with many 
 apologies for the disordered state of the house, led her upstairs 
 to the room which had been the count's house. 
 
 Mary trembled ; but seeing that everything depended on 
 self-command, with apparent tranquillity she received the chair 
 that was presented to her, and turning her eyes from the books 
 and drawings which told her so truly in whose apartment she 
 was, she desired Mrs. Robson, who continued standing, to be 
 seated. The good woman obeyed. After some trepidation, 
 Mary asked where Mr. Constantine was ? Mrs. Robson colored, 
 and looking at her questioner for some time, as if doubting what 
 to say, burst into tears. 
 
 ]\iiss Beaufort's ready eyes were much inclined to flow \\ 
 concert ; but subduing the strong emotions which shook her, 
 she added, " I do not come hither out of impertinent curiosity. 
 I have heard of the misfortunes of Tvlr. Constantine. I am 
 well known to his friends." 
 
 " Dear lady ! " cried the good woman, grasping at any pros- 
 pect of succor to her benefactor: "if he has friends, whoever 
 they are, tell them he is the noblest, most humane gentleman in 
 the world. Tell them he has saved me and mine from the 
 deepest want ; and now he is sent to prison because he cannot 
 pay the cruel doctor who attended the poor dead general." 
 
 "What! is his friend dead.?" ejaculated Mary, unable to 
 restrain the tears which now streamed over her face. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Robson ; " poor old gentleman ! he is 
 dead, sure enough ; and. Heaven knows, many have been the 
 dreary hours the dear young man has watched by his pillow! 
 He died in that room." 
 
 Miss Beaufort's swimming eyes would not allow her to dis- 
 cern objects through the open door of that apartment within 
 which the heart of Thaddeus had undergone such variety of 
 misery. Forming an irresistible wish to know whether the de- 
 ceased were any relation of Constantine, she paused a moment 
 to compose the agitation which might betray her, and then 
 asked the question. 
 
 " I thought, ma'am," replied Mrs. Robson, "you said you 
 knew his friends ? " 
 
 " Only his English ones," returned Mary, a little confused 
 at the suspicion this answer implied ; " I imagined that this 
 old gentleman might have been his father or an uncle, or " 
 
204 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " O no,'' interrupted Mrs. Robson, sorrowfully ; " he hns 
 neither father, mother nor uncle in the wide world. He once 
 told me they were all dead, and that he saw them die. Alas ! 
 sweet soul ! What a power of griefs he must have seen in his 
 young life ! But Heaven will favor his at last ; for thought he 
 is in misfortune himself, he has been a blessing to the widow 
 and the orphan ! " 
 
 " Do you know the amount of his debts ? " asked ^Miss 
 Beaufort. 
 
 "Not more than twenty pounds," returned !Mrs. Robson, 
 "when they took him out of this room, a week ago, and hurried 
 him away without letting me know a w^ord of the matter. I 
 beheve to this hour I should not have known where he was, if 
 that cruel Mr. Jackson had not come to demand all that Mr. 
 Constantine left in my care. But I would not let him have it. 
 I told him if my lodger had filled my house with bags of gold, 
 he should not touch a shilling ; ancl then he abused me, and 
 told me Mr. Constantine was in Newgate." 
 
 " In Newgate ! " 
 
 " Yes, madam. I immediately ran there, and found him 
 more able to comfort me than I was able to speak to him." 
 
 " Then be at rest, my good woman," returned Miss Beau- 
 fort, rising from her chair; "when you next hear of ]\Ir. 
 Constantine, he shall be at liberty. He has friends who will 
 not sleep till he is out of prison." 
 
 " May Heaven bless you and them, dear lady ! " cried Mrs. 
 Robson, weeping with joy ; " for they will relieve the most 
 generous heart alive. But I must tell you," added she, with 
 recollecting energy, " that the costs of the business with raise 
 it to some pounds more. For that wicked Jackson, getting 
 frightened to stand alone in what he had done, went and per- 
 suaded poor weak-minded Mr. Watson, the undertaker, to put 
 in a detainer against Mr. Constantine for the remainder of his 
 bill. So I fear it will be full thirty pounds before his kind 
 friends can release him." 
 
 Mary replied, " Be not alarmed : all shall be done." While 
 she spoke, she cast a wistful look on the drawings on the 
 bureau ; then withdrawing her eyes with a deep sigh, she de- 
 scended the stairs. At the street-door she took Mrs. Robson's 
 hand, and not relinquishing it until she was seated in the coach, 
 pressed it warmly, and leaving within it a purse of twenty 
 guineas, ordered the man to return whence he came. 
 
 Now that the temerity of going herself to learn the parti- 
 culars of Mr. Constantine's fate had been achieved, determined 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 305 
 
 as she was not to close her eyes whilst the man whom she 
 vahied above her Hfe remained a prisoner and in sorrow, she 
 thou::;ht it best to consult with Miss Dorothy respecting the 
 speediest means of compassing his emancipation. 
 
 In Oxford Road she desired the coachman to proceed to 
 Harley Street. She alighted at Lady Dundas's door, paid him 
 liis fare, and stepped into the hall before she perceived that a 
 travelling-carriage belonging to her guardian had driven away 
 to afford room for her humble equipage. 
 
 " Is Sir Robert Somerset come to town t " she hastily in- 
 quired of the porter. 
 
 " No, madam ; but Mr. Somerset is just arrived." 
 
 The next minute Miss Beaufort was in the drawing-room, 
 and clasped within the arms of her cousin. 
 
 " Dear Mary ! " — '' Dear Pembroke ! *' were the first words 
 which passed between these two affectionate relatives. 
 
 Miss Dorothy, v\-ho doted on her nephev/, taking his hand 
 as he seated himself between her and his cousin, said, in a con- 
 gratulatory voice, " Mary, our dear boy has come to town 
 purposely to take us down." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," rejoined he ; " my father is moped to death 
 for want of you both. You know I am a sad renegade ! Lord 
 Avon and Mr. Loftus have been gone these ten days to his 
 lordship's aunt's in Bedfordshire ; and Sir Robert is so com- 
 pletely weary of solitude, that he has commanded me " — bow- 
 ing to the other ladies — '• to run off with all the fair inhabitants 
 of this house sooner than leave you behind." 
 
 " I shall be happy at another opportunity to visit Somerset 
 Hall," returned Lady Dundas ; "but I am constrained to spend 
 this summer in Dumbartonshire. I have not yet seen the estate 
 my poor dear Sir Hector bought of the Duke of Dunbar." 
 
 Pembroke offered no attempt to shake this resolution. In 
 the two or three morning calls he had formerly made with Sir 
 Robert Somerset on the rich widow, he saw sufficient to make 
 him regard her arrogant vulgarity with disgust ; and for her 
 daughters, they were of too artificial a stamp to occupy his mind 
 any longer than with a magic-lantern impression of a tall woman 
 with bold eyes, and the prettiest yet most affected little fairy he 
 had ever beheld. 
 
 After half an hour's conversation with this family group, 
 Miss Beaufort sunk into abstraction. During the first month 
 of Mary's acquaintance with Thaddeus, she did not neglect to 
 mention in her correspondence with Pembroke having met with 
 a very interesting and accomplished emigrant, in the capacity 
 
3o6 . THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 of a tutor at Lady Dundas's. But her cousin, in his replies, 
 beginning to banter her on pity being allied to love, she had 
 gradually dropped all mention of Constantine's name, as she 
 too truly found by what insensible degrees the union had taken 
 place within her own breast. She remembered these particulars, 
 whilst a new method of accomplishing her present project 
 suggested itself; and determining (however extraordinary her 
 conduct might seem) to rest on the rectitude of her motives, a 
 man being the most proper person to transact such a business 
 with propriety, she resolved to engage Pembroke for her agent, 
 without troubling Miss Dorothy about the affair. 
 
 So deeply was she absorbed in these reflections, that Somer- 
 set, observing her vacant eye fixed on the opposite window, 
 took her hand with an arch sm.ile, and exclaimed. 
 
 "Mary! What is the matter ? I hope. Lady Dundas, you 
 have not suffered any one to run away with her heart t You 
 know I am her cousin, and it is my inalienable right." 
 
 Lady Dundas replied that young ladies best know their own 
 secrets. 
 
 "That may be, madam," rejoined he; "but I won't allow 
 Miss Beaufort to know anything that she does not transfer to 
 me. Is not that true, Mary.? " 
 
 *' Yes," whispered she, coloring ; " and the sooner you afford 
 me an opportunity to interest you in one, the more I shall be 
 obliged to you." 
 
 Pembroke pressed her hand in token of assent ; and a 
 desultory conversation continuing for another half-hour, I^Iiss 
 Beaufort, who dreaded the wasting one minute in a day so 
 momentous to her peace, sat uneasily until her aunt proposed 
 retiring to her dressing-room a while, and requested Pembroke 
 to assist her up stairs. 
 
 When he returned to the drawing-room, to his extreme sat- 
 isfaction he found all the party were gone to prepare for their 
 usual drives, excepting Miss Beaufort, who was standing by one 
 of the windows, lost in thought. He approached her, and tak- 
 ing her hand — 
 
 " Come, my dear cousin," said he, " how can I oblige you ?" 
 
 Mary struggled with her confusion. PLid she loved 
 Thaddeus less, she found she could with greater ease have 
 related the interest which she took in his fate. She tried to 
 speak distinctly, and she accomplished it, although her burning 
 check and downcast look told to the fixed eye of Pembroke 
 what she vainly attempted to conceal. 
 
 *'You can, indeed, oblige me! You must remember ;i '\\x. 
 Constantine ! I once mentioned him to you in my letters." 
 
rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 307 
 
 " I do, Mary. You thought him amiable ! ' 
 
 " He was tlie intimate friend of Lady Tinemouth," returned 
 she, striving to look up ; but the piercing expression she met 
 from tlie eyes of Somerset, beating hers down again, covered 
 her face and neck with deeper bkishes. She panted for breath. 
 
 " Rely on me/' said Pembroke, pitying her embarrassment, 
 whilst he dreaded that her gentle heart had indeed become the 
 victim of some accomplished and insidious foreigner — " rely on 
 mc, my beloved cousin : consider me as a brother. If you have 
 entan2;led yourself -" 
 
 Miss Beaufort guessed what he would say, and interrupting 
 him, added, with a more assured air, "No, Pembroke, I have 
 no entanglements. I am going to ask your friendly assi:>tance 
 in behalf of a brave and unfortunate Polander." Pembroke 
 reddened and she went on. " Mr. Constantine is a gentleman. 
 Lady Tinemouth tells me he has been a soldier, and that he 
 lost all his possessions in the ruin of his country. Her lady- 
 ship introduced him here. I have seen him often, and I know 
 him to be worthy the esteem of every honorable heart. He is 
 now in prison, in Newgate, for a debt of about thirty pounds, 
 and I ask you to go and release him. That is my request— my 
 secret ; and I confide in your discretion that you will keep it 
 even from him." 
 
 " Generous, beloved Mary ! " cried Pembroke, pressing her 
 hand ; " it is thus you always act. Possessed of all the softness 
 of thy sex, dearest girl," 'added he, still more affectionately, 
 "nature has not alloyed it with one particle of weakness ! " 
 
 Miss Beaufort smiled and sighed. If to love tenderly, to 
 be devoted life and soul to one being, whom she considered as 
 the most perfect work of creation, be weakness, Mary was the 
 weakest of the weak ; and with a languid despondence at her 
 heart, she was opening her lips to give some directions to her 
 cousin, when the attention of both was arrested by a shrill noise 
 of speakers talking above stairs. Before the cousins had time 
 to make an observation, the disputants descended towards the 
 drawing-room, and bursting open the door with a violent clamor, 
 presented the enraged figure of Lady Dundas followed by Diana, 
 who, with a no less swollen countenance, was scolding vocifer- 
 ously, and dragging forward the weeping Euphemia. 
 
 " Ladies ! ladies ! " exclaimed Somerset, amazed at so ex- 
 traordinary a scene ; " what has happened ? " 
 
 Lady Dundas lifted up her clenched hand in a passion. 
 
 " A jade !— a hussy ! " cried her vulgar ladyship, incapable 
 of articulating: more. 
 
3o8 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Miss Dundas, still grasping the hands of her struggling 
 sister, broke out next, and turning furiously towards Mary, ex- 
 claimed, "You see, madam, what disgrace your ridiculous 
 conduct to that vagabond foreigner has brought on our family ! 
 This bad girl has followed your example, and done worse — she 
 has fallen in love with him ! '' 
 
 Shocked, and trembling at so rude an accusation. Miss 
 Beaufort was unable to speak. Lost in wonder, and incensed 
 at his cousin's goodness having been the dupe of imposition, 
 Pembroke stood silent, whilst Lady Dundas took up the subject. 
 
 "A}'," cried she, shaking her daughter by the shoulder, 
 " you little minx ! if your sister had not picked up these abomi- 
 nable verses you chose to write on the absence of this beggarly 
 fellow, I suppose you would have finished the business by run- 
 ning off with him ! But you shall go down to Scotland, and be 
 locked up for months. I won't have Sir Hector Dundas's 
 family disgraced by a daughter of mine." 
 
 " For pity's sake. Lady Dundas," said Pembroke, stepping 
 between her shrewish ladyship and the trembling Euphemia, 
 *' do compose yourself. I dare say your daughter is pardonable. 
 In these cases, the fault in general lies with our sex. We are 
 the deluders." 
 
 Mary was obliged to reseat herself ; and in pale attention 
 she listened for the reply of the affrighted Euphemia, who, half 
 assured that her whim of creating a mutual passion in the 
 breast of Thaddeus was no longer tenable, without either shame 
 or remorse she exclaimed, " Indeed, Mr. Somerset, you are 
 right ; I never should have thought of Mr. Constantine if he 
 had not teased me every time he came with his devoted love." 
 
 Miss Beaufort rose hastily from her chair. Though Eu- 
 phemia colored at the suddenness of this motion, and the im- 
 mediate flash she met from her eye, she went on : "I know 
 Miss Beaufort will deny it, because she thinks he is in love 
 with her ; but indeed, indeed, he has sworn a thousand times 
 on his knees that he was a Russian nobleman in disguise, and 
 adored me above every one else in the world." 
 
 " Villain ! " cried Pembroke, inflamed with indignation at 
 his double conduct. Afraid to read in the expressive counte- 
 nance of Mary her shame and horror at this discovery, he turned 
 his eyes on her with trepidation ; when, to his surprise, he be- 
 held her standing perfectly unmoved by the side of the sofa 
 from which she had arisen. She advanced with a calm step 
 towards Euphemia, and taking hold of the hand which concealed 
 her face whilst uttering this last falsehood, she drew it away, 
 
r II AD DEC'S or WARSAW. 
 
 309 
 
 and regarding her with a serene but penelraiing look, she said : 
 " Euphemia ! you well know that you are sLanderiug an inno- 
 cent and unfortunate man. You know that never in his life 
 did he t;ive you the slightest reason to suppose that he was 
 attached to you ; for myself, I can also clear him of making: 
 professions to me. Upon the honor of my word, I declare," 
 added she, addressing herself to the whole group, " that lie 
 never breathed a sentence to me beyond mere respect. By 
 this last deviation of Euphemia from truth, you may form an 
 estimate how far the'rest she has alleged deserves credit." 
 
 The young lady burst into a vehement passion of tears. 
 
 " I will not be browbeaten and insulted, Miss Beaufort ! '* 
 cried she, taking refuge in noise, since right had deserted her. 
 " You know you would fight his battles through thick and thin, 
 else you would not have fallen into fits yesterday when I told 
 you he w^as sent to jail." 
 
 This last assault struck Mary motionless ; and Lady Dundas, 
 lifting up her hands, exclaimed, " Good la ! keep m'e from the 
 forward misses of these times ! As for you, Miss Euphemia," 
 added she, seizing her daughter by the arm, "you shall leave 
 town to-morrow morning. I will have no more tutoring end 
 falling in love in my house ; and for you. Miss Beaufort," turn- 
 ing to Mary, (who, having recovered herself, stood calmly at a 
 little distance,) " I shall take care to warn Aliss Dorothy Som- 
 erset to keep an eye over your conduct." 
 
 " Madam," replied she, indignantly, " I shall never do any- 
 thing which can dishonor either my family or myself ; and of 
 that Miss Dorothy Somerset is too well assured to doubt for 
 an instant, even should calumny be as busy with me as it has 
 been injurious to Mr. Constantine." 
 
 With the words of Mrs. Robson suddenly reverberating on 
 her heart, " He has no father, no mother, no kindred in this wide 
 world!" she walked towards the door. When she passed ]\[r. 
 Somerset, v.ho stood bewildered and frowning near Miss Dundas, 
 phe turned her eyes on her cousin, full of the effulgent pity in 
 her soul, and said, in a collected and decisive voice, " Pembroke, 
 I shall leave the room ; but, remember, I do not release you 
 from your engagement." 
 
 Staggered by the open firmness of her manner, he looked 
 after her as she withdrew, and was almost inclined to believe 
 that she possessed the right side of the argument. J^Ialice did 
 not allow him to think so long. The moment the door closed 
 on her, both the sisters fell on him pell-mell ; and the preju- 
 diced illiberality of the one, supported by the ready falsehoods 
 
310 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 of the other, soon dislodged all favorable impressions from the 
 mind of Somerset, and filled him anew with displeasure. 
 
 In the midst of Diana's third harangue, Lady Dundas having 
 ordered Euphemia to be taken to her chamber, Mr. Somerset 
 was left alone, more incensed than ever against the object of 
 their invectives, whom he now considered in the light of an 
 adventurer, concealing his poverty, and perhaps his crimes, 
 beneath a garb of lies. That such a character, by means of a 
 fine person and a few meretricious talents, could work himself 
 into the confidence of Mary Beaufort, pierced her cousin to the 
 soul ; and as he mounted the stairs with an intent to seek her 
 in her dressing-room, he almost resolved to refuse obeying her 
 commands. 
 
 When he opened the room-door, he found Miss Beaufort 
 and his aunt. The instant he appeared, the ever-benevolent 
 face of Miss Dorothy contracted into a frown. 
 
 " Nephew," cried she, " I shall not take it well of you if 
 you give stronger credence to the passionate and vulgar asser- 
 tions of Lady -Dundas and her daughters than you choose to 
 bestow on the tried veracity of your cousin Mary." 
 
 Pembroke was conscious that if his countenance had been 
 a faithful transcript o.f his mind, Miss Beaufort did not err in 
 supposing he believed the foreigner to be a villain. Knowing 
 that it would be impossible for him to relinquish his reason 
 into what he now denominated the partial hands of his aunt 
 and cousin, he persisted in his opinion to both the ladies, that 
 tlieir unsuspicious natures had been rendered subservient to 
 knavery and artifice. 
 
 " I would not, my dear madam," said he, addressing Miss 
 Dorothy, " think so meanly of your sex as to imagine that such 
 atrocity can exist in the female heart as could give birth to 
 ruinous and unprovoked calumnies against an innocent man. 
 I cannot suspect the Misses Dundas of such needless guilt, 
 particularly poor Euphemia, whom I truly pity. Lady Dundas 
 forced me to read her verses, and they were too full of love 
 and regret for this adventurer to come from the same breast 
 which could wantonly blacken his character. Such wicked in- 
 consistencies in so young a woman are not half so probable as 
 that you, my dear aunt and cousin, have been deceived. 
 
 " Nephew," returned the old lady, "you are very peremptory. 
 Methinks a little more lenity of opinion would better become 
 your youth ! I knew nothing of this unhappy young man's 
 present distress until Miss Beaufort mentioned it to me ; but 
 before she breathed a word in his favor, I had conceived a very 
 
Til ADD ECS OF tf.lA'S.l If 
 
 3'! 
 
 hi^h respect for his merils. From the first hour in wh.icli I 
 saw him, I {;atiierccl by his deportment that he must be a gen- 
 tleman, besides a previous act of benevolent bravery, in rescu- 
 ing at the hazard of his own life two poor children from a 
 house in flames — in all this I saw he must have been born far 
 above his fortunes, I thought so ; I still think so ; and, not- 
 withstanding all that the Dundasses may choose to fabricate, I 
 am determined to believe the assertions of an honest counte- 
 nance." 
 
 Pembroke smiled, whilst he forced his aunt's reluctant hand 
 into his, and said, " I see, my dear madam, you are bigoted to 
 the idol of your own fancy ! I do not presume to doubt this 
 Mr. Constantine's lucky exploits, nor his enchantments ; but 
 you must pardon me if I keep my senses at liberty. I shall 
 think of him as I could almost swear he deserves, although I 
 am aware that I hazard your affecHon by my firmness." He 
 then turned to Mary, who, with a swelling and distressed heart, 
 WMs standing by the chimney. " Forgive me, my dearest cousin,"' 
 continued he, addressing her in a softened voice, " that I am 
 forced to appear harsh. It is the first time I ever dissented 
 from you ; it is the first time I ever thought you prejudiced ! " 
 
 Miss Beaufort drew the back of her hand over her glistening 
 eyes. All the tender affections of Pembroke's bosom smote 
 him at once, and throwing his arms around his cousin's waist, 
 he strained her to his breast, and added, '' Ah ! why, dear girl, 
 must I love you better for thus giving me pain ? Every way 
 my darling Mary is more estimable. Even now, whilst I op- 
 pose you, I am sure, though your goodness is abused, it was 
 cheated into error by the affectation of honorable impulses and 
 disasters ! " 
 
 Miss Beaufort thought that if the prudence of reserve and 
 decorum dictated silence in some circumstances, in others a 
 prudence of a higher order would justify her in declaring her 
 sentiments. Accordingly she withdrew from the clasping arms 
 of Mr. Somerset, and whilst her beautiful figure seemed to 
 dilate into more than its usual dignity, she mildly replied : 
 
 "Think w^hat you please, Pembroke ; I shall not contend 
 with you. Mr. Constantine is ef a nature not to be hidden by 
 obscurity ; his character will defend itself; and all that I have 
 to add is this, I do not release you from your promise. Could 
 a woman transact the affair with propriety, I would not keep 
 you to so disagreeable an office ; but 1 have passed my word to 
 myself that I will neither slumber nor sleep till he is out of 
 prison." She put a pocket-book into Pembroke's hand, and 
 
312 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 added, " Take that, my dear cousin ; and without suffering 
 a syllable to transpire by which he may suspect who served 
 him, accomplish what I have desired, acting by the memor- 
 andum you will find within." 
 
 " I will obey you, Mary," returned he ; " but I am sorry 
 that such rare enthusiasm was not awakened by a worthier ob- 
 ject. When you see me again, I hope I shall be enabled to 
 say that your ill-placed generosity is satisfied." 
 
 " Fie, nephew, fie ! " cried Miss Dorothy ; " I could not 
 have supposed you capable of conferring a favor so ungra- 
 ciously." 
 
 Pained at what he called the obstinate infatuation of Miss 
 Beaufort, and if possible more chagrined by what he considered 
 the blind and absurd encouragem.ent of his aunt, Mr. Somerset 
 lost the w^iole of her last reprimand in his hurry to quit the 
 room. 
 
 Disturbed, displeased, and anxious, he stepped into a 
 hackney-coach ; and ordering it to drive to Newgate, called on 
 the way at Lincoln's Inn, to take up a confidential clerk of his 
 father's law-agent there, determining by his assistance to go 
 through the business without exposing himself to any interview 
 •with a man whom he believed to be an artful and unprincipled 
 villain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " Calumny is the pastime of little minds, and the venomed shaft of 
 
 base ones." 
 
 The first week of the count's confinement was rendered in 
 some degree tolerable by the daily visits of Mrs. Robson, who, 
 having brought his drawing materials, enabled him, through the 
 means of the always punctual printseller, to purchase some 
 civility from the brutal and hardened people who were his 
 keepers. After the good woman had performed her diurnal 
 kindness, Thaddeus did not suffer his eyes to turn one moment 
 on the dismal loneliness of his abject prison, but took up his 
 pencil to accomplish its daily task, and when done, he opened 
 som^ one of his books, which had also been brought to him, 
 and so sought to beguile his almost hopeless hours, — hopeless 
 
77/ADDEfS 01' WARSAW. 
 
 z-f^z 
 
 witli regard to any human hope of ever re-passing those incar- 
 ceraling walls. For who was there but those who had put him 
 there who could now know even of his existence ? 
 
 The elasticity and pressing enterprise of soul inherent in 
 youth renders no calamity so ditBcult to be borne as that which 
 fetters its best years and most active virtues under the lock of 
 any captivity. Thaddeus felt this benumbing effect in every 
 pulse of his ardent and energetic heart. He retraced all that 
 he had been. He looked on what he was. Though he had 
 reaped glory when a boy, his " noon of manhood," his evening 
 sun, was to waste its light and set in an English prison. 
 
 At short and distant intervals such melancholy reveries gave 
 place to the pitying image of Mary Beaufort. It sometimes 
 visitv^d him in the day — it always was his companion during the 
 night. He courted her lovely ideal as a spell that for a while 
 stole him from painful reflections. With an entranced soul he 
 recalled every lineament of her angel-like face, every tender 
 sympathy of that gentle voice which had hurried him into the 
 rashness of touching her hand. One moment he pressed her 
 gold chain closer to his heart, almost believing what Lady Tine- 
 mouth had insinuated ; the next, he would sigh over his cre- 
 dulity, and return with despondent though equally intense love 
 to the contemplation of her virtues, independent of himself. 
 
 The more he meditated on the purity of her manners, the 
 elevated principles to which he could trace her actions, and, 
 above all, on the benevolent confidence with which she had 
 ever treated him (a man contemned by one part of her acquaint- 
 ance, and merely received on trust by the remainder), the more 
 he found reasons to regard that character with his grateful nd- 
 miration. When he drew a comparison between Miss Beaufort 
 and most women of the same quality whom he had seen in 
 England and in other countries, he contemplated with delighted 
 wonder that spotless mind which, having passed through the 
 various ordeals annexed to wealth and fashion, still bore itself 
 uncontaminated. She was beautiful, and she did not regard it ; 
 she was accomplished, but she did not attempt a display ; what 
 she acquired from education, the graces Imd so incorporated 
 with her native intelligence, that the perfection of her cliaracter 
 seemed to have been stamped at once by the beneficent hand 
 of Providence. 
 
 Never were her numberless attractions so fascinating to 
 Thaddeus as when he witnessed the generous eagerness with 
 which, forgetful of her own almost unparalleled talents, she 
 pointed out merit and dispensed applause to the deser\ing. 
 
3^4 
 
 Til A DDE US OF WARSAW. 
 
 Miss Beaufort's nature was gentle and benevolent ; but it wsa 
 likewise distinguishing^ and animated. Whilst the count saw 
 that the urbanity of her disposition made her politeness univer- 
 sal, he perceived that neither rank, riches nor splendor, when 
 alone, could extract from her bosom one spark of that lambent 
 flame which streamed from her heart, like fire to the sun, 
 towards the united glor)-' of genius and virtue. 
 
 He dwelt on her lovely, unsophisticated character with an 
 enthusiasm bordering on idolatry. He recollected that she had 
 been educated by the mother of Pembroke Somerset ; and turn- 
 ing from the double remembrance with a sigh fraught with all 
 the bitterness and sweetness of love, he acknowledged how 
 much wisdom (which includes virtue) gives spirit and immor- 
 tality to beauty. " Yes," cried he, " it is the fragrance of the 
 flower, which lives after the bloom is withered." 
 
 From such reflections of various hues T haddeus was one 
 evening awakened by the entrance of the chief jailer into his 
 cell. His was an unusual visit. He presented a sealed packet 
 to his prisoner, saying he brought it from a stranger, who, hav- 
 ing paid the debts and costs for which he was confined, and all 
 the prison dues, had immediately gone away, leaving that packet 
 to be instantly delivered into the hand of Air. Constantine. 
 
 While Thaddeus, scarcely crediting the information, was 
 hastily opening the packet, hoping it might throw some light on 
 his benefactor, the jailer civilly withdrew. But the breaking of 
 the seal discovered a blank cover only, save these words, in a 
 handwriting unknown to him — " You are free ! " — and bank of 
 England notes to the amount of fifty pounds. 
 
 Overwhelmed with surprise, gratitude to Heaven, and to 
 this generous unknovv^n, he sank down into his solitary chair, 
 and tried to conjecture who could have acted the part of cucii 
 a friend, and yet be so careful to conceal that act of friendship. 
 
 He had seen sufficient proofs of a heedless want of benevo- 
 lence in Miss Euphenila Dundas to lead him to suppose that 
 she could not be so munificent, and solicitous of secrecy. Be- 
 sides, how could she have learned his situation ? He thought 
 it was impossible ; and that impossibility compelled an erratic 
 hope of his present liberty having sprung from the goodness ot 
 Miss Beaufort to pass by him with a painful swiftness. 
 
 " Alas ! " cried he, starting from his chair, " it is the inde 
 fatigable spirit of Lady Sara Ross that I recognize in this deed 1 
 The generous but unliappy interest which she yet takes in my 
 fate has discovered my last misfortune, and thus she seeks to 
 relieve me ! " 
 
Til A DDE us OF WARSAW 
 
 '5 
 
 The moment he conceived this idea, he believed it ; and 
 taking up a pen, with a <;rateful tliough disturbed soul he ad- 
 dressed to her the followinir guarded note ; — 
 
 to' 
 
 *'To THE Right Honorable Lady Sara Ross. 
 
 " An unfortunate exile, who is already overpowered by a 
 sense of not having deserved the notice which Lady Sara Ross 
 has deigned to take of his misfortunes, was this day liberated 
 from prison in a manner so generous and delicate, that he can 
 ascribe the act to no other than the noble heart o£ her lady- 
 ship. 
 
 " The object of this bounty, bending under a weight of ob- 
 ligations which he cannot repay, begs permission to re-en- 
 close the bills which Lady Sara's agent transmitted to him ; 
 but as the deed which procures his freedom cannot be recalled, 
 with the most grateful emotions he accepts that new instance 
 of her ladyship's goodness." 
 
 Thaddeus was on the point of asking one of the turnkeys 
 to send him some trusty person to take this letter to St. James 
 Place, when, recollecting the impropriety of making any inmate 
 of Newgate his messenger to Lady Sara, he was determining 
 to remove immediately to St. Martin's Lane, and thence dis- 
 patch his packet to his generous friend, when Mrs. Robson 
 herself was announced by his turnkey, who, as customary, dis- 
 appeared the moment he had let her in. She hastened forward 
 to him with an animated countenance, and exclaimed, before 
 he had time to speak, " Dear sir, I have seen a dear, sweet 
 lady, who has promised me net to sleep till you are out of this 
 horrid place ! " 
 
 The suspicions of the count, that his benefactress was in- 
 deed Lady Sara Ross, were now confirmed. Seating his warm- 
 hearted landlady in the only chair his apartment contained, to 
 satisfy her humility, he took his station on the table, and then 
 said : " The lady has already fulfilled her engagement. I 
 am free, and I only wait for a hackney-coach — which I shall 
 send for immediately — to take me back to your kind home." 
 
 At this assurance the delighted Mrs. Robson, crying and 
 laughing by turns, did not cease her ejaculations of joy until 
 the turnkey, whom he had recalled to give the order for the 
 coach, returned to say that it was in readiness. 
 
 He took up his late prisoner's small portmanteau, with the 
 drawing-materials, etc., which had been brought to him during 
 
2i6 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 his incarceration ; and Thaddeus, with a feeling as if a band 
 of iron had been taken from his soul, passed through the door 
 of his cell ; and when he reached the greater portal of New- 
 gate, where the coach stood, he gave the turnkey a liberal 
 douceur, and handing Mrs. Robson into the vehicle, stepped in 
 after her, full of thankfulness to Heaven for again being per- 
 mitted to taste the wholesome breeze of a free atmosphere. 
 
 They drove quickly on, and from the fullness of his thoughts, 
 little passed betw^een "the count and his happy companion till 
 they alighted at her door and he had re-entered his humble 
 apartment. But so true is it that advantages are only appre- 
 ciated by comparison, when he looked around, he considered it 
 a palace of luxury, compared to the stifling dungeon he had 
 left. " Ah ! " cried Mrs. Robson, pointing to a chair, " there is 
 the seat in which that dear lady sat — sweet creature ! If I had 
 known I durst believe all she promised, I would have fallen on 
 my knees and kissed her feet for bringing back your dear 
 self ! " 
 
 " I thank you, my revered friend ! " replied Thaddeus, with 
 a grateful smile and a tear at so ardent a demonstration of her 
 maternal affection. " But where is little Nanny, that I may 
 shake hands with her ? " It being yet early in the evening, he 
 was also anxious, before the probable retiring time of Lady 
 Sara into her dressing-room to prepare for dinner should elapse, 
 to dispatch his letter to her ; and he inquired of his still re- 
 joicing landlady " whether she could find him a safe porter to 
 take a small packet of importance to St. James's Place, and 
 wait for an answer ? " 
 
 The good woman instantly replied that *' Mrs. Watts, her 
 neighbor, had a nephew at present lodging with her, a steady 
 man, recently made one of the grooms in the King's Mews, 
 and as this was the customary hour of his return from the 
 stables, she was sure he would be glad to do the service." 
 While the count w^as sealing his letter, Mrs Robson had exe- 
 cuted her commission, and re-entered with young Watts. He 
 respectfully received his instructions from Thaddeus, and with- 
 drew to perform the duty. 
 
 Nanny had also appeared, and welcomed her grandmother's 
 beloved lodger with all those artless and animated expressions 
 of joy which are inseparable from a good and unsophisticated 
 heart. 
 
 The distance between the royal precincts of St. James's 
 and the unostentatious environs of St. Martin's church being 
 very short, in less than half an hour the count's messenger re- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 317 
 
 turned with the wished-for reply. It was with pain that he 
 opened it, for he saw, by the state ®f the paper, that it had 
 been blotted with tears. He hurriedly took out the re-enclosed 
 bills, with a flushed cheek, and read as follows : — 
 
 " I cannot be mistaken in recognizing the proud and high- 
 minded Constantine in the lines I hold in my hand. Could 
 anything have imparted to me more comfort than your generous 
 belief that there is indeed some virtue left in my wretched and 
 repentant heart, it w uld have arisen from the consciousness of 
 having been the happy person who succored you in your dis- 
 tress. But no : that enjoyment was beyond my deserving. The 
 bliss of being the lightener of your sorrows was reserved by 
 Heaven for a less criminal creature. I did not even know that 
 you were in prison. Since our dreadful parting, I have never 
 dared to inquire after you j and much as it might console me 
 to serve one so truly valued, I will not insult your nice honor 
 by offering any further instance of my friendship than what 
 will evince my soul's gratitude to your prayers and my acquies- 
 cence with the commands of duty. 
 
 "■My husband is here, without perceiving the ravages which 
 misery and remorse have made in my unhappy heart. Time, 
 perhaps, may render me less unworthy of his tenderness ; at 
 present, I detest myself. 
 
 " I return the bills ; you may safely use them, for they never 
 were mine. 
 
 '• S. R." 
 
 The noble heart of Thaddeus bled over every line of this 
 letter. He saw that it bore the stamp of truth which did not 
 leave him a moment in doubt that he owed his release to some 
 other hand. Whilst he folded it up, his grateful suspicions 
 next lighted on Lady Tinemouth. He had received one short 
 letter from her since her departure, mentioning Sophia's stay 
 in town to meet Mr. Montresor, and Miss Beaufort's detention 
 there, on account of Miss Dorothy's accident, and closing with 
 the intelligence of her own arrival at the Wolds. He was 
 struck with the idea that, as he had delayed answering this 
 letter in consequence of his late embarrassment, she must have 
 made inquiries after him ; that probably Miss E;;erton was the 
 lady who had visited Mrs. Robson, and finding the information 
 true had executed the countess's commission to obtain his 
 release. 
 
 According to these suppositions, he questioned his landlady 
 about the appearance of the lady who had called. Mrs. Rob- 
 
3i8 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 son replied, " She was of an elegant height, but so wrapped up, 
 I could neither see her face nor her figure, though I am certain, 
 from the softness of her voice, she must be both young and 
 handsome. Sweet creature ! 1 am sure she wept two or three 
 times. Besides, she is the most charitable soul alive, next to 
 you, sir ; for she gave me a purse with twenty guineas, and she 
 told me she knew your honor's English friends." 
 
 This narration substantiating his hope of Lady Tinemouth's 
 being his benefactress, that the kind Sophia was her agent, 
 and the gentleman who defrayed the debt Mr. IMontresor, he 
 felt easier under an obligation which a mysterious liberation 
 would have doubled. He knew the countess's maternal love 
 for him. To reject her present benefaction, in any part, would 
 be to sacrifice gratitude to an excessive and haughty deli- 
 cacy. Convinced that nothing can be great that it is great to 
 despise, he no longer hestitated to accept Lady Tinemouth's 
 bounty, but smothered in his breast the embers of a proud 
 and repulsive fire, which, having burst forth in the first hour of 
 his misfortunes, was ever ready to consume any attempt that 
 might oppress him with the weight of obligation. 
 
 Being exhausted by the events of the day, he retired at an 
 early hour to his grateful devotions and to his pillow, where he 
 found that repose which he had sought in vain within the 
 gloomy and (he supposed) ever-sealed walls of his prison. 
 
 In the morning he was awakened by the light footsteps of 
 his pretty waiting-maid entering the front room. His chamber- 
 door being open, he asked her what the hour was 1 She re- 
 plied nine o'clock ; adding that she had brought a letter, which 
 one of the waiters from Slaughter's Coft'ee-house had just left, 
 with information that he did so by the orders of a footman in 
 a rich livery. 
 
 Thaddeus desired that it might be given to him. The child 
 obeyed, and quitted the room. He saw that the superscription 
 was in Miss Dundas's hand ; and opening it with pleasure, — 
 because everything interested him which came from the house 
 which contained Mary Beaufort, — to his amazement and con- 
 sternation he read the following accusations : — 
 
 " To Mr. Constantine. 
 " Sir, 
 
 " By a miraculous circumstance yesterday morning, your 
 deep and daring plan of villany has been discovered to Lady 
 
 D and myself. The deluded victim, whom your arts and 
 
 falsehoods would have seduced to dishonor her family by con- 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 319 
 
 necting herself with a vagabond, has at length seen through 
 her error, and now detests you as much as ever your insuller- 
 able presumption could have hoped she would distinguish you 
 with her regard. Thanks be to Heaven ! you are completely 
 exposed. This young woman of fashion (whose name I will 
 not trust in the same page with yours) has made a full confes- 
 sion of your vile seductions, ot her own reprehensible weakness, 
 i 1 ever having deigned to listen to so low a creature. She 
 djsires me to assure you that she hates you, and commands you 
 never again to attempt the insolence of appearing in her sight. 
 Indeed this is the language of every soul in this house. Lady 
 
 D , :Miss D , S — ^, Miss B , besides that of 
 
 " D D . 
 
 '• Harley Street.'* 
 
 Thaddeus read this ridiculous letter twice before he could 
 perfectly comprehend its meaning. In a paroxysm of indigna- 
 tion at the base subterfuge under which he did not doubt 
 Euphemia had screened some accidental discovery of her ab- 
 surd passion, he hastily threw on his clothes, and determined, 
 though in defiance of ^liss Dundas's mandates, to fly to Harley 
 Street, and clear himself in the eyes of Miss Beaufort and her 
 venerable aunt. 
 
 Having flown rather than walked, he arrived in sight of 
 Lady Dundas's house just as acoachful of her ladyship's maids 
 and packages drove from the door. Hurrying up the step, he 
 asked the porter if Miss Dorothy Somerset were at home. 
 
 '• No," replied the man ; '' she and iMiss Beaufort, wit'n Miss 
 Dundas and Mr. Somerset, went out of town this morning by 
 eight o'clock ; and my lady and ]\Iiss Euphemia, about an hour 
 ago, set off for Scotland, where they mean to stay all the sum- 
 mer." 
 
 At this information, which seemed to be the sealing of his 
 condemnation with Mar^', the heart of Thaddeus was pierced 
 to the core. Unacquainted until this moment with the tor- 
 ments attending the knowledge of being calumniated, he could 
 scarcely subdue the tempest in his breast, when forced to re- 
 ceive the conviction that the woman he loved above all the 
 world now regarded him as not merely a villain, but the mean- 
 est of villains. 
 
 J-Ie returned home indignant and agitated. The probabil- 
 ity that Pembroke Somerset had listened to the falsehood of 
 Euphemia, without suggesting one word in defence of him who 
 once was his friend, inflicted a pang more deadly than the rest. 
 
320 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 Shutting himself within his apartment, tossed and tortured in 
 soul, he traversed the room. First one idea occurred and then 
 another, until he resolved to seek redress from the advice of 
 Lady Tinemouth. With this determination he descended the 
 stairs, and telling Mrs. Robson he should leave London the 
 ensuing day for Lincolnshire, begged her not to be uneasy on 
 his account, as he went on business, and would return in a few 
 days. The good woman almost wept at this intelligence, and 
 prayed Heaven to guard him wherever he went. 
 
 Next morning, having risen at an early hour, he was collect- 
 ing his few articles of wardrobe to put into his cloak-bag for 
 liis meditated short visit, when going to open one of the top 
 drawers in his chamber, he found it sealed, and observed on 
 the black wax the impress of an eagle. It was a large seal. 
 Hardly crediting his eyes, it appeared to be the armorial eagle 
 of Poland, surmounted by its regal crown. Nay, it seemed an 
 impression of the very seal which had belonged to his royal an- 
 cestor, John Sobieski, and which was appended to the watch 
 of his grandfather when he was robbed of it on his first arrival 
 in England. 
 
 Thaddeus, in a Vv^ondering surprise, immediately rang tlie 
 bell, and Mrs. Robson herself came up stairs. He hurriedly 
 but gently inquired " how the drawer became not only locked 
 as he had left it, but fastened with such a seal ? " 
 
 Mrs. Robson did not perceive his agitation, and simply re- 
 plied, " While his honor was in that horrid place, and after the 
 attempt of Mr. Jackson to get possession of his property, she 
 had considered it right to so secure the drawer, which she be- 
 lieved contained his most valuable pictures, and the like. So, 
 having no impression of her own big enough, she went and 
 bought a bunch of tarnished copper-seals she had seen hanging 
 in the window of a huckster's shop at the corner of an ally hard 
 by, one of them appearing about the size she wanted. The 
 woman of the shop told her she had found them at the bottom 
 of a tub of old iron, sold to her a while ago by a dustman ; and 
 as, to be sure, they were damaged and very dirty, she would 
 not ask more than a couple of shillings for the lot, and would 
 be glad to get rid of them ! " 
 
 " So, sir," continued Mrs. Robson, with a pleased look, " I 
 gave the money, and hastened home as fast as I could, and 
 with Mrs. Watts by my side to witness it, you see I made all 
 safe which I thought you most cared for." 
 
 "■ You are very thoughtful for me, kindest of women ! " re- 
 turned Thaddeus, with grateful energy ; " but let me see tlie 
 
THADDE US OF U'A KSA 11'. ^zi 
 
 seals — for it is possible I may recognize in the one ot this im- 
 pression, indeed, a relic precious to my memory ! " 
 
 Mrs. Robson put her hand into her pocket, and instantly 
 gave them to him. There were three, one large, two small, and 
 strung together by a leather thong. The former massive gold 
 chain was no longer their link, and the rust from the iron had 
 clouded the setting ; but a glance told Sobieski they were his ! 
 He pressed them to his heart, whilst with glistening eyes he 
 turned away to conceal his emotion. His sensible landlady 
 comprehended there was something more than she knew of in the 
 recognition (he never having told her of the loss of his watch, 
 when he had saved her little grandchild from the plunging 
 horses in the King's Mews ;) and from her native delicacy not 
 to intrude on his feelings, she gently withdrew unobserved, and 
 left him alone. 
 
 About half an hour afterwards, when she saw her beloved 
 lodger depart in the stage-coach that called to take him up, her 
 eyes followed the wheels down the lane with renewed blessings. 
 
 His long journey passed not more in melancl^ioly reveries 
 against the disappointing characters he had met in revered 
 England than in affectionate anticipations of the moment in 
 which he should pour out his gratitude to the maternal tender- 
 ness of Lady Tinemouth, and learn from her ingenuous lips 
 how to efface from the minds of j\Iiss Dorothy Somerset and her 
 angel-like niece the representations, so dishonoring, torturing, 
 and false, which had been heaped upon him by the calumnies 
 of the familv in Harley Street 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ZEAL IS POWER. 
 
 The porter at Lady Dundas's had been strictly correct in his 
 account respecting the destination of the dispersed members of 
 her ladyship's household. 
 
 Whilst Pembroke Somerset was sullenly executing his forced 
 act of benevolence at Newgate, Miss Dundas suddenly took 
 into her scheming head to compare the merits of Somerset's rich 
 expectancy with the penniless certainty of Lascelles. She con- 
 sidered the substantial advantages which the wife of a wealthy 
 
322 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 baronet would hold over the thriftless cara sposa of a man own- 
 ing no other estate than a reflected lustre from the coronet of 
 an elder brother. Besides, Pembroke was very handsome — 
 Lascelles only tolerably so ; indeed, some women had presumed 
 to call him " veiy plain." But they were " stupid persons," 
 who, not believing the 7nefempsyc/iosis doctrine of the tailor and 
 his decorating adjuncts, could not comprehend that although a 
 mere human creature can have no such property, a man of 
 fashion may possess an elixir vitce which makes age youth, de- 
 formity beauty, and even transforms vice into virtue. 
 
 In spite of recollection, which reminded Diana how often 
 she had contended that all Mr. Lascelles' teeth were his own ; 
 that his nose was not a bit too long, being a fac-simile of the 
 feature which reared its sublime curve over the capricious 
 mouth of his noble brother, the Earl of Castle Conway — not- 
 withstanding all this, the Pythagorean pretensions of fashion 
 began to lose their ascendency ; and in the recesses of her 
 mind, v/hen Miss Dundas compared the light elegance of Pem- 
 broke's figure with the heavy limbs of her present lover, Pem- 
 broke's dark and ever-animated eyes with the gooseberry orbs 
 of Lascelles, she dropped the parallel, and resolving to capti- 
 vate the heir of Somerset Castle, admitted no remorse at jilting 
 the brother of Castle Conway. 
 
 To this end, before Pembroke's return from Newgate, 
 Diana had told her mother of her intention to accompany 
 Miss Dorothy to the baronet's, where she would remain until 
 her ladyship should think Euphemia might be trusted to rejoin 
 hei in town. Neither Miss Dorothy nor Miss Beaufort liked 
 this arrangement ; and next morning, with an aching heart, the 
 latter prepared to take her seat in the travelling equipage which 
 was to convey them all into Leicestershire. 
 
 After supper, Pembroke coldly informed his cousin of the 
 success of her commands — that Mr. Constantine was at liberty. 
 This assurance, though imparted with so ungracious an air, 
 laid her head with less distraction on her pillow, and as she 
 stepped into Sir Robert's carriage next day, enabled her with 
 more ease to deck her lips with smiles. She felt that the pene- 
 trating eyes of Mr. Somerset were never withdrawn from her 
 face. Offended with his perverseness, and their scrutiny, she 
 tried to baffle their inspection. She attempted gayety, when 
 she gladly would have wept. But when the coach mounted the 
 top of Highgate Hill, and she had a last view of that city which 
 contained the being whose happiness was the sole object of her 
 thoughts and prayers, she leaned out of the window to hide a 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 
 
 y-i 
 
 tear she could not repress ; feeling that another and another 
 would start, she complained of the dust, and pulling her veil over 
 her eyes, drew back into the corner of the carriage. The trem- 
 bling of her voice and hands during the performance of this little 
 artilice too well explained to Pembroke what was passing in her 
 mind. At once dispelling the gloom which shrouded his own 
 countenance, he turned towards her with compassionate tender- 
 ness in his words and looks ; he called her attention by degrees 
 to the happy doniestic scene she was to meet at the Castle ; 
 and thus gradually softening her displeasure into the easy con- 
 versation of reciprocal affection, he rendered the remainder of 
 their long journey less irksome. 
 
 When, at the end of the second day. Miss Beaufort found 
 herself in the old avenue leading to the base of the hill which 
 sustains the revered walls of Somerset's castellated towers, a 
 mingled emotion took possession of her breast ; and when the 
 carriage arrived at the foot of the highest terrace, she sprang 
 impatiently out of it, and hastening up the stone stairs into 
 the front hall, met her uncle at the door of the breakfast-parlor, 
 where he held out his arms to receive her. 
 
 '' My Mary ! My darling ! " cried he, embracing her now 
 wet cheek, and straining her throbbing bosom to his own. 
 " Why, my dear love," added he, almost carrying her into the 
 room, " I am afraid this visit to town has injured your nerves! 
 Whence arises this agitation ? " 
 
 She knew it had injured her peace ; and now that the flood- 
 gates of her long-repelled tears were opened, it was beyond her 
 power, or the soothings of her affectionate uncle, to stay them. 
 A moment afterwards her cousin entered the room, followed 
 by Miss Dorothy and Miss Dundas. Miss Beaufort hastily 
 rose, to conceal what she could not check. Kissing Sir Robert's 
 hand, she . sked permission to retire, under the pretence of re- 
 gaining those spirits which had been dissipated by the fatigues 
 of her journey. 
 
 In her own chamber she did indeed struggle to recover her- 
 self. She shuddered at the impetuosity of her emotions when 
 once abandoned of their reins, and resolved from this hour to 
 hold a stricter control over such betrayals of her ill-fated, de- 
 voted heart. 
 
 She sat in the window of her apartment, and looking down 
 the extensive vale of Somerset, watched the romantic meander- 
 ings of its shadowed river, winding its course through the do- 
 mains of the castle, and nourishing the roo^s of those immense 
 oaks which for manv a centurv had waved their branches over 
 
324 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 its Stream. She reflected on the revolution which had taken 
 place in herself since she walked on its banks the evening that 
 preceded her visit to London. Then she was free as the air, 
 gay as the lark ; each object was bright and lovely in her eyes ; 
 hope seemed to woo her from every green slope, every remote 
 dingle. All nature breathed of joy, because her own breast 
 was the abode of gladness. Now, all continued the same, but 
 she was changed. Surrounded by beauty, she acknowledged 
 its presence ; the sweetness of the flowers bathed her senses 
 in fragrance ; the setting sun, gilding the height, shed a yellow 
 glory over the distant hills ; the birds were hailing the falling 
 dew which spangled every leaf. She gazed around, and sighed 
 heavily, when she said to herself, " Even in this paradise I shall 
 be wretched. Alas ! my heart is far away ! My soul lingers 
 about one I may never more behold ! — about one who may 
 soon cease to remember that such a being as Mary Beaufort is 
 in existence. He will leave England ! " cried she, raising her 
 hands and eyes to the glowing heavens. " He will live, he will 
 die, far, far from me ! In a distant land he will wed another, 
 whilst I shall know no wish that strays from him." 
 
 Whilst she indulged in these soliloquies, she forgot both Sir 
 Robert and her resolution, until he sent her maid to beg, if 
 she were better, that she would come down and make tea for 
 him. At this summons she dried her eyes, and with assumed 
 serenity descended to the saloon, where the family were assem- 
 bled. The baronet having greeted Miss Dundas with an hos- 
 pitable welcome, seated himself between his sister and his son ; 
 and whilst he received his favorite beverage from the hands of 
 his beloved niece, he found that comfort once more re-entered 
 his bosom. 
 
 Sir Robert Somerset was a man whose appearance alone 
 attracted respect. His person bore the stamp of dignity, and 
 his manners, which possessed the exquisite polish of travel, 
 and of society in its most refined courts, secured him universal 
 esteem. Though little beyond fifty, various perplexing situa- 
 tions having distressed his youth, had not only rendered his 
 hair prematurely gray, but by clouding his once brilliant eyes 
 with thoughtfulness, marked his aspect with premature old age 
 and melancholy. The baronet's entrance into town life had 
 been celebrated for his graceful vivacity ; he was the animating 
 spirit of every party, till an inexplicable metamorphosis sud- 
 denly took place. Soon after his return from abroad, he had 
 married Miss Beaufort (a woman whom he loved to adoration), 
 when, strange to say, excess of happiness seemed to change 
 
77/ADD£i'S OF IVARSAJK 
 
 3-\ 
 
 his nature and give his character a deep tinge of sadness. 
 After his wife's death, the alteration in liis mind produced still 
 more extraordinary efifects, and showed itself more than once 
 i:i all the terrors of threatened mental derangement. 
 
 His latest attack of the kind assailed him during the last 
 winter, under the appearance of a swoon, while he sat at break- 
 fast reading the newspaper. He was carried to bed, and awoke 
 \.\ a delirium which menaced either immediate death or the 
 total extinction of his intellects. However, neither of these 
 dreads being confirmed, in the course of several weeks, to the 
 Avonder of everybody, he recovered much of his health and his 
 sound mind. Notwithstanding this happy event, the circum- 
 stances of his danger so deeply affected his family, that he 
 ceased not to be an object of the most anxious attention. In- 
 deed, solicitude did not terminate with them : the munificence 
 of his disposition having spread itself through every county in 
 which he owned a rood of land, as many prayers ascended for 
 the repose of his spirit as ever petitioned Heaven from the 
 mouths of " monkish beadsmen " in favor of power and virtue. 
 
 Jince the demise of Lady Somerset, this still-admired man 
 drew all his earthly comfort from the amiable qualities of his 
 son Pembroke. Sometimes in his livelier hours, which came 
 " like angel visits, few and far between," he amused himself 
 with the playfulness of the little Earl of Avon, the pompous 
 erudition of Mr. Loftus, (who was become his young ward's 
 tutor), and with giving occasional entertainments to the gentry 
 in his neighborhood. 
 
 Oc all the personages contained within this circle (which 
 the hospitality of Sir Robert extended to a circumference of 
 fifty miles,) the noble family of Castle Granby, brave, patriotic, 
 and accomplished, with female beauty at its head, 
 
 " Fitted to move in courts or walk the shade, 
 With innocence and contemplation joined," 
 
 were held in the highest and most intimate appreciation ; while 
 many of the numerous titled visitants who attended the cele- 
 brated and magnificent Granby hunt were of too convivial 
 notoriety to be often admitted within the social home-society 
 of either Castle Granby or Somerset Castle, the two cynosure 
 mansions which, now palace-like, crest with their peaceful 
 groves the summits of those two promontory heights whereon 
 in former times they stood in fortress strength, the guardians 
 of each opening pass into that spacious and once important 
 bclliirerent vale 1 
 
326 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Amongst the less-esteemed frequenters of the chase was a 
 devoted Nimrod, Sir Richard Shafto, who every season fixed 
 himself and family at a convenient hunting-lodge near the 
 little town of Grantham, with his right worthy son and heir, 
 who by calling at Somerset Castle soon after the arrival of its 
 guests, caused a trifling change in its arrangements. When 
 Dick Shafto (as all the grooms in the stables familiarly desig- 
 nated him) was ushered into the room, he nodded to Sir 
 Robert, and, turning his back on the ladies, told Pembroke he 
 had ridden to Somerset "on purpose to bag him for Woodhill 
 Lodge." 
 
 "Upon my life," cried he, "if you don't come, I will cut 
 and run. There is not a creature but yourself within twenty 
 miles to whom I can speak — not a man worth a sixpence. I 
 wish my father had broken his neck before he accepted that 
 confounded embassy, which encumbers me with the charge of 
 my old mother ! " 
 
 After this dutiful wish, which brought down a weighty ad- 
 monition from Miss Dorothy, the young gentleman promised 
 to behave better, provided she would persuade Pembroke to 
 accompany him to the Lodge. Mr. Somerset did not show 
 much alacrity in his consent ; but to rid his family of so noisy 
 a guest, he rose from his chair, and acquiescing in the sacrifice 
 of a few days to good nature, bade his father farewell, and 
 gave orders for a ride to Grantham. 
 
 As soon as the gentlemen left the saloon, IMiss Dundas ran 
 up stairs, and from her dressing-room window in the west 
 tower pursued the steps of their horses as they cantered down 
 the winding steep into the high road. An abrupt angle of the 
 hill hiding them from her view, she turned round with a toss, of 
 the head, and flinging herself into a chair, exclaimed, " Now I 
 shall be bored to death by this prosing family ! I wish his 
 boasted hunter had run away with Shafto before he thought of 
 coming here ! " 
 
 In consequence of the temper which engendered the above 
 no very flattering compliment to the society at the Castle, IMiss 
 Dundas descended to the dining-room with sulky looks and a 
 chilling air. She ate what the baronet laid on her plate with 
 an indolent appetite, cut her meat carelessly, and dragged the 
 vegetables over the table-cloth. Miss Dorothy colored at this 
 indifference to the usual neatness of her damask covers ; but 
 Miss Dundas was so completely in the sullens, that, heedless 
 of any other feelings than her own, she continued to pull and 
 knock about the things just as her ijl-humor dictated. 
 
rilADDI-lUS OF WARSAW. 327 
 
 The petulance of this lady's behavior did not in the least 
 assimilate \vith the customary decorum of Sir Robert's table; 
 and when the cloth was drawn, he could not refrain from ex- 
 pressing:^ his concern that Somerset Castle appeared so little 
 calculated to afford satisfaction to a daughter of Lady Dundas. 
 ]\Iiss Dundas attempted some awkward declaration that she 
 never was more amused — never happier. 
 
 But the small credit Sir Robert gave to her assertion was 
 fully warranted the next morning by the ready manner in which 
 she accepting a casual invitation to spend the ensuing day and 
 night at Lady Shafto's. Her ladyship called on Miss Dorothy, 
 and intended to have a party in the evening, invited the two 
 young ladies to return with her to Woodhill Lodge, and be her 
 guests for a week. Miss Beaufort, whose spirits were far from 
 tranquillized, declined her civility; but with a gleam of plear- 
 ure she heard it accepted by Miss Dundas, who departed with 
 her ladyship for the Lodge. 
 
 Whilst the enraptured Diana, all life and glee, bowled along 
 v/ith Lady Shafto, anticipating the delight of once more seating 
 herself at the elbow of Pembroke Somerset, T^Lary Beaufort, 
 relieved from a load of ill-requited attentions, walked out into 
 the park, to enjoy in solitude the " sweet sorrow " of thinking on 
 the unhappy and far-distant Constantine. Regardless of the 
 way, her footsteps, though robbed of elasticity by nightly watch- 
 ing and daily regret, led her beyond the park, to the ruined 
 church of Woolthorpe, its southern boundar}^ Her eyes were 
 fixed on the opposite horizon. It was the extremity of Leices- 
 tershire ; and far, far behind those hills was that London which 
 contained the object dearest to her soul. The wind seemed 
 scarcely to breathe as it floated towards her ; but it came from 
 that quarter, and believing it laden with every sweet which 
 love can fancy, she threw back her veil to inhale its balm, then, 
 blaming herself for such weakness, she turned, blushing, home- 
 wards and wept at what she thought her unreasonably tenacious 
 passion. ^, 
 
 The arrival of Miss Dundas at the Lodge was communicated 
 to the two young men on their return from traversing half the 
 country in quest of game. The news drew an oath from Sliafto, 
 but rather pleased Somerset, who augured some amusement 
 from her attempts at wit and judgment. Tired to death, and 
 dinner being over when they entered, with ravenous appetites 
 they devoured their uncomfortable meal in a remote room ; 
 then throwing themselves along the sofas, yawned and slept 
 for nearly two hours. 
 
328 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Pembroke waking first, suddenly jumped on the floor, and 
 shaking his disordered clothes, exclaimed, " Shafto ! get up. 
 This is abominable ! I cannot help thinking that if we spend 
 one half of our days in pleasure and the other in lolling off its 
 fatigues, we shall have passed through life more to our shame 
 than our profit ! " 
 
 " Then you take the shame and leave me the profit," cried 
 his companion, turning himself round : " so good-night to you ! '* 
 
 Pembroke rang the bell. A servant entered. 
 
 " What o'clock is it ? " 
 
 " Nine, sir." 
 
 " Who are above ? " 
 
 " My lady, sir, and a large party of ladies." 
 
 " There, now ! " cried Shafto, yawning and kicking out his 
 legs. " You surely won't go to be bored with such maudhn 
 company ? " 
 
 " I choose to join your mother," replied Pembroke. "Are 
 there any gentlemen, Stephen ? " 
 
 " One sir : Doctor Denton." 
 Off with you ! " roared Shafto ; " what do you stand jab- 
 bering there for ? You won't let me sleep. Can't you send 
 away the fellow, and go look yourself ? " 
 
 " I will, if you can persuade yourself to rise off that sofa 
 and come with me." 
 
 " May Lady Hecate catch me if I do ! Get about your 
 business, and leave me to mine." 
 
 "You are incorrigible, Shafto," returned Pembroke, as he 
 closed the door. 
 
 He went up stairs to change his dress, and before he gained 
 the second flight, he resolved not to spend another wdiole day 
 in the company of such an ignorant, unmannerly cub. 
 
 On Mr. Somerset's entrance into Lady Shafto's drawing- 
 room, he saw many ladies, but only one gentleman, who was, 
 the before-mentioned Dr. Denton — a poor, shallow-headed, 
 parasitical animal. Pembroke having seen enough of him to 
 despise his pretensions both to science and sincerity, returned 
 his wide smirk and eager inquiries with a ceremonious bow, 
 and took his seat by the side of the now delighted Miss Dun- 
 das. The vivid spirits of Diana, which she now strove to 
 render peculiarly sparkling, entertained him. When compared 
 with the insipid sameness of her ladyship, or the coarse ribaldry 
 of her son, the mirth of Miss Dundas was wit and her remarks 
 wisdom. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Somerset ! " ciied she, " how good you are to 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARS A IV. 33^ 
 
 break this sad solemnity. I vow, until you showed your face, 
 I thou;^ht the days of paj^anisni were revived, and that lacking 
 nun, we were assembled here to celebrate the mysteries of the 
 BoJia Dear 
 
 "Lacking men!" replied he, smiling; "you have over- 
 looked the assiduous Doctor Denton ? " 
 
 " O, no ; that is a chameleon in man's clothing. He breathes 
 air, he eats air, he speaks air ; and a most pestilential breath it 
 is. Only observe how he is pouring its fumes into the ear of 
 yonder sable statue." 
 
 Pembroke directed his eyes as Miss Dundas desired him, 
 and saw Dr. Denton whispering and bowing before a lady in 
 black. The lady put up her lip : the doctor proceeded ; she 
 frowned : he would not be daunted ; the lady rose from her 
 seat, and slightly bending her head, crossed the room. Whilst 
 Mr. Somerset was contemplating her graceful figure, and fine 
 though pale features. Miss Dundas touched his arm, and smil* 
 ing satirically, repeated in an affected voice — 
 
 *' Hail, pensive nun I devout and holy I 
 Hail, divinest Melancholy! " 
 
 " If she be Melancholy," returned Pembroke, " I would 
 forever say 
 
 " Hence, unholy Mirth, of Folly born ! " 
 
 Miss Dundas reddened. She never liked this interesting 
 woman, who was not only too handsome for competition, but 
 possessed an understanding that would not tolerate ignorance 
 or presumption. Diana's ill-natured impertinence having sev- 
 eral times received deserved chastisement from that quarter, 
 she was vexed to the soul when Pembroke closed his animated 
 response with the question, " Who is she ? " 
 
 Rather too bitterly for the design on his heart. Miss Dun- 
 das iterated his words, and then answered, " Why, she is crazed. 
 She lives in a place called Harrowby Abbey, at the top of that 
 hill," continued she, pointing through the opposite window to 
 a distant rising ground, on which the moon was shining 
 brightly ; " and I am told she frightens the cottagers out of 
 their wits by her midnight strolls." 
 
 Hardly knowing how to credit this wild account, Pembroke 
 asked his informer if she were serious. 
 
 " Never more so. Her eyes are uncommonly wild." 
 
 " You must be jesting," returned he ; " they seem perfectly 
 reasonable." 
 
330 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Miss Dundas laughed. " like Hamlet's, they ' know not 
 seems, but have that within which passeth show ! ' Believe me, 
 she is mad enough for Bedlam ; and of that I could soon con- 
 vince you. I wonder how Lady Shafto thought of inviting her ; 
 she quite stupefied our dinner." 
 
 " Well," cried Pembroke, " if those features announce mad- 
 ness, I shall never admire a look of sense again." 
 
 " Bless us," exclaimed Miss Dundas, "you are wonderfully 
 struck ! Don't you see she is old enough to be your mother 1 " 
 
 " That may be," answered he, smiling ; " nevertheless she 
 is one of the most lovely women I ever "beheld. "Come, tell 
 me her name." 
 
 " I will satisfy you in a moment," rejoined Diana ; " and then 
 away with your rhapsodies ! She is the very Countess of Tine- 
 mouth, who brought that vagabond foreigner to our house who 
 would have run off with Phemy ! " 
 
 "Lady Tinemouth ! " exclaimed Pembroke; "I never saw 
 her before. My ever-lamented mother knew her whilst I was 
 abroad, and she esteemed her highly. Pray introduce me to 
 her ! " 
 
 " Impossible," replied Diana, vexed at the turn his curiosity 
 had taken ; " I wrote to her about the insidious wretch, and 
 now we don't speak." 
 
 "Then I will introduce myself," answered he. He was 
 moving away, when Miss Dundas caught his arm, and by va- 
 rious attempts at badinage and raillery, held him in his place 
 until the countess had made her farewell curtsey to Lady 
 Shafto, and the door was closed. 
 
 Disappointed by this man.£uvre, Pembroke re-seated him- 
 self ; and wondering why his aunt and cousin had not heard of 
 Lady Tinemouth's arrival at Harrowby, he determined to wait 
 on her next day. Regardless of every word which the provoked 
 Diana addressed to him, he remained silent and meditating, 
 until the loud voice of Shafto, bellowing in his ear, made him 
 turn suddenly round. Miss Dundas tried to laugh at his reve- 
 rie, though she knew that such a flagrant instance of inattention 
 was death to her hopes ; but Pembroke, not inclined to partake 
 in the jest, coolly asked his bearish companion what he wanted t 
 
 " Nothing," cried he, "but to hear you speak ! Miss Dun- 
 das tells me you have lost your heart to yonder grim countess t 
 My mother wanted me to gallant her up the hill ; but I would 
 sec her in the river first ! " 
 
 " Shafto ! " answered Pembroke, rising from his chair, " you 
 cannot be speaking of Lady Tinemouth ? " 
 
Til A DDE us OF WARSAW. 331 
 
 " Efaith I am," roared he ; " and if she be r.uch a scamp as 
 to Hve without a carriage, 1 won't be her lackey for notiiing. 
 The matter of a mile is not to be tramped over by me with no 
 pleasanter companion than an old painted woman of quality." 
 
 "Surely you cannot mean," returned Pembroke, "that her 
 ladyship was to walk from this place ? " 
 
 '" Without a doubt," cried Shafto, bursting into a hoarse 
 laugh ; " you would be clever to see my Lady Stingy in any 
 other carriage than her clogs. 
 
 Irritated at the malice of Miss Dundas, and despising the 
 vulgar illiberality of Shafto, without deigning a reply, Pem- 
 broke abruptly left the room, and hastening out of the house, 
 ran, rather than walked, in hopes of overtaking the countess 
 before she reached Harrowby. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE VALE OF GRANTHAM. BELVOTT^. 
 
 Pembroke crossed the little wooden bridge which lies over 
 the Witham ; he scoured the field ; he leaped every stile and 
 gate in his way, and at last gained the enclosure that leads to 
 the top of the hill, where he descried a light moving, and very 
 rightly conjectured it must be the lantern carried by the coun- 
 tess's attendant. Another spring over the shattered fence 
 cleared all obstacles, and he found himself close to Lady Tine- 
 mouth, who was leaning on the arm of a gentleman. Pembroke 
 stopped at this sight. Supposing she had been met by some 
 person belonging to the neighborhood, whose readier gallantry 
 now occupied the place which Miss Dundas had prevented hini 
 from filling, he was preparing to retreat, when Lady Tinemoutlf 
 happening to turn her head, ;magined, from the hesitating em 
 barrassment of his manner, that he was a stranger, who hadl 
 lost his way, and accosted him with that inquiry. 
 
 Pembroke bowed in some confusion, and related the simple 
 fact of iiis having heard that she had quitted Lady Shafto's 
 house without any guard but the servant, and that the 
 moment he learned the circumstance he had hurried out to 
 proffer his services. The countess not only thanked him for 
 such attention, but, constrained by a civility which at that in- 
 
33^ 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 stant she could have wished not to have been necessan-, asked 
 him to walk forward with her to the abbey, and partake of some 
 refreshment. 
 
 " But," added she, " though I perfectly recollect having 
 seen another gentleman in Lady Shafto's room besides Doctor 
 Denton, I have not the honor of knowing your name." 
 
 " It is Somerset," returned Pembroke ; " I am the son of 
 that Lady Somerset, who, during the last year of her life, had 
 the happiness of being intimate with your ladyship." 
 
 Lady Tinemouth expressed her pleasure at this meeting ; 
 and turning to the gentleman who was walking in silence by 
 her side, said, '' Mr. Constantine, allow me to introduce to you 
 the cousin of the amiable Miss Beaufort." 
 
 Thaddeus, who had too well recognized the voice of his 
 false friend in the first accents he addressed to the countess, 
 with a swelling heart bent his head to the cold salutation of 
 Somerset. Hearing that her ladyship's companion was the 
 same Constantine whom he had liberated from prison, Pem- 
 broke was stimulated with a desire to take the perhaps favor- 
 able occasion to unmask his double villany to Lady Tine- 
 mouth ; and conceiving a curiosity to see the man whose per- 
 son and meretricious qualities had blinded the judgment of his 
 aunt and cousin, he readily obeyed the second invitation of the 
 countess, and consented to go home and sup with her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Thaddeus was agitated with a variety of emo- 
 rions. Every tone of Pembroke's voice, reminding him of 
 happier days, pierced his heart, whilst a sense of his ingratitude 
 awakened all the pride and indignation of his soul. Full of re- 
 sentment, he determined that, whatever might be the result, he 
 would not shrink from an interview, the anticipation of which 
 Pembroke (who had received from himself an intimation of the 
 name he had assumed) seemed to regard with so much con- 
 temptuous indifference. 
 
 Not imagining that Somerset and the count had any per- 
 sonal knowledge of each other. Lady Tinemouth begged the 
 gentlemen to accompany her into the supper-parlor, Pem- 
 broke, with inconsiderate, real indifference, passed by Thad- 
 deus to give his hand to the countess. Thaddeus was so 
 shocked at this instance of something very like a personal 
 affront, that, insulted in every nerve, he v/as obliged to pause 
 a moment in the hall, to summon coolness to follow him with 
 a composed step and dispassionate countenance. He accom- 
 plished this conquest over himself, and taking off his hat, 
 entered the room. Lady Tinemouth began to congratulate 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSA \V. ^^ , 
 
 herself with many kind expressions on his arrival. The eyes 
 of Tembroke fixed themselves on the calm but severe aspect 
 of the man before him ; he stood by the table with such an 
 air of noble greatness, that the candid heart of Pembroke 
 Somerset soon whispered to himself, " Sure nothing ill can 
 dwell in such a breast ! " 
 
 Still his eyes followed him, when he turned round, and 
 when he bent his head to answer the countess, but in a voice 
 so low that it escaped his ear. Pembroke was bewildered. 
 There was something inthefeatures,in the mien of this foreigner, 
 so like his friend Sobieski ! But then Sobieski was all frankness 
 and animation ; his cheek bloomed with the rich coloring of youth 
 and happiness ; his eyes flashed pleasure, and his lips were 
 decked with smiles. On the contran,', the peison before him was 
 not only considerably taller, and of more manly proportions, but 
 lis face was pale, reserved, and haughty ; besides, he did not 
 appear even to recollect the name of Somerset ; and what at 
 once might destroy the supposition, his own was simjoly Con- 
 stantine. 
 
 These reasonings having quickly passed through the mind 
 of Pembroke, they left his heart unsatisfied. The conflict of 
 his doubts flushed his cheeks ; his bosom beat ; and keeping 
 his searching and ardent gaze riveted on the man who was 
 either his friend or his counterpart, on Lady Tinemouth turn- 
 ing av/ay to lay her cloak down, the eyes of the young vnen 
 met. Thaddeus turned paler than before. There is an intel- 
 ligence in the interchange of looks which cannot be mistaken ; 
 it is the communication of souls, and there is no deception in 
 their language. Pembroke flew forward, and catching hold of 
 his friend's hand, exclaimed in an impetuous voice, " Am I 
 right ? Are you Sobieski?" 
 
 " I am," returned Thaddeus, almost inarticulate with emo- 
 tion, and hardly knowing what to understand by SDmerset's 
 behavior. 
 
 '' Gracious heaven ! " cried he, still grasping his hand ; 
 "can you have forgotten your friend Pembroke Somerset ? " 
 
 The ingenuous heart of Thaddeus acknowledged the words 
 and manner of Pembroke to be the language of truth. Trust- 
 ing that some mistake had involved his former conduct, he at 
 once cast off suspicion, and throwing his arms around him, 
 strained him to his breast and burst into tears. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth, who during this scene stood mute with 
 surprise, now advanced to the friends, who were weeping on 
 each other's necks, and taking a hand of each, " My dear 
 
334 
 
 TH A DDE US OF IVARSAIV. 
 
 Sobieski," cried she, " why did you withhold the knowledge 
 of this friendship from me ? Had you told me that you and 
 Mr. Somerset were acquainted, this happy meeting might have 
 been accomplished sooner." 
 
 " Yes," replied Pembroke, turning to the countess, and 
 wiping away the tears which were trembling on his cheek ; 
 " nothing could have given me pain at this moment but the 
 conviction that he who was the preserver of my life, and my 
 most generous protector, should in this country have endured 
 the most abject distress rather than let me know it was in my 
 power to be grateful." 
 
 Thaddeus took out his handkerchief, and for a few moments 
 concealed his face. The countess looked on him with tender- 
 ness; and believing he would sooner regain composure were 
 he alone with his friend, she stole unobserved out of the room. 
 
 Pembroke affectionately resumed : " But I hope, dear So- 
 bieski, you will never leave me more. I have an excellent 
 father, who, when he is made acquainted with my obligations 
 to you and your noble family, will glory in loving you as a 
 son." 
 
 Having subdued "the woman in his heart," Thaddeus 
 raised his head with an expression in his eyes far different from 
 that which had chilled the blood of Pembroke on their first 
 encounter. 
 
 " Circumstances," said he, " dear Somerset, have made 
 me greatly injure you. A strange neglect on your side, since 
 we separated at Villanow, gave the first blow to my confidence 
 in your friendship. Though I lost your direct address, I wrote 
 to you often, and yet you persevered in silence. After having 
 witnessed the destruction of all that was dear to me in Poland, 
 and then of Poland itself, when I came to England I wished 
 to give your faithfulness another chance. I addressed two 
 letters to you. I even delivered the last at your door myself, 
 and I saw you in the window when I sent it in." 
 
 " By all that is sacred," cried Pembroke, vehemently, and 
 amazed, " I never saw any letter from you ! I wrote you 
 many. I never heard of those you mention. Indeed, I should 
 even now have been ignorant of the palatine's and your mother's 
 cruel fate had it not been too circumstantially related in the 
 newspapers." 
 
 " I believe you," returned Thaddeus, drawing an agonizing 
 sigh at the dreadful picture which the last sentence recalled. 
 " I believe you ; though at the time of which I speak, I thought 
 otherwise, for botli my last letters were re-enclosed to me in a 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 335 
 
 blank cover, directed as if by your hand, and brought by a 
 servant, with a message that there was no answer." 
 
 *' Amazing ! " excfaimed Somerset ; " there must be some 
 horrible treachery ! Can it be that some lurking foreign spy 
 got amongst my servants at Dantzic, and has been this traitor 
 ever since ? Oh, Thaddeus ! " cried he, abruptly interrupting 
 himself, and grasping his hand, " I would have flown to you, 
 had it been to meet death, instead of the greatest joy Heaven 
 could bestow upon me. But why did you not come in yourself ? 
 then no mistake could have happened ! Oh, why did you not 
 come in } " 
 
 '' Because I was uncertain of your sentiments. My first 
 letter remained unnoticed ; and my heart, dear Somerset," 
 added he, pressing his hand, "would not stoop to solicitation." 
 
 " Solicitation ! " exclaimed Pembroke, with warmth ; "you 
 have a right to demand my life ! But there is some deep vil- 
 lany in this affair ; nothing else could have carried it through. 
 Oh, if anybody belonging to me have dared to open these let- 
 ters — Oh, Sobieski ! " cried he, interrupting himself, " how 
 you must have despised me ! " 
 
 " I was afflicted," returned Thaddeus, " that the man whom 
 my family so warmly loved could prove so unworthy ; and after- 
 wards, whenever I met you in the streets, which I think was 
 more than once or twice, I confess that to pass you cut me to 
 the heart." 
 
 "And you have met me ? " exclaimed Pembroke, "and I 
 not see you; I cannot comprehend it." 
 
 "Yes," answered Thaddeus; "and the first time w^as going 
 into the playhouse. I believe I called after you." 
 
 " Is it not now ten months since ? " returned Pembroke. 
 " I remember very well that some one called out my name in a 
 voice that seemed known to me, while I was handing Lady 
 Calthorpe and her sister into the porch. I looked about, but 
 not seeing any one I knew, I thought I must have been mistaken. 
 But why, dear Sobieski, why did you not follow me into the 
 theatre ? " 
 
 Thaddeus shook his head and smiled languidly. " My 
 poverty would not permit," replied he ; " but I waited in the 
 hall until ever)'body left the house, in hopes of intercepting you 
 as you passed again." 
 
 Pembroke sprung from his chair at these words, and with 
 vehemence exclaimed, " I see it ! That hypocrite Loftus is at 
 the bottom of it ! He followed me into the theatre ; he must 
 have seen you, and his cursed selfishness was alarmed. Yes ; 
 
^;^e THADDEUS OF IVARSA VV. 
 
 it is no foreign traitor ! it must be be ! He would not allow 
 me to return that way. When I said I would, he told me a 
 thousand lies about the carriages coming round ; and I, be- 
 lieving him, went out by another door. I will tax him of it to 
 his face ! " 
 
 " Who is Mr. Loftus ? " inquired Thaddeus, surprised at his 
 friend's suspicion ; " I do not know the man." 
 
 " What ! " returned Pembroke, " don't you remember that 
 Loftus is the name of my scoundrel tutor who persuaded me to 
 volunteer against Poland \ To screen his baseness I have 
 brought all this upon myself." 
 
 "Now I recollect it," replied Thaddeus; "but I never saw 
 him." 
 
 " Yet I am not less certain that I am right," replied Somer- 
 set. " I will tell you my reasons. After 1 quitted Villanow, 
 you may remember I was to meet him at Dantzic. Before we 
 left the port, he implored, almost on his knees, that in pity to 
 his mother and sisters, whom he said he supported out of his 
 ialar}', I would refrain from incensing my parents against him 
 by relating any circumstance of our visit to Poland. The man 
 shed tears as he spoke ; and, like a fool, I consented to keep 
 the secret till the Vicar of Somerset (a poor soul, still ill of 
 dropsy) dies, and he be in possession of the living. When we 
 landed in England, I found the cause of my sudden recall had 
 been the illness of my dear mother. But Heaven denied me 
 the happiness of beholding her again ; she had been buried two 
 days before I reached the shore." Pembroke paused a mo- 
 ment, and then resumed : " For near a month after my return, I 
 could not quit ray room ; on my recovery, I wrote both to you 
 and to the palatine. But I still locked up your nam.es within 
 my heart, the old rector being yet in existence. I repeated my 
 letters at least every six weeks during the first year of our sep- 
 aration, though you persisted in being silent. Hurt as I was 
 at this neglect, I believed that gratitude demanded some sacri- 
 fices from pride, and I continued to write even till the spring 
 following. Meanwhile the papers of the day teemed with Sobi- 
 cski's actions — Sobieski's fame ; and supposing that increasing 
 glory liad blotted me out of your memory, I resolved thence- 
 forth to regard our friendship as a dream, and never to speak 
 of it more." 
 
 Confounded at this double misapprehension, Thaddeus v»'ith 
 a glowing countenance expressed his regret for having doubted 
 his friend, and repeating the assurance of having been punctual 
 to his promise of correspondence, even when he dreamed him 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 337 
 
 inconstant, acknowledged that nothing but a premeditated 
 scheme could have effected so many disappointments. 
 
 " Ay," returned Pembroke, reddening with awakened anger ; 
 " I could swear that Mr. Loftus has all my letters in his bureau 
 at this moment ! No house ever gave a man a better oppor- 
 tunity to play the rogue in than ours. It is a custom with us to 
 lay our letters every morning on the hall-table, whence they are 
 sent to the office ; and when the post arrives they are spread 
 out in the same way, that their several owners may take them 
 as they pass to breakfast. From this arrangement I cannot 
 doubt the means by which Tvlr. Loftus, under the hope of sepa- 
 rating us forever, has intercepted every letter to you and every 
 letter from you. I suppose the wretch feared I might become 
 impatient, and break my engagement if our correspondence 
 were allowed. He trembled lest the business should be blown 
 befoie the rector died, and he, in consequence, lose both the 
 expected living and his present situation about Lord Avon. A 
 villain ! for once he has judged rightly. I will unmask him to 
 my father, and show him what it is to purchase advancement 
 at the expense of honor and justice." 
 
 Thaddeus, who could not withhold immediate credit to these 
 evidences of chicanery, tried to calm the violence of his friend, 
 who only answered by insisting on having his company back 
 with him to Somerset Castle. 
 
 " I long to present you to my father," cried he. " When I 
 tell him w^ho you are, of your kindness to me, how rejoiced will 
 he be ! How happy, how proud to have you his guest ; to show 
 the grandson of the Palatine of Masovia the warm gratitude of 
 a Briton's heart 1 Indeed, Sobieski, you will love him, for. he 
 is generous and noble, like your inestimable grandfather. 
 Besides." added he, smiling with a sudden recollection, " there 
 is my lovely cousin, Mary Beaufort, who I verily believe will fly 
 into your arms 1 " 
 
 The blood rushed over the cheeks of Thaddeus at this speech 
 of his friend, and suppressing a bitter sigh, he shook his head. 
 
 "Don't look so like an infidel," resumed Somerset. "If 
 you have any doubts of possessing her most precious feelings, 
 I can put you out of your suspense by a single sentence ! When 
 Lady Dundas's household, with myself amongst them (for little 
 did I suspect I was joining the cry against my friend), were as- 
 serting the most flagrant instances of your deceit to Euphemia, 
 Mary alone withstood the tide of malice, and compelled me to 
 release you." 
 
 "Gracious Providence;"" cried Thaddeus, catching Pern- 
 
^^S THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 broke's hand, and looking eagerly and with agitation in his face ; 
 *' was it you who came to my prison ? Was it Miss Beaufort 
 who visited my lodgings ? " 
 
 " Indeed it was," returned his friend, " and I blush for my- 
 self that I quitted Newgate without an interview. Had I fol- 
 lowed the dictates of common courtesy, in the fulfilment of my 
 commission, I should have seen you ; and then, what pain 
 would have been spared my dear cousin ! What a joyful sur- 
 prise would have awaited myself ! " 
 
 Thaddeus could only reply by pressing his friend's hand. 
 His brain whirled. He could not decide on the nature of his 
 feelini^s ; one moment he would have given worlds to throw him- 
 self at Miss Beaufort's feet, and the next he trembled at the 
 prospect of meeting her so soon. 
 
 " Dear Sobieski ! " cried Pembroke, *' how strangely you re- 
 ceive this intelligence ! Is it possible such sentiments from 
 Mary Beaufort can be regarded by a soul like yours with 
 coldness .'* " 
 
 " O no ! " cried the count, his fine face flushed with emo- 
 tion. " I adore Miss Beaufort. Her virtues possess my whole 
 heart. But can I forget that I have only that heart to offer ? 
 Can I forget that I am a beggar ? — that even mw I exist on her 
 bounty "i " The eyes of Thaddeus, and the sudden tremor which 
 shook his frame, finished this appeal to his fate. 
 
 Pembroke found it enter his soul. To hide its effect, he 
 threw himself on his friend's breast, and exclaimed, " Do not 
 injure me and my father by such thoughts. You are come, 
 dearest Sobieski, to a second home. Sir Robert Somerset will 
 consider himself ennobled in supplying the place of your lament- 
 ed grandfather — in endowing you like a son ! Oh, Thaddeus, 
 you must be my cousin, dear as a brother, as well as my friend ! " 
 
 Thaddeus replied with an agitated affection as true as that 
 of the generous speaker. " But," added he, " I must not allow 
 the noble heart of my now regained Somerset to believe that I 
 can live a dependent on any power but the Author of my being. 
 Therefore, if Sir Robert Somerset will assist me to procure 
 some unobtrusive way of acquiring my own support in the sim- 
 plicity I wish, I shall thank him from my soul. In no other way 
 my kindest friend, can I ever be brought to tax the munificence 
 of your father." 
 
 Pembroke colored at this, and exclaimed, in a voice of dis- 
 tress and displeasure, " Sobieski ! what can you mean } Do you 
 imagine that ever my father or myself can forget that you were 
 little less than a prince in your own country.? — that when in 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 2>Z<) 
 
 SO high a station you treated me like a brother ; that you pre- 
 served me even when I lifted my arm against your life. Can we 
 be such monsters as to forget all this, or to think that we act 
 justly by you in permitting you to labor for your bread ? No, 
 Thaddeus ; my very soul spurns the idea. Your mother shel- 
 tered me as a son ; and I insist that you allow my father to per- 
 form the same part by you ! Besides, you shall not be idle ; you 
 may have a commission in the army, and I will follow you." 
 
 The count pressed the hand of his friend, and looking 
 gratefully but mournfully in his face, replied, " Had I a hun- 
 dred tongues, my generous Pembroke, I could not express my 
 sense of your friendship ; it is indeed a cordial to my heart ; it 
 imparts to me an earnest of happiness which I thought had fled 
 forever. But it shall not allure me from my principles. I am 
 resolved not to live a life of indolent uselessness ; and I can- 
 not, at this period, enter the British army. No," added he, 
 emotion elevating his tone and manner ; " rather would I toil 
 for subsistence by the sweat of my brow than be subjected to 
 the necessity of acting in concert with those ravagers who 
 destroyed my country ! I cannot fight by the side of the allied 
 powers who dismembered it ! I cannot enlist under the allies ! 
 I will not be led out to devastation! I\Iine was, and ever shall 
 be, a defensive sword ; and should danger threaten England, I 
 would be as ready to withstand her enemies as I ardently, 
 though ineffectually, opposed those of unhappy Poland." 
 
 Pembroke recognized the devoted soul of Thaddeus of 
 Warsaw in this lofty burst of enthusiasm ; and aware that his 
 father's munificence and manner of conferring it would go 
 further towards removing these scruples than all his own argu- 
 ments, he did not attempt to combat a resolution which he knew 
 he could not subdue, but tried to prevail with him to become 
 his guest until something could be arranged to suit his wishes. 
 
 With an unuttered emotion at the thought of meeting Miss 
 Beaufort, Thaddeus had just consented to accompany Somer- 
 set to the Castle, after Sir Robert had been apprized of his 
 coming, when the countess's old and faithfully-attached man- 
 servant entered, and respectfully informed her guests that his 
 lady, not willing to disturb their conversation, had retired to 
 her room for the night, but that beds were prepared for them 
 in the Abbey, and she hoped to meet both friends at her break- 
 fast-table in the morning. The honest man then added, " It 
 w-as now past eleven o'clock ; and after their honors had par- 
 taken of their yet untasted refreshment, he would be ready to 
 attend them to their chambers." 
 
340 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Pembroke started up at this, and shaking his friend warmly 
 by the hand, bade him, he said, " a short farewell ; " and has- 
 tening down the hill, arrived at the gate of the Wold Lodge just 
 at the turn of midnight. 
 
 At an early hour the next morning he gave orders to his 
 groom, wrote a slight apology to Shafto for his abrupt depart- 
 ture, and, mounting his fleet horse, galloped away full of de- 
 light towards Somerset Castle. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 SOMERSET C ASTL 
 
 But Sobieski did not follow the attentive domestic of his 
 maternal friend to the prepared apartment in the Abbey. He 
 asked to be conducted back through the night-shadowed grounds 
 to the little hotel he had seen early in the evening on his ap- 
 proach to the mansion. It stood at the entrance of the ad- 
 joining village, and under its rustic porch he had immediately 
 entered, to engage a lodging beneath its humble sign, " The 
 Plough," for the few days of his intended visit to Lady Tine- 
 mouth. A boy had been his guide, and bearer of his small 
 travelling-bag, from the famous old Commandery inn, die 
 " Angel," at Grantham, where the Wold diligence had set him 
 down in the afternoon at the top of the market-place of that 
 memorable town of ancient chivalry, to find his way up to the 
 occasional rural palace cells on Harrowby Hill, of the same 
 doughty and luxurious knights who were now lying, individu- 
 ally forgotten, in their not only silent but unknown graves, 
 there not being a trace of them amongst the chapel ruins of 
 the Abbey, nor below the hill, on the sight of the old Com- 
 mandery church at Grantham. 
 
 " Ah, transit mundi ! " exclaimed Thaddeus to himself, with 
 a calmed sigh, as he thought on those things, while resting 
 under the modest little portal of the hotel, whose former 
 magnificence, when a hermit cell, might still be discernible in a 
 few remaining remnants of the rich Gothic lintel yet mingling 
 with the matted straw and the clinging ivy of the thatch. 
 
 "What art thou, world, and thine ambitions?" again 
 echoed in silence from the heart of Thaddeus. " Though yet 
 so young, I have seen thee in all thy phases which might wean 
 
Ti: ADD EL'S OF WARSAW. 34 1 
 
 me from this earth. But there are still some beings dear to 
 me in the dimmed aspect, that seem to hold my hopes to this 
 transitory and yet too lovely world." He was then thinking of 
 his restored friend Pembroke Somerset, and of her whose 
 name had been so fondly uttered by him, as a possible bond 
 of their still more intimate relationship. He tried to quell the 
 wild hope this recollection waked in his bosom, and hurried 
 from the little parlor of the inn, where Lady Tinemouth's old 
 servant had left him, to seek repose in his humbly-prepared 
 chamber. 
 
 At sight of its white-robed bed and simple furniture, and 
 instantly "conscious to the balmy effects of the sweet freshness 
 that breathed around him, where no perfume but that of flowers 
 ever entered, his agitated feelings soon became soothed into 
 serenit}^ and within a quarter of an hour after he had laid his 
 grateful head on that quiet pillow^, he had sunk to a sleep of 
 gentle peace with man and Heaven. 
 
 Next morning, when the countess met her gladly re-wel- 
 comed guest at the breakfast-table, she expressed surprise and 
 pleasure at the scene of the preceding night, but intimated 
 some mortification that he had withheld any part of his confi- 
 dence from her. Sobieski soon obtained her pardon, by relating 
 the manner of his first meeting with Mr. Somerset in Poland, 
 and the consequent events of that momentous period. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth wept over the distressful fate that marked 
 the residue of his narrative with a tenderness which yet more 
 endeared her to his soul. But when, in compliance with his 
 inquiries, she informed him how it happened that he had to 
 seek her at Harrowby Abbey, when he supposed her to be on 
 the Wolds, it was his turn to pity, and to shudder at his own 
 consanguinity with Lord Harwold. 
 
 " Indeed," added the countess, wishing to turn from the 
 painful subject, " you must have had a most tedious journey 
 from Harwold Park to Harrowby, and nothing but my pleas- 
 ure could exceed my astonishment when I met you last night 
 on the hill." 
 
 Thaddeus sincerely declared that travelling a few miles 
 further than he intended was no fatigue to him ; yet, were it 
 otherwise, the happiness which he then enjoyed would have 
 acted as a panacea for worse ills, could he have seen her look- 
 ing as well as when she left London. 
 
 Lady Tinemouth smiled. " You are right, Sobieski. I am 
 worse than when I was in town. ^My solitary journey to Har- 
 wold oppressed me ; and when my son sent me orders to leave 
 
342 TIIADDEUS OF ll'JRSAlV. 
 
 it, because his father wanted the place for the autumnal 
 months, his capricious cruelty seemed to augrxiCnt the hectic 
 of my distress. Nevertheless, I immediately obeyed, and in 
 augmented disorder, arrived here last week. But how kind 
 you were to follow me ! Who informed you of the place of my 
 destination ? — hardly any of Lady Olivia's household ? " 
 
 " No," returned Thaddeus ; " I luckily had the precaution 
 to inquire at the inn on the Wolds where the coach stopped, 
 what part of Lord Tinemouth's family were at the Park ; and 
 when I heard that the earl himself was there, my next question 
 was, " Where, then, was the countess ? " The landlord very 
 civilly told me of your having engaged a carriage from his 
 house a day or two before, to carry you to one of his lordship's 
 seats within a few miles of Somerset Castle. Hence, from 
 what I heard you say of the situation of Harrowb}', I concluded 
 it must be the Abbe\', and so I sought you nt a venture." 
 
 "And I hope a happy issue^." replied she, "will arise from 
 your wanderings ! This rencontre with so old a friend as Mr. 
 Somerset is a pleasing omen. For my part, I was ignorant of 
 the arrival of the family at the Castle until yesterday morning, 
 and then I sent off a messenger to apprize my dear Miss Beau- 
 fort of my being in her neighborhood. To my great disap- 
 pointment. Lady Shafto found me out immediately ; and when, 
 in compliance with her importunate invitation, I walked down 
 to an early dinner with her yesterday, little did I expect to 
 meet the amiable cousin of our sweet friend. So delightful an 
 accident has amply repaid me for the pain I endured in seeing 
 Miss Dundas at the Lodge ; an insolent and reproachful letter 
 which she wrote to me concerning you has rendered her an 
 object of my aversion." 
 
 Thaddeus smiled and gently bent his head. " Since, my 
 dear Lady Tinemouth, her groundless malice and Miss Euphe- 
 mia's folly have failed in estranging either your confidence or 
 the esteem of Miss Beaufort from me, I pardon them both. 
 Perhaps I ought to pity them ; for is it not difficult to pass 
 through the brilliant snares of wealth and adulation and emerge 
 pure as when we entered them ? Unclouded fortune is, indeed, 
 a trial of spirits ; and how brightly does Miss Beaufort rise 
 from the blaze ! Surrounded by splendor, homage and indul- 
 gence, she is yet all nature, gentleness and virtue ! " 
 
 The latter part of this burst of heart he uttered rapidly, the 
 nerves of that heart beating full at every word. 
 
 The countess, who wished to appear cheerful, rallied him 
 on the warmth of his expressions ; and observing that " the day 
 
TIIADDLi'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 343 
 
 was fine," invited him to walk out with her through the roman- 
 lie, though long-neglected, domains of the Abbey. 
 
 Meanwhile, the family at Somerset were just drawn round 
 the breakfast-board, when they were agreeably surprised by the 
 sudden entrance of Pembroke. During the repast Miss iJeau- 
 fort repeated the contents of the note she had received the pre- 
 ceding day from Lady Tinemouth, and requested that her 
 cousin would be kind enough to drive her in his curricle that 
 morning to Harrowby. 
 
 " I will, with pleasure," answered he, " I have seen her 
 ladyship, and even supped with her last night." 
 
 '• How came that ? " asked Miss Dorothy. 
 
 *' I shall explain it to my father, whenever he will honor me 
 with an audience," returned her happy nephew, addressing the 
 baronet with all the joy of his heart looking out at his eyes. 
 " Will you indulge me, dear sir, by half an hour's attention ? " 
 
 ''Certainly," replied Sir Robert; "at present I am going 
 into my study to settle my steward's books, but the moment I 
 have finished, I will send for you." 
 
 Miss Dorothy walked out after her brother, to attend her 
 aviary, and Miss Beaufort, remaining alone with her cousin, 
 made some inquiries about the countess's reasons for coming 
 to the Abbey. " I know nothing about them," replied he, gayly, 
 '•for she went to bed almost the instant I entered the house. 
 Too good to remain where her company was not wanted, she 
 left me to enjoy a most delightful tjte-a-tete with a dear friend, 
 from whom I parted nearly four years ago. In short, we sat 
 up the whole night together, talking over past scenes — and 
 present ones too, for, I assure you, you were not forgotten." 
 
 " I ! what had I to do wuth it ? " replied Mary, smiling. " I 
 cannot recollect any dear friend of yours whom you have not 
 seen these four years." 
 
 " Well, that is strange ! " answered Pembroke ; " he remem- 
 bers you perfectly ; but, true to your sex, you affirm what you 
 please, though I know there is not a man in the world I prefer 
 before him." 
 
 Miss Beaufort shook her head, laughed, and sighed ; and 
 withdrawing her hand from his, threatened to leave him if he 
 would not be serious. 
 
 " I am serious," cried he. " Would you have me swear th^it 
 I have seen him whom you most wish to see .'' " 
 
 She regarded the expression of his countenance with a mo- 
 mentary emotion ; taking her seat again, she said, " You can 
 have seen no one that is of consequence to me ; whoever your 
 
344 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 friend may be, I have only to congratulate you on a meeting 
 which aiiorcls you so much dehght." 
 
 Pembroke burst into a joyous laugh at her composure. 
 
 " So cold ! " cried he — " so cautious ! Yet I verily believe 
 you would participate in my delights were I to tell you who lie 
 is. However, you are such a skeptic, that I wont hint even one 
 of the many fine things he said of you." 
 
 She smiled incredulously. 
 
 " I could beat you, Mary," exclaimed he, " for this oblique 
 way of saying I am telling lies ! But I will have my revenge 
 on your curiosity ; for on my honor I declare," added he, em- 
 phatically, " that last night I met with a friend at Lady Tine- 
 mouth s who four years ago saved my life, who entertained me 
 several weeks in his house, and who has seen and adores you ! 
 'Tis true ; true, on my existence ! And wdiat is more, I have 
 promised that you will repay these weighty obligations by the 
 free gift of this dear hand. What do you say to this, my swf 't 
 Mary ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort looked anxious at the serious and energetic 
 manner in w^hich he made those assertions ; even the sportive 
 kiss that ended the question did not dispel the gravity with 
 which she prepared to reply. 
 
 Pembroke perceiving her intent, prevented her by exclaim- 
 ing, " Cease, Mary, cease ! I see you are going to make a false 
 statement. Let truth prevail, and you will not deny that I n 
 suing for a plighted faith ? You will not deny who it was that 
 softened and subdued your heart ? You cannot conceal fro^i 
 me that the wanderer Constantine possesses your affections ? " 
 
 Amazed at so extraordinary a charge from her hitherto 
 always respectful as well as fraternally affectionate cousin, b.ci 
 reddened with pain and displeasure. Rising from her seat, and 
 averting her tearful eyes, she said, " I did not ex^oect this cruel, 
 this ungenerous speech from you, Pembroke ! What have I 
 done to deserve so rude, so unfeeling a reproach ? " 
 
 Pembroke threw his arm round her. '' Come," said he, in 
 a sportive voice ; '' don't be tragical. I never meant to re- 
 proach you, Mary. I dare say if yoa gave your heart, it was 
 only in return for his. 1 know you are a grateful girl ; and I 
 verily believe you won't find much difference between my friend 
 the young Count Sobieski and the forlorn Constantine." 
 
 A suspicion of the truth flashed across Miss Beaufort's 
 mind. Unable to speak, she caught hold of her cousin's hands, 
 and looking eagerly in his face, her eyes declared the question 
 she would have asked. 
 
Til ADD EL'S Or ]VARSA]V 
 
 345 
 
 Pembroke laughed triuinphaiuly. A servant entering lo 
 tell him that Sir Robert was ready, he strained her to his breast 
 and exclaimed, " Now I am revenged ! Farewell ! I leave you 
 to all the pangs of doubt and curiosity ! " He then flew out of 
 the room with an arch glance at her agitated countenance, and 
 hurried up stairs. 
 
 She clasped her trembling hands together as the door closed 
 on iiim. " O, gracious Providence !" cried she, " what am I 
 to understand by this mystery, this joy of my cousin's ? Can 
 it be possible that tne illustrious Sobieski and my contemned 
 Constantine are the same person ? " A burning blush overspread 
 her face at the expression my which had escaped her lips. 
 
 Whilst the graces, the sweetness, the dignity of Thaddeus 
 had captivated her notice, his sufferings, his virtues, and the 
 mysterious interests which involved his history, in like manner 
 had fixed her attention had awakened her esteem. From these 
 grounds the step is short to love. " When the mind is con- 
 quered, the heart surrenders at discretion." But she knew not 
 that she had advanced too far to retreat, until the last scene at 
 Dundas House, by forcing her to defend Constantine against 
 the charge of loving her, made her confess to herself how much 
 she wished the charge were true. 
 
 Poor and lowly as he seemed, she found that her whole 
 heart and life were wrapped in his remembrance ; that his wor- 
 shipped idea was her solace ; her most precious property the 
 clear treasure of her secret and sweetest felicity, It was the 
 companion of her walks, the monitor of her actions. When- 
 ever she planned, whenever she executed, she asked herself, 
 liow would Constantine consider this ? and accordingly did she 
 approve or condemn her conduct, for she had heard enough 
 from Mrs. Robson to convince her that piety was the sure foun- 
 tain of his virtues. 
 
 ' When she had left London, and so far separated from this 
 idol of her memory, such was the impression he had stamped 
 on her heart ; he seemed ever present. The shade of Laura 
 \ isiied the solitude of Vaucluse ; the image of Constantine 
 haunted the walks of Somerset. The loveliness of nature, its 
 leafy groves and verdant meadows, its blooming mornings and 
 luxuriant sunsets, the romantic shadows of twilight or the soft 
 glories of the moon and stars, as they pressed beauty and sen- 
 timent upon her heart, awoke it to the remembrance of Con- 
 stantine ; she saw his image, she felt his soul, in every object. 
 Subtile and undelinable is that ethereal chord which unites cur 
 tenderest thought, with their chain of association 1 
 
346 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Before this conversation, in whicli Pembroke mentioned tlie 
 name of Constantine with so much badinage and apparent famil- 
 iarity, he never heard him spoken of by Mary or his aunt with- 
 out declaring a displeasure nearly amounting to anger. Hence, 
 when she considered his now so strangely altered tone, Miss 
 Beaufort necessarily concluded that he had seen, in the person 
 of him she most valued, the man whose public character she had 
 often heard him admire, and who, she now doubted not, had at 
 some former period given him some private reason for calling 
 him his friend. Before this time, she more than once had sus- 
 pected, from the opinions which Somerset occasionally repeated 
 respecting the affairs of Poland, that he could only have ac- 
 quired so accurate a knowledge of its events by having visited 
 the country itself. She mentioned her suspicion to Mr. Loftus : 
 he denied the fact ; and she had thought no more on the subject 
 until the present ambiguous hints of her cousin conjured up 
 these doubts anew, and led her to suppose that if Pembroke 
 had not disobeyed his father so far as to go to Warsaw, he must 
 have met with the Count Sobieski in some other realm. The 
 possibility that this young hero, of whom fame spoke so loudly, 
 might be the mysterious Constantine, bewildered and delighted 
 her. The more she compared what she had heard of the one 
 with what she had witnessed in the other, the more was she 
 reconciled to the probability of her ardent hope. Besides, she 
 could not for a moment retain a belief that her cousin would so 
 cruelly sport with her delicacy and peace as to excite expecta- 
 tions that he could not fulfil. 
 
 Agitated by a suspense which bordered on agony, with a 
 beating heart she heard his quick step descending the stairts. 
 The door opened, and Pembroke, flying into the room, caugl.t 
 np his hat. As he was darting away again, unable to restrain 
 her impatience. Miss Beaufort with an imploring voice ejaculated 
 his name. He turned, and displayed to her amazed sight a 
 countenance in which no vestige of his former animation could 
 be traced. His cheek was flushed, and his eyes shot a wild fire 
 that struck to her heart. Unconscious what she did, she ran up 
 to him ; but Pembroke, pushing her back, exclaimed, " Don't 
 ask me any questions, if you would not drive me to madness." 
 
 " O Heaven ! " cried she, catching his arm, and clinging to 
 liim, while the eagerness of his motion dragged her into t!:e 
 liall. " Tell me ! Has anything happened to my guardian — 
 to your friend — to Constantine } " 
 
 " No," replied he, looking at her with a face full of despera- 
 tion ; " but my father commands me to treat him like a villain."; 
 
TIIADDEUS Of IVARSAIV. 
 
 347 
 
 She could hardly credit her senses at this confirmation tliat 
 Constantine and Sobieski were one. Turning giddy with the 
 tumultuous delight that rushed over her soul, she staggered back 
 a few paces, and leaning against th.e open door, tried to recover 
 breath to regain the room she had left. 
 
 Pembroke, having escaped from her grasp, ran furiously 
 down the hill, mounted his horse, and forbidding any groom to 
 attend him, galloped towards the high road with the impetuos- 
 ity of a madman. All the powers of his soul were in arms. 
 Wounded, dishonored, stigmatized with ingratitude and base- 
 ness, he believed himself to be the most degraded of men. 
 
 It appeared that Sir Robert Somerset had long clierished a 
 hatred to the Poles, in consequence of some injury he affirmed 
 he had received in early youth from one of that nation. In this 
 instance his dislike was implacable ; and when his son set out 
 for the continent, he positively forbade him to enter Poland. 
 Notwithstanding his remembrance of this violated injunction, 
 uhen Pembroke joined the baronet in his library, he did it with 
 confidence. With a bounding heart and animated countenance, 
 he recapitulated how he had been wrought upon by his young 
 Russian friends to take up arms in their cause and march into 
 Poland. At these last words his father turned pale, and though 
 he did not speak, the denunciation was on his brow. 
 
 Pembroke, who expected some marks of displeasure, has- 
 tened to obliterate his disobedience by narrating the event which 
 had introduced not only the young Count Sobieski to his succor, 
 but the consequent friendship of the whole of that princely 
 family. 
 
 Sir Robert still made no verbal reply, but his countenance 
 deepened in gloom ; and when Pembroke, with all the pathos 
 of a deep regret, attempted to describe the death of the pala- 
 tine, the horrors which attended the last hours of the countess, 
 and the succeeding misery of Thaddeus, who was now in Eng- 
 land, no language can paint the frenzy which burst at once from 
 the baronet. He stamped on the ground, he covered his face 
 with his clenched hands ; then turning on his son with a coun- 
 tenance no longer recognizable, he exclaimed with inry, " Pem- 
 broke ! you have outraged my commands ! Never will I pardon 
 you \i that voung man ever blasts me with his sight." 
 
 " iNIerciuil Heaven ! " cried Pembroke, thunderstruck at a 
 violence which he almost wished might proceed from real mad- 
 ness: "surely something has agitated my father ! What can 
 this mean ? " 
 
 Sir Robert shook his head, whilst his teeth ground against 
 
, S THADDEUS OF V/ARSAW. 
 
 each other. " Don't mistake me," replied he, in a firm voice. 
 *' I am perfectly in my senses. It depends on you that I con- 
 tinue so. You know my oath against all of that nation ! and, 
 I repeat again, if you ever bring that young man into my pres- 
 ence, you shall never see me more." ^ 
 
 A cold dew overspread the body of Pembroke. He would 
 have caught his father's hand, but he held it back. " O sir," 
 said he, "you surely cannot intend that I shall treat with in- 
 gratitude the man who saved my life ? " ' 
 
 Sir Robert did not vouchsafe him an answer, but continued 
 walking up and down the room, until, his hesitation increasing at 
 every step, he opened the door of an interior apartment and re-, 
 tired, bidding his son remain where he left him. ! 
 
 The horror-struck Pembroke waited a quarter of an hour be- 
 fore his father re-entered. When he did appear, the deep gloom 
 of his eye gave no encouragement to his son, who, hanging 
 down his head, recoiled from speaking first. Sir Robert ap- 
 proached with a composed but severe countenance, and said, 
 " I have been seeking every palliation that your conduct might 
 admit, but I can find none. Eefore you quitted England, you 
 knew well my abhorrence of Poland. One of that country many 
 years ago wounded my happiness in a way I shall never recover. 
 From that hour I took an oath never to enter its borders, and 
 never to suffer one of its people to come within my doors. 
 Rash, disobedient boy ! You know my disposition, and you 
 have seen the emotion with which this dilemma has shaken my 
 soul ! But be it on your own head that you have incurred ob- 
 ligations which I cannot repay. I will not perjure myself to 
 defray a debt contracted against my positive and declared prin- 
 ciples. I never will see this Polander you speak of ; and it is 
 my express command, on pain of my eternal malediction^ that 
 you break with him entirely." 
 
 Pembroke fell into a seat. Sir Robert proceeded. 
 
 " I pity your distress, but my resolution cannot be shaken. 
 Oaths are not to be broken with impunity. You must either re- 
 sign him or resign nie. We may compromise your debt of grat- 
 itude. I will give you deeds to put your friend in possession 
 of five hundred pounds a-year for life forever ; nay, I would even 
 double it to give you satisfaction ; but from the hour in which 
 you tell him so, you must see him no more." 
 
 Sir Robert was quitting the room, when Pembroke, starting 
 from his chair, threw himself in agony on his knees, and catch- 
 ing by the skirt of his father's coat, implored him for God's sake 
 to recall his words ; to remember that he was affixing everlast 
 
THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 34,^ 
 
 ino^ dishonor on his son ! " Remember, dear sir ! " cried he, 
 holding his struggling hand, '* that the man to whom you offer 
 money as a compensation for insult is of a nature too noble to 
 receive it. He will reject it, and spurn me ; and I shall know 
 that I deserve his scorn. For mercy's sake, spare me the ag- 
 ony of harrowing up the heart of my preserver — of meeting re- 
 proach from his eyes ! " 
 
 " Leave me ! " cried the baronet, breaking from him ; " I 
 repeat, unless you wish to incur my curse, do as I have com- 
 manded." 
 
 Thus outraged, thus agonised, Pembroke had appeared be- 
 fore the eyes of his cousin Mary more like a distracted creature 
 than a man possessed of his senses. Shortly after his abrupt 
 departure, her apprehension was petrified to a dreadful certainty 
 of some cruel ruin to her hopes, by an order she received in the 
 handwriting of her uncle, commanding her not to attempt visit- 
 ing Lady Tinemouth whilst the Count Sobieski continued to be 
 her guest, and under peril of his displeasure never to allow that 
 name to pass her lips. 
 
 Hardly knowing whither he went, Pembroke did not arrive 
 at the ruined aisle which leads to the habitable part of the 
 Abbey until near three o'clock. He inquired of the groom 
 that took his horse w^hether the countess and Mr. Constantine 
 were at home. The man replied in the affirmative, but added, 
 with a sad countenance, he feared neither of them could be 
 seen. 
 
 " For what reason ? " demanded Somerset. 
 
 '' Alas ! sir," replied the servant, " about an hour ago my 
 lady was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which ended in 
 the rupture of a blood-vessel. It continued to flow so long, 
 that Mr. Constantine told the apothecary, whom he had sum- 
 moned, to send for a physician. The doctor is not yet arrived, 
 and Mr. Constantine won't leave my lady." 
 
 Though Mr. Somerset was truly concerned at the illness of 
 the countess, the respite it afforded him from immediately de- 
 claring the ungrateful message of Sir Robert gave him no in- 
 considerable degree of ease. Somewhat relieved by the hope ■ 
 of being for one day spared the anguish of displaying his father 
 in a disgraceful light, he entered the Abbey, and desired that 
 a maid-servant might be sent to her ladyship's room to inform 
 his friend that Mr. Somerset was below. 
 
 In a few minutes the girl returned with the following lines 
 on a slip of paper : 
 
350 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 "To Pembroke Somerset, Esq. 
 
 " I am grieved that I cannot see my dear Somerset to-day ! 
 I fear my revered friend is on her death-bed. I have sent for 
 Dr. Cavendish, who is now at Stanford ; doubtless you know 
 he is a man of the first abilities. If human skill can preserve 
 her, I may yet have hopes ; but her disorder is on the lunc:;s 
 and in the heart, and I fear the stroke is sure. I am now sitting 
 by her bedside, and writing what she dictates to her husband, 
 her son, and her daughter. Painful, you may believe, is the 
 task ! I cannot, my dear Somerset, add more than my hope 
 of seeing you soon, and that you will join in prayers to Heaven 
 for the restoration of my inestimable friend, with your faithful 
 and affectionate 
 
 " Sobieski." 
 
 " Alas ! unhappy, persecuted Sobieski ! " thought Pembroke, 
 as he closed the paper ; " to what art thou doomed ! Some 
 friends are torn from thee by death ; others desert thee in the 
 hour of trouble." 
 
 He took out his pencil to answer this distressing epistle, 
 but he stopped at the first word; he durst not write that his 
 father would fulfil any one of those engagements which he had 
 so largely promised ; and throwing away the pencil and the 
 paper, he left a verbal declaration of his sorrow at what had 
 happened, and an assurance of calling next day. Turning his 
 back on a house which he had left on the preceding night with 
 so many joyful hopes, he remounted his horse, and, melancholy 
 and slow, rode about the country until evening, — so unwilling 
 was he to return to that home which now threatened him with 
 the frowns of his father, the tears of Mary Beaufort, and the 
 miserable reflections of his own wretched heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 the maternal heart. 
 
 Doctor Cavendish having been detained beyond his ex- 
 pected time with his invalid friend at Stanford, was happily 
 still there, and set off for Harrowbv the instant Mr. Constan- 
 
THADDECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 351 
 
 tine's messenger arrived, and before midnight alighted at the 
 Abbey. 
 
 When he entered Lady Tinemoiith's chamber he found lier 
 supported in the arms of Thaddeus, and struggUng \vith a sec- 
 ond rupture of her lungs. As he approached the bed, Thad- 
 deus turned his eyes on him with an expression that powerfully 
 told his fears. Ur. Cavendish silently pressed his hand ; then 
 taking from his pocket some styptic drops, he made the coun- 
 tess swallow them, and soon saw that they succeeded in slop- 
 ping the hemorrhage. 
 
 Thaddeus and her physician remained by the side of the 
 patient sufferer until ten in the morning, when she sunk into a 
 gentle sleep. Complete stillness being necessary to continue 
 this repose, the good doctor proposed leaving the maid to 
 watch by her ladyship, and drawing the count out of the room, 
 descended the stairs. 
 
 ;Mr. Somerset had been nrrived half an hour, and met them 
 in the breakfast parlor. After a few kind words exchanged 
 between the parlies, they sat down with dejected countenances 
 to their melancholy meal. Thaddeus was too much absorbed 
 in the scene he had left to take anything but a dish of coffee. 
 
 " Do you think Lady Tinemouth is in imminent danger? " 
 inquired Pembroke of the doctor. 
 
 Dr. Cavendish sighed, and turning to Thaddeus, directed 
 to him the answer which his friend's question demanded. '' I 
 am afraid, my dear Mr. Constantine," said he, in a reluctant 
 voice, "that you are to sustain a new trial ! I fear she cannot 
 live eight-and-forty hours." 
 
 Thaddeus cast down his eyes and shuddered, but made no 
 reply. Further remarks were prevented by a messenger from 
 the countess, who desired ]\Ir. Constantine's innnediate attend- 
 ance at her bedside. He obeyed. In half an hour he returned, 
 with the mark of tears upon his cheek. 
 
 " Dearest Thaddeus ! " cried Pembroke, " I trust the coun- 
 tess is not worse ? This threatened new bereavement is too 
 much : it afflicts my very heart.'* Indeed it rent it ; for Pem- 
 broke could not help internally acknowledging that when Sobi- 
 eski should close the eyes of Lady Tinemouth, he would be 
 paying the last sad office to his last friend. That dear distinc- 
 tion he durst no longer arrogate to himself. Denied the fulfil- 
 ment of its duties, he thought that to retain the title would be 
 an assumption without a right. 
 
 Thaddeus drew his hand over his again filling eyes. " The 
 countess herself," said he, "feels the truth of what P'r. Caven- 
 
352 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 dish told us. She sent for me, and begged me, as I loved her, 
 or would wish to see her die in peace, to devise some means 
 for bringing her daughter to the Abbey to-night. As for Lord 
 Harwold, she says his behavior since he arrived at manhood 
 has been of a nature so cruel and unnatural, that she would 
 not draw on herself the misery, nor on him the added guilt, of 
 a refusal ; but with regard to Lady Albina, who has been no 
 sharer in those barbarities, she trusts a daughter's heart might 
 be prevailed on to seek a last embrace from a dying parent. 
 It is this request," continued he, "that agitates me. When she 
 pictured to me, with all the fervor of a mother, her doating 
 fondness for this daughter, (on whom, whenever she did ven- 
 ture to hope, all those hopes rested ;) when she wrung my 
 hand, and besought me, as if I had been the sole disposer of 
 her fate, to let her see her chili before she died, I could only 
 promise every exertion to effect it, and with an aching heart I 
 came to consult you." 
 
 Dr. Cavendish was opening his lips to speak, but Somerset, 
 in his eagerness to relieve his friend, did not perceive it, and 
 immediately answered, "This very hour I will undertake what 
 you have promised. I know Lord Tinemouth's family arenovv^ 
 at the Wolds. It is only thirty miles distant ; I will send a 
 servant to have relays of horses ready. My curricle, which is 
 now at the door, will be more convenient than a chaise ; and I 
 will engage to be back before to-morrow morning. Write a 
 letter, Thaddeus," added he, " to Lady Albina ; tell her of her 
 mothers situation ; and though I have never seen the young 
 lady, 1 will give it into her own hand, and then bring her off, 
 even were it in the face of her villanous father." 
 
 The pale cheeks of Sobieski flushed v/ith a conscious scar- 
 let. Turning to Dr. Cavendish, he requested him, as the most 
 proper person, to write to Lady Albina, whilst he would walk 
 out v/ith his friend to order the carriage. Pembroke was 
 thanked for his zeal, but it was not by words ; they are too 
 weak vehicles to convey strong impressions. Thaddeus pressed 
 his hand, and accompanied the action with a look which 
 spoke volumes. The withered heart of Pembroke expanded 
 under the animated gratitude of his friend. Receiving the let- 
 ter, he sprang into his seat, and, until he lost sight of Har- 
 rowby Hill, forgot how soon he must appear to that friend the 
 most ungrateful of men. 
 
 It was near six in the evening before Mr. Somerset left his 
 curricle at the little inn which skirts the village of Harthorpe. 
 He affected to make f^oj"ue inquiries respecting the families in 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW 
 
 353 
 
 the nei.:j;hborhoocl ; and his host informed him that the ladies of 
 tiie carl's family were great walkers, passing almost the whole 
 of the day in the grounds. The measures to be adopted were 
 now obvious. The paling belonging to Lord Tinemouth's park 
 was only a few yards distant ; but fearful of being observed, 
 Pembroke sought a more obscure part. Scaling a wall which 
 was covered by the branches of high trees, he found his way to 
 the house through an almost impassable thicket. 
 
 He watched nearly an hour in vain for the appearance of 
 Lady Albina, v/hose youth and elegance, he thought, would 
 unequivocally distinguish her from the rest of the earl's house- 
 hold. Despairing of success, he was preparing to change his 
 station, when he heard a sound among the dry leaves, and the 
 next moment a beautiful young creature passed the bush behind 
 which he was concealed. I'he fine symmetry of her profile 
 assured him that she must be the daughter of Lady Tinemouth. 
 She stooped to gather a china-aster. Knowing that no time 
 should be lost, Pembroke gently emerged from his recess, but 
 not in so quiet a manner as to escape the ear of Lady Albina, 
 who instantly looking round, screamed, and would have fled, 
 had he not thrown himself before her, and exclaimed, " Stay, 
 Lady Albina ! For heaven's sake, stay ! I come from your 
 mother!" 
 
 She gazed fearfully in his face, and tried to release her hand, 
 which he had seized to prevent her flight. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," continued he ; " no harm is intended 
 you. I am the son of Sir Robert Somerset, and the friend of 
 your mother, who is now at the point of death. She implores 
 to see you this night (for she has hardly an hour to live) to hear 
 from your own lips that you do not hate her." 
 
 Lady Albina trembled dreadfully, and with faded cheeks 
 and quivering lips replied, " Hate my mother ! Oh, no ! I have 
 ever dearly loved her ! " 
 
 A flood of tears prevented her speaking further ; and Pem- 
 broke, perceiving that he had gained her confidence, put the 
 doctor's letter into her hand. The gentle heart of Lady Albina 
 bled at every word which her almost blinded eyes perused. 
 Turning to Pembroke, who stood contemplating her lovely 
 countenance with the deepest interest, she said, " Pray, Mr. 
 Somerset, take me now to my mother. Were she to die before 
 I arrive, I should be miserable for life. Alas ! alas ! I have 
 never been allowed to behold her ! — never been allowed to visit 
 London, because my father knew that I believed my poor 
 mother innocent, and would have seen her, had it been possible." 
 
354 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Lady Albina wept violently while she spoke, and giving her 
 hand to Pembroke, timidly looked towards the house, and 
 added, "You must take me this instant. We must hasten 
 away, in case we shou'.d be surprised. If Lady Olivia were to 
 know that I have been speaking with anybody out of the family, 
 I should be locked up for months." 
 
 Pembroke did not require a second command from his 
 beautiful charge. Conducting her through the unfrequented 
 paths by which he had entered, he seated her in his curricle, 
 and whipping his horses, set off, full speed, towards the melan- 
 choly goal of his enterprise 
 
 CHAPTER XLIT. 
 
 HARROW BY ABBEY. 
 
 Whilst the two anxious travellers were pursuing their sad 
 journey, the inhabitants of the Abbey were distracted with 
 apprehension lest the countess might expire before their arrival. 
 Ever since Lady Tinemouth received information that Mr. 
 Somerset was gone to the Wolds, hope and fear agitated her Ly 
 turns, till, wearied out with solicitude and expectation, she 
 turned her dim eyes upon Thaddeus, and said, in a languid 
 voice, " My dear friend, it must be near midnight. I shall 
 never see the morning ; I shall never in this world see my child. 
 1 pray you, thank Mr. Somerset for all the trouble I have 
 occasioned; and my daughter — my Albina! O father of 
 mercies!" cried she, holding up her clasped hands, "pour all 
 thy blessings upon her head ! She never wilfully gave this 
 broken heart a pang I " 
 
 The countess had hardly ended speaking when Thaddeus 
 heard a bustle on the stairs. Suspecting that it might be the 
 arrival of his friend, he made a sign to Dr. Cavendish to go and 
 inquire. His heart beat violently whilst he kept his eye fixed 
 on the door, and held the feeble pulse of Lady Tinemouth in 
 his hand. The doctor re-entered, and in a low voice whispered, 
 " Lady Albina is here." 
 
 The words acted like magic on the fading senses of the 
 countess. With preternatural strength she started from her 
 pillow, and catching hold of Sobieski's arm with both hers, 
 cried, " O give her to me whilst I have life." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 355 
 
 Lady Albina appeared, led in by Pembroke, but instantly 
 quitting his hand, with an agonizing shriek she rushed towards 
 the bed, and tiung herself into tlie extended arms of her motl.er. 
 Those arms closed on her, and the head of the countess rested 
 on her bosom. 
 
 Dr. Cavendish perceived by the struggles of the young lady 
 that she was in convulsions ; and taking her off the bed, he con- 
 signed her to Pembroke and his friend, who, between them, 
 carried her into another apartment. He remained to assist the 
 countess. 
 
 Albina was removed ; but the eyes of her amiable and 
 injured mother were never again unclosed : she had breathed 
 her last sigh, in grateful ecstasy, on the bosom of her daughter ; 
 and Heaven had taken her spotless soul to Himself. 
 
 Being convinced that the countess was indeed no more, the 
 good doctor left her remains in charge of the women ; and re- 
 pairing to the adjoining room, found Lady Albina yet senseless 
 in the arms of his two friends. She was laid on a sofa, and 
 Cavendish was pouring some drops into her mouth, wlien he 
 descried Thaddeus gliding out of the room. Desirous to spare 
 him the shock of suddenly seeing the corpse of one whom he 
 loved so truly, he said, '' Stop, Mr. Constantine ! I conjure 
 you, do not go into the countess's room ! " 
 
 The eyes of Thaddeus turned with emotion on the distressed 
 face of the physician ; one glance explained what the doctor 
 durst not speak. Faintly answering, "I will obey you," he 
 hurried from the apartment. 
 
 In the count's silent descent from Lady Albina's room to 
 the breakfast-parlor, he too plainly perceived by the tears of 
 the servants that he had now another sorrow to add to his 
 mournful list. He hastened from participation in their clamor- 
 ous laments, almost unseen, into the parlor, and shutting the 
 door, threw himself into a chair; but rest induced thought, and 
 thought subdued his soul. He started from his position ; he 
 paced the room in a paroxysm of anguish ; he would have given 
 worlds for one tear to relieve his oppressed heart. Ready to 
 suffocate, he threw open a window and leaned out. Not a star 
 was visible to light the darkness. The wind blew freshly, and 
 with parched lips he inhaled it as the reviving breath of 
 Heaven. 
 
 He was sitting on the window-seat, with his head leaning 
 against the casement, when Pembroke entered unobserved ; 
 walking up to him, he laid his hand upon his arm. and ejacu- 
 lated in a tremulous voice, " Thaddeus, dear Thaddeus ! " 
 
3S6 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Thaddeus rose at the well-known sounds : they reminded 
 him that he was not yet alone in the world ; for his soul had 
 been full of the dying image of his own mother. Clasping 
 Somerset in his arms, he exclaimed, "Heaven has still reserved 
 thee, faithful and beloved, to be my comforter ! In thy friend- 
 ship and fond memories," he added, v/ith a yet heaving breast, 
 " I shall find tender bonds of the past still to endear me to this 
 world." 
 
 Pembroke received the embrace of his friend ; he felt his 
 tears upon his cheek ; but he could neither return the one nor 
 sympathize with the other. The conviction that he was soon 
 to sever that cord, that he was to deprive the man who had 
 preserved his life of the only stay of his existence, and abandon 
 him to despair, struck to his soul. Grasping the hand of his 
 friend, he gazed on his averted and dejected features with a 
 look of desperate horror. " Sobieski," cried he, " whatever 
 may happen, never forget that I swear I love you dearer than 
 my life ! And when I am forced to abandon my friend, I shall 
 not be long of abandoning what will then be worthless to me." 
 
 Not perceiving the frenzied look which accompanied this 
 energetic declaration, Thaddeus gave no other meaning to the 
 words than a renewed assurance of his friend's affection. 
 
 The entrance of Dr. Cavendish disturbed the two young 
 men, to whom he communicated the increased indisposition of 
 Lady Albina. 
 
 " The shock she has received," said he, " has so materially 
 shaken her frame, I have ordered her to bed and administered 
 an opiate, which I hope will procure her repose ; and you, my 
 dear sir," added he, addressing the count, " you had better 
 seek rest ! The stoutest constitution might sink under what 
 you have lately endured. Pray allow Mr. Somerset and myself 
 to prevail with you, on our accounts, if not on your own, to 
 retire for half an hour ! " 
 
 Thaddeus, in disregard of his personal comfort, never in- 
 fringed on that of others ; he felt that he could not sleep, but 
 he knew it would gratify his benevolent friends to suppose that 
 he did ; and accordingly he went to a room, and throwing him- 
 self on a bed, lay for an hour, ruminating on all that had passed. 
 
 There is an omnipresence in thought, or a celerity produ- 
 cing nearly the same effect, which brings within the short space 
 of a few minutes the images of many foregoing years. In al- 
 most the same moment, Thaddeus reflected on his strange 
 meeting with the countess ; the melancholy story ; her forlorn 
 death-bed ; the fatal secret that her vile husband and son were 
 
TirADDEl'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 357 
 
 his father and brother ; and that her daughter, whom his warn\ 
 heart acknowledged as a sister, was with him under the same 
 roof, and, Hke him, the innocent inheritor of her father's shame. 
 Whilst these multifarious and painful meditations were agi- 
 tating his perturbed mind, Dr. Cavendish found repose on a 
 couch ; and Pembroke Somerset, resolving once more to try 
 the influence of entreaty on the hitherto generous spirit of his 
 father, with mingled hope and despondence commenced a last 
 attempt to shake his fatal resolution, in the following letter : 
 
 "To Sir Robert Somerset, Bart, Somerset Castle. 
 
 " I have not ventured into the presence of my dear father 
 since he uttered the dreadful words which I would give my 
 existence to believe I had never heard. You denounced a 
 curse upon me if I opposed your will to have me break all con- 
 nection with the man who preserved my life ! When I think 
 on this, when I remember that it was from yoii I received a 
 command so inexplicable from one of your character, so dis- 
 graceful to mine, I am almost mad ; and what I shall be should 
 you, by repeating your injunctions, force me to obey them, 
 Heaven only knows I but I am certain that I cannot survive 
 the loss of my honor ; I cannot survive the sacrifice of all my 
 principles of virtue which such conduct must forever destroy. 
 
 " Oh, my father ! I conjure you, reflect, before, in compli- 
 ance with an oath it was almost guilt to make, you decree your 
 only son to everlasting shame and remorse. Act how I will, I 
 shall never be happy more. I cannot live under your maledic- 
 tion ; and should I give up my friend, my conscience will re- 
 proach me every instant of my existence. Can I draw the 
 breath which he prolonged and cease to remember that I have 
 abandoned him to want and misery ? It were vain to flatter 
 myself that he will condescend to escape either by the munifi- 
 cence which you offer as a compensation for my friendship. 
 No ; I cannot believe that his sensible and independent nature 
 is so changed ; circumstances never had any power over the 
 nobility of his soul. 
 
 " Misfortune, which threw the Count Sobieski on the bounty 
 of England, cannot make him appear otherwise in my eyes 
 than as the idol of Warsaw, whose smile was honor and whose 
 friendship conferred distinction. 
 
 "Though deprived of the splendor of command; though 
 the eager circle of friends no longer cluster round him ; though 
 a stranger in this country, and without a home ; though, in 
 
358 
 
 Til AD DEC'S OF JVARSAJF. 
 
 place of an equipage an I retinue, he is followed by calamity 
 and neglect, yet, in my mind, I still see him in a car of triumph : 
 I see not only the opposer of his nation's enemies, but the 
 vanquisher of his own desires. I see the heir of a princely 
 house, who, when mankind have deserted him, is yet encom- 
 passed by his virtues. I see him, though cast out from a hard- 
 ened and unjust society, still surrounded by the lingering 
 spirits of those who were called to better worlds ! 
 
 " And this is the man, my dear father, (whom I am sure, 
 had he been of any other country than Poland, you would have 
 selected from all other men to be the friend and example 
 of your son), — this is he whom you command me to thrust 
 away. 
 
 " I beseech you to examine this injunction ! I am now 
 writing under the same roof with him ; it depends on you, my 
 ever-revered father, whether I am doing so for the last time ; 
 whether this is the last day in which your son is to consider 
 himself a man of honor, or whether he is henceforth to be a 
 wretch overwhelmed with shame and sorrow ! 
 
 " I have not yet dared to utter one word of your cruel orders 
 to my unhappy friend. He is now retired to seek some rest, 
 after the new anguish of having witnessed the almost sudden 
 death of Lady Tinemouth. Should I have to tell him that he 
 is to lose me too — but I cannot add more. Your own heart, 
 my father, must tell you that my soul is on the rack until I 
 have an answer to this letter." 
 
 " Before I shut my paper, let me implore you on my knees, 
 whatever you may decide, do not hate me ; do not load my 
 breaking heart with a parent's curse ! Whatever I may be, 
 however low and degraded in my ov\ai eyes, still, that I sacrificed 
 what is most precious to me, to my father, will impart the only 
 consolation which will then have power to reach your dutiful 
 and afflicted son. 
 
 "P. Somerset. 
 
 " IIarrowby Abbey, two o'clock in the morning." 
 
 Dr. Cavendish remained in a profound sleep, whilst Pem- 
 broke, with an aching heart having written the above letter, 
 and dispatched it by a man and horse, tried to compose him- 
 self to half an hour's forgetfulness of life and its turmoils ; but 
 he found his attempts as ineffectual as those of his friend. 
 
 Thaddeus had found no repose on his restless pillow. Re- 
 luctant to disturb the doctor and Somerset, who, he hoped, 
 
TUADDEl'S OF W'AK.SAW. 359 
 
 having less cause for regret, were sleeping tranquilly, he re- 
 mained in bed ; but he longed for morning. To his fevered 
 nerves, any change of position, with movement, seemed better 
 than where he was, and with some gleams of pleasure he watched 
 the dawn, and the rising of the son behind the opposite hill. 
 He got up, opened the window to inhale the air, and looking 
 out, saw a man throw himself off a horse, which was all in foam, 
 and enter the house. 
 
 Surprised at this circumstance, he descended to the parlor 
 to make inquiry, and met the man in the hall, who, being Pem- 
 broke's messenger, had returned express from the Castle, bear- 
 ing an order from Sir Robert (who was taken alarmingly ill) 
 that his son must come back immediately. 
 
 Dismayed with this new distress, i\lr. Somerset, on its in- 
 stant information, pressed the count so closely to his breast 
 when he bade him farewell, that a more suspicious person might 
 have apprehended it was a final parting ; but Thaddeus dis- 
 cerned nothing more in the anguish of his friend's countenance 
 than fear for the safety of Sir Robert ; and fervently wishing 
 his recovery, he bade Pembroke remember that should more 
 assistance be necessary, Dr. Cavendish would remain at the 
 Abbey until Lady Albina's return to the Wolds. 
 
 Mr. Somerset being gone, towards noon, when the count was 
 anxiously awaiting the appearance of the physician from the 
 room of the new invalid, he was disappointed by the abrupt 
 entrance of two gentlemen. He rose, and with his usual cour- 
 tesy to strangers, inquired their business ? The elder of the 
 men, with a fierce countenance and a voice of thunder, an- 
 nounced himself to be the Earl of Tinemouth, and the other 
 his son. 
 
 " We are come," said he, standing at a haughty distance — 
 " we are come to carry from this nest of infamy Lady Albina 
 Stanhope, whom some one of her mother's paramours — perhaps 
 you, sir — dared to steal from her father's home yesterday 
 evening. And I am come to give you, sir, who I guess to be 
 some fugitive vagabond ! the chastisement your audacity de- 
 serves." 
 
 With difficulty the Count Sobieski suppressed the passions 
 which were rising in his breast. He turned a scornful glance 
 on the person of Lord Harwold (who, with an air of insuffer- 
 able derision, was coolly measuring his figure through an eye- 
 glass) ; and then, replying to the earl, said, in a firm voice, 
 *' My lord, whoever you suppose me to be, it matters not ; I 
 now stand in the place of Lady Tinemouth's confidential friend, 
 
360 THADDEUS OF WAKSA W. 
 
 and to my last gasp I will prove myself the defender of her 
 injured name." 
 
 " Her lover ! " interrupted Lord Harwold, turning on his 
 heel. 
 
 " Her defender, sir ! " repeated Thaddeus, with a tremen- 
 dous frown ; " and shame and sorrow will pursue that son who 
 requires a stranger to supply his duty." 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried the earl, forgetting his assumed loftiness, 
 and advancing passionately towards Thaddeus, wdth his stick 
 held up ; *' how dare you address such language to an English 
 nobleman t " 
 
 " By the right of nature, which holds her laws over all man- 
 kind," returned Thaddeus, calmly looking on the raised stick. 
 " When an English nobleman forgets that he is a son, he de- 
 serves reproach from his meanest vassal." 
 
 " You see, my lord," cried Harwold, sliding behind his 
 father, " what we bring on ourselves by harboring these demo- 
 cratic foreigners ! Sir," added he, addressing himself to Thad- 
 deus, " your dangerous principles shall be communicated to 
 Government. Such traitors ought to hanged." 
 
 Sobieski eyed the enraged little lord with contempt ; and 
 turning to the earl, who was again going to speak, he said, in 
 an unaltered tone, " I cannot guess. Lord Tinemouth, what is 
 the reason of this attack on me. I came hither by accident ; 
 I found the countess ill ; and, from respect to her excellent 
 qualities, I remained with her until her eyes were closed for- 
 ever. She desired to see her daughter before she died, — what 
 human heart could deny a mother such a request ? — and Pem- 
 broke Somerset, her kinsman, undertook to bring Lady Albina 
 to the Abbey. 
 
 " Pembroke Somerset ! " echoed the earl. " A pretty guard 
 for my daughter, truly ! I have no doubt that he is just such a 
 fellow as his father — just such a person as yourself ! I am not 
 to be imposed upon. I know Lady Tinemouth to have been a 
 disgrace to me, and you to be that German adventurer on 
 whose account I sent her from London." 
 
 Shocked at this calumny on the memory of a woman whose 
 fame from any other mouth came as unsullied as purity itself, 
 Thaddeus gazed with horror at the furious countenance of the 
 man whom he believed to be his father. His heart swelled ; 
 but not deigning to reply to a charge as unmanly as it was 
 false, he calmly took out of his pocket two letters which the 
 countess had dictated to her husband and her son. 
 
 Lord Harwold tore his open, cast his eyes over the first 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 361 
 
 words, then crumpling it in his hand, threw it from him, ex- 
 chiimin^i;, " I am not to be frightened either by her arts or 
 the falsehoods of the fellows with whom she dishonored lier 
 name." 
 
 Thaddeus, no longer master of himself, sprang towards 
 this unnatural son, and seized his arm with an iron grasp. 
 " Lord Harwold ! " cried he, in a dreadful voice, " were it not 
 that I have some mercy on you for that parent's sake, to whom, 
 Mke a parricide, you are giving a second death by such mur- 
 derous slander, I would resent her wrongs at the hazard of 
 your worthless life ! " 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! " cried the trembling Harwold, quak- 
 ing under the gripe of Thaddeus, and shrinking from the ter- 
 rible brightness of his eye, — "my lord ! my lord, rescue me !" 
 
 The earl, almost suffocated Vvith rage, called out, " Ruffian ! 
 let ^o my son ! " and again raising his arm, aimed a blow at 
 the head'of Thaddeus, who, wrenching the stick out of the foaming 
 lord's hand, snapped it in two, and threw the pieces out of the 
 open window. 
 
 Lord Harwold took this opportunity to ring the bell vio- 
 lently, on which summons two of his servants entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Now, you low-born, insolent scoundrel," cried the dis- 
 armed earl, stamping with his feet, and pointing to the men 
 who stood at the door ; "you shall be turned by the neck and 
 heels out of this house. Richard, James, collar that fellow 
 instantly." 
 
 Thaddeus only extended his arm to the men (who were 
 looking confusedly on each other"), and calmly said, "If either 
 of you attempt to o^ey this command of your lord, you shall 
 have cause to repent it." 
 
 The men retreated. The earl repeated his orders. 
 
 " Rascals ! do as I command you, or instantly quit my ser- 
 vice. I will teach you," added he, clenching his fist at the 
 count, who stood resolutely and serenely before liim, " I will 
 teach you how to behave to a man of high birth." 
 
 The footmen were again deterred from approaching by a 
 glance from the intimidating eyes of Thaddeus, who, turning 
 with stern dignity to the storming earl, said, " You can teach 
 me nothing al;out high birth that I do not already know. Could 
 it be of any independent benefit to a man, then had I not re- 
 ceived the taunts and insults which you have dared to cast 
 upon me." 
 
 At that moment Dr. Cavendish, having heard a bustle, made 
 
362 THADDEUS GF WARSAW. 
 
 his appearance. Amazed at the sight of two strangers, who, 
 from their enraged countenances and the proud elevation with 
 which Thaddeus was standing between them, he rightly judged 
 to be the earl and his son, he advanced towards his friend, in- 
 tending to support him in the attackWhich he saw was men- 
 aced by the violent gestures of these visitors. 
 
 " Dr. Cavendish," said Thaddeus, speaking to him as he 
 approached, " your name must be a passport to the confidence 
 of any man ; I therefore shall gratify the husband of my ever- 
 lamented friend by quitting this house ; but I delegate to you 
 the office with which she entrusted me. I leave you in charge 
 of her sacred remains, and of the jewels w^hich you will find in 
 her apartment. She desired that half of them might be given, 
 with her blessing, to her daughter, and the other half, with her 
 pardon, to her son." 
 
 "Tell me, Dr. Cavendish," cried the earl, as Thaddeus was 
 passing him to leave the room, " who is that insolent fellow t 
 By heaven, he shall smart for this ! " 
 
 " Ay, that he shall," rejoined Lord Harwold, "if I have any 
 interest with the Alien-office." 
 
 Dr. Cavendish was preparing to speak, when Thaddeus, 
 turning round at this last threat of the viscount, said, " If I 
 did not know myself to be above Lord Harwold's power, per- 
 haps he might provoke me to treat him according to his de- 
 serts ; but I abjure resentment, while I pity his delusions. 
 For you, my lord," " added he, addressing the earl with a less 
 calm countenance, " there is an angel in heaven who pleads 
 against the insults you have uninquiringly and unjustly heaped 
 upon an innocent man ! " 
 
 Thaddeus disappeared from the apart^ient while uttering 
 the last word ; hastening from the house and park, he stopped 
 near the brow of the hill, at the porch of his lately peaceful 
 little hotel. The landlady was a sister of John Jacobs, the 
 faithful servant of his lamented friend, and who was then watch- 
 ing the door of the neglected chamber in which the sacred re- 
 mains of his dear mistress lay, as he would have guarded her 
 life, had the foes who had now destroyed it been still menacing 
 its nickering flame. The worthy couple were also attached to 
 that benevolent lady ; and with sad looks, but respectful wel- 
 coming, they saw Mr. Constantine re-enter their humble home, 
 and assured him of its retirement as long as he might wish to 
 abide in the neighborhood of the Abbey. Any prospect of re- 
 pose promised elysium to him ; and with harassed and torn 
 nerves he took possession of his apartment, which looked down 
 
TIIADDErs OF WARSAW. 2,^^-^ 
 
 the road that led from the old monastic structure to the town 
 of Grantham. The rapidity of the recent events bewildered 
 his senses, like the illusions of a dream. He had seen his 
 father, his sister, his brother; and most probably he had parted 
 from them forever ! — at least, he hoped he should never again 
 be tortured with the sight of Lord Tinemouth or his son. 
 
 " How," thought he, whilst walking up and down his solitary 
 parlor, " could the noble nature of my mother love such a man ? 
 and how could he have held so long an empire over the pure 
 heart he has just now broken." 
 
 He could nowhere discern, in the bloated visage and rage- 
 ful gestures of the earl, any of that beauty of countenance or 
 grace of manners which had alike charmed Therese Sobieski 
 and the tender Adeliza. 
 
 Like those hideous chasms which are dug deep in the land 
 by the impetuous sweep of a torrent, the course of violent pas- 
 sions leaves vast and irreparable traces on the features and in 
 the soul. So it was with Lord Tinemouth. 
 
 " How legibly does vice or virtue," ejaculated Thaddeus, 
 *' write itself on the human face ! The earl's might once have 
 been fine, but the lineaments of selfishness and sin have de- 
 graded every part of him. Mysterious Providence ! Can he be 
 my father — can it be his blood that is now running in my veins ? 
 Can it be his blood that rises at this moment with detestation 
 against him .?" 
 
 Before the sun set, Sobieski was aroused from these painful 
 soliloquies by still more painful feelings. He saw^ from his 
 window^ a hearse driving at full speed up the road that ascended 
 to the Abbey, and presently return at a slower pace, followed 
 by a single black coach. 
 
 "Inhuman men!" exclaimed he, while pursuing with his 
 eyes the tips of the sable plumes as the meagre cavalcade of 
 mourners wound down the hill ; could you not allow this poor 
 corse a little rest .-* Must her persecution be extended to the 
 grave ? Must her cold relics be insulted, be hurried to the 
 tomb without reverence — without decency ? " 
 
 The filial heart that uttered this thought also of his own in- 
 jured mother, and shrunk with horror at this climax of the earl's 
 barbarity. Dr. Cavendish entered with a flushed countenance. 
 He spoke indignantly of the act he still saw from the window, 
 which he denounced as a sacrilege against the dead. " Not 
 four-and-twenty hours since," cried he, " she expired ! and she 
 is hurried into the cold bosom of the earth, like a criminal, or 
 a creature whose ashes a moment above ground might spread 
 
364 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 a pestilence. Oh, how can that sweet victim, Lady Albina, 
 share such peccant blood ? " 
 
 Thaddeus, whose soul had just writhed under a similar 
 question with regard to himself, could little bear the repetition, 
 and interrupted the good physician by tenderly inquiring how 
 she had borne that so abrupt removal of her mother's remains. 
 
 " With mute anguish," returned Dr. Cavendish, in a respond- 
 ing, calmer voice of pity ; " and though I had warned her 
 father that the shock of so suddenly tearing his daughter from 
 such beloved relics might peril her own life, he continued ob- 
 durate ; and putting her into his travelling chariot in a state of 
 insensibility, along with her maid, in a few minutes afterwards 
 I saw him set off in a hired post-chaise, accompanied by his 
 detestable son, loaded with more than one curse, muttered by 
 the honest rustics. Only servants followed in that mourning 
 coach." 
 
 In the midst of this depressing conversation a courier ar- 
 rived from Stamford to Dr. Cavendish, recalling him immediately 
 to return thither, the invalid there having sustained an alarm- 
 ing relapse. The good doctor, sincerely reluctant to quit Thad- 
 deus (whom he still knew by no other name than Constantine), 
 ordered the dispatch-chaise to the hotel door. When it was 
 announced, he shook hands with the now lonely survivor of his 
 departed friend in this stranger land, requested that he might 
 hear from him before he left that part of the country for Lon- 
 don again, and bidding him many cordial adieus, continued to 
 look out of the back window of the carriage, until the faint 
 light of the moon and the receding glimmer of the village candles 
 finally hid the little spot that yet contained this young and sadly- 
 stricken exile from his lingering eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE OLD VILLAGE HOTEL. 
 
 For the first time during many nights, Thaddeus slept 
 soundly ; but his dreams were disturbed, and he awoke from 
 them at an early hour, unrefreshed and in much fever. 
 
 The simple breakfast which his attentive host and hostess 
 set before him was scarcely touched. Their nicely-dressed 
 dinner met with the same fate. He was i ', and possessed 
 neither appetite nor spirits to eat. The good people being too 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 365 
 
 civil to intrude upon him, he sat alone in his window from eight 
 o'clock (at which hour he had arisen) until the cawing of the 
 rooks, as they returned to the Abbey-woods, reminded him of 
 the approach of evening. He was uneasy at the absence of 
 Somerset, not so much on his own account, as on that of Sir 
 Robert, whose increased danger might have occasioned this 
 deloy ; however, he hoped otherwise. Longing earnestly for a 
 temporary sanctuary under his friend's paternal roof, in the 
 quiet of its peace and virtues, he trusted that the sympathy of 
 Pembroke, the only confidant of his past sorrows, would tend 
 to heal his recent wounds (though the nature of the most gall- 
 ing, he felt, must ever remain unrevealed even to him !) and so 
 fit him, should it be required, to yet further brave the buffets of 
 an adverse fate. Nor was Miss Beaufort forgotten. If ever 
 one idea more than another sweetened the bitterness of his 
 reflections, it was the remembrance of ]\Iary Beaufort. When- 
 ever her image rose before him — whether he were standing in 
 the lonely day with folded arms, in vacant gaze on the valley 
 beneath, or when lying on his watchful pillow he opened his 
 aching eyes to the morning light — still, as her angel figure pre- 
 sented itself to his mind, he did indeed sigh, but it was a sigh 
 laden with balm ; it did not tear his breast like those which had 
 been wrung from him by the hard hand of calamity and insult. 
 It was the soft breath of a hallowed love, which makes man 
 dream of heaven, while he feels sinking to an early grave. 
 Thaddeus felt it delightful to recollect how she had looked on 
 him that day in Hyde Park, when she " bade him take care of 
 his own life, while so devoted to that of his dying friend ! " and 
 how she "blessed him in his task," with a voice of tenderness 
 so startlingly sacred to his soul in its accents, that in remem- 
 bering her words now, when so near the moment of his again 
 seeing and hearing her, his soul expanded towards her, agitated, 
 indeed, but soothed and comforted. 
 
 " Sweet Mary ! " murmured he, " I shall behold thee once 
 more ; I shall again revive under thy kind smile ! Oh, it is 
 happiness to know that I owe my liberty to thee, though I may 
 not dare to tell thee so ! Yet my swelling heart may cherish 
 the dear consciousness, and, bereaved though I am of all I 
 formerly loved, be indeed blessed while on earth with the 
 heaven-bestowed privilege of loving thee, even in silence and 
 forever ! Alas ! alas ! a man without kindred or a country dare 
 not even wish thee to be his ! " A sigh from the depths of his 
 soul closed this soliloquy. 
 
 The sight of Pembroke riding through the field towards the 
 
366 Til A DDE us OF WARSAW. 
 
 little inn, recalled the thoughts of Sobieski to that dear friend 
 alone. He went out to meet him. Mr. Somerset saw him, and 
 putting his horse to a iDrisk canter, was at his side in a few 
 minutes. Thaddeus asked anxiously about the baronet's 
 health. Pembroke answered with an incohcrency devoid of all 
 meaning. Thaddeus looked at him with surprise, but from in- 
 creased anxiety forbore to repeat the question. They walked 
 towards the inn ; still Pembroke did not appear to recover him- 
 self, and his evident absence of mind and the wild rambling of 
 his eyes were so striking, that Thaddeus could have no doubt 
 of some dreadful accident. 
 
 As soon as they had entered the little parlor, his friend cast 
 himself into a chair, and throwing off his hat, wiped away the 
 perspiration which, though a cold October evening, was stream- 
 ing down his forehead. Thaddeus endured a suspense which 
 was almost insupportable. 
 
 " What is the direful matter, dear Pembroke ? Is any we 
 honor, and love, ill unto death ? " His pale face showed that 
 he apprehended it, and he thought it might be Mary. 
 
 " No, no," returned Pembroke ; *' everybody is well, except- 
 ing myself and my father, who, I verily believe, has lost his 
 senses ; at any rate he will drive me mad." 
 
 The manner in which this reply was uttered astonished 
 Thaddeus so much, that he could only gaze vvith wonder on 
 the convulsed feature of his friend. Pembroke observed his 
 amazement, and laying his hand on his arm, said, *' My dear, 
 dear Sobieski ! what do I not owe to you ? Good Heaven ! 
 how humbled am I in your sight ! But there is a Power above 
 who knows how intimately you are woven with every artery of 
 this heart." 
 
 " I believe it, my kind Pembroke," cried Thaddeus, yet more 
 alarmed than before ; " tell me what it is that distresses you ? 
 If my counsel or my sympathy can offer anything to comfort 
 or assist you, you know I am your own." 
 
 Pembroke burst into tears, and covering his streaming eyes 
 with his handkerchief, exclaimed, " I am indeed distressed — 
 distressed even beyond your comfort. Oh ! how can I speak 
 it ! You will despise my father ! You will spurn me ! " 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Thaddeus with energy, though his 
 flushed cheek and fainting heart immediately declared that he 
 had anticipated what he must hear. 
 
 " I see," cried Pembroke, regarding the altered features of 
 his friend with a glance of agony — " I see that you think it is 
 possible that my father can sink me below my own contempt." 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 367 
 
 The benumbing touch of ingratitude ran through the veins 
 of Thaddtus ; his frame was chilled — was petrified; but his 
 just affection and calmed countenance proclaimed how true a 
 judgment he had passed on the whole. He took the burning 
 hand of Mr. Somerset in his own, and, with a steady and con- 
 soling voice, said, " Assure yourself, dear Pembroke, whatever 
 be the commands of your father, I shall adhere to them. I 
 cannot understand by these generous emotions that he objects 
 to receive me as your friend. Perhaps," added he, — a flash of 
 suspicion gleaming through his mind, — " perhaps Miss Beau- 
 fort may have perceived the devotedness of my heart, and dis' 
 daining my " 
 
 " Hush, for Heaven's sake ! " cried Pembroke, starting 
 from his chair; "do not implicate my poor cousin ! Do not 
 add to her disappointment the misery that you suspect her ! 
 No, Thaddeus," continued he, in a calmer tone ; " Mary Beau- 
 fort loves you : she confessed it in an agony of grief on my 
 bosom, just before I came away ; and only through her I dare 
 ever expect to meet forgiveness from you. In spite of my 
 father, you may marry her. She has no curse to dread ; she 
 need not sacrifice all that is most precious in her sight to the 
 obstinate caprice of criminal resentment." 
 
 " A curse ! " reiterated Thaddeus. " How is this ! — what 
 have I done, to deserve such hatred from your father ? " 
 
 '•Oh! nothing," cried Pembroke — "nothing. My father 
 never saw you. My father thanks you for all that you have 
 done for me ; but it is your countr)^ that he hates. Some Po- 
 lander, years back, injured him ; and my father took a fatal 
 oath against the whole nation. He declares that he cannot, 
 he will not, break it, were he by so doing to save his own life, 
 or even mine ; for, (Heaven forgive me !) I was this morning 
 wrought up to such frenzy, that I threatened to destroy myself 
 rather than sacrifice my gratitude and honor to his cruel com- 
 mands ! Nay, to convince you that his is no personal enmity 
 to yourself, he ordered me to give you writings which will put 
 you in possession of an independence forever. I have them 
 with me." 
 
 All the pride of his princely house rose at once in the 
 breast of Thaddeus. Though full of indignation at this insult 
 of Sir Robert's, he regarded the averted face of his friend with 
 compassion, whilst in a firm voice he rejected the degrading 
 compromise. 
 
 " Tell your father," added he, addressing Pembroke, in a 
 tone which even his affection could not soften from a command, 
 
368 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " that my absence is not to be bought with money, nor my friend- 
 ship so rewarded." 
 
 Pembroke covered his burning face with his hands. This 
 sight at once brought down the haughty spirit of Sobieski, who 
 continued in gentler accents, " Whatever be the sentiments of 
 Sir Robert Somerset, they shall meet with due attention from 
 me. He is your father, therefore I respect him ; but he has 
 put it out of his power to oblige me : I cannot accept his 
 bounty. Though your heart, my dearest Pembroke, is above 
 all price, yet I will make it a sacrifice to your duty." And by 
 so doing put the last seal on my misfortunes, was the meaning 
 of the heavy sigh which accompanied his last words. 
 
 Pembroke traversed the room in an agony. " Merciful 
 Providence ! " cried he, wringing his clasped hands, " direct 
 me ! Oh, Thaddeus, if you could read my tortured heart, you 
 would pity me ; you would see that this affair is tearing my soul 
 from my body. What am I to do ? I cannot, I will not, part 
 with you forever." 
 
 Thaddeus, with a calm sadness, drew him to a seat. " Be 
 satisfied," said he, "that I am convinced of your affection. 
 Whatever may happen, this assurance will be sufficient to give 
 me comfort ; therefore, by that affection, I entreat you, dear 
 Pembroke, not to bring regret to me, and reproach on yourself, 
 by disobeying in any way the will of your father in this matter ! 
 If we separate for life, remember, my beloved friend, that the 
 span of our existence here is short ; we shall meet again in a 
 happier world — perhaps more blest, for having immolated our 
 wishes to hard duty in this." 
 
 " Cease, Sobieski, cease ! " cried Pembroke ; " I can draw 
 no consolation from this reasoning. It is not duty to obey a 
 hatred little short of distraction ; and if we now separate, I 
 feel that I never shall know peace again. Good Heaven ! what 
 comfort can I find when you are exposed to all the indignities 
 which the world levels against the unfortunate .'' Can I indulge 
 in the luxuries of my father's house when I know that you have 
 neither a home nor subsistence ? No, Thaddeus, I am not such 
 a villain. I will not give you up, though my father should load 
 me with curses. I trust there is a just Power above who would 
 avert them." 
 
 Perceiving that argument would not only be fruitless, but 
 might probably incense his friend's irritated nature to the com- 
 mission of some rash action, Thaddeus pretended to overlook 
 the frantic gesture and voice which terminated this speech, and 
 assuming a serene air, replied : " Let this be the subject of a 
 future conversation. At present, I must conjure you, by the 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. ^i^y^ 
 
 happiness of us both, to return to the Castle. You know my 
 messaf3:e to Sir Robert. Present my respects to your aunt ; 
 and," added he, after an agitated pause, " assure Miss Beau- 
 fort that whilst I have life, her goodness, her sometimes re- 
 membrance, will be " 
 
 Pembroke interrupted him. " Why these messages, dear 
 Thaddeus? Do not suppose, though I fulfil my father's orders 
 to return to Somerset to-night, that it is our separation. Gra- 
 cious Heaven ! Is it so easy to part forever ? " 
 
 " Not forever ! Oh, no," replied Thaddeus, grasping his 
 hand ; " we shall see each other again ; only, meanwhile, re- 
 peat those, alas ! inadequate messages to your aunt and cousin. 
 Go, my dear Pembroke, to your father ; and may the Lord of 
 Heaven bless you ! " 
 
 The last words were spoken in almost a stifled voice, as he 
 opened his arms and strained his friend to his breast. 
 
 " I shall see you to-morrow,*' cried Pembroke ; " on no 
 other condition will I leave you now." 
 
 Thaddeus made no further answer to this demand (which 
 he determined should never be granted) than a second embrace. 
 Pembroke went out of the room to order his horse ; then, re- 
 turning, he stood at the door, and holding out his hand to the 
 count, repeated, ''Farewell till to-morrow." Thaddeus pressed 
 it warmly, and he disappeared. 
 
 The outward gate closed after his friend, but Sobieski re- 
 mained on the seat into which he had thrown himself. He did 
 not venture to move, lest he should by chance catch a second 
 glance of Pembroke from the window. Now that he was gone, 
 he acknowledged the full worth of what he had relinquished. 
 He had resigned a man who loved him ; one who had known 
 and revered his ever-lamented grandfather, and his mother — 
 the only one with whom he could have discoursed of their vir- 
 tues ! He had severed the link which had united his present 
 state with his former fortunes ! and throwing: his arms along: a 
 table that stood near him, he leaned his aching head upon 
 them, and in idea followed with a bleeding heart the progress 
 and reception of his friend at the Castle. 
 
 The racking misery which tortured the mind of Mr. Somer- 
 set was not borne with equal resignation. Conscious of his 
 having inflicted fresh wounds on the breast of his truest friend, 
 his spirits were so ill adapted to any conversation, that he was 
 pleased rather than disappointed when he found the supper- 
 room at the Castle quite vacant, and only one cover on the 
 table awattinc: his arrival. 
 
370 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 He asked a few questions of the servants, who informed 
 him that it was past twelve o'clock, and that Sir Robert, who 
 had become worse, had retired to bed early in the evening. 
 
 " And where are my aunt and cousin ? " demanded Pem- 
 broke. 
 
 One of the men replied that, in consequence of Miss Beau- 
 fort having been taken suddenly indisposed, both the ladies 
 left the saloon before eleven. Pembroke readily guessed the 
 cause of her disorder ; he too truly ascribed it to Mary's anxiety 
 respecting the reception which the noble Sobieski would give to 
 his disgraceful proposition. Sighing bitterly, he said no more 
 but went to his chamber. 
 
 The restless state of his mind avoke Mr. Somerset by 
 times. Anxious for the success of an application which he 
 intended to make to his beloved cousin, whose pure and virgin 
 heart he believed did indeed here sympathize with his own, he 
 traversed the terrace for an hour before he was summoned to 
 breakfast. The baronet continuing too ill to leave his room, 
 the ladies only were in the parlor when he entered. Miss 
 Dorothy, who had learned the particulars of the late events 
 from her niece, longed to ask Pembroke how his noble friend 
 would act on her brother's so strange and lamentable conduct 
 — conduct so unlike himself in any other circumstance of grati- 
 tude in his life. But every time she moved her lips to inquire, 
 her nephew's inflamed e3^es and wan countenance made her 
 fear to venture on the subject. Mary sat in mute dejection, 
 watching the agitation of iiis features ; and when he rose to 
 quit the room, still in silence, she looked wistfully towards 
 him. Pembroke turned at the same moment, and holding out 
 his hand to her, said, " Come, Mary : I want to say something 
 to you. Will you walk with me on the terrace \ " 
 
 With a beating heart Miss Beaufort took his arm, and pro- 
 ceeded without a word until they ascended the stone steps and 
 reached the terrace. A mutual deep-drawn sigh was the first 
 opening to a conversation on which the souls of both hung. 
 Pembroke was the first who spoke. 
 
 " My dear Mary," cried he, "you are now my sole depend- 
 ence. From what I told you yesterday of my father's inflexi- 
 bility, we can have no hope of his relenting : indeed, after 
 what has passed, I could not flatter myself that Thaddeus 
 Sobieski would now submit to any obligation at his hands. 
 Already he has refused, with all the indignation I expected, 
 Sir Robert's offer of an annuity. My dear cousin, how can I 
 exist and yet witness this my best friend in distress, and ii\ing 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. 37 1 
 
 without the succor of my friendship ? Heaven knows, this 
 cannot be the case, for I would sooner perish than venture to 
 insult the man my father has treated so ill with any pecuniary 
 offers from me ! Therefore, dear girl, it is on you alone that I 
 depend. With his whole soul, as our marriage service says, 
 Thaddeus 'worships you; ' you love him ! In a few days you 
 will become of age. You will be your own mistress. Marry 
 him, my beloved cousin," cried Pembroke, pressing her hand 
 to his lips, " and relieve my heart from a load of misery ! Ee 
 generous, my sweet Mary," added he, supporting her now 
 trembling frame against his breast ; " act up to your noble 
 nature, and offer him, by mc, that hand which his calamities 
 and disinterestedness preclude him from wooing himself." 
 
 Miss Beaufort, hardly able to articulate, replied, "I would 
 give him all that I possess could it purchase him one tranquil 
 hour. I would serve him forever could I do it and be un- 
 known 1 but *' 
 
 " O, do not hesitate! — do not doubt!" interrupted Pem- 
 broke'. "To serve your friends, I know you are capable of 
 the most extraordinary exertions. I know there is nothing 
 within the range of possibility that your generous disposition 
 would not attempt ; then, my beloved Mary, dare to be what 
 you are, by having the magnanimity to act as you know you 
 ought — by offering your hand to him. Show the noble Sobieski 
 that you really deserve the devotion of a hero's heart — deserves 
 to be his consolation, who, in losing his mother, lost an angel 
 like yourself." 
 
 " Dear Pembroke,"- replied Miss Beaufort, wiping the glid- 
 ing tears from her burning cheek, " after the confession which 
 you drew from me yesterday, I will not deny that to be this to 
 your friend v.ould render me the happiest of created beings ; 
 but I cannot believe what your sanguine affection tells me. I 
 cannot suppose, situated as I was at Lady Dundas's, surrounded 
 by frivolous and contemptible society, that he could discover 
 anything in me to warrant such a vanity. Every way embar- 
 rassed as I was, disliking my companions, afraid of my own 
 interest in him, a veil was drawn over my mind, through which 
 he could neither judge of my good nor bad qualities. How, 
 then, can I flatter myself, or do the Count Sobieski so great an 
 injury, as to imagine that he could conceive any preference for 
 so insignificant a being as I must have appeared.''" 
 
 It was some time before Pembroke could shake this prepos- 
 session of a sincere humility from Miss Beaufort's mind. But 
 after having set in every possible light the teims with whi»:h his 
 
372 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 friend had spoken of her, he at length convinced her of what 
 her lieart so earnestly wished to believe — that the love of So- 
 bieski was indeed hers. 
 
 Mr. Somerset's next achievement was to overcome her 
 scruples against sanctioning him with the commission he was 
 bent on communicating to Thaddeus. But from the continual 
 recurrence of her apprehensions, that the warm affection of 
 her cousin liad too highly colored the first part of his represen- 
 tation, this latter task was not more easy to accomplish than 
 the former. 
 
 In vain she remonstrated, in vain she doubted, in vain de- 
 murred. Pembroke would not be denied. He saw her heart 
 was with him ; and when with faltering lips she assented to 
 the permission, which he almost extorted, she threw her arms 
 round his neck, and implored him, " by all he loved and hon- 
 ored, to be careful of her peace ; to remember that she put 
 into his charge all that was most precious to woman — the 
 modesty of her sex and her own self-esteem ! " 
 
 Delighted at this consent, notwithstanding he received it 
 through the medium of many tears, he fondly and gratefully 
 pressed her to his bosom, uttering his own soul's fervent con- 
 viction of a future domestic happiness to them all. Having 
 stood till he saw her re-enter the house from a door on the 
 terrace, he mounted his horse and set off on the spur towards 
 Harrowby Hill. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 LETTERS OF FAREWELL. 
 
 When Thaddeus recovered from the reverie into which he 
 fell on the departure of Mr. Somerset, he considered how he 
 might remove out of a country in which he had only met with 
 and occasioned distress. 
 
 The horrid price that Pembroke's father had set on the 
 continuance of his son's friendship with a powerless exile was 
 his curse. Whatever might have been the injury any individual 
 of now annihilated Poland could, in its palmy days of indepen- 
 dence, and sometimes pride, inflict on this implacable P^nglish- 
 man, of a nature that appeared to have blinded him to even 
 human feeling, Thaddeus felt so true an indignation against 
 such cruel injustice, and so much of a contrar}- sentiment 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 373 
 
 towards the noble son of this hard parent, that lie determined 
 to at once relieve the warring mind of Pembroke of any further 
 conflict on his account by immediately quitting England. 
 Averse to a second interview with a friend so justly beloved, 
 which could only produce them new pangs, he resolved en 
 instant preparations — that another morn should not rise upon 
 him in the neighborhood of Somerset Castle. Taking up a 
 pen, with all the renewed loneliness of his fate brooding o\\ 
 his heart, he wrote two letters. 
 
 One he addressed to Mr. Somerset, bidding him that fare- 
 well which he confessed he could never take. As he wrote, 
 his hand trembled, his bosom swelled, and he hastily shut his 
 eyelids, to withhold his tears from showing themselves on the 
 paper. His emotion, his grief, were driven back, were con- 
 cealed, but the tenderness of his soul flowed over the letter. 
 He forgave Pembroke's father for Pembroke's sake ; and in 
 spite of their personal disunion, he vowed that no earthly 
 power should restrain his love from following the steps of his 
 friend, even into the regions of eternity. He closed his mel- 
 ancholy epistle with informing Mr. Somerset that, as he should 
 quit not only England directly, but Europe, any search after 
 him which his generous nature might dictate would be in vain. 
 
 Though Thaddeus Sobieski would have disdained a life of 
 dependence on the greatest potentate of the world ; though he 
 rejected with the same sincerity a similar proposal from his 
 friend, and despised the degrading ofter of Sir Robert, yet he 
 did not disparage his dignity, not infringe on the disinterested 
 nature of friendship, when he retained the money which Pem- 
 broke had conveyed to him in prison. Thaddeus never acted 
 but from principle. His honorable and penetrating mind knew 
 exactly at what point to draw the tender thread of delicacy — 
 the cord of independence. But pride and independence were 
 with him distinct terms. Receiving assistance from a friend 
 and leaning on him wholly for support have different meanings. 
 Pie accepted the first with gratitude ; he would have thought 
 it impossible to live and endure the last. Indeed Thaddeus 
 would have considered himself unworthy to confer a benefit if 
 he had not known how to receive one. But had not Pembroke 
 told him " the whole gift was Mary Beaufort's ? " And what 
 were his emotions then ? They were full of an ineffable sense 
 of happiness inexplicable to himself. Mary Beaufort was the 
 donor, and it was bliss to have it so, and to know it was so. 
 With these impressions again throbbing at his heart, he began a 
 short letter to her, which he felt must crush that heart forever. 
 
374 Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 To Miss Beaufort. 
 
 " My faculties lose their power when I take up my pen to 
 address, for the first and the last time, Miss Beaufort. I hardly 
 know what I would say — what I ought to say ; I dare not ven- 
 ture to write all that I feel. But have you not been my bene- 
 factress ? Did you not assert my character and give me liberty 
 when I was calumniated aid in distress ? Did you not ward 
 from me the scorn of unpi:ying folly ? Did you not con- 
 sole me with your own compassion t You have done rll 
 this ; and surely you will not despise the gratitude of a heart 
 which you have condescended to sooth and to comfort. At 
 least I cannot leave England forever without imploring bless- 
 ings on the head of Miss Beaufort, without thanking her on my 
 knees, on which I am writing, for that gracious and benign 
 spirit which discovered a breaking heart under the mask of 
 serenity, which penetrated through the garb of poverty and de- 
 pendence, and saw that the condemned Constantine was not 
 what he seemed ! Your smiles, Miss Beaufort, your voice 
 speaking commiseration, were my sweetest consolations during 
 those heavy months of bitterness which I endured at Dundas 
 House. I contemplated you as a pitying angel, sent to recon- 
 cile me to a life which had already become a burden. These 
 are the benefits which Miss Beaufort has bestowed on a friend- 
 less exile ; these are the benefits which she has bestowed on 
 me ! and they are written on my soul. Not until I go down 
 into the grave can they be forgotten. Ah ! not even then, for 
 when I rise again, I shall find them still registered there. 
 
 " Farewell, most respected, most dear, most honored ! My 
 passing soul seems in those words. O, may the Father of lieaven 
 bless with his almighty care her whose name will ever be the 
 first and the last in the prayer of the far distant 
 
 " Thaddeus Constantine Soeieski. 
 
 " Harrowby Village, midnight." 
 
 When he had finished this epistle, with a tremulous hand 
 he consigned it to the same cover that contained his letter to 
 Somerset. Then writing a few lines to the worthy master of 
 the inn, (the brother-in-law of the faithful servant of his late 
 lamented maternal friend,) saying that a sudden occasion had 
 required his immediate departure at that untimely hour, he en- 
 closed a liberal compensation in gold for the attentive services 
 of both the honest man and his warm-hearted wife. Having 
 
TI J ADD EL'S OF WARSAW. 37- 
 
 sealed each packet, he disposed them so on the table that the}' 
 niiglU be the first things seen on entering the room. 
 
 Ke had fixed on deep night as the securest time for com- 
 mencing unobserved his pedestrian tour. The moon was now 
 full, and would be a sufficient guide, he thought, on his soli'iary 
 way. He had determined to walk to London by the least 
 public paths ; meaning to see kind Mrs. Robson, and bid lier 
 a grateful farewell before he should embark, probably never 
 to return, for America. 
 
 He had prepared his slender baggage before he sat down 
 to write the two letters which had cost him so many pangs ; 
 compressed within a light black leather travelling-bag, he fas- 
 tened it over his shoulders by its buckled straps, in the manner 
 of a soldier's knapsack. He then put the memorandum-book 
 which contained his " world's wealth," now to be carefully 
 husbanded, into a concealed pocket in the breast of his waist- 
 coat, feeling, while he pressed it down upon his heart, that his 
 mother's locket and Miss Beaufort's chain kept guard over it. 
 
 " Ah I " cried he, as he gently closed the low window by 
 which he leaped into the garden : " England, I leave thee for- 
 ever, and wdthin thee all that on this earth had been left to me 
 to love. Driven from thee ! Nay, driven as if I were another 
 Cain, from the face of every spot of earth that ever had been 
 or would be dear to me ! Oh, woe to them who began the 
 course. And thou, Austria, ungrateful leader in the destruction 
 of the country which more than once was thy preserver ! — 
 could there be any marvel that the last of the Sobieskis should 
 perish wnth her ? What accumulated sins must rest on thy 
 head, thou seducer of other nations into the spoliation and 
 dismemberment of the long-proved bulwark of Christendom ? 
 Assuredly, every hasty sigh that rebels in the breasts of Poland's 
 outcast sons against the mystery of her doom will plead against 
 thee at the judgment-seat of Heaven ! " 
 
 He went on at a rapid pace through several fields, his heart 
 and soul full of those remembrances, and the direful echoes to 
 them he had met in England. Stopping a mor.^nt at the boun- 
 dary-gate of the Harrowby domains, — the property of a disgrace- 
 ful owner of a name that might have been his, had not his 
 nobler mother preserved to him that of Sobieski, — he stretched 
 out his arms to the heavens, over which a bleak north-west wind 
 was suddenly collecting dark and spreading clouds, and ex- 
 claimed, in earnest supplication, " Oh, righteous Power of 
 ]\Iercy ! in thy chastening, grant me fortitude to bear with re- 
 signation to thy will the miseries I may yet have to encounter. 
 
376 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Ah ! " added he, his heart melting as the images presented 
 themselves even as visions to his soul, " teach me to forget what 
 I have been. Teach me to forget that on this dreadful Oc- 
 tober night twelve months ago I clasped the dying body of my 
 revered grandfather in these arms ! " 
 
 He could not speak further. Leaning his pale face against 
 the gate, he remained for a few minutes dissolved in all a 
 son's sorrow; then, recovering himself by a sudden start, he 
 proceeded with hurried steps through the further extending 
 meadows until they conducted him by a short village-lane into 
 the high road. 
 
 It was on the loth of October, 1795, that the Count Sobieski 
 commenced this lonely and melancholy journey. It was the 
 loth of October in the preceding year that he found the veteran 
 palatine bleeding to death in the midst of a heap of slain. The 
 coincidence of his renewed banishment and present consequent 
 mental sufferings with those of that fatal period powerfully af- 
 fected him, recalling, in the vivid colors of an actual existence, 
 scenes and griefs which the numerous successive events he had 
 passed through had considerably toned down into dream-like 
 shades. 
 
 But now, when memor}^, by one unexpected stroke, had once 
 conjured up the happy past of his early life and its as early 
 blighting, true to her nature, she raised before his mind's eye 
 every hope connected with it and his present doom, till, almost 
 distracted, he quickened his speed. He then slackened it ; he 
 quickened it again; but nothing could rid him of those succes- 
 sive images which seem to glide around him like mournful ap- 
 paritions of the long-lamented dead. 
 
 When the dawn broke and the sun rose, he found himself 
 advanced several miles on the south side of Ponton Hill. The 
 spiry aisles of Harrowby Abbey were discernible through the 
 mist, and the towers of Somerset Castle, from their height and 
 situation, v/ere as distinctly seen as if he had been at their 
 baie. Neither of these objects were calculated to raise the 
 spirits of Thaddeus. The sorrows of the countess, whose eyes 
 he so recently had closed, and the treatment which he afterwards 
 received from the man to whom he owed his life, were recollec- 
 tions which made him turn from the Abbey with a renewed pang 
 and fix his eyes on Somerset. He looked towards its ivied 
 battlements with all the regret and all the tenderness which can 
 overflow a human heart. Under that roof he believed the eyes 
 of his almost, indeed, worshipped Mary were sealed in sleep ; 
 and in an instant his agitated soul addressed her as if she had 
 been present. 
 
THADDEL'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 Z11 
 
 " Farewell, most lovely, most beloved ! The conviciion 
 that it is to ensure the peace of my now only friend on earth, my 
 faithful Pembroke, that I resign the hope of ever beholding 
 thee again in this life, will bring me one comfort, at least, in my 
 barren exile ! " 
 
 Thus communing with his troubled spirit, he walked the 
 whole day on his way to London. Totally absorbed in medita- 
 tion, he did not remark the gaze of curiosity which followed 
 his elegant yet distressed figure as he passed through the 
 different towns and villages. Musing on the past, the present, 
 and the future, he neither felt hunger nor thirst, but, with a 
 fixed eye and abstracted countenance, pursued his route until 
 night and weariness overtook him near a cross-road, far away 
 from any house. 
 
 Thaddeus looked around and above. The sky was then 
 clear and glittering with stars ; the moon, shining on a branch 
 of the Ouse which divides Leicestershire from Northampton- 
 shire, lit the green heath which skirted its banks. He wished 
 not for a more magnificent canopy ; and placing his bag under 
 his head, he laid himself down beneath a hillock of furze, and 
 slept till morning. 
 
 When he awoke from a heavy sleep, which fatigue and fast- 
 ing had rendered more oppressive than refret^aing, he found 
 that the splendors of the night were succeeded uy a heavy rain, 
 and that he was wet through. He arose with stiffness in )ns 
 limbs, pain in his head, and a dimness over his eyes, with a 
 sense of weakness w^hich almost disabled him from moving. 
 He readily judged that he had caught cold; and every moment 
 feeling himself grow worse, he thought it necessary to seek 
 some house where he might procure rest and assistance. 
 
 Leaning on his closed umbrella, which, in his precarious 
 circumstances of travelling, he used in preference to a walking- 
 stick, and no longer able to encumber himself with even the 
 light load of his bag, he cast it amongst the brambles near him. 
 Thinking, from the symptoms he felt, that he might not have 
 many more hours to endure the ills of life, he staggered a few 
 yards further. No habitation appeared ; his eyes soon seemed 
 totally obscured, and he sunk down on a bank. For a minute 
 he attempted to struggle with the cold grasp of death, which he 
 believed was fastening on his heart. 
 
 " And are my days to be so short ? — are they to end thus ? " 
 was the voice of his thoughts, — for he was speechless. " Oh ! 
 thou merciful Providence, pardon my repining, and those who 
 have brought me to this ! My only Father, hear me ! "' 
 
378 TH A DUE us OF WARSAW. 
 
 These were the last movements of his soundless lips, whilst 
 his blood seemed freezing to insensibility. His eyelids were 
 closed, and pale, and without sign of animation, he lay at the 
 foot of a tree nigh which he had dropped. 
 
 He remained a quarter of an hour in this dead-like state 
 before he was observed ; at length, a gentleman who was pass- 
 ing along that road, on his way to his country-seat in the 
 neighborhood, thought he perceived a man lying amongst the 
 high grass a little onward on the heath. He stopped his car- 
 riage instantly, though driven by four spirited horses, and 
 ordering one of the outriders to alight, bade him examine 
 whether the object in view were living or dead. 
 
 The servant obeyed ; and presently ret. ning with an 
 affrighted countenance, he informed his master that " it was the 
 body of a young man, who, by his dress, appeared to be a gen- 
 tleman ; and being quite senseless, he supposed he had been 
 waylaid and murdered by footpads." The features of the ben- 
 evolent inquirer immediately reflected the alarm of his infor- 
 mant. Ordering the chariot door to be opened, he took in his, 
 hand a bottle of medicine, (which, from his own invalid states 
 was his carriage companion,) and, stepping out, hastened to the 
 side of the apparently lifeless Thaddeus. 
 
 By this time all the servants were collected round the spot. 
 The master himself, whilst he gazed with pity on the marble 
 features of the stranger, observed with pleasure that he saw no 
 marks of violence. Supposing that the present accident might 
 liave been occasioned by a fit, and thinking it possible to recall 
 life, he desired that the unfortunate person's neck-clotli might 
 be unloosened, and removing his hat, he contrived to pour some 
 drops into his mouth. Their v/armth renewed pulsation to tl:e 
 heart, for one of the men, who was stooping, declared that it 
 beat under his hand. When the benevolent gentleman was 
 satisfied of the truth of this report, he bade his servants place 
 the poor traveller in his carriage ; having only another mile or 
 two to go, he said he hoped his charge might be restored at 
 the end of so short a drive. 
 
 Whilst the postilions drove rapidly towards the house, tl:e 
 cold face of Thaddeus rested on the bosom of his benefactor, 
 who continued to chafe his temples with eau de Cologne until 
 the chariot stopped before the gates. The men carried the 
 count into the house, and leaving him with their master and a 
 medical man, who resided near, other restoratives were applied 
 which in a short time restored him to consciousness. When 
 he was recalled to recollection, and able to distinguish objects, 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW, 37^^ 
 
 he saw that he was supported by two gentlemen, and in a 
 spacious chamber. 
 
 Gratitude was an active virtue in the soul of Thaddeus. At 
 the moment of his awakening from that sleep which, when it 
 fell upon him, he believed would last until time should be lost 
 in eternity, he pressed the hands of those who held iiis own, 
 not doubting but that they were the good Samaritans who had 
 preserved him from perishing. 
 
 The younger of the gentlemen, perceiving, by the animated 
 lustre which spread over his patient's eyes, that he was going to 
 speak, put his hand on his lips, and said, " Pardon mc, sir ! 
 you must be mute ! Your life at present hangs on a thread ; 
 the slightest exertion might snap it. As all you want is rest 
 and resuscitation to supply some great loss v.-hich the vital 
 powers have sustained, I must require that you neither speak 
 nor be spoken to until I give permission. Meanwhile, be sat- 
 isfied, sir, that you are in the kindest hands. This gentleman," 
 added he, (pointing to his friend, who bore the noble presence 
 of high rank,) " saw you on the heath, and brought you to his 
 house, where you now are." 
 
 Thaddeus bowed his head to them both in sign of obedience 
 and gratitude, and the elder, with a kind bend of his mild eyes, 
 in silence left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 DEERHURST. 
 
 Next morning, when the seal was taken off the lips of the 
 object of their care, he expressed in grateful terms his deep 
 sense of the humanity which had actuated both the gentleman to 
 take so generous an interest in his fate. 
 
 " You owe no thanks to me," replied the one who had en- 
 joined and released him from silence, and who was now alone 
 with him ; " I am only the agent of another. Yet I do not 
 deny that, in obeying the benevolent orders of Sir Robert 
 Somerset, I have frequent opportunities of gratifving my own 
 heart." 
 
 Thaddeus was so confounded at this discovery that he could 
 not speak, and the gentleman proceeded. 
 
 " 1 am apothecary to Sir Robert's household, and as my 
 
3S0 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 excellent employer has been long afflicted with an ill state of 
 health, I live in a small Lodge at the other end of the park. 
 He is the boast of the county: the best landlord and the 
 kindest neighbor. All ranks of people love him ; and when he 
 dies, (which his late apoplectic fits make it too probable may 
 be soon,) both poor and rich will lose their friend. Ill as he 
 was this morning, when I told him you were out of danger, he 
 expressed a pleasure which did him more good than all my 
 medicines." 
 
 Not considering the wildness of the question, Thaddeus 
 hastily demanded, " Does he know who I am ? " 
 
 The honest apothecary stared at the look and tone with 
 w4iich these w^ords were delivered, and then replied, " No, sir ; 
 is there any reason to make you wish that he should not t " 
 
 " Certainly none," replied Thaddeus, recollecting himself ; 
 " but I shall be impatient until I have an opportunity of tell- 
 ing him how grateful I am for the goodness he has shown to 
 me as a stranger." 
 
 Surprised at these hints, (which the count, not considering 
 their tendency, allowed to escape him,) the apothecary gathered 
 sufficient from them, united with the speaker's superior mien, 
 to make him suppose that his patient was some emigrant of 
 quality, whom Sir Robert would rejoice in having served. 
 These surmises and conclusions having j^assed quickly through 
 the worthy gentleman's brain, he bowed his head with that re- 
 spect which the generous mind is proud to pay to nobility in 
 ruins, and resumed : 
 
 " Whoever you may be, sir, a peasant or a prince, you will 
 meet with British hospitality from the noble owner of this 
 mansion. The magnificence of his spirit is equalled by the 
 goodness of his heart ; and I am certain that Sir Robert will 
 consider as fortunate the severe attack which, bringing him 
 from Somerset for change of air, has afforded him an oppor- 
 tunity of serving you." 
 
 Thaddeus blushed at the strain of this speech. Readily 
 understanding what was passing in the mind of the apothecary, 
 he hardly knew what to reply. He paused for a moment, and 
 then said, " All you have declared, sir, in praise of Sir Robert 
 Somerset I cannot doubt is deserving. I have already felt the 
 effects of his humanity, and shall ever remember that my life was 
 prolonged by his means ; but I have no pretensions to the honor 
 of his acquaintance. I only wish to see him, that I may thank 
 him for what he has done ; therefore, if you will permit me to rise 
 this evening, instead of to-morrow morning, you will oblige me." 
 
THADDEUS CF WARSAW. 381 
 
 To this request the apothecary gave a respectful yet Hrm 
 denial, and went down stairs to communicate his observations 
 to his patron. When he returned, he brought back a request 
 to his patient from tiie baronet, even as a personal considera- 
 tion for his host's solicitude concerning him, to remain quietly 
 in the perfect repose of his closed chamber until next day ; 
 then it might be hoped Sir Robert would find him sufhcicntly 
 recovered to receive his visit without risk. To this Sobieski 
 could not but assent, in common courtesy, as w^ell as in grate- 
 ful feeling ; yet he passed in anything but repose the rest of 
 the day, and the anxiety which continued to agitate him while 
 reflecting that he was receiving these obligations from his 
 implacable enemy so occupied and disturbed him, that he 
 spent a sleepless night. The dawn found his fever much 
 augmented ; but no corporeal sufferings could persuade him 
 to defer seeing the baronet and immediately leaving his 
 house. Believing, as he did, that all this kindness would 
 have been withheld had his host known on whom he was 
 pouring such benefits, he thought that every minute v.hich 
 passed over him while under Sir Robert's roof inflicted a new 
 outrage on his own respect and honor. 
 
 To this end, then, as soon as Mr. Middleton, the apothe- 
 cary, retired to breakfast, Thaddeus rose from his bed, and 
 was completely dressed before he returned. He had effected 
 this without any assistance, for he was in possession of his, 
 travellin;z-ba2:. One of the outriders having discerned it 
 amongst the herbage, while the others were busied in carrying 
 its helpless owner to the carriage, he had picked it up, and on 
 the arrival of the party at home, delivered it to the baronet's 
 valet to convey to the invalid gentleman's chamber, justly con- 
 sidering that he would require its contents. 
 
 When Mr. Middleton re-entered the apartment, and saw 
 his patient not only risen from his bed, but so completely 
 dressed, he expostulated on the rashness of what he had done, 
 and augured no less than a dangerous relapse from the pres- 
 ent increased state of liis pulse. Thaddeus, for once in his 
 life, was obstinate, though civilly so ; and desiring a servant 
 to request that Sir Robert would indulge him with an audience 
 for a few minutes alone in his library, he soon convinced ^Mr. 
 Middleton that his purpose was not to be shaken. 
 
 The baronet returning his compliments, and saying that he 
 should be happy to see his guest, the still anxious apothecary 
 offered him his assistance down stairs. Thaddeus needed no 
 help, and gratefully declined it. The exertion necessary to be 
 
382 Til A DDE us OF WARSAW. 
 
 summoned for this interview imparted as much momentary 
 strength to his frame as to his mind, and though his color was 
 heightened, he entered the hbrary with a firm step. 
 
 Sir Robert met him at the door, and, shaking him by the 
 hand with a warm assurance of pleasure at so rapid a restora- 
 tion, would have led him to a seat ; but Thaddeus only sup- 
 ported himself against the back of it with his hand, whilst in a 
 steady voice he expressed the most earnest thanks for the bene- 
 fits he had received ; then pausing, and casting the proud lus- 
 tre of his eyes to the ground, lest their language should tell all 
 that he thought, he continued, " I have only to regret. Sir 
 Robert, that your benevolence has been lavished on a man 
 whom you regard with abhorrence. I am the Count Sobieski, 
 that Polander whom you commanded your son to see no more. 
 Respecting even the prejudices of my friend's parent, I was 
 hastening to London, meaning to set sail for America with the 
 first ship, when I swooned on the road. I believe I vvas ex- 
 piring. Your humanity saved me ; and I now owe to gratitude, 
 as well as to my own satisfaction, the fulfilment of my deter- 
 mination. I shall leave Deerhurst immediately, and England 
 as soon as I am able to embark." 
 
 Thaddeus with a second bow, and not quite so firm a step, 
 without venturing a glance at what he supposed must be the 
 abashed or the enraged looks of Pembroke's father, was pre- 
 paring to quit the room, when Sir Robert, with a pale and 
 ghastly countenance, exclaimed, " Stop ! " 
 
 Thaddeus looked round, and struck by the change in his 
 preserver's appearance, paused in his movement. The baronet, 
 incapable of saying more, pointed to a chair for him to sit 
 down ; then sinking into another himself, took out his hand- 
 kerchief, and wiping away the large drops which stood on his 
 forehead, panted for respiration. At last, with a desperate 
 kind of haste, he said. 
 
 " Was your mother indeed Therese Sobieski 1 " 
 
 Thaddeus, still more astonished, replied in the affirmative. 
 Sir Robert threw himself back on the chair with a deep groan. 
 Hardly knowing what he did, the count rose from his seat and 
 advanced towards him. On his approach. Sir Robert stretched 
 out his hand, and, with a look and tone of agony, said, " Who 
 was your father t " He then, without waiting for a reply, 
 covered his convulsed features with his handkerchief. The 
 baronet's agitation, which now shook him like an earthquake, 
 became contagious. Thaddeus gazed at him with a palsying 
 uncertainty in his heart ; laying his hand on his bewildered 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 3S3 
 
 brain, he answered, " I know not ; yet I fear 1 must believe 
 him to be the Earl of Tinemouth. But here is his picture." 
 With an almost disabling tremor he unclasped it from his neck 
 where his mother's last blessing had placed it, and touching 
 the spring which held it in its little gold case in the manner of 
 a watch, he gave it open to Sir Robert, who had started from 
 his seat at the name of the earl. The moment the baronet's 
 eyes rested on the miniature, he fell senseless upon the chair. 
 
 Thaddeus, hardly more alive, sprinkled some water on his 
 face, and with throbbing temples and a bleeding heart stood 
 in wordless expectation over him. Such excessive emotion 
 told him that something more than Sir Robert's hatred of the 
 Polanders had stimulated his late conduct. Too earnest for 
 an explanation to ring for assistance, he rejoiced to see, by the 
 convulsion of the baronet's features and the heaving of his 
 chest, that animation was returning. In a few minutes he 
 opened his eyes, but when he met the anxious gaze of Thad- 
 deus, he closed them as suddenly. Rising from his seat, he 
 staggered against the chimney-piece, exclaiming, " Oh God, 
 direct me ! " 
 
 Thaddeus, whose conjectures were now wrought almost to 
 wildness, followed him, and whilst his exhausted frame was 
 ready to sink to the earth, he implored him to speak. 
 
 " Sir Robert," cried he, " if you know anything of my 
 family, if you know anything of my father, I beseech you to 
 answer me. Or only tell me : am I so wretched as to be tlie 
 son of Lord Tinemouth ? " 
 
 The violence of the count's emotions during this agonizing 
 address totally overcame him ; before he hnislied speaking, his 
 limbs withdrew their support, and he dropped breathless against 
 the side of the chair. 
 
 Sir Robert turned hastily round. He saw him sunk, like a 
 beautiful flower, bruised and trampled on by the foot of him 
 who had given it root. Unable to make any evasive reply to 
 this last appeal of virtue and of nature, he threw himself with a 
 burst of tears upon his neck, and exclaimed, " Wretch that I 
 have been ! Oh, Sobieski ! I am thy father. Dear, injured son 
 of the too faithful Therese ! " 
 
 The first words which carried this avowal to the heart of 
 Thaddeus deprived it of motion, and when Sir Robert expected 
 to receive the returning embrace of his son, he found him sense- 
 less in his arms. 
 
 The cries of the baronet brought Mr. Middleton and the 
 servants into the room. When the former saw the state of the 
 
384 TIIADDEUS OF WARSA W. 
 
 count, and perceived the agonized position of his patron, (who 
 was supporting and leaning over his son,) the honest man de- 
 clared that he expected nothing less from the gentleman's dis- 
 obedience of his orders. The presence of the servants having 
 recalled Sir Robert's wandering faculties, he desired them to 
 remove the invalid with the greatest care back to his chamber. 
 Following them in silence, when they had laid their charge on 
 the bed, he watched in extreme but concealed suspense till Mr. 
 Middleton once more succeeded in restoring animation to his 
 patient. 
 
 The moment the count unclosed his eyes, they fixed them- 
 selves on his father. He drew the hand which held his to his 
 lips. The tears of paternal love again bathed the cheeks of 
 Sir Robert ; he felt how warm at his heart was the affection of 
 his deserted son. Making a sign for Mr. Middleton to leave 
 the room, who obeyed, he bent his streaming eyes upon the 
 other hand of Thaddeus, and, in a faltering voice, " Can you 
 pardon me ? " 
 
 Thaddeus threw himself on his father's bosom, and wept 
 profusely ; then raising Sir Robert's clasped hands to his, whilst 
 his eloquent eyes seemed to search the heavens, he said, " My 
 dear, dear mother loved you to her latest hour; and I have all 
 my mother's heart. Whatever may have been his errors, I love 
 and honor my father." 
 
 Sir Robert strained him to his breast. After a pause, whilst 
 he shook the tears from his venerated cheeks, he resumed — 
 " Certain, my dear son, that you require repose, and assured 
 that you will not find it until I have offered some apology for 
 my unnatural conduct, I will now explain the circumstances 
 which impelled my actions, and drew distress upon that noble 
 being, your mother." 
 
 Sir Robert hesitated a moment to recover breath, and then, 
 with the verity of a grateful penitence, commenced. 
 
 "Keep your situation," added he, putting down Thaddeus, 
 who at this opening was raising himself, " I shall tell my melan- 
 choly story with less pain if your eyes be not upon me. I will 
 begin from the first." 
 
 The baronet, with frequent agitated pauses, proceeded to 
 relate what may be more succinctly expressed as follows : Very 
 early in life he had attached himself to Miss Edith Beaufort, 
 the only sister of the late Admiral Beaufort, who at that time 
 was pursuing his chosen brave career as post-captain in the 
 Britisli navy. By the successive deaths of their parents, they 
 had been left young to the guardianship of Sir Fulke Somerset 
 
THA DDECS OF \VA A'SJ IF. 3 S 5 
 
 and their maternal aunt, his then accomplished lady : she and 
 their deceased mother, the Lady Grace Ueaufort, having been 
 sisters — the two celebrated beautiful daughters of Robert Earl 
 Studeley of Warwick. 
 
 Sir Fulke's family by the amiable twin of the Lady Grace 
 were Robert (who afterwards succeeded him) and Dorothy his 
 only daughter. But he had a son by a former marriage with 
 the'brilliantly-endowed widow of a long-resident governor in the 
 East, who having died on his voyage home to England, on her 
 landing she found herself the sole inheritrix of his immense 
 wealth. She possessed charms of person as well as riches, and 
 as soon as " her weeds" could be laid aside, she became tliC 
 admired wife of the " gay and gallant " Sir Eulke Somerset. 
 Within the twelve subsequent months she presented him with a 
 son and heir, soon to be her own too ; for though she lived 
 three or four years after his birth, her health became so delicate 
 that she never bore another child, but gradually declined, and 
 ultimately expired while apparently in a gentle sleep. 
 
 Sir Fulke mourned his due time " in the customary suit of 
 solemn black ;" but he was a man of a lofty and social spirit, 
 by no means inclined to be disconsolate, and held " a fair help- 
 mate" to be an indispensable appendage to his domestic state. 
 In this temper, (just before the election of a new parliament, 
 when contending interests were running very close,) he obtained 
 the not less eagerly disputed hand of Lady Arabella Studeley, 
 whose elder sister (as has been mentioned) had made a magni- 
 ficent marriage, only a year or two before, with John of Beau- 
 fort, the lord of the noble domain of Beaufort in the Weald of 
 Kent — a lineal endowment from his princely ancestor, John of 
 Gaunt. This illustrious pair dwelt on the land, like its muni- 
 ficent owners in the olden times, revered and beloved ; and they 
 were the parents of their two equally-honored representatives — 
 Guy, afterwards Admiral B^eaufort, and Edith, who subsequently 
 became the adored wife of her also tenderly-beloved cousin, 
 Robert Somerset. 
 
 But before that fondly-anticipated event took place, the 
 young lover had to pass through a path of thorns, some of which 
 pierced him to the end. From his childhood to manhood, he 
 saw little of Algernon, his elder brother, who always seemed to 
 him more like an occasional brilliant phantom, alighting amongst 
 them, than a dear member of the family coming delightedly to 
 cheer and to si::. re his paternal home. Algernon was either at 
 )^aton school, or at one of the universities, or travelling some- 
 where on the continent ; and at all these places, or from them 
 
386 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W. 
 
 all, he became the enchanted theme of every tongue. Mean- 
 while, Robert — though, perhaps, equally endowed by nature, 
 yet certainly of a milder radiance — was the object of so appre- 
 hensive a solicitude in his gentle mother's breast for the jDurity 
 as well as the intellectual accomplishments of her son, that she 
 obtained Sir Fulke's reluctant consent to his being brought up in 
 •what is called " a home education ; " that is, under the especial 
 personal care of the best private tutors, and which were found, 
 to the great credit of her judgment. He showed an ardent de- 
 votedness to his studies ; and though, like his mother, he was 
 one of the mildest of human beings in his dealings with those 
 around him, yet his aspirations towards high attainments were 
 as energetic as they were noiseless, and ever on steady wing 
 soaring upward. Robert Somerset was then unconsciously form- 
 ing himself for what he afterwards became — the boast of the 
 country of his birth, the glory of England, to whose prosperity 
 he dedicated all his noble talents, showing what it is to be a 
 true English country gentleman. Being alike " the oak or lau- 
 rel " of " Old England's fields and groves," 
 
 *' With sickle or with sword, 
 Or bardic minstrelsy I 
 
 he was permitted to pass a term or two at Oxford, where he 
 acquitted himself with honor, particularly in the classics, to the 
 repeated admiration of their then celebrated professor, the late 
 Thomas Warton. But the young student was also fond of 
 rural pursuits and domestic occupations. He lived mostly at 
 home, enjoying the gentle solace of elegant modern literature 
 and the graces of music, with the ever blameless delights of an 
 accomplished female society, at the head of which his revered 
 mother had presided, accompanied by his lively sister Dorothy 
 and the sweet Edith Beaufort, whom he had gradually learned 
 to love like his own soul. His heart became yet more closely 
 knit to her when his beloved parent died, which sad event oc- 
 curred about a year after the death of Edith's own mother, who 
 on her widowhood had continued to live more with her sister, 
 Lady Arabella Somerset, than at her bereaved home. Edith's 
 filial sorrow was renewed in the loss of her maternal aunt, and 
 her tenderest sympathy reciprocated the tears of her son. 
 Their hearts blended together in those tears, and both felt that 
 "they were comforted." 
 
 Time did not long pass on before the happy Robert com- 
 municated their mutual attachment to his father, petitioning for 
 his consent to woo for the hand of her whose heart he had 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 3S7 
 
 already gained. But the baronet, in some surprise at what he 
 heard, refused to give his sanction to any such premature 
 engagement, first, on account of the applicant's "extreme youth ;'' 
 and second, being a younger scion of his house," it might not 
 be deemed well of in the world should he, the guardian of his 
 niece and her splendid fortune, show so much haste to bestow 
 her on his comparatively portionless son. The baronet, with 
 some of his parliamentary acumen, drew another comparison, 
 which touched the disappointed lover with a feeling almost of 
 despair. He compared what he denominated his romantic 
 fancies for "woods and wilds," and book-worm pursuits in the 
 old crypts of the castle or the college, with the distinguished 
 consideration held by his travelled brother in courts and coun- 
 cils, whether abroad or at home, closing the parallel by telling 
 him " to follow Algernon's example, and become more like a 
 man of some account amongst men before he dared pretend to 
 to a hand of so much importance as that of the heiress of 
 Beaufort." 
 
 Robert was standing silent and dismayed, as one struck by 
 a thunder-flash, when his brother (who had been only a month 
 arrived from a long revisit to the two Sicilies) suddenly entered 
 his father's library, as Sir Folke had again resumed his discourse 
 with even more severity. At sight of the animated object of 
 his contrasting eulogy, he instantly described to his new audi- 
 tor what had been mutually said, and referred the subject to 
 him. 
 
 " Romance, indeed ! whether in merry Sherwood, with hound 
 and horn, or with gentle dames in bower and hall, you have 
 had enough of, my brother," replied the gay-spirited traveller. 
 " Neither men nor women like philandering after deer or doe, 
 or a lady's slipper, beyond the greenw^ood season. So I say, 
 for the glory of your manhood up and away ! Abroad, abroad ! 
 My father is right. That is the only ground for such a race 
 and guerdon as you aspire to. I admire your taste, and not 
 less your am.bition, my brave boy. Do not thwart him, Sir 
 Fulke," added he, to the baronet, who began to frown : " let 
 him enter the lists with the boldest of us ; faint heart never won 
 fair lady ! So, forward, Robert ! and give me another sweet 
 sister to love and to cherish as I do our blithe little Dora." 
 
 At this far from unwelcome advice, Robert smiled and 
 sighed ; but the smile swallowed up the sigh, for his soul kindled 
 with hope. His father smiled also ; the cloud of a stern author- 
 ity had passed from his brow^, and before that now perfectly 
 reconciled party rose, it was decided that Robert should make 
 
388 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 immediate preparations for commencing a regulated course of 
 continental travels, the route to be drawn out by his brother, 
 and his expenses in the tour to be liberally supplied by his 
 father. The length of the probation was not then thought on, 
 at least not mentioned. Shortly afterwards, when Robert has- 
 tened from the library to communicate what had passed to the 
 beloved object of the discussion, he left his father and his 
 brother together to think and to plan all the rest for him. 
 
 But Edith Beaufort wept when she heard of the separation ; 
 her heart failed within her. For since her first coming under 
 the roof of her guardian uncle, she had never been without 
 seeing her brother-like cousin beyond a few days or weeks at 
 most. He was now going to be banished (and, it was asserted, 
 for her sake too) into far distant countries, and for an indefinite 
 period — months, perhaps years. And these saddening thoughts 
 made her weep afresh, though silently; for her full-flowing tears 
 were soft and noiseless, like the heart from whence they sprung. 
 Robert, with all his now sanguine expectations, sought to cheer 
 her, but in vain. She felt an impression, that should he go, 
 they would never meet again. But she did not betray that 
 feeling to him ; yet the infection of her despondency, by its 
 continuance, so wrought on his t)wn consequent depressed 
 spirits, that when Lis father announced to him that his absence 
 must be for two or three years at least, he ventured to remon- 
 strate, beseeching that it might be limited to the shorter term 
 of two years. The baronet derided the proposal, with many 
 words of contempt towards the urgent pleader. Robert with- 
 held from disclosing to the too often hard mind of his father 
 that the proposition he so scorned had originated in the tender 
 bosom of Edith Beaufort, and Sir Fulke's sarcasm fell so thick 
 on the bending head of his son, that at last the insulted feelings 
 of the generous lover became so indignant at the little confi- 
 dence placed in the real manliness of his character, which had 
 hitherto been found ever present Vv-hen actually called for, that 
 his heart began to swell to an almost uncontrollable exaspera- 
 tion, and while struggling to master himself from uttering the 
 disrespectful retort risen to his lips, his brother again acciden- 
 tally entered the room, and by giving Robert the moment to 
 pause, happily rescued his tottering duty from that regretful 
 offence. 
 
 As soon as Algernon appeared, the baronet resumed his 
 sarcastic tone, in a rapid recapitulation of Robert's retrograde 
 request. Algernon again took up the cause of his brother, and, 
 with his usual tact, gained the victory, by the dexterous gayety 
 
THADDEl'S OF WARSAW 
 
 3>^9 
 
 with which he pleaded for the young noviciate in all the mat- 
 ters for which he was to be sent so far afield to learn. At last 
 the conference ended by Sir Fulke agreeing to a proposition 
 from his eldest son, — that the time for this foreign tutelage 
 might possibly expire within the second year, should the results 
 invoked by the ambitious passion of his youngest born be in 
 any fair progress to fulfilment. 
 
 In little more than a week after this final arrangement, 
 every preparation was finished for the wildly-contemplated tour. 
 Robert had taken a heart-plighting adieu from his beloved 
 Edith. But by his father's positive injunction, there was no 
 engagement for a hereafter actual plighting of hands made be- 
 tween them. Vet their eloquent eyes, transparent through their 
 mutual tears, vowed it to each other, and with silent prayers for 
 his indeed early return, they parted. 
 
 When taking leave of his father, and receiving his directions 
 relative to a correspondence with his family, permission was 
 peremptorily denied him to hold any with his cousin Edith. 
 He had learrusd enough lately to avoid all supplications to the 
 paternal quarter, if he would not invite scorn as well as to re- 
 ceive disappointment. But Algernon whispered to him " that 
 nobody should remain wholly ificognita to him in that house 
 while he dipped pen in any one of the three hundred and sixty- 
 five inkhorns under its awful towers I " Robert then bowed 
 his farewell with a flushed cheek and grave respect to his 
 father, but gratefully separated from his brother with a warm 
 pressure of the hand. The old household servants blessed him 
 as he passed through the hall, and in a few minutes he found 
 himself seated in the family post-chaise and four that was to 
 convey him from the home of his youth and happy innocence, 
 and, alas I to return to it " an altered man." 
 
 When he reached Dover to embark, he fell in with the 
 present Earl of Tinemouth, then i^Ir. Stanhope, sent abroad on 
 a similar errand with himself. But Stanhope's was to forget a 
 mistress — Somerset's to merit the one he sought. The two 
 young men were kinsfolk by birth, and they now felt themselves 
 so in severing from their parents. Stanhope was in high wrath 
 against his, and he soon rekindled the already excited mind of 
 Somerset to a responsive demonstration of resentment. They 
 determined to show that " they were not such boys as to sub- 
 mit any further in passive obedience to the stern authority dom- 
 inating over them." Sir Fulke's particular charge against Iiis 
 son was a "womanish softness, unworthy his loftier sex!" 
 *' Show him," cried Stanhope, that " you have the hardihood 
 
39<^ 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 of a true man by an immediate act of independence. Let us 
 travel together, kinsmen as we are, change our names, and let 
 no one in England know anything about us during our tour 
 except the two dear women on whose accounts we are thus 
 transported ! " 
 
 With these views they landed in France, gave themselves 
 out to be brothers (which a certain resemblance in their per- 
 sons corroborated), and called themselves Sackville. Agree- 
 ably amused with the novelties presented to them at almost 
 every step of their tour from gay Paris to sentimental Italy, they 
 proceeded pretty amicably until they reached Naples. There 
 Mr. Stanhope involved himself in an intrigue with the only 
 daughter of an old British officer, who had retired to that cli- 
 mate for his health. Somerset remonstrated on the villany of 
 seducing an innocent girl, when he knew his heart and hand 
 were pledged to another. Stanhope, enraged at finding a cen- 
 sor in a companion whom he had considered to be as head- 
 strong as himself, ended the argument by drawing his sword, 
 and if the servants of the hotel had not interfered, the affray 
 would probably have terminated with one of their lives. Since 
 that hour they never met. Mr. Stanhope fled from his shame 
 and his bleeding friend, and, fearful of consequences, took tem- 
 porary refuge in one of the Aonian Isles, not daring to proceed 
 any further against the innocence of the poor officer's daughter, 
 who had been thus rescued from becoming his victim ! 
 
 When recovered from his wound, Robert Somerset (by some 
 strange infatuation still retaining the name of Sackville) pro- 
 ceeded to Florence, in which interesting cit}^, for works of art, 
 ancient and modern, and the graces of classic society, deter- 
 mining to stay some time, he rather sought than repelled the 
 civilities of the inhabitants. Here he became acquainted with 
 the palatine, and the lovely Countess Therese, his daughter. 
 Her beauty pleased his taste ; her gentle virtues and exquisite 
 accomplishments affected both his heart and mind; and he 
 often gazed on her with tenderness, when his fidelity to Edith 
 Beaufort only meant him to convey a look of grateful admira- 
 tion. The palatine honored England, and was prepared to 
 esteem her sons wherever he might meet them ; and very 
 soon he became so attached to this apparently lonely young 
 traveller, that he invited him to all the excursions he and his 
 daughter made into the adjoining states, whether visiting them 
 by the romantic scenery of the land-roads, or coasting the beau- 
 tiful bays of the sublime shores on either side of those parts of 
 the Mediterranean. 
 
TIIADDEUS OJ' IVARSAIV. 3^^ 
 
 In the midst of this intimacy, as if she were aware of a 
 friendship so hostile to his cousin's love, he suddenly ceased to 
 receive any remembrance-messages from her to him, in the two 
 last letters from his brother, — for he had never allowed himself 
 to so brave his father's parting commands as to write to her 
 himself. Desperate with jealousy of some unknov/n object 
 supplanting him, he was on the point of setting off for home, to 
 judge with his own eyes, when a large packet from England 
 was put into his hands. On opening it he found a letter from 
 Edith, on which his surprised and eager gaze had immediately 
 fixed. Without looking on any of the rest, he broke the seal, 
 and read, astounded by the contents, " that having for some 
 time been led to consider the probable consequences to him, 
 both from his father's better judgment and the ultimate opinion 
 of the world, should he and she continue their pertinacious 
 adherence to their childish attachment, she had tried to wean 
 both him and herself from so rebellious a folly towards her re- 
 vered j'^uardian, his honored father ; and trusting that tlie 
 gradual shortening ot her cousin-like messages to him, through 
 liis brother's letters, must have had the effect intended, she 
 now had permission to write one herself to him, to con- 
 vince him at once of the unreasonableness and danger of all 
 such premature entanglements. For," she added, " soon after 
 his departure, a journey to town had taught her to know her 
 own heart. She learned to feel that it was still at her disposal ; 
 and time did not long pass after she returned to the country 
 before, having compared the object of her awakened taste with 
 that of her former delusion, she persuaded her own better 
 judgment to set a generous example to her ever-dear cousin 
 Robert, by marrying where that judgment now pointed. And 
 so, with the full consent of Sir Fulke (who she well knew had 
 been totally averse to her marriage with his youngest son), she 
 had yielded to the long love of his brother, which had been 
 struggling in his manly bosom many agonizing months against 
 his persistent fidelity to Robert, but whose sister she hoped to 
 shortly become, as his affectionate Edith — then Somerset." 
 
 Having read this extraordinary epistle to the end, so mon- 
 strous in the character of its sentiments and its language, when 
 compared with all he had hitherto known of the pure and sim- 
 ple mind from which it came, a terrible revulsion seized on his 
 own, and, almost maddened with horror at every name in that 
 letter, he foreswore his family forever ! Hastening, as for one 
 drop of heaven's dew upon his burning brain, to seek Therese 
 Sobieski, he found her alone, and though without such aim 
 
392 TH A DDE US OF IVAKSAU/. 
 
 when he rushed so frenzied hito her presence, he besought her 
 " to heal a miserable and broken heart, which could only be 
 saved to endure any continuance of life by an acknowledgment 
 that she loved him ! " Alas ! the avowal was too soon wrung 
 from that tender and noble spirit ! and yielding to a paroxysm 
 of a rash and blinding revenge, he hurried her to a neighboring 
 convent and secretly married her. 
 
 This most unrighteous act perpetrated, he in vain sought 
 tranquillity. He was now stung within by a constant sense of 
 increasing guilt. Before this act he was the injured party — in- 
 jured by those in whom he had confided his dearest earthly 
 happiness ; and he could raise his head in conscious truth, 
 though all his fondest hopes had been wrecked by their false- 
 hood. But now he was the betrayer of a young and innocent 
 heart, which had implicitly trusted in him. And he had insulted 
 with a base and treacherous ingratitude, by that act of deceit, 
 without excuse, the honor of her father, whose generous con- 
 fidence had also been implicitly placed in him. 13ut the effects 
 of these scorpion reproaches in his bosom were not less de- 
 structive of her peace than of his own. He saw that his 
 wedded Therese v/as unweariedly anxious to soothe the mysteri- 
 ous wanderings of his mind with her softest tenderness. But his 
 thoughts were, indeed, far from her, ever hovering over the 
 changed image of - his so lately adored Edith — ever agonizing 
 over the lightness of a conduct so unlike her former virgin deli- 
 cacy, so unlike the clinging vows she breathed to him in their 
 hour of boding separation ! — ever execrating the perfidy of his 
 brother, which had brought on him this distracting load of 
 guilt and woe ! 
 
 In this temper of alienation from all the world, a second 
 packet from England was put into his hand. Again he saw 
 Edith's writing ; but he dropped it unopened, in horror of the 
 signature he anticipated would be appended to it. Roused by 
 resentment towards him whose name he believed she then bore, 
 he tore asunder the wax of a letter from his father, which was 
 sealed with black. His eyes were speedily riveted to it. Sir 
 Fulke, in the language of deep contrition, confessed a train of 
 deception that petrified his son. He declared, with bitter in- 
 vectives against himself, that all which had been communicated 
 to that unhappy son relating to Edith and licr intended mar- 
 riage with Algernon liad been devised by that unkind brother, 
 and his no less unnatural father, for the treacherous purpose of 
 that marriage. Devoted to ambition for his ov/n sake, as well 
 as for that of his favorite son, Sir Fulke owned that he had 
 
THADDFA'S OF WARSAW. ^3 
 
 from the first of Edith Beaufort's becoming lils ward resolved 
 on her union in due time with Algernon, in order to endow him, 
 ill addition to his own rich inheritance, with all the political in- 
 fluence attendant on the vast estate to which she was heiress, 
 and so build up the family, in the consideration of government, 
 to any pitch of coroneted rank their high-reaching parent might 
 choose to reclaim. 
 
 With many prayers for pardon from Heaven and the cruelly- 
 injured Robert, the wretched father acknowledged that this 
 confession was wrung from him by the sudden death of his 
 eldest son, who having been thrown off his horse on a heap of 
 stones in the high-road, after three days of severe bodily and 
 mental suffering, now lay a sadly-disfigured corpse, under the 
 vainly mourning blazonry of his house, in the darkened hall of 
 his ancestors. The disconsolate narrator then added, " that in 
 contrite repentance his son had conjured him, with his dying 
 breath, to confess the falsehood of all that had passed to the 
 grossly-abused Robert ; " amongst which, was Algernon turning 
 to the account of his own designs every confidence imparted to 
 him by his brother, in his incognito movements, and awakened 
 intimacy with the noble Sarmatian family at Florence. And 
 from these unsuspected sources, this false friend and kinsman 
 had contrived to throw out hints of his brother's reported slid- 
 ing heart to the shrinking object of his own base and perfidious 
 passion. At last, believing Robert to be unfaithful, she sunk 
 into a depression of spirits which Sir Fulke thought would be 
 easy to work to an assent, in mere reckless melancholy, to the 
 union he sought. With that object, and to break the knot at 
 once by a trenchant blow on Robert's side, Algernon forged 
 that letter in Edith Beaufort's handwriting which had announced 
 so unblushingly her preparations for an immediate marriage 
 with the eldest son. 
 
 " But," continued Sir Fulke, " death has put an end to this 
 unnatural rivalry. And my poor girl, undeceived in her opin- 
 ion of you, longs to see you, and to give you that hand which 
 your ill-fated brother and infatuated father so unjustly detained 
 from you. You are now my only son, the only prop of my 
 house, the only comfort of my old age ! My son, do not aban- 
 don to his remorse and sorrow your only parent." 
 
 On receipt of this packet, in a consternation of amazement, 
 and a soul divided between rekindled love in all its fires and 
 pity and honor towards her he had betrayed before the altar of 
 heaven, Robert Somerset sacrificed both to his imperious pas- 
 sion. He adored the woman on whose account he had left the 
 
394 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 country, and though every tie, sacred and just, bound him to 
 the tender and faithful wife he must forsake to regain that idol, 
 he at once consigned her to the full horrors of desertion and 
 hastened to England. 
 
 " Disgraceful to relate ! " ejaculated Sir Robert, putting his 
 hand over his face, '• I married Edith Beaufort, while in our 
 deepest mourning, but at Somerset, as the place farthest from 
 general notice. My father, eager to efface as fast as possible 
 from my mind and hers all recollection of his past conduct 
 towards us, had prepared everything splendid, though private, 
 for our union ; and in her blissful, restored possession, I forgot 
 for a while Therese and her agonies. But v;hen my dear Pem- 
 broke first saw the light, when I pressed him to my heart, it 
 seemed as if in the same instant a dagger pierced it. When I 
 would have breathed a blessing over him, the conviction struck 
 me that I durst not — that I had deluded the mother who gave 
 him birth, and that at some future period he might have cause 
 to curse the author of his existence. 
 
 " Well," continued the baronet, wiping his forehead, " though 
 the birth of this boy conjured up the image of your mother, to 
 haunt me day and night, I never could summon moral courage 
 to inquire of her destiny after I had left her. When the trou- 
 bles of Poland commenced, what a dreadful terror seized me ! 
 The successes of their allied enemies, and the consequent dis- 
 tress and persecution of the chief nobility, overwhelmed me 
 with apprehension. I knew not but that many, like the noblesse 
 of France, might be forced to abandon their country ; and the 
 bare idea of meeting your grandfather, or the injured Therese, 
 in England, precipitated me into a nervous state that menaced 
 my life. I became abstracted and seriously ill, was forbidden 
 all excitements ; hence easily avoided the sight of newspapers ; 
 and, on the plea you have heard, my family were withheld from 
 speaking on any public subjects that manifestly gave me pain. 
 But I could not prevent the tongues of our visitors from dis- 
 coursing on a theme which at that period interested every 
 thinking mind. I heard of the valiant Kosciusko, the good 
 Stanislaus, and the palatine Sobieski, with his brave grandson, 
 spoken of in the same breath. I durst not surmise who this 
 grandson was; I dared not ask — I dreaded to knov/. 
 
 '' At length," added the agitated father, quickening his 
 voice, " the idol of my heart — she for whom I had sacrificed 
 my all of human probity, perhaps my soul's eternal peace — 
 died in my arms. Where could a wretch like me turn for con- 
 solation .? I had forfeited all right to it from Heaven or earth. 
 
TH A DDE us OF WARSAW. 3^5 
 
 But at last a benignant spirit seemed to breathe on me, and I 
 bent beneath the stroke with huniihty ; for 1 embraced it as the 
 just chastisement of a crime which till then, even in the midst 
 of my married fehcity, had often pressed on my dearest feel- 
 ings like the hand of death. I repeat, I bore this chastening 
 trial with the resignation I have described. But when, two 
 years afterwards, my eye fell by accident upon the name of 
 Sobieski in one of the public papers, I could not withdraw it ; 
 my sight was fascinated as if by a rattle-snake. In one column 
 I read how bravely the palatine fell, and in the next the dread- 
 ful fate of his daughter. She was revenged ! " cried Sir Robert, 
 eagerly grasping the hand of Thaddeus, who could not restrain 
 the groan that burst from his breast. '* For nearly three months 
 I was deprived of that reason which had abused her noble 
 nature. 
 
 *' When I recovered my senes,'" continued he, in a calmer 
 tone, "and found I had so fatally suffered the time of any 
 restitution to her to go by, I began to torture my remorseful 
 heart because that I had not, immediately on the death of 
 my too much loved Edith, hastened to Poland, and besought 
 Therese's pardon from her ever-generous heart. But this vivid 
 approach to a sincere repentance was soon obliterated by the 
 consideration that, the Countess Sobieski having had a prior 
 claim to my name, such restitution on my part must have 
 illegitimatized my darling Pembroke, his dying mother's fond- 
 est bequeathment to a father's arms. 
 
 " It was this fearful conviction," exclaimed Sir Robert, a 
 sudden horror, indeed, distracting his before affectionate eye, 
 " that caused all my barbarian cruelty. When my dear and 
 long-believed only son described the danger from which you 
 had rescued him, when he told me that Therese had fostered 
 liim with a parent's tenderness, I was probed to the heart. 
 But when he added that the young Count Sobieski was now an 
 alien from his country, and relying on my friendship for a 
 home, my terror was too truly manifested. Horror drove all 
 natural remorse from my soul. I thought an avenging power 
 had sent my deserted child to discover his father, to claim his 
 rights, and to publish me as a disgrace to the name I had 
 stolen from him. And when I saw my innocent Pembroke, 
 even to his knees, petitioning for the man who I believed had 
 come to undo him, I became almost deranged. May the Lord 
 of mercy pardon the fury of that derangement ! For under 
 that temper," added he, putting the trembling hand of Thad- 
 deus to his streaming eyes, " 1 drove my first-born to be a 
 
396 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 wanderer on the face of the earth, not for his own crimes, but 
 for those of his father ; and Heaven justly punished in the 
 crime the sin of my injustice. When I thought that evidence 
 of my shame was divided from me by an insuperable barrier, 
 when I believed that the ocean would soon separate me from 
 my fears, a righteous Providence brought thee before me, for- 
 lorn and expiring. It was the son of Therese Sobieski I had 
 exposed to such wretchedness. It was the cherished of her 
 heart I had delivered to the raging elements ! Oh, Thaddeus, 
 my son," cried he, " can I be forgiven for all this, in this world 
 or in the next .'' " 
 
 " Oh, my father ! " returned Thaddeus, with a modest, but 
 a pathetic energy, " I am thy son ! thy happy son, in such 
 acknowledgment ! Therefore no longer upbraid yourself. Did 
 you not act, as by a sacred impulse, a father's part to me when 
 you knew me not ? You raised my dying head from the earth 
 and laid it on your bosom. O, my father ! He who brought 
 us so together in his own appointed time, chasteneth every son 
 whom he receiveth, and has thus proved his love and pardon to 
 your contrite heart, both on earth and in heaven, by the nature 
 of your chastisement and the healing balm at its close ! " 
 
 At the end of this interview, so interesting and vital to the 
 happiness of both these newly-united parties, father and son, 
 Sir Robert motioned his blessing to that son by laying his hand 
 gently on his head, while the parental tears flowed on that now 
 dear forehead — for he could not then speak. He immediately 
 withdrew, to leave Thaddeus to repose, and himself to retire to 
 pour out his grateful spirit in private. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF PEACE 
 
 At dawn on the morning following the preceding eventful 
 but happy conference. Sir Robert, painfully remembering the 
 frantic grief oT Pembroke on finding that Sobieski had not only 
 withdrawn himself from Harrowby, but had adjured England 
 forever, and still feeling the merited bitterness of the reproaches 
 which ills inexplicable commands, dishonoring to his son, had 
 provoked from that only too-long-preferred offspring of his 
 idolized Edith, — which reproaches, unknowingly so inflicted by 
 
TH AD DEC'S OF WARSAW. 3^7 
 
 the desperation of their utterer, had driven tlie guilty father to 
 seek a temporary refuge from them, if not from iiis own accu- 
 sing conscience, under the then solitary roof of one of his coun- 
 try seats in the adjacent county, — yet somewhat relieved, as by 
 the immediate mercy of Heaven, from the load of his misery, 
 he eagerly wrote by the auspicious beams of the rising sun a 
 few short lines to Pembroke, telling him that '' a providential 
 circumstance had occurred since they parted, which he trusted 
 would finally reconcile into a perfect peace all that had recently 
 passed so distressingly between them ; therefore he, his ever 
 tenderly-affectioned father, requested him to join him alone, 
 and without delay, at Deerhurst." 
 
 This duty done to one beloved child, he then turned to an- 
 ticipate a second converse to his comfort with the other. 
 
 That sickness which is the consequence of mental suffering 
 usually vanishes with its cause. Long before the dinner-hour 
 of this happy day, Thaddeus, refreshed by the peaceful and 
 lengthened sleep from which he awoke late in the morning, rose 
 as if with a renewed principle of life. Quitting his room, he 
 met his glad father in the passage-gallery, who instantly con- 
 ducted him into a private room, where that now tranquillized 
 parent soon brought him to relate, with every sentence a deep- 
 ening interest, the rapid incidents of his brief but eventful 
 career. The voice of fame had already blazoned him abroad 
 as ''the plume of war, with early laurels crowned ;" but it was 
 left to his own ingenuous tongue to prove, in all the modest 
 simplicity of a perfect filial confidence, that the most difficult 
 conflicts are not those which are sustained on the battle-field. 
 
 Sir Robert listened to him with affection, admiration, and 
 delight, — ah, with what pride in such a son ! He was answer- 
 ing the heartfelt detail with respondent gratefulness to that 
 Almighty Power which had shed on his transgressing head such 
 signal "signs of heavenly amnesty ! " when the door opened, 
 and a servant announced that Mr. Somerset was in the library. 
 
 Thaddeus started up with joy in his countenance; but Sir 
 Robert gently put him down again. " Remain here, my son," 
 said he, "until I apprize your brother how nearly you are re- 
 lated to him. Yonder door leads into my study ; I will call you 
 when he is prepared." 
 
 The moment Sir Robert joined Pembroke, he read in his 
 pale and haggard features how much he needed the intelligence 
 he was summoned to hear. Mr. Somerset bowed coldly but 
 respectfully on his father's entrance, and begged to be honored 
 with his commands. 
 
398 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARS A W, 
 
 "They are what I expect will restore to you your usual 
 looks and manner, my dear son," returned the baronet ; " so 
 attend to me." 
 
 Pembroke listened to his father's narrative with mute and, 
 as it proceeded, amazed attention. But when the name of 
 Therese Sobieski was mentioned as that of the foreign lady 
 whom he had married and deserted, the ready apprehension of 
 his breathless auditor conceiving the remainder yet unuttered 
 by the agitated narrator. Sir Robert had only to confirm, 
 though in a hardly audible voice, the eager demand of his son, 
 " Was Thaddeus Sobieski indeed his brother.? " and while hear- 
 ing the reply, unable to ask another question, he looked wildly 
 from earth to heaven, as if seeking where he might yet be 
 found. 
 
 " O, my father ! " cried he, " what have you done ? Where 
 is he } For what have you sacrificed him ? " 
 
 " Hear me to an end," rejoined the baronet. He then, in 
 as few words as possible, repeated the subsequent events of the 
 recent meeting. 
 
 Pembroke's raptures were now as high as his despair had 
 been profound. He threw himself on his father's breast ; he 
 asked for his friend, his brother, and begged to be conducted 
 to him. Sir Robert did no more than open the intervening 
 door, and in one instant the brothers were locked in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 The transports of the young men for a long while denied 
 them words; but their eyes, their tears, and their united hands 
 imparted to each breast a consciousness of mutual love unutter- 
 able, not even to be expressed by those looks which are indeed 
 the heralds of the soul. 
 
 Sir Robert wept like an infant whilst contemplating these 
 two affectionate brothers ; in a faltering voice he exclaimed, 
 " How soon may these plighted hands be separated by inex- 
 orable law! Alas, Pembroke, you cannot be ignorant that I 
 buy this son at a terrible price from you!" 
 
 At this speech the blood rushed over the cheek of the in- 
 genuous Pembroke ; but Thaddeus, turning instantly to Sir 
 Robert, said, with an eloquent smile. 
 
 " On this head I trust that neither my father nor my brother 
 will entertain one thought to trouble them. Had I even the 
 inclination to act otherwise than right, my revered grandfather 
 has put it out of my power to claim or to bear any other name 
 than that of Sobieski. He made me swear never to change it ; 
 and, as I hope to meet him hereafter," added he, v/ith solemnity, 
 
THADDEVS OF WARSAW. 
 
 399 
 
 " I will obey him. Therefore, my beloved father, in secret only 
 can 1 enjoy the conviction that I am your son, and Pembroke's 
 brother. Vet the happiness I receive with the knowledge ot 
 being so will ever live here, will ever animate my heart with 
 gratitude to Heaven and to you." 
 
 " Noble son of the sainted Therese ! " cried Sir Robert ; " I 
 do not deserve thee ! " 
 
 " How shall I merit your care of my honor, of my dearest 
 feelings ? " exclaimed Pembroke, grasping the hand of his 
 brother. " I can do nothing, dearest Thaddeus ; I am a bank- « 
 rupt in the means of evincing what is passing in my soul. My 
 mother's chaste spirit thanks you from my lips. Yet I will not 
 abuse your generosity. Though I retain the name of Somerset, 
 it shall only be the name ; the inheritance entailed on my 
 father's eldest son belongs to you." 
 
 Whilst Thaddeus embraced his brother again, he calmly and 
 affection ately replied that he would rather encounter all the 
 probable evils from which his father's benevolence had saved 
 him, than rob his brother of any part of that inheritance, 
 *' which," he earnestly added, " 1 sincerely believe, according 
 to the Providence of Heaven, is your just due." 
 
 Sir Robert, with abhorrence of himself and admiration of 
 his sons, attempted to stop this noble contention by proposing . 
 that it should be determined by an equal division of the family 
 property. 
 
 "Not so, my father," returned Thaddeus, steadfastly, but 
 with reverence; "I can never admit that the title of Somerset 
 should sacrifice one jot of its inherited accustomed munificence 
 by making any such alienation of its means." 
 
 And then the ingenuous son of Therese Sobieski proceeded, 
 in the same modest but firm tone, to remind his father that 
 " though the laws of the national church wherein he had married 
 her would have given their son every right over any inheritance 
 from either parent which belonged to Poland, yet as no oppor- 
 tunity had subsequently occurred for repeating the sacred cere- 
 mony by the laws of his father's church, her son could make no 
 legal claim whatever on a rood of the Somerset lands in 
 England." 
 
 Sir Robert, with unspeakable emotion, clasped the hand of 
 his first-born when he had made, and with such tender delicacy, 
 this conclusive remark, and which, indeed, had never presented 
 itself to his often distractedly apprehensive mind, either before 
 or after the death of Pembroke's mother ; even had it done so, 
 it would not have afforded any quiet to his soul from the inter- 
 
400 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 nal worm gnawing there. His act had been guilt towards 
 Therese Sobieski and her confiding innocence. And it was not 
 the discovery of any omitted legislative ordinance that could 
 have satisfied the accusing conscience in his own bosom, hourly 
 calling out against him. But the heaven-consecrated son of 
 that profaned marriage had found the reconciling point — had 
 poured in the healing balm \ and the spirit of his father was 
 now at peace. 
 
 In cordial harmony, therefore, with this generous opinion, 
 so opportunely expressed by the sincere judgment of the last 
 of the house of Sobieski, when so united to that of Somerset, 
 and with a corresponding simplicity of purpose, interwoven by 
 the sweet reciprocity of mutual confidence, the remainder of the 
 evening passed pleasantly between the happy father and his no 
 less happy sons. 
 
 Sir Robert dispatched a letter next day to his sister, to 
 invite her and his beloved Mary to join the home party at 
 Deerhurst without delay. Pembroke rejoiced in this prospec- 
 tive relief to the minds of his aunt and cousin, being well aware 
 that he had left them in a state of intense anxiety, not only on 
 account of the baronet's strange conduct, — which had not been 
 explicable in any way to their alarmed observations, — but on 
 account of himself, whose mind had appeared from the time of 
 his father's incensed departure in a state verging on derange- 
 ment. On the instant of his return from the deserted hotel, 
 while passing Mary, whom he accidently met in his bewildered 
 way to Sir Robert's room, he had exclaimed to her, "I have 
 not seen Sobieski ! he is gone ! and your message is not deliv- 
 ered." From the time of that harrowing intimation, he had 
 constantly avoided even the sight of his cousin or his aunt. 
 Yet before he quitted the Castle to obey his father's new com- 
 mands, he had summoned courage to enter Mary's boudoir, 
 where she sat alone. Not trusting himself to speak, he put the 
 letter which Thaddeus had written to her into her hand, and 
 disappeared, not daring to await her opening what he knew to 
 be a last farewell. 
 
 He had guessed aright ; for from the moment in which her 
 trembling hand had broken the seal and she had read it to the 
 end, bathed in her tears, it lay on her mourning heart, whether 
 she waked or slept, till her silent grief was roused to share her 
 thoughts with a personal exertion, welcome to that despondent 
 heart. It was Sir Robert's invitation for her own and her 
 aunt's immediate removal to their always favorite Deerjiurst ! 
 because far from the gay world, and ever devoted to quite do- 
 mestic enjoyments. 
 
rilADDEUS OF WARSAW. 401 
 
 But before this summons had arrived, and early in the 
 xiorning of the same day, Lady Albina Stanhope, more dead 
 than aUve in appearance, had reached Somerset Castle in a 
 post-chaise, accompanied by her maid alone, to implore the 
 protection of its revered owner against the most terrible evils 
 that could be intlicted by an unnatural parent on a daui^^hter's 
 heart — that of being compelled to be a party in a double out- 
 rage on the memory of her mother, by witnessing the marriage 
 of her father, by special license, to Lady Olivia Lovel, that 
 very evening, in the Harwold great hall, and herself to commit 
 the monstrous act of being married to a nephew of that profli- 
 gate woman. To avoid such horrors, she had flown for refuge 
 to the only persons she knew on earth likely to shield her 
 from so great an infamy. 
 
 Soon after this disclosure, to which the sister and niece of 
 the beneficent Sir Robert Somerset — whom she had hoped to 
 find at the Castle — had listened with the tenderest sympathy, 
 his letter to Miss Dorothy was delivered to the venerable lady. 
 Mary and their fatigued guest were seated together on the 
 sofa ; and the seal, without apology, from the receiver's anxious 
 haste to learn what it might contain of her brother's health, 
 was instantly broken. A glance removed every care. Read- 
 ing it aloud to both her young auditors, at every welcome word 
 the bosom of the amazed Miss Beaufort heaved with increasing 
 astonishment, hope, and gratitude, while beneath the veil of 
 her clustered ringlets her eyes shed the tribute of happy tears 
 to heaven — to that heaven alone her virgin spirit breathed the 
 emotions of her reviving heart. The good old lady was not 
 backward in demonstrating her wonderings. Surprised at her 
 brother's rencontre with Thaddeus, but more at his avowal of 
 obligations to any of that nation about which he had always 
 proclaimed an aversion, she was so wrapped in bewilderment 
 yet delight at the discovery, that her ever cheerful tongue felt 
 nothing loathe to impart to the attentively-listening Albina — 
 who had recognized in the names of Constantine and Thaddeus 
 those of her lamented mother's most faithful friend — all that 
 she knew of his public as well as his private character since 
 she had known him by that of Sobieski also. 
 
 Sir Robert's letter informed his sister " that a providential 
 circumstance had introduced Pembroke's friend, the Count 
 Sobieski, to his presence, when, to his astonishment and un- 
 utterable satisfaction, he discovered that this celebrated young 
 hero (^though one of a nation against which he had so often 
 declared his dislike, but which ungenerous prejudice he now 
 
402 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 abjured !) was the only remaining branch of a family from 
 whom, about twenty-five years ago, while in a country far distant 
 equally from England or Poland, he had received many kind- 
 nesses. He had contracted an immense debt, under peculiarly 
 embarrassing circumstances to himself, when then an alien 
 from his father's confidence. And his benefactor in this other- 
 wise inextricable dilemma was the Palatine of Masovia, tl:e 
 world-revered grandfather of the young Count Sobieski. And," 
 he added, "in some small compensation for the long-unredeemed 
 pecuniary part of this latter obligation, (the fulfilment of which 
 certain adverse events on the continent had continued to pre- 
 vent), he had besought and obtained permission from the 
 young count, now in England, to at once set at rest his past 
 anxieties to settle an affair of so much iinportance, by signing 
 over to him, as the palatine's heir and representative, the sole 
 property of his (Sir Robert's) recently-purcpiased new domain 
 — the house and estates of Manor Court, nearly adjoining to 
 those of Dcerhurst, on the Warwick side. The rent-roll migl:t 
 be about five thousand pounds per annum. And there, in 
 immediate right of possession, the noble descendant of his 
 munificent friend would resume his illustrious name, and 
 embrace, with a generous esteem of this country's national 
 character, a lasting home and filiation in England ! " 
 
 Sir Robert closed this auspicious letter (which he had 
 striven, however, to write in such a manner as not to betray 
 the true nature of the parental feelings which dictated it) with 
 a playful expression of his impatience to present to his sister 
 and niece "their interesting emigre in a character which re- 
 flected so much honor on their discernment." 
 
 The impatience was indeed shared, though in different de- 
 grees and forms, by the whole little party — the soul of one in 
 it totally absorbed. But owing to some insurmountable ob- 
 stacles, occasioning delays, by the exhausted state of the over- 
 wrouglit Lady Albina ; and notwithstanding the necessity of 
 getting on as fast as possible, to be out of the reach of the 
 enraged earl, should he have missed and traced his daughter 
 to Somerset Castle, the fugitives could not start till late in the 
 afternoon of that day, and it was an hour or more past midnight 
 before they arrived at Deerhurst. 
 
 The family, in no small disappointment, had given them up 
 for the night, and had retired to their rooms. Miss Dorothy, 
 who would not suffer her brother to be disturbed, sent the two 
 young ladies to their chambers, and was crossing, on tiptoe, 
 the long picture-gallerv to her own apartment, when a door 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 403 
 
 'opening, Pembroke, in his dressing-c^own and slippers, looked 
 out on hearing the stealthy step. She put Torth her hand to 
 him with delight, and in a low voice congratulated him on tl:e 
 change in Sir Robert's mind, kissed his cheek, and told him 
 to prepare for another pleasant surprise in the morning. Smil- 
 ing with these words, she bade him good-night, and softly pro- 
 ceeded to her chamber. 
 
 Pembroke had thought so little of his ever-merry aunt's 
 lively promise, that she saw Lim one of the latest in entering 
 the breakfast-parlor, he not having hastened from his usual 
 breezy early walk over the neighboring downs, where Thaddeus 
 had been his companion. Miss Dorothy gayly reproached her 
 nephew for his undutiful lack of curiosity ; while Mary, with a 
 glowing cheek, received the glad embrace of her cousin, who 
 gently wdiispered to her, " Now I shall see together the two 
 beings I most dearly love! Oh! the happiness contained in 
 that sight ! " Mary's vivid blush had not subsided when the 
 entrance of Thaddeus, and his agitated bow, overspread her 
 neck and brow with crimson. A sudden dimness obscured her 
 faculties, and she scarcely heard the animated words of Sir 
 Robert, whilst presenting him to her as the Count Sobieski, 
 the beloved grandson of one who had deserved the warmest 
 place in his heart ! Whatever he was, the lowly Constantine 
 or the distinguished Sobieski, she was conscious that he was 
 lord of hers ; and withdrawing her hand confusedly from the 
 timid and thrilling toucli of him she would have willingly lin- 
 gered near forever, she glided towards an open casement, where 
 the frosh air helped to dispel the faintness which had seized 
 her. 
 
 After Miss Dorothy, with all the urbanity of her nature, 
 had declared her welcome to the count, she put away the coftee 
 that was handed to her by Pembroke, and said, with a smile, 
 " ]3efore I taste my breakfast, I must inform you, Sir Robert, 
 that you have a guest in this house you little expect. I for- 
 bade Miss Beaufort's saying a word, because, as we are told, 
 * the first tellers of unwelcome news have but a losing office ;' 
 vice versii, I hoped for a gaining one, therefore preserved 
 such a profitable piece of intelligence for my own promulga- 
 tion. Indeed, I doubt whether it will not win me a pair of 
 gloves from some folks here," added she, glancing archly on 
 Pembroke, who looked round at this whimsical declaration. 
 *' Suffice it to say, that yesterday morning Lady Albina Stan- 
 Iiope, looking like a ghost, and her poor maid, scared almost 
 out of her wits, arrived in a hack-chaise at Somerset Castle, 
 
404 
 
 THADDELS OF WARSAW. 
 
 and besought our protection. Our dear Mary embraced the 
 weeping young creature, who, amidst many tears, recapitulated 
 the injuries she had suffered since she had been torn from her 
 mother's remains at the Abbey. The latest outrage of her 
 cruel father was his intended immediate marriage with the vile 
 Lady Olivia Lovel, and his commands that Lady Albina should 
 the same evening give her hand to that bad woman's nephew. 
 Ill as she was when she received these disgraceful orders, she 
 determined to prevent the horror of such double degradation 
 by instantly quitting the house ; ' and,' added she, ' whither 
 could I go 1 Ah ! 1 could think of none so likely to pity the 
 unhappy victim of the wickedness I fled from as the father of 
 the kind Mr. Somerset. He had told me we were relations ; 
 I beseech you, kind ladies, to be my friends ! ' Certain of 
 your benevolence, my dear brother," continued Miss Dorothy, 
 " I stopped this sweet girl's petition with my caresses, and 
 promised her a gentler father in Sir Robert Somerset." 
 
 " You did right, Dorothy," returned the baronet \ "though 
 the earl and I must ever be strangers, I have no enmity to his 
 children. Where is this just-principled young lady 1 " 
 
 Miss Dorothy informed him that, in consequence of her 
 recent grief and ill treatment, she had found herself too unwell 
 to rise with the family ; but she hoped to join them at noon. 
 
 Pembroke was indeed deeply interested in this intelligence. 
 The simple graces of the lovely Albina had on the first inter- 
 view touched his heart. Her sufferings at Harrowby, and the 
 sensibility which her ingenuous nature exhibited without affec- 
 tation or disguise, had left her image on his mind long after 
 they parted. He now gave the reins to his eager imagination, 
 and was the first in the saloon to greet her as his lovely kins- 
 woman. 
 
 Sir Robert Somerset welcomed her with the warmth of a 
 parent, and the amiable girl wept in happy gratitude. 
 
 During this scene, Miss Beaufort, no longer able to bear 
 the restraint of company nor even the accidental encountering 
 of his eyes whose presence, dear as it was, oppressed and dis- 
 concerted her, walked out into the park. Though it was the 
 latter end of October, the weather continued fine. A bright 
 sun tempered the air, and gilded the yellow leaves, which the 
 fresh wind drove before her into a thousand glittering eddies. 
 This was Mary's favorite season. She ever found its solemnity 
 infuse a sacred tenderness into her soul. The rugged form of 
 Care seemed to dissolve under the magic touch of sweet Na- 
 ture. Forgetful of the world's anxieties, she felt the tranquilliz- 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 405 
 
 ing spirit of sootliing melancholy that shades the heart of sor- 
 row with a veil wiiich might well be called the twilight of the 
 mind ; and the entranced soul, happy in its dream, half closes 
 its bright eye, reluctant to perceive that such bland repose is 
 pillowed on the shifting clouds. 
 
 Such were the reflections of Miss Beaufort, after her dis- 
 turbed thoughts had tossed themselves, in a sea of doubts, re- 
 garding any possible interest she might possess in the breast 
 of Sobieski. She recalled the hours they had passed together ; 
 they agitated but did not satisfy her heart. She remembered 
 Pembroke's vehement declaration that Thaddeus loved her; 
 but then it was Pembroke's declaration, not his ! and the cir- 
 cumstances in which it had been made were too likely to mis- 
 lead the wishes of her cousin. And then Sobieski's farewell 
 letter ! It was noble — grateful ; but where appeared the glow- 
 ing, soul- pervading sentiment that consumed her life for him ? 
 Exhausted by the anguish of this suspense, she resolved to 
 resign her future fate to Providence. Turning her gaze on the 
 lovely objects around, she soon found the genius of the season 
 absorb her wholly. Pier cheeks glovv'ed, her eyes became 
 humid, and casting their mild radiance on the fading flowers 
 beneath, she pursued her way through a cloud of fragrance. 
 It was the last breath of the expiring year. Love is full of 
 imagination, IMary easily glided from the earth's departing 
 charms to her own she thought waning beauty ; the chord once 
 touched, every note vibrated, and hope and fear, joy and regret, 
 again dispossessed her lately-acquired serenity. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 AN AVOWAL. 
 
 After some little time. Lady Albina, having missed Miss 
 Beaufort, expressed a wish to walk out in search of her, and 
 the two brothers offered their attendance. But before her 
 ladyship had passed through the first park, she complained of 
 fatigue. Pembroke urged her to enter a shepherd's hut close 
 by, whilst the Count Sobieski would proceed alone in quest of 
 his cousin. 
 
 With a beatin^T heart Thaddeus undertook this commission. 
 
4o6 
 
 TH AD DECS OF ]VARSA\V. 
 
 Hastening '-^n^ the nearest dell with the lightness of a young 
 hunter, he mounted the heights, descended to the giad.es, trav- 
 ersed one woody nook and then another, but could see no 
 trace of Miss Beaufort. Supposing she had returned to the 
 house, he was slackening his pace to abandon the search, when 
 he caught a glimpse of her figure as she turned the corner of 
 a thicket leading to a terrace above. In an instant he was at 
 her side, and with his hat in his hand, and a glowing cheek, 
 he repeated his errand. 
 
 Mary blushed, faltered, and became strangely alarmed at 
 finding herself alone with him. Though he now stood before 
 her in a quality which she ever believed was his right, the re- 
 membrance of what had passed between them in other circum- 
 stances confounded and overwhelmed her. When Constantine 
 was poor and unfriended, it seemed a i^acred privilege to pity 
 and to love hun. When the same Constantine appeared as a 
 man of rank, invested with a splendid fortune and extensive 
 fame, she felt lost — annihilated. The cloud which had ob- 
 scured, not extinguished, his glory was dispersed. He was that 
 Sobieski whom she had admired unseen ; he was that Con- 
 stantine whom she had loved unknown ; he was that Sobieski, 
 that Constantine, whom, seen and known, she now, alas ! loved 
 almost to adoration ! 
 
 Oppressed by the weight of these emotions, she only bowed 
 to what he said, and gathering her cloak from the winds which 
 blew it around her, was hurrying with downward eyes to the 
 stairs of the terrace, when her foot slipped, and she must have 
 fallen, had not Thaddeus caught her in his ready arm. She 
 rose with a blushing face, 'and the color did not recede when 
 she found that he had not relinquished her hand. Her heart 
 beat violently, her head became giddy, herfeet lost their power. 
 Finding that, after a slight attempt to withdraw her hand, he 
 still held it fast, though in a trembling grasp, and nearly over- 
 come by inexplicable distress, she turned away her face to con- 
 ceal its confusion. 
 
 Thaddeus saw all this, and with a fluttering hope, instead 
 of surrendering the hand he had retained, he made it a yet 
 closer prisoner by clasping it in both his. Pressing it earnestly 
 to his breast, he said in a hurried voice, whilst his earnest eyes 
 poured all their beams upon her averted cheek, " Surely Miss 
 Beaufort will not deny me the dearest happiness I possess — 
 the privilege of being grateful to her ? " 
 
 He paused : his soul was too full for utterance ; and rais- 
 ing Mary's hand from his heart to his lips, he kissed it fer- 
 
TJ IAD DHL'S OF U'AKSAir. 
 
 407 
 
 vently. Almost fainting, Miss Beaufort leaned her head 
 against a tree of the thicket where they were standing. The 
 thought of the confession which Tembroke had extorted from 
 her, and dreading that its fullness might have been imparted 
 to him, and that all this was rather the tribute of gratitude than 
 of love, she waved her other hand in sign for him to leave her. 
 
 Such extraordinary confusion in her manner palsied the 
 warm and blissful emotions of the count. He, too, began to 
 blame the sanguine representation of his friend ; and fearing 
 that he had offended her, that she might suppose he presumed 
 on her kindness, he stood for a moment in silent astonishment ; 
 then dropping on his knee, (hardly conscious of the action,) 
 declared in an agitated voice his sense of having given this 
 ofifence ; at the same time he ventured to repeat, with equally 
 modest energy, the soul-devoted passion he had so long en- 
 deavored to seal up in his lonely breast. 
 
 " But forgive me ! " added he, with increased earnestness ; 
 "forgive me, in justice to your own virtues. In what has just 
 passed, I feel I ought to have only expressed thanks for your 
 goodness to an unfortunate exile ; but if my words or manner 
 have obeyed the more fervid impulse of my soul, and declared 
 aloud what is its glory in secret, blame my nature, most re- 
 spected Miss Beaufort, not my presumption. I have not dared 
 to look steadily on any aim higher than your esteem." 
 
 jMary knew not how to receive this address. The position 
 in which he uttered it, his countenance when she turned to 
 answer him, were both demonstrative of something less equivo- 
 cal than his speech. He was still grasping the drapery of her 
 cloak, and his eyes, from which the: wind blew back his fine 
 hair, were beaming upon her full of that piercing tenderness 
 which at once dissolves and assures the soul. 
 
 She passed her hand over her eyes. Her soul was in a 
 tumult. She too fondly wished to believe that he loved her to 
 trust the evidence of what she saw. His words were ambiguous, 
 and that was sufficient to fill her with uncertainty. Jealous of 
 that delicacy which is the parent of love, and its best preserver, 
 she checked the overflowings of her heart, and whilst her con- 
 cealed face streamed with tears, conjured him to rise. In- 
 stinctively she held out her hand to assist him. He obeyed ; 
 and hardly conscious of what she said, she continued — 
 
 " You have done nothing, Count Sobieski, to offend me. I 
 was fearful of my own conduct — that you might have supposed 
 — I mean, unfortunate appearances might lead you to imagine 
 that I was influenced — was so forgetful of myself " 
 
4o8 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 " Cease, madam ! Cease, for pity's sake ! " cried Thaddeus, 
 starting back, and dropping her hand. Every motion which 
 faltered on her tongue had met an answering pang in his breast. 
 
 P'earing that he had set his lieart on the possession of a 
 treasure totally out of his reach, he knew not how high liad 
 been his hope until he felt the depth of his despair. Taking 
 up his hat, which lay on the grass, with a countenance from 
 which every gleam of joy was banished, he bowed respectful'}', 
 and in a lo-wer tone continued : " The dependent situation in 
 which I appeared at Lady Dundas's being ever before my eyes, 
 I was not so absurd as to suppose that any lady could then 
 notice me from any other sentiment than humanity. That I 
 excited this humanity, where alone I was proud to awaken it, 
 was, in these hours of dejection, my sole comfort. It consoled 
 me for the friends I had lost ; it repaid me for the honors 
 which were no more. But that is past ! Seeing no further 
 cause for compassion, you deem the delusion no longer neces- 
 sary. Since you v;ill not allow me an individual distinction in 
 having attracted your benevolence, though I am to ascribe it 
 all to a charity as diffused as effective, yet I must ever acknowl- 
 edge with the deepest gratitude that I owe my present home 
 and happiness to Miss Beaufort. Further than this, I shall 
 not — I dare not — presume." 
 
 These words shifted all the count's anguish to Mary's 
 breast. She perceived the offended delicacy which actuated 
 each syllable as it fell ; and fearful of having lost everything 
 by her cold and what might appear haughty reply, she opened 
 her lips to say what might better explain her meaning ; but her 
 heart failing her, she closed them again, and continued to walk 
 in silence by his side. Having allowed the opportunity to 
 escape, she believed that all hopes of exculpation were at an 
 end. Not daring to look up, she cast a despairing glance at 
 Sobieski's graceful figure, as he walked, equally silent, near 
 her. His arms were folded, his hat pulled over his forehead, 
 and his long dark eyelashes, shading his downward eyes, im- 
 parted a dejection to his whole air which wrapped her weeping 
 heart round and round with regretful pangs. "Ah !" thought 
 she, " though the offspring of but one moment, they will prey on 
 my peace forever." 
 
 At the turning of a little wooded knoll, the mute and pen- 
 sive pair heard the sound of some one on the other side, ap- 
 proaching them through the dry leaves. In a minute after 
 Sir Robert Somerset appeared. 
 
 Whilst his father advanced smiling towards him, Thaddeus 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 409 
 
 attempted to dispel the gloom of his countenance, but not suc- 
 ceeding, he bowed abruptly to the agitated Mary, and hastily 
 said, " I will leave Miss I^eaufort in your protection, sir, and 
 go myself to see whether Lady Albina be recovered from her 
 fatigue." 
 
 " I thought to find you all together," returned Sir Robert ; 
 " where is her ladyship ? " 
 
 " I left her with Pembroke, in a hut by the river," said 
 Thaddeus, and bowing again, lie hurried away, whilst his father 
 called after him to return in a few minutes, and accompany 
 him in a walk. 
 
 The departure of Sobieski, when he had come expressly to 
 attend her to Lady Albina, nearly overwhelmed Miss Beaufort's 
 before-exhausted spirits. Hardly knowing whether to remain 
 or retreat, she was attempting the latter, when her guardian 
 caught her hand. 
 
 " Stay, Mary ! " cried he ; " you surely would not leave me 
 alone ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort's tears had gushed over her eyes the moment 
 her back was turned, and as Sir Robert drew her towards him, 
 to his extreme amazement he saw that she w^as weeping. At a 
 sight so unexpected, the smile of hilarity left his lips. Putting 
 his arm tenderly round her waist, (for now that her distress had 
 discovered itself, her emotion became so great that she could 
 hardly stand,) he inquired in a kindly manner what had affected 
 her. 
 
 She answered by sobs only, until finding it impossible to 
 break away from her uncle's arms, she hid her face in his 
 bosom and gave vent to the full tide ot her tears. 
 
 Recollecting the strange haste in which Thaddeus had hur- 
 ried from them, and remembering Miss Beaufort's generosity 
 to hmi in town, followed by her succeeding melanchol}'. Sir 
 Robert at once united these circumstances with her present 
 confusion, and conceiving an instantaneous suspicion of the 
 reality, pressed her with redoubled affection to his bosom. 
 
 " I fear, my dearest girl," said he, " that something disa- 
 greeable has happened between you and the Count Sobieski. 
 Perhaps he has offended you ? perhaps he has found my sweet 
 ALiry too amiable ''' " 
 
 Alarmed at this supposition, after a short struggle she an- 
 swered, " O no, sir ! It is I who have offended him. He 
 thinks I pride myself on the insignificant services I rendered to 
 him in London." 
 
 This reply convinced the baronet that he had not been pre- 
 
41 o Til A DDE US OF WARSAW. 
 
 mature in his judgment, and, with a new-born dehghl sprinG:ing 
 in his soul, he inquired why she thought so ? Had she given 
 him any reason to beUeve so ? 
 
 Mary trembled at saying more. — Dreading that every word 
 she might utter would betray how highly she prized the count's 
 esteem, she faltered, -hesitated, stopped. Sir Robert put the 
 question a second time, in different terms. 
 
 " My loved Mary," said he, seating her by him on the trunk 
 of a fallen tree, " I am sincerely anxious that you and this young 
 nobleman should regard each other as friends. He is very 
 dear to me ; and you cannot doubt, my sweet girl, my affection 
 for yourself. Tell me, therefore, the cause of this little misun- 
 derstanding." 
 
 Miss Beaufort took courage at this speech. Drying her 
 glowing eyes, though still concealing them with a handkerchief, 
 she replied in a firmer voice, " I believe, sir, the fault lies 
 totally on my side. The Count Sobieski met me on the terrace, 
 and thanked me for what I had done for him. I acted very 
 weakly ; I was confused. Indeed I knew not what he said ; 
 but he fell upon his knees, and I became so disconcerted, so 
 frightened at the idea of his having attributed my conduct to 
 indelicacy, or forwardness, that I answered something which 
 offended him, and I am sure he now thinks me unfeeling and 
 proud." 
 
 S^r Robert kissed her throbbing forehead, as she ended 
 this rapid and hardly-articulated explanation. 
 
 " Tell me candidly, my dearest Mary ! " rejoined the baronet, 
 *' can you believe that a man of Sobieski's disposition would 
 bend his knee to a woman whom he did not both respect and 
 love ? Simple gratitude, my dear girl, is not so earnest. You 
 have said enough to convince me, whatever may be your senti- 
 ments, that you are the mistress of his fate ; and if he should 
 mention it to me, may I describe to him the scene which has 
 now passed between us t May I tell him that its just infer- 
 ence would requite his tenderness with more than your thanks 
 and best wishes ? " 
 
 Miss Beaufort, who believed that the count must now despise 
 her, looked down to conceal the wretchedness which spoke 
 through her eyes, and with a half-suppressed sigh, answered, 
 " I will not deny that I deeply esteem the Count Sobieski. I 
 admired his character before I saw him, and when I did see 
 him, although ignorant that it was he, the impression seemed 
 the same. Yet I never aspired to any place in his heart, or 
 even his remembrance : I could not have the presumption. 
 
Til ADD ECS OF WARSAW 411 
 
 Therefore, my dear uncle," added she, layinp^ her trembling 
 hand on his arm, " 1 beseech you, as you valr.e my feeHngs, 
 my peace of mind, never to breathe a syllable 01 my weakness 
 to him. I think," added she, clasping her hands with energy, 
 and forgetting the force of her expression, " I would sooner 
 suffer death than lose his respect." 
 
 "And yet," inquired Sir Robert, "you will at some future 
 period give your hand to another man ? " 
 
 Mary, who did not consider the extent of this insidious 
 question, answered with fervor, " Never ! I never can be hap- 
 pier than I am," added she, with breathless haste. Seeing, 
 by the smile on Sir Robert's lips, that far more had been de- 
 clared by her manner than her words intended, and fearful of 
 betraying herself further, she begged permission to retire to 
 the house. 
 
 The baronet took her hand, and reseating her by him, con- 
 tinued, " No, my Mary ; you shall not leave me unless you 
 honestly avow what your sentiments are towards the Count So- 
 bieski. You know, my sweet girl, that I have tried to make 
 you regard me as a father — to induce you to receive from my 
 love the treble affection of your deceased parents and my 
 lamented wife. If her dear niece do not deny this, she cannot 
 treat me with reserve." 
 
 Miss Beaufort was unable to speak. Sir Robert proceeded : 
 
 " I will not overwhelm your shrinking delicacy by repeating 
 the inquiry whether I have mistaken the source of your recent 
 and present emotion ; only allow me to bestow some encourage- 
 ment on the count's attachment, should he claim my services 
 in its behalf." 
 
 Mary drew her uncle's hand to her lips, and whilst her 
 dropping tears fell upon it, slie threw herself, like a confiding 
 child, on her knees, and replied in a timid voice : " [ should 
 be a monster of ingratitude could I hide anything frcm you, 
 my dearest sir, after this goodness ! I confess that I do re- 
 gard the Count Sobieski more than any being on earth. Who 
 could see and know him and think it possible to become an- 
 other's ? " 
 
 " And you shall be his, my darling Mary ! " cried the baro- 
 net, mingling his own blissful tears with hers. " I once hoped 
 to have contrived an attachment between you and Pembroke, 
 but Heaven has decreed it better. When you and Thaddeus 
 are united, I shall be happy ; I may then die in peace." 
 
 Miss Beaufort sighed heavily. She could not yet quite 
 participate in her uncle's rapture. She thought that she had 
 
413 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 insulted and disgusted the count by her late behavior, beyond 
 his excuse, and was opening her lips to urge it again, when the 
 object of their conversation appeared at a short distance, com- 
 ing towards them. 
 
 Full of renewed trepidation, she burst from the baronet's 
 hand, and taking to flight, left her uncle to meet Sobieski alone. 
 
 Sir Robert's anxious question on the same subject received 
 a more rapid reply from Thaddeus than had proceeded from 
 the reluctant Miss Beaufort. The animated gratitude of So- 
 bieski, the ardent yet respectful manner with which he avowed 
 her eminence in his heart above all other women, convinced 
 the baronet that Mary's retreating delicacy had misinformed 
 her. A complete explanation was the consequence ; and Thad- 
 deus, who had not been more sanguine in his hopes than was 
 his lovely mistress in hers, now allowed the clouds over his so 
 lately darkened eyes to disappear. 
 
 Impatient to see these two beings, so dear to his soul, re- 
 pose confidently in each other's affection, the moment Sir 
 Robert returned to the house, he asked Ms sister for Miss 
 Beaufort. Miss Dorothy replied that she had seen her about 
 half an hour ago retire to her own apartments ; the baronet, 
 therefore, sent a servant to beg that she would meet him in the 
 library. 
 
 This message found her in a paroxysm of distress. She 
 reproached herself for her imprudence, her temerity, her un- 
 womanly conduct, in having given away her heart to a man who 
 she again began to torment herself by believing had never de- 
 sired it. She remembered that her weakness, not her sincerity, 
 had betrayed this humiliating secret to Sir Robert ; and nearly 
 distracted, she lay on the bed, almost hoping that she was in a 
 miserable dream, when her maid entered with the baronet's 
 commands. 
 
 Disdaining herself, and determining to regain some portion 
 of her own respect by steadily opposing all her uncle's delud- 
 ing hopes, with an assumed serenity she arrived at the study- 
 door. She laid her hand on the lock, but the moment it yielded 
 to her touch, all her firmness vanished. Trembling, and pale 
 as death, she appeared before him. 
 
 Sir Robert, having supported her to a chair, with the most 
 affectionate and tender expressions of paternal exultation re- 
 peated to her the sum of his conversation with the count. 
 Mary was almost wild at this discourse. So inconsistent and 
 erratic is the passion of love, when it reigns in woman's breast, 
 she forgot in an instant the looks and voice of Thaddeus; she 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 4,3 
 
 forgot her terror of having forfeited his affection by her affected 
 coldness alone ; and dreading that the first proposal of their 
 union had proceeded from her uncle, she buried her agitated 
 face in her hands, and exclaimed, " O sir ! I fear that you ha\e 
 made me forever hateful in my own eyes and despicable in 
 those of the Count Sobieski ! " 
 
 Sir Robert looked on her emotion with a smiling but a pity- 
 ing ga::e, reading in all the unaffected apprehensive m.odesty of 
 that noble maiden's heart. 
 
 *' Well," cried h^, in a gentle raillery of tone, "my own be- 
 loved one ! if thy guardian uncle cannot prevail over this way- 
 ward fancifulness, so unlike his ingenuous Mary's usual fair 
 dealing with the truth of others, I must call in even a better- 
 accredited pleader, and shall then leave my object, the balance 
 of justice and mercy, in equally beloved hands." 
 
 While he spoke, he rose and opened a door that led to an 
 adjoining room. Miss Beaufort would have flown through an- 
 other had not Sir Robert suddenly stood in her way. He threw 
 his arm about her, and turning round, she saw the count, who 
 had entered, regarding her with an anxiety which covered her 
 before pale features with blushes. 
 
 His father bade him come near. Sobieski obeyed, though 
 with a step that expressed how reluctant he was to oppress tlie 
 woman he so truly loved, Mary's face was now hidden in her 
 uncle's bosom. Sir Robert put her trembling hand into that 
 of his son, who, dropping on his knee, said, in an agitated voice, 
 " Honored, dearest Miss Beaufort ! may I indulge myself in 
 the idea that I am blessed with your regard .'' " 
 
 She could not reply, but whispered to her uncle, '' Pray, sir, 
 desire him to rise ! I am overwhelmed." 
 
 " My sweet Mary ! " returned the baronet, pressing her to 
 his breast, " this is no time for deception on either side. I 
 know both your hearts. Rise, Thaddeus," said he to the count, 
 whilst he locked both their hands within his. " Take him, 
 Mary ! Receive from your guardian his most precious gift — 
 my matchless and injured son." 
 
 The abruptness of the first part of this speech might have 
 shocked her exhausted spirits to insensibility, had not tlie ex- 
 traordinary assertion at its end, and Sir Robert's audible sobs, 
 aroused and surprised her, 
 
 " Your son ! " exclaimed she ; " what do you mean, my 
 uncle ? " 
 
 "Thaddeus will explain all to you," returned he. "May 
 Heaven bless vou both 1 " 
 
414 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Mary was too much astonished to think of following her 
 agitated uncle out of the room. She sunk on a seat, and turn- 
 ing her gaze full of amazement towards the count, seemed to 
 ask an explanation. Thaddeus, who still retained her passive 
 hand, pressed it warmly to his heart ; and whilst his effulgent 
 eyes were beaming on her with joyous love, he imparted to her 
 a concise but impressive narrative of his relationship with Sir 
 Robert. He touched with short yet deep enthusiasm, with 
 more than one tearful pause, on the virtues of his mother ; he 
 acknowledged the unbounded gratitude which was due to that 
 God who had so wonderfully conducted him to find a parent 
 and a home in England, and with renewed pathos of look and 
 manner ratified the proffer which Sir Robert had made of his 
 heart and hand to her who alone on this earth had reminded 
 him of that angelic parent. " 1 have seen her beloved face, 
 luminous in purity and tender pity, reflected in yours, ever- 
 honored Miss Beaufort, when your noble heart, more than once, 
 looked in compassion on her son. And I then felt, with a 
 wondering bewilderment, a sacred response in my soul, though 
 I could not explain it to myself. But since then that sister 
 spirit of my mother has often whispered it as if direct from 
 heaven." 
 
 Mary had listened with uncontrollable emotion to this in- 
 teresting detail. Her eyes overflowed : their ingenuous lan- 
 guage, enforced by the warm blood which glowed on her check, 
 did not require the medium of words to declare what was pass- 
 ing in her mind. Thaddeus gazed on her with a certainty of 
 bliss which penetrated his soul until its raptures almost amounted 
 to pain. The heart may ache with joy ; neither sighs nor lan- 
 guage could express what passed in his mind. He held her 
 hand to his lips ; his other arm fell unconsciously round her 
 waist, and in a moment he found that he had pressed her to 
 his breast. His heart beat violently. Miss Beaufort rose in- 
 stantaneously from her chair ; but her pure nature needed no 
 disguise. She looked up to him, whilst her blushing eyes were 
 shedding tears of delight, and said in a trembling voice : " Tell 
 my dear uncle that Mary Beaufort glories in the means by which 
 she becomes his daughter." 
 
 She moved to the door. Thaddeus, whose full tide of trans- 
 port denied him utterance, only clasped her hands again to his 
 lips and bosom ; then, relinquishing them, he suffered her to 
 quit the room. 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 415 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A Fx\MILY PARTY. 
 
 The magnificent establishment which this projected union 
 offered to Sobiesl-:i seemed to heal the yet bleeding conscience 
 of Sir Robert Somerset. Although he had acquiesced in the 
 count's generous surrender of the family-inherited honors, his 
 heart remained still ill at ease. Every dutiful expression from 
 his long-neglected son at times had stung him with remorse. 
 But Miss Beaufort's avowed and returned affection at once re- 
 moved the lingering accuser from his bosom. Mistress of im- 
 mense wealtli, her hand would not only put the injured Thad- 
 deus in possession of the pure delights which only a mutual 
 sympathy can bestow, but would enable his munificent spirit to 
 again exert itself in the worthy disposal of an almost princely 
 fortune. 
 
 Such meditations having followed the now tranquillized 
 baronet to his pillow, they brought him into the breakfast- 
 parlor next day full of that calm pleasure which promises a 
 steady continuance. The happy family were assembled. Miss 
 Dorothy saluted her brother, whose brightened eye declared 
 that he had something pleasant to communicate ; and he did 
 not keep her in suspense. With the first cup of coffee the good 
 lady poured out, his grateful heart unburdened itself of the de- 
 lightful tidings that ere many months, perhaps weeks, he had 
 reason to hope Miss Beaufort would give her liand lo the Count 
 Sobieski. Pembroke was the only hearer who did not evince 
 surprise at this announcement. Every one else had been kept 
 uninformed, on the especial injunction of Sir Robert, who de- 
 sired its knowledge to be withheld till he had completed some 
 necessary preliminaries in his mind. But Thaddeus, by the 
 permission of the happy parent, during a long and interesting 
 conversation in his library, which passed between the father 
 and ins new-found son, immediately after the latter's blissful 
 parting with his then hcart-affianced Mary, had hastened to his 
 brother, and retiring with him to his little study, there communi- 
 cated, in full and enraptured confidence, the whole events of 
 the recent mutual explanations. 
 
 During Sir Robert's animated disclosure, Mary's blushing 
 yet grateful eyes sought a veil in a branch of geranium which 
 she lield in her trcmblin : hand. 
 
4i6 
 
 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Miss Dorothy rose from her chair ; her smiling tears spoke 
 more than her Hps when she pressed first her niece and then the 
 Count Sobieski in her venerable arms. 
 
 " Heaven bless you both ! " cried she. " This marriage will 
 be the glory of my age." 
 
 Miss Beaufort turned from the embrace of her aunt to meet 
 the warm congratulations of Pembroke. Whilst he kissed her 
 burning cheek, he whispered, loud enough for every one to hear, 
 " And why may I not brighten in my good aunt's triumph ? At- 
 tempt it, dear Mary ! If you can persuade my father to allow 
 me to make myself as happy with Lady Albina Stanhope as you 
 will render Sobieski, I shall forever bless you ! " 
 
 Lady Albina colored and looked down. Sir Robert took 
 her hand with pleased surprise. " Do you, my lovely guest — 
 do you sanction what this bold boy has just said ? " 
 
 Lady Albina made no answer ; but, blushing deeper than 
 before, cast a sidelong glance at Pembroke, as if to petition his 
 support. He was at her side in an instant ; then seriously and 
 earnestly entreating his father's consent to an union with their 
 gentle kinswoman (whose approbation he had obtained the 
 preceding day in the shepherd's hut), he awaited with anxiety 
 the sounds which seemed faltering on Sir Robert's lips. 
 
 The baronet, quite overcome by his ever-beloved Pembroke 
 having, like his brother, disposed of his heart so much to his 
 own honor, found himself unable to say what he wished. Join- 
 ing the hands of the two young people in silence, he hurried 
 out of the room. He ^ascended to the library, where kneeling 
 down, he returned devout thanks to that " all-gracious Being who 
 had crowned one so unworthy with blessings so conspicuous." 
 
 Thaddeus, no less than his father, remembered the hand 
 which, having guided him through a sharply-beset wilderness of 
 sorrow, had in so short a term conducted him to an Eden of 
 bliss. Long afterwards, when years had passed over his happy 
 head, and his days became dedicated to various important 
 duties, public and private, attendant on b'"'^ station in life and 
 the landed power he held in his adopted country, never did l:e 
 forget that he was " only a steward of the world's Benefactor ! " 
 The sense of whose deputy he was gave to his heart a grateful 
 conviction that in whatever spot he might be so placed, he was 
 to consider it as his country ! — the Canaan of his commission. 
 
 Before the lapse of a week, it became expedient that Sir 
 Robert should hasten the marriage of Pembroke with Lady 
 Albina, or be forced by law to yield her to the demands of her 
 father. After much search. Lord Tincmouth had discovered 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. ^ly 
 
 that liis daughter was under the protection of Sir Robert Som- 
 erset. Inflamed with rage and revenge, he sent to order her 
 immediate return, under pain of an instantaneous appeal to the 
 courts of judicature. 
 
 Too well aware that her nonage laid her open to the realiza- 
 tion of this threat, Lady Albina fell into the most alarming 
 swoonings on the first communication of the message. Sir 
 Robert urged that in her circumstances no authority could be 
 opposed to the earl's excepting that of a husband's ; and on 
 this consideration she complied with his arguments and the 
 pravers of her lover, to directly give that power into the hands 
 of Pembroke. 
 
 AccorcHngly, with as little delay as possible, accompanied 
 by Miss Dorothy and the enraptured Mr. Somerset, the terri- 
 fied Lady Albina commenced her journey to Scotland, tliat 
 being the only place where, in her situation, the marriage could 
 be legally solemnized. A clerical friend of the baronet's, who 
 dwelt just over the borders, could perform the rite with every 
 proper respect. 
 
 Whilst these young runaways, chaperoned by an old maiden 
 aunt, were pursuing their rapid flight across the Tweed, Sir 
 Robert sent his stevv-ard to London to prepare a house near his 
 own in Grosvenor Square for the reception of the bridal pair. 
 During these necessary arrangements, a happy fortnight elapsed 
 at Dcerhurst — thrice happy to IVIary, because- its tranquil hours 
 imparted to her long-doubting heart "a sober certainty of that 
 waking bliss " which had so often animated with hope the 
 visions of her imagination, when contemplating the mystery of 
 such a mind as that of Thaddeus ha\ing been destined to the 
 humble lot in which she had found him. Morning, noon, and 
 evening the loving companion of the Count Sobieski, she saw 
 with deepened devotedness that the brave and princely virtues 
 did not reign alone in his bosom. Their full lustre was ren- 
 dered less intense by the softening shades of those gentler 
 amenities which are the soothers and sweeteners cf life. His 
 breast seemed the residence of love — of a love that not only 
 infused a warmer existence through her soul, but diffused such 
 a light of benevolence over every being within its influence, 
 that all appeared happy who caught a beam of his n3'e — all en- 
 chanted who shared the magic of his smile. Under what dif- 
 ferent aspects had she seen this man ! Yet how consistent ! 
 At the first peri ^d of their acquaintance, she beheld him, like 
 thp.t glorious orb which her ardent fancy told her h.e resembled, 
 struggling with the storm, or looking dimmed, yet unmoved, 
 
4i8 THADDEUS OF WARSAW, 
 
 through the clouds which obscured his path ; but now, Hke the 
 radiant sun of summer amidst a splendid sky, he seemed to 
 stand the source of light, and love, and jo3^ 
 
 Thus did the warm fancy and warmer heart of Mary Beau- 
 fort paint the image of her lover ; and when Sir Robert re- 
 ceived intelligence that the Scottish party had arrived in town, 
 and were impatient for the company of the beloved inhabitants 
 of Deerhurst, while preparing to revisit the proud and gay 
 world, she confessed that some embers of human pride did 
 sparkle in her own bosom at the anticipation of witnessing the 
 homage which they who had despised the unfriended Constan- 
 tine would pay to the declared and illustrious Sobieski. 
 
 The news of Lady Albina's marriage infuriated the Earl of 
 Tinemouth almost to frenzy. Well assured that his withholding 
 her fortune would occasion no vexation to a family of Sir Rob- 
 ert Somerset's vast possessions, he gave way to still more ve- 
 hement bursts of passion, and in a fit of impotent threatening 
 embarked with all his household to spend the remainder of the 
 season on his much-disregarded estates in Ireland. 
 
 This abrupt departure of the earl caused Lady Albina little 
 uneasiness. His unremitted cruelty, her brother's indifference, 
 and the barbed insults of Lady Olivia Lovel, now the earl's 
 wife, rankled too deeply in the daughter's bosom to leave any 
 filial regret behind. Considering their absence a suspension 
 of pain rather than a punishment, she did not stain the kiss 
 which she imprinted on the revered cheek of her new parent 
 with one tear to the memory of her unnatural father. 
 
 Whilst all was splendor and happiness in Grosvenor Square, 
 Thaddeus did not forget the excellent Mrs. Robson. He has- 
 tened to St. Martin's Lane, where the good woman received him 
 with open arms. Nanny hung, crying for joy, upon his hand, 
 and sprung rapturously about his neck when he told her he 
 was now a rich man, and that she and her grandmother should 
 live with him forever. " I am going to be married, my dear 
 Mrs. Robson," said he ; "that ministering angel who\isited 
 you when I was in prison was sent to wipe away the tears from 
 my eyes." Drying the cheek of his weeping landlady, while 
 he spoke, with his own handkerchief, he continued : — " She 
 commanded me not to leave you until you had assured me that 
 you will brighten our happiness by taking possession of a pretty 
 cottage close to her house in Kent. It is within Beaufort 
 Park, and there my Mary and myself will visit you contin- 
 ually." 
 
 " Blessed Mr. Constantine ! '" cried the worthy woman, press- 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 4,^^ 
 
 mg his hand ; " myself, my Nanny, we are yours ; — take us 
 where you please, for wherever you go, there will the Al- 
 mighty's hand lead us, and there will his right hand hold us." 
 
 The count rose and turned to the window ; his heart was 
 full, and he was obliged to take time to recover himself before 
 he could resume the conversation. He saw her twice after 
 this ; and on the day of her departure for Kent, to await in 
 her own new home his and his Mary's arrival there, he put into 
 her hand the first quarterly payment of an annuity which would 
 henceforward afford her every comfort, and raise her to that 
 easy rank in society which her gentle manners and rare virtues 
 were so admirably fitted to adorn. Neither did he neglect Mr. 
 Burket. It was not in his nature to allow any one who served 
 him to pass unrewarded. He called on him on the last day he 
 visited St. Martin's Lane, (when Mrs. Watts, too, shared his 
 bounty,) and having repaid him with a generosity which aston- 
 ished the good money-lender, he took back his sword, and the 
 venerated old seals he had left with Mrs. Robson to get re- 
 paired by the same honest hand ; also the other precious relics 
 he had had refitted to their original settings, and pressing them 
 mournfully yet gratefully to his breast, re-entered Sir Robert's 
 carriage to drive home. What bliss to his heart was in that 
 word t 
 
 Next day Thaddeus directed his steps to Dr. Cavendish's. 
 He found his worthy friend at home, who received him with 
 kindness. But how was that kindness increased to transport 
 when Thaddeus told him, with a smiling countenance, that he 
 was the very Sobieski about whose wayward fate he had asked 
 so many ill-answered questions. The delighted doctor em- 
 braced him with an ardor which spoke better than language his 
 admiration and esteem. His amazement having subsided, he 
 was discoursing with animated interest on events at once so 
 fatal and so glorious to Sobieski, when a gentleman was an- 
 nounced by the name of Mr. Hopetown. He entered ; and Dr. 
 Cavendish at the same time introducing Thaddeus as the Count 
 Sobieski, Mr. Hopetown fixed his eyes upon him with an ex- 
 pression which neither of the friends could comprehend. A 
 little disconcerted at the merchant's seeming rudeness, the 
 good doctor attempted to draw off the steadiness of his gaze 
 by asking how long he had been in England. 
 
 " I left Dantzic," replied he, " about three weeks ago ; and 
 I should have been in London five days since, but a favorite 
 horse of mine, which I brought with me, fell sick at Harwick, 
 and I waited until he was well enou2:h to travel.' 
 
42 o THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Whilst he spoke he never withdrew his eyes from the face 
 of Thaddeus, who at the words Dantzic and horse recollected 
 his faithful Salaclin ; almost hoping that this Mr. Hopetown 
 mi-ifht prove to be the Briton to whom he had consigned the 
 noble animal, he took a part in the conversation by inquiring 
 of the merchant whether he were a resident of Dantzic. 
 
 " No, your excellency," replied he ; " I live within a mile 
 of it. Several years ago I quitted the smoke and bustle of the 
 town to enjoy fresh air and quiet." 
 
 " Last year," rejoined Sobieski, " I passed through Dant- 
 zic on my way to England. I believe I saw your house, and 
 remarked its situation. The park is beautiful," 
 
 " And I am indebted, count," resumed the merchant, " to a 
 nobleman of your country for its finest ornament : I mean ihe 
 very horse I spoke of just now. He was sent to me one morn- 
 ing, with a letter from his brave owner, requesting me to give 
 him shelter in my park. He is the most beautiful animal I 
 ever beheld. Unwilling to leave behind so valuable a deposit, 
 when I came to England I brought him with me." 
 
 " Poor Saladin 1 " cried Thaddeus, his heart overflowing 
 with remembrance ; " how glad I shall be to see thee ! " 
 
 "What ! was the horse yours ? " asked Dr. Cavendish, sur- 
 prised at this apostrophe. 
 
 " Yes," returned Thaddeus, " he was mine ! and I owe to 
 Mr. Hopetown a thousand thanks for his generous acquies* 
 cence with the prayers of an unfortunate stranger." 
 
 " No thanks to me, Count Sobieski. The moment I en- 
 tered this room, I recollected you to be the same Polish officer 
 I had observed on the beach at Dantzic. When I described 
 your figure to the man who brought the horse, he said it was 
 the same who gave him the letter. I could not learn your ex- 
 cellency's name ; but I hoped one day or other to have the 
 pleasure of meeting you again, and of returning Saladin into 
 your hands in as good condition as when he came to mine." 
 
 Tears started into the eyes of Thaddeus. 
 
 " That horse, Mr. Hopetown, has carried me through many 
 a bloody field ; he alone witnessed my last adieu to the bleed- 
 ing corpse of my country ! I shall receive him again as an old 
 and dear friend ; but to his kind protector, how can I ever 
 demonstrate the whole of my gratitude ? " * 
 
 * The love of Thaddeus to his horse has Iiad some resemblances in the author's knowl- 
 edge in yet more recent times. It seems to belonp; to the brave heart of every country in 
 our civilized Europe, as well as in that of tin wild Arab of the desert, to comijanion itself 
 with his war-stef^d as with a friend or brother. I know more than one gallnu man who 
 wept over tiic doura lI liii old charger when shot in the lines near Coiunna ; and another, of 
 
Til A DDE US OF WA RSA \V. 421 
 
 " To have liad it in my power to serve the Count Sobieski 
 is a privilege of itself," returned Mr. Hopetown. " I am proud 
 of that distinction ; to be called the friend of a man who all 
 the world honors will be a title which John Hopetown may be 
 proud of." 
 
 Before the worthy merchant took his leave, he promised 
 Thaddeus to send Saladin to Grosvenor Square that evenin:^, 
 and accepted his invitation to meet him and Dr. Cavendish the 
 following day at dinner at Mr. Somerset's. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 " If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning." 
 
 Lady Albina Somerset's arrival in London was greeted by 
 the immediate visits of all the persons in town who had been 
 esteemed by the late Countess of Tinemouth, or on intimate 
 terms with the baronet's family. It was not the gay season for 
 the metropolis. Amongst the earliest names that appeared at 
 her door were those of Lord Berrington, the Hon. Captain and 
 ]\rrs. Montresor, and the Rev. Dr. Blackmore. Under any 
 circumstances, either in the country or in town, Mr. Somerset 
 and his young bride did not propose opening their gates to 
 more general acquaintances untU Miss Beaufort and the count 
 were married, and both bridal parties had been presented at 
 court in the spring. To this little select group of friends who 
 were to assemble round ]\Ir. Somerset's table on the appointed 
 day, Thaddeus informed him, with frank pleasure, that he had 
 taken the liberty of adding Dr. Cavendish and Mr. Hopetown 
 of Dantzic. 
 
 Lady Albina received the two strangers with graceful hos- 
 pitality. The affianced Mary, with an equally blushing grace, 
 presented her hand to the generous protector of Saladin, ac- 
 companying the action with a modest acknowledgment of her 
 
 the same and other fields, who can never mention without turning pale the name of his faith. 
 {.A cUid beloved horse Columbus, wlio had carried liim through various dangers on the South 
 Amarican continent, and at last perished by his side during a tremendous storm at sea, 
 wlion no exertions of his master could save him. These are pangs of which only those who 
 have the generous sensibility to feel them can have any idea. I3ut they are true to the 
 nob'.e nature of which tlie inspired page speaks when it says, " The just man is merciful to 
 his beast." — 1822. 
 
 The benignant master of the regretted Columbian steed was the late Sir R. K. Porter, 
 the lamented brother of the yet surviving writer of the preceding note— 1845. 
 
42 2 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 interest in an animal so deservedly dear to the Count Sobieski. 
 He had turned to meet Lord Berrington and the ever lively 
 Sophia Egerton (now Mrs. Montresor), who both advanced to 
 him at the same instant, to express their gratulations not only 
 at seeing him again, but in a situation of happy promise, so con- 
 sonant to his avowed rank and personal early fame. 
 
 Thaddeus replied to their felicitations with a smiling dignity, 
 in that ingenuous manner peculiarly his own. He was not a 
 little surprised when Dr. Blackmore soon after recognized him 
 be the noble foreigner whose appearance had so much excited 
 his attention, about a twelvemonth ago, at the Hummurns, in 
 Covent Garden. The count did not recollect the circumstance 
 of having seen the good doctor there ; but the venerable man 
 recapitulated the scene in the coffee-room through which the 
 count had passed, describing, with no little animation, "a 
 pedantic- mannered person, dressed in black, and wearing 
 spectacles (whose name he afterwards learned was Loftus), an 
 M.A. of one of the colleges, who took the liberty to make some 
 -xiot very liberal remarks on the number of noble strangers then 
 confidmg themselves to the honorable sanctuary and sympathy 
 of our country." 
 
 Pembroke could hardly hear the benevolent speaker to the 
 end ; stifling any audible expression of his re-awakened indig- 
 nation, he whispered to the baronet, " My dear father ! recent 
 happy events have made us almost forget that villain's base- 
 ness ; but I pray, let him not remain another week a blot upon 
 our house's escutcheon." 
 
 *' All shall be done as you wish," returned his father, in the 
 same subdued tone ; " but let us remember how much of that 
 recent happiness the goodness of Providence hath brought out 
 of this wretched man's offence. Were I extreme to mark what 
 is done amiss, how could I abide the sentence that might be 
 justly pronounced against myself ? To-morrow we will talk 
 over this matter, and settle it, I trust, with satisfaction to all 
 parties." 
 
 Pembroke gratefully pressed his father's hand, and then, 
 walking up the room, addressed Mrs. Montresor. In a few 
 minutes her brave husband joined them. While talking of his 
 late victorious and happily-completed homeward-bound voyage, 
 he spoke with great regret of the threatened absence from 
 England of his late colleague on the battle-field of the ocean, 
 his old friend Captain Ross. 
 
 " How — whither is he going ? " asked his wife, in a tone of 
 interest. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 423 
 
 Montresor replied, " The ill state of Lady Sara's health re- 
 quires a milder air, and poor Ross means to take her without 
 loss of time to Italy. I met him this morning;, in despair about 
 the suddenness of some alarming symptoms." 
 
 Thaddeus too well divined that this increased indisposition 
 owed its rise to his recent return to town, and inwardly peti- 
 tioning Heaven that absence and her husband's devoted ten- 
 derness might complete her cure, he could not repress a sigh, 
 wrung from his respectful pity towards her, in this deep bosom- 
 strug2;le with herself. 
 
 No one present except the future partner of his own heart 
 marked the transient melancholy which passed over his coun- 
 tenance. She, who had suspected the unhappy Lady Sara's 
 attachment, loved Thaddeus, if possible, still dearer for the 
 compassion he bestowed on the meek penitence of the un- 
 happy victim of a passion often as inscrutable as destructive. 
 
 When the party descended to dinner, Miss Dorothy, who 
 6at next to the Count Sobieski, rallied him upon the utter de- 
 sertion of one of his most pertinacious allies or adversaries — 
 she did not know which to call the fair delinquent. " For 
 admiring or detesting seemed quire the same to some ladies, so 
 they did but show their power of mischief over any poor mortal 
 man they found in their way I " 
 
 This strange attack, though uttered in perfect good humor 
 by the lively old lady, following so closely the information 
 relative to Lady Sara Ross, summoned a fervid color into the 
 count's face ; he looked surprised, and rather confused, at the 
 revered speaker, who soon gayly related what she had been 
 told that morning by her milliner, of " Miss Euphemia Dundas 
 being on the point of marriage with a young Scotch nobleman 
 in Berwickshire ; and in proof, her elegant informant, Madame 
 de Maradon, was making the bridal trousseau^ 
 
 " So much the better for all straight-going people, via chere 
 tante,^' cried Pembroke ; " little Phemy was no contemptible 
 assailant either way. Besides," added he, turning airily to his 
 own gentle bride, " you, my young lady, may congratulate your- 
 self on the same good hope. I hear that an old turf-comrade 
 of mine is going to take her loving sister off my hands. Come, 
 Lord Berrington, you must verify my report, for I learned it 
 from you." 
 
 His lordship smiled, and answered in the affirmative, adding 
 that a friend of his in Lincolnshire, had written to him as most 
 amusing news, "That the most worthy Orson, heir of all the 
 lands, tenements, stables, and kennels of the doughty Sir 
 
424 TIIADDEi'S OF WARSAW. 
 
 Plelerand Shafto, of that ilk, and twenty ilks besides north of 
 the Humber, had been discovered by the wonderful occult 
 penetration possessed by the exceedingly blue sorceress-lady, 
 Miss Diana Dundas (of as many ilks north of the Tweed), to 
 be no Orson at all ; but her very veritable Valentine, to whom 
 she was now preparing to give her fair and golden-garnished 
 hand in the course of the forthcoming month ; that is, when the 
 season of hunting and shooting is past and gone, and the chase- 
 wearied pair may turn themselves, with their blown horses and 
 hounds, to a little wholesome rustication in their homestead 
 fields." 
 
 " I would not be their companion for Nebuchadnezzar's 
 crown ! " reiterated Pembroke, laughing. 
 
 Sobieski, not suppressing the smile that played on his lip 
 at the whimsical description given by Lord Berrington's corre- 
 spondent, wished the nuptials happy, as far as the parlies could 
 comprehend the feeling. The viscount in return protested that 
 their Polish friend " was more generous than just in such a 
 benediction." 
 
 " I vow to heaven," cried his lordship, " that I never knew 
 people the aim of whose lives seemed so bent on sly mischief 
 as those two sisters. Euphemia, pretty as she is, is better 
 known by her skill in tormenting than by her beauty. And as 
 for the poor squire Diana has conjured into matrimony, 1 have 
 little doubt of his future baited fate when she springs her dogs 
 of war upon that petted deer ! " 
 
 "Ah, poor fool ! " exclaimed Mrs. Montresor, " I warrant 
 he will not escape the punishment he merits, for stepping be- 
 tween the goddess and her delectable Endymion, Lascelles." 
 
 " Quarter for an old acquaintance ! " whispered Miss Beau- 
 fort, in a beseeching voice. 
 
 " She does not deserve it of you ! " returned the lady, pur- 
 suing her ridiculous game, until both Miss Dorothy and Sir 
 Robert petitioned for mercy from so fair a judge. 
 
 Thaddeus, who possessed not the disposition to exult in the 
 misconduct or mischances of any one who had injured him, felt 
 this part of the conversation the least pleasant on that happy 
 da}', and to change its strain, he, in his turn, whispered to his 
 father " to prevail on Lady Albina to indulge his friend Mr. 
 Hopetown by singing a few passages from that beautiful ballad 
 of the Scottish borders, ' Chevy Chase,' which had so delighted 
 their own family party the preceding evening." 
 
 He did not ask this "charmed resource" from his own be- 
 trothed, because it v.as only at the close of that very preceding 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 425 
 
 evening he had for the first time heard her voice, " in sweetest 
 melody," chanting forth the parting anthem for the night, 
 " From the ends of the eartii, 1 will call upon thee, O Lord," 
 and with tones o[ a kindred pathos, too thrilling to a son's 
 startled ear and memory, to be invoked again in a mixed com- 
 pany. 
 
 Strange, indeed, it might be, but it was a sacred balm to his 
 soul when these recurring remembrances discovered to his 
 heart in the young and lovely future partner of his life a bond 
 of union with that angelic mother who had given him being ; 
 and perhaps this devoted filial heart alone could appreciate the 
 joy, the comfort, the bliss of such a similitude 1 But in after 
 days he shared those feelings with his father, bringing to his re- 
 gretful bosom a soothing perception of the likeness. 
 
 Lady Albina instantly complied, casting a sweet glance at 
 Sir Robert, who immediately led her to the piano-forte, followed 
 by the Scottish merchant of the Baltic, whither the noble sym- 
 phony of " The Douglas," "hound and horn," soon gathered 
 the rest of the company. The remainder of the evening passed 
 away delightfully in the awakened harmony. Mrs. Montresor 
 joined Lady Albina in some touching Italian duets ; Pembroke 
 supported both ladies in a fine trio of Mozart's ; Mr. Hopetown 
 requested another favorite son of his countr}', "Auld Robin 
 Gray," and himself repaid Lady Albina's kind assent by a mag- 
 nificent voluntary on his part, " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace 
 bled." Mary accompanied that well known pibroch of " The 
 Bruce " with a true responsive echo from her harp *; but she 
 declined singing herself, and when Thaddeus took the relin- 
 quished instrument from her hand, he pressed it with a silent 
 tenderness, sweeter to her than could have been the plaudits of 
 all the accomplished listeners around. That soft hand had 
 stroked the branching neck of his recovered Saladin the same 
 morning, and the happy master now marked his feeling of the 
 gentle deed. 
 
 In the course of a few days, Pembroke's wishes with regard 
 to Mr. Loftus were put into a train of fulfilment. Dr. Blackmore 
 having undertaken to find a fitting tutor for the young Lord 
 Avon, and in the interim would receive him into his own classi- 
 cal instruction, whenever it should be deemed proper to termi- 
 nate his present holiday visit in Bedfordshire. But whilst Sir 
 Robert had thus adjudged the guilty, he was careful not to ex- 
 pose him to fresh temptations, nor to suffer his crimes to im- 
 plicate the innocent in its punishment. Hence, in pity to age 
 and helplessness, he determined to settle two hundred pounds 
 
426 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 per annum on the wretched man's mother and sisters, who dwelt 
 together in Wales, Shortly after, in consequence of his con- 
 trite confessions, " that all Mr. Somerset's allegations against 
 him were too true," the humane father and son appointed one 
 hundred pounds more to be paid yearly to the culprit himself, 
 so that at least he might not be induced to lighten his honest 
 labors for a suitable subsistence by renewed villanies. With 
 reference to the benefice of Somerset, which had been the ill- 
 sought price of this base pretender to sanctity and truth. Sir 
 Robert decided on presenting it to the exemplary Dr. Black- 
 more whenever it should become vacant. 
 
 Meanwhile, the baronet's sojourn in town became indispen- 
 sably prolonged, not only by the simple nature of the affairs 
 that brought him thither, but by certain unlooked-for intricacies 
 occurring in making a final adjustment of the various settle- 
 ments and consequent conveyances to be effected on account 
 of the two felicitous marriages in his family. During these linger- 
 ing proceedings amongst the legal protectors of " soil and surety," 
 Miss Beaufort remained the cherished and cheering guest of the 
 already espoused pair, one of whom, indeed, still wore the garb 
 of " a mourning bride," but all within was clad in the true white 
 robe of nuptial purity and peace. Sobieski was the now no less 
 privileged abiding inmate in the home and heart of Sir Robert 
 Somerset. Increasing daily in favor with " good aunt Dorothy," 
 the presiding mistress of his father's house, he soon became 
 nearly as precious in her sight as had long been the pleasant 
 society of her nephewPembroke. And all this her ingenuous and 
 affectionate nature avowed to Mary, in their frequent visits be- 
 tween the two houses, with a sort of delighted wonder at her 
 heart's so prescient recognition of the new nephew her sweet 
 niece was to bestow upon her. For it had not yet been re- 
 vealed to her that Thaddeus did stand in that same tender re- 
 lationship to her by a former marriage of her beloved brother 
 with the lamented mother of the noble object of her cherished 
 esteem. And what was the double joy of the blessed moment 
 when that happy secret was confided to her bosom. 
 
 The last busy month of autumn in London had not only 
 laid down its wearied head under the dark canopy of a murky 
 atmosphere, lit with dimmed street-lamps to its slumbers, but 
 its expected refreshment in the country did not offer much more 
 agreeable materials for repose and vernal renovation. There 
 were blustering winds strewing the recently green earth with 
 beds of withered leaves of every foliage, stripped and fallen 
 from the shivering woods above. And there were drenching 
 
Til AD DECS OF WARSAW. 
 
 427 
 
 rains, laying the lately pleasant fields in trackless swamps, and 
 swelling the clear and gentle brooks into brawling floods, rend- 
 ing asunder the long-remembered rustic bridges which had 
 hitherto linked the villages together, in convenient passages for 
 wholesome relaxation or useful toil. 
 
 Such were the newspaper accounts from th*e country during 
 the latter part of November ; but there was seen a fairer pros- 
 pect from the carriage windows of Sir Robert Somerset, when 
 he and his gladdened party, one bright morning, on quitting the 
 splashy environs of Hammersmith and Brentford, entered the 
 broad expanse of Hounslow Heath, on their way into Warwick- 
 shire, and beheld i's wide common covered with a fair carpet 
 of spotless snow. Winter had then seriously, or, rather, smil- 
 ingly, set in. It was the loth of December ; and the baronet, 
 having signed and sealed all things necessary to transfer with 
 perfect satisfaction himself and family (as was always his cus- 
 tom at this homeward season), now set forth to one or other of 
 his ancient domains, to pass his Christmas in the bosom of an 
 enlarged and a grateful domestic happiness. Thus, year after 
 year, he diffused from each of those parental mansions that 
 bounteous hospitality to high and low which he considered to 
 be an especial duty in an English gentleman, whether in the char- 
 acter of " landlord " to noble guests and respected neighbors, or 
 to wayfaring strangers passing by ; or, while graciously mingling 
 with his widely-established tenantry, or his equally regarded 
 daily guests at this " holy festival," the virtuous, lowly peasan- 
 try, laborers on the land. Then smiled the cottager, with 
 honest consciousness of yeoman worth, when seated in the great 
 hall, under the eye of his munificent lord, who partook of the 
 general feast. Then, too, did he smile when, at the head of his 
 own little board, he sat with his children and humbler depend- 
 ents, all furnished with ample Christmas fare by the baronet's 
 still open hand. 
 
 When Thaddeus shared these primeval scenes of old Eng- 
 land by the side of his British parent, (which festivities are still 
 honorably preserved by some of its most ancient and noblest 
 families,) they brought back to his heart those similar assem- 
 blages at Villanow and in Cracovia, where his revered grand- 
 father, the palatine, had reigned prince and father over every 
 happy breast.* 
 
 And happy were now the recollections of all who met at 
 
 * The writer remembers a similar scene to the above when she had the honor of dining, 
 along with her revered family, on a festival of harvest-home at Bushy Palace, when its royal 
 owner, his late majesty, was Duke of Clarence. Himself moved through his rustic guesU 
 in the gracious manner described. 
 
42 S TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 Deerhurst on this their first joyful Christmas season ! Week 
 after week glided along in the bland exercise of social duties, 
 aided by the more homefelt enjoyments of sweet domestic af- 
 fections, which gave a living grace to all that was said or done, 
 and more intimately knit hearts together, never more to be 
 divided. 
 
 But winter's howling blasts and sheltering halls, " where fire- 
 side comforts, taste, and gentle love, with soft amenities min- 
 gled into bliss," swiftly and fairer, changed their pleasant song, 
 proclaiming in every brightening hue the hymn of nature — 
 
 "These, as they change, Almighty Father! 
 Are but the varied God ! The rolling year 
 Is full of Thee ! Forth in the pleasing spring 
 Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love ; " 
 
 and in the first month of that genial season, when the young 
 grass covers the downy hills with verdure, and the glowing 
 branches of the trees bud with an infant foliage, the sun smiles in 
 the heavens, and the pellucid streams reflect his glorious rays, 
 the day was fixed by Sir Robert Somerset, and approved by the 
 beloved objects of his then peculiar solicitude, in which his 
 paternal hand should plight theirs together before the altar of 
 eternal truth. 
 
 The solemnity was to be performed in the village church, 
 which stood in the park of Deerhurst, and the Rev. Dr. Black- 
 more, who came over from his own private dwelling in Worces- 
 tershire, accompanied by his pupil. Lord Avon, was to perform 
 the holy rite. No adjunct of the Roman Catholic ceremony 
 (then the national church of Poland) was needful fully to legalize 
 it. Thaddeus from his infancy had been reared in the Protes- 
 tant faith, the faith of his mother, whose own mother was a 
 daughter of the staunch Hussite race of the princely Zamoiski, 
 who still professed that ancient, simple creed of their country. 
 It was also the national faith of him who had given Therese's 
 son being ; therefore, to the same pure doctrine of Christianity 
 had she dedicated his deserted child ; and should they ever 
 meet again, she believed it must be before the throne of Divine 
 Mercy j and there she trusted to present their solitary offspring 
 with the Sdcred words — " Here I am. Lord, and the child thou 
 didst give me." 
 
 But to return to the marriage-day itself. The hour having 
 arrived in whicli the soul-devoted Mary Beaufort was to resign 
 herself and lier earthly happiness into the power of the only 
 man to whom, having once beheld and known him, she could 
 
TIIADDECS OF WARSAW. 429 
 
 ever have committed them, she pronounced her vows at tiie 
 sacred altar with unsteadiness of tongue but witli a fixed heart. 
 And when, after embracing all the fond kindred so long dear to 
 her, and now to him, and having received their parting bless- 
 ings within the walls of her ever-cherished home, — sweet, while 
 familiar Deerhurst, — she was driven rapidly through its gates, 
 while a mixed and awed emotion agitated her breast. But im- 
 mediately she felt the supporting arm of her husband gently 
 pressing her trembling form ; and so, with all that husband's 
 tender sympathy, the hours glided away unperceived, till the 
 august towers of her own native domain appeared on the even- 
 ing horizon, and soon afterwards she alighted at the mansion 
 itself, having passed along a central avenue of ancient oaks 
 amid the congratulatory cheers of a large assemblage of her 
 tenantry on horseback and on foot, planted on each side, to bid 
 a glad welcome to their "liege lady and her lord." 
 
 Within the great entrance of the baronial hall, which opened 
 to her by the immediate raising of a massive brazen portcullis, 
 the ancient insignia of the Beaufort name, she received the joy- 
 ful obeisance of the old domestics of her honored parents, hail- 
 ing her, their beloved daughter, with a humble ardor of affection 
 that bathed her enraptured face with filial tears. Thaddeus 
 felt the scene in his own recollective heart. 
 
 Next morning Mrs. Robson and the delighted Nanny 
 (dressed in a white frock for the blissful occasion), on being 
 brought into the countess's private saloon, threw themselves at 
 the feet of their benefactors and sobbed forth their happiness. 
 The still more happy Sobieski raised them in his arms, and, em- 
 bracing both, .accosted the old lady as he would have done a 
 revered relative, and the affectionate little girl like an adopted 
 child. 
 
 The same day the vicar of Beaufort, whose large rural parish 
 extended from the Castle to several miles around, rode to the 
 gate, and was announced by name (the Rev. Mr. Tillotson), to 
 pay his pastoral duty to his future noble neighbors and sacred 
 charge, the owners of the land. 
 
 " His is a good name," observed Mar}^, with a gracious 
 smile ; "it was borne by one of the brightest luminaries of our 
 Protestant church, Archbishop Tillotson, whose works you will 
 find in the family library, now your own. And his descendant, 
 the revered late vicar, christened me in the dear old church of 
 the adjacent village, to which we go to-morrow, Sunday. Oh, 
 how much have I to bless Heaven for in that holy place ! " she 
 tenderly ejaculated. " You, kneeling by my sitlc there — one 
 
43c» 
 
 Til A DDE US OF WARSAW, 
 
 faith, one heart, one death, one salvation. O, my husband, I 
 am blessed indeed ! " 
 
 " My Mary, in earth and heaven ! " was his soul's response, 
 and with the words he pressed her fervently-clasped hands with 
 a hallowed emotion to his lips. 
 
 In a few minutes after this she led the way to the ancient 
 library, tapestried with family portraits, and furnished with 
 book-cases of every past generation. Thither the young vicar, 
 a truly worthy successor to his pious father, had been conduct- 
 ed ; and there, being introduced by the countess (who had seen 
 him only once before) to her lord, they found him not merely a 
 clergyman to be respected, but an accomplished general scholar 
 and a polished man."*^ 
 
 Thus was Thaddeus, the long-cherished orphan of a broken 
 paternal vow, by a wondrous providence established in his new 
 British character — a husband, and an owner of large estates in 
 the soil. And he soon became fully sensible to the double com- 
 mission devolved upon himself. Whether as a son of Poland, 
 in right of the life he had drawn from his mother's bosom, or 
 as one equally claimed by England, in right of his paternal 
 parent, he was well prepared to faithfully fulfil their relati\e 
 duties, with a zeal to each respondent to the important privi- 
 leges and blessings of so signal a lot. In two short preceding 
 years he had indeed passed through a host of severe trials ; but 
 in all he had been supported by an Almighty hand, and under 
 the same gracious trust he now looked forward to a long Sab- 
 bath of hallowed peace, and of grateful service to Him who 
 bestowed it. 
 
 He had met it at Deerhurst, when under his father's roof ; 
 he maintained it at Beaufort, the seat of his most continuous 
 residence ; nor did he neglect its duties at Manor Court, Sir 
 Robert's parental gift, and his own near neighborhood. And 
 when the time came round for the family to revisit London, his 
 pleasures there were of a character to correspond with his pur- 
 suits in the country, the happiness of others being the source 
 of his own enjoyments. 
 
 * Over the gate-like arch of the library door had been erected, by a recent order from the 
 gentlest hand now witliin its walls, a simple but exquisitely-carved escutcheon, showing the 
 armorial bearing of the ancient and royal house of Sobieski — a crowned buckler, with the 
 family motto» "God is the shield that covers me." 
 
TIIADDEUS OF iVAR^AlV. 431 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 " We arc brethren ! " 
 
 After the termination of the Count Sobieski's first Easter 
 passed with the beloved of his soul in the home of her ances- 
 tors, they proceeded together to join Sir Robert Somerset, and 
 their kind aunt i\Iiss Dorothy, in Grosvenor Square, to become 
 again his welcome guests, and always thereafter when in town, 
 while Heaven prolonged their lives to renew the cherished re- 
 union at each succeeding season. 
 
 Thus it was that, immediately subsequent to the holy festival, 
 the now revered Lord of Beaufort cheerfully obeyed his father's 
 summons to London, where he found Pembroke and Lady 
 Albina already resettled in their former residence. Having 
 ere long met the gratulatory calls of his metropolitan friends, 
 he daily beheld his lovely bride — lovely in mind as in person 
 — becoming more and more "the worshipped cynosure of neigh- 
 boring eyes ;" not only adorning the highest circles of society, 
 but filling his home with all the ineffable charms of a wedded 
 life, inspired by the gentle graces of domestic tenderness. 
 
 One balmy evening in May, when he and his young countess 
 were driving out alone together, which they sometimes did, 
 that she might have the delight of showing to him the varied 
 rural environs of the great and gay royal city of England, the 
 carriage, by her direction, took its course towards Primrose Hill, 
 then crowned by a grove of "fair elm-trees," and clothed with 
 a vesture of green sward, enamelled with wild flowers. Thence 
 the light vehicle threaded a maze of shady lanes and pleasant 
 field-paths, into a rustic, newly-made road, leading a little to 
 the north of Covent Garden.* 
 
 Mary proposed stopping a few minutes in that magnificent 
 general garden of the town, to purchase a bouquet of early roses, 
 to present to Sir Robert on their return from their drive. 
 
 When the carriage drew up at the entrance of the great par- 
 terre, she stepped out to select them. Having quickly com- 
 bined their fragrant beauties, she put the nosegay into the hand 
 of one of the servants to place on the seat. Being nigh the 
 church porch, she suddenly expressed a wish to her husband, 
 
 * All this has shicc become Regent's Park and its dependencies, whether streets or 
 squares. 
 
432 
 
 TITADDEUS OF IVARSA IF. 
 
 on whose arm she leaned, to walk throu2;h the church-yard, and 
 that the carriage should meet them at the opposite gate. 
 
 Thaddeus, not being aware that this porch belonged to the 
 church w'here his veteran friend had been buried, gave instant 
 assent ; and before he had time to make more than a few re- 
 marks on the pure religious architecture of the building, which 
 he thought had attracted his tasteful bride to take a nearer 
 view, she had led him unconsciously to the general's grave. 
 But it was no longer the same as when Sobieski last stood by 
 its side. A simple white marble tomb now occupied the place 
 of its former long grass and yarrow. Surprised, he bent for- 
 ward, and read with brimming eyes the following inscrip- 
 tion : — 
 
 1795-6- 
 
 Stop, Traveller ! Thou treadest on a Hero. 
 
 Here rest the mortal remains 
 
 of 
 
 LIT.UTENANT-GENERAL BUTZOU, 
 
 Late of the Kingdom of Poland. 
 
 A faithful soldier to his Lord and to his country ! 
 
 lie sleeps in Faith and Hope ! 
 
 Thaddeus for a moment felt as he did when he beheld those 
 " mortal remains " laid there. But his own faith in that hope 
 which consecrated this mortality to an immortal resurrection had 
 then silently spread the balm of its full assurance overall those 
 remembered pangs ; and now, without speaking, he led his ako 
 pensive and tremulous companion to her carriage, where it 
 awaited them and seating her within it, clasped her to his 
 breast. His tears, no longer restrained, poured those sweet 
 pledges of a soul-felt approbation into her bosom that made it 
 even ache with excess of happiness. But while the grateful 
 voice of her husband was beginning to breathe its uttered 
 thanks, he found the carriage stop again, in a street not far 
 distant from the one they had just quitted. It drew up at the 
 door of a handsome house, of an apparently contemporary 
 structure with the church. It was the rectory of St. Paul's, 
 Covent Garden and at its portal stood the reverend incumbent, 
 evidently awaiting to receive his guests. 
 
 Thaddeus perceived him, and also the welcome of his posi- 
 tion ; so did his gentle wife, wiio with a blushing smile explained 
 all the alterations he had observed on the respected grave, 
 avov.-ing that thev had been done at her devoted v.ish, and 
 
THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 433 
 
 svere effected by the kind agency of that venerable man, t'r.e 
 rector of the church, the Honorable Bruce Fitz-Janies. She 
 then timidly added, (and how beautiful in that timidity!) she 
 had something more to confess ; she had ventured, after ob- 
 taining permission of the rector for the erection of the monu- 
 ment, to see it once during its progress, and then to promise 
 him that on its completion her honored husband, the Count 
 Sobieski, \vhose parental friend that noble dead had been, would, 
 when she revealed lier secret to him, pay a personal visit along 
 with herself to her benelicent coadjutor, and duly express their 
 united gratitude. She had scarcely spoken her rapid informa- 
 tion, when its courteous object descended the portal to ap- 
 proach the carriage. His hat was taken off, and the snow-white 
 hair, blown suddenly by a guest of wind across his benign 
 brow, a little obscured his face, while he conducted the lady 
 from the carriage up the steps of his door. But Sobieski found 
 no difficulty in recognizing the time-blanched locks, which had 
 been wetted by the weeping heavens in that hour of his lonely 
 sorrow, whilst committing to the dust the remains of him whose 
 sacred memorial he had just contemplated, raised by a wife's 
 dear hand. 
 
 With these recollections had arisen the image of the pale, 
 delicately-formed boy who had gazed so compassionately into 
 his eyes while taking as he thought his last look at that humble 
 grave ; and with this bland recurrence came also the almost 
 closing words of the solemn service, seeming again to proclaim 
 to his heart, " I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, 
 Write, f'rom henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the 
 Lord ! " 
 
 With calmed feelings and perfectly recovered self-posses- 
 sion, Thaddeus now followed his beloved wife (his solace and 
 his joy), led by her delighted host, into the bright-panelled 
 parlor of the rectory, where the mutual introduction instantly 
 took place. 
 
 The beneficent old man, with a polished sincerity, declared 
 his high gratification at this visit from the Count Sobieski, 
 brought to him by the gracious lady who so deservedly shared 
 his illustrious name. Thaddeus, with his usual modest dignity, 
 received the implied compliment, and expressed his just sense 
 of the deep obligation conferred on him and his countess by 
 ihe last consecrated rite to the memory of his most revered 
 friend. 
 
 Mary was then seated on an old-fashioned silk-embroidered 
 to the flower-latticed bay-window of the 
 
434 ^-^^^ ^^^ ^'^ O^ ^^'^ ^^"^ ^^' 
 
 apartment. The rector, with a courteous bow, which in his 
 -outh would have been called graceful, as if confident of a per- 
 mitted privilege, placed himself beside her, while observing to 
 her lord, in reply to these unfeigned thanks, that, " the reported 
 name alone of the veteran patriot who lay there had not ceased 
 from the day of his interment to attract, shrine-like, the pilgrim 
 feet of many persons to the spot who respected and be'w^ailed the 
 fate of Poland." 
 
 Sobieski's cheek flushed and his eye kindled at this tes- 
 timony. To change a subject' which he found wTought too 
 powerfully on the recently-regained serenity of his mind, he 
 affectionately inquired for the amiable boy he had seen take so 
 touching an interest in the mournful errand to the church-yard 
 on that ever-remembered day, and who, like a ministering 
 seraph, had so guardingly watched the exposed head of his 
 revered master, under the pitiless element then pouring down. 
 
 " He is my nephew," returned the rector, in a tone of ten- 
 derness : "Lord Edward Fitz-James. He is in delicate health ; 
 the youngest son of my eldest brother, the Marquis Fitz-James, 
 who married late in life. Edward is, indeed, what he appears, 
 a spirit of innocent, happy love, or of condoling commiseration, 
 wherever his gentle footsteps move. And when I rejoin him 
 this autumn, at his father's house in Scotland, and shall tell him 
 that the never-forgotten chief mourner at that simple bier, with 
 whom his own young tears fell in spontaneous sympathy, was 
 the Count Sobieski — a kinsman of his own, whose character 
 was already known to him in its youthful fame and by its hon- 
 ored name — what will be that meek child's exulting ecstasy ! " 
 
 " A kinsman of that noble boy ! " echoed 'Jliaddeus, in sur- 
 prise. " How may I flatter myself it can be so ? " 
 
 Mary simultaneously uttered an amazed ejaculation of pleas- 
 ure at the idea of any real relationship between that venerable 
 man and herself ; and he, with an answering look of kindred 
 respect on both the astonished husband and his bride, replied 
 to the former with the unstudied brevity of truth. 
 
 " A few sentences will explain it, for I consider it unneces- 
 sary to remind my present auditors of two great events in their 
 respective countries. First, with regard to England ; the change 
 of royal succession in the- Stuart line, from the branch of which 
 James the Second was the head, to that of Brunswick — a back- 
 ward step, originating in Elizabeth of Bohemia, the daughter of 
 James the First, and therefore, the aunt of James the Second. 
 At the height of these eventful circumstances, the offended sov- 
 ereign retired with his exemplary queen and their infant son to 
 
THA DDE US OF \VA RSA \V. 4 , ^ 
 
 the continent. There the royal boy continued to De styled, by 
 his fatiier's adherents, James Prince of Wales, but in the gen- 
 eral world was usually known by the cognizance of the Cheva- 
 lier St. George. 
 
 " This is the first link in our bracelet, noble lady ! '' obser^-ed 
 the narrator, with a smile, and then proceeded. " I now ad- 
 \ance to my second part, the crisis of which took place in Po- 
 land, about the same period. At the death of the great John 
 Sobieski, King of Poland, the father of his people, there arose 
 a deep-rooted conspiracy in certain neighboring states, jealous 
 of his late power and glorious name, determining to undermine 
 the accession of his family to the throne ; and they found an 
 apt soil to work on in a corresponding feeling ready to break 
 out amongst some of the most influential nobles of the realm. 
 Foreign and domestic revolutionists soon understand each other; 
 and the dynasty of Sobieski being speedily overturned by the 
 double treason of pretended friends and false allies, his three 
 princely sons withdrew from occasioning the dire conflict of a 
 civil war, two into distant lands, the other to the ancestral pat- 
 rimony, in provinces far front the intrigues of ambition or the 
 temptation of its treacherous lures. 
 
 " The two elder brothers, in a natural indignation against 
 the popular ingratitude, took the expatriating destination. Put 
 Constantine, the youngest born, with the calm dignity of a son 
 without other desired inheritance than the honor of such a 
 parent, retired to the tranquil seclusion of the castled domain 
 of Olesko, the ancient fortified palace of his progenitors, on the 
 Polish border of Red Russia ; and there, in philosophic quiet, 
 he passed his blameless days with science and the arts, and in 
 deeds of true Christian benevolence — the purport of his life. 
 This respected seclusion was ultimately sweetly cheered when 
 "woman smiled" upon it, in the form of a fair daughter of a 
 neighboring magnate in the adjacent province, whose noble re- 
 tirement, sharing the same patriotic principles with those of 
 Constantine, yielded to the young philosopher a lovely help- 
 mate for him. 
 
 " Prince James, his eldest brother, had meanwhile married a 
 sister of their early associate in arms, the brave Charles of New- 
 burg, when under the royal banner ©f Sobieski, in the memora- 
 ble field of Vienna. Alexander, the second son, also met with 
 a distinguished bride in Germany. Poth princes were accom- 
 plished and handsome men ; but one of our countrymen, con- 
 temporary' and family physician to the late king, familiarly de- 
 scribes them in his curious reminiscences, thus : — * His majesty 
 
436 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 possessed a fine figure ; he was tall and graceful. The noble- 
 ness and elevation of his soul were deeply depicted in his coun- 
 tenance and air. Prince James is dark-complexioned, slender 
 in person, and more like a Spaniard than a Pole ; he is very 
 social, courteous and liberal. Alexander is of more manly pro- 
 portions, and of a true Sarmatian physiognomy. But Constan- 
 tine is an exact likeness of the king, his father.' " * 
 
 " And such was my ever-revered grandsire, his only son ! " 
 responded the heart of Thaddeus, but he did not utter the words. 
 Meanwhile, the enthusiastic historiographer of a period he was 
 so seldom called to touch on proceeded without a pause. 
 
 " In process of time, one fair scion from this illustrious stock 
 became engrafted on our former royal stem. I mean her high- 
 ness the Lady Clementina, the daughter of Prince James of Po-- 
 land, who, after his rejection of all foreign aid to re-establish 
 him in his father's kingdom, had, like the abdicated monarch of 
 England, gone about a resigned pilgrim, ' seeking a better coun-» 
 try,' till the two families auspiciously met, to brighten each 
 other's remainder of earthly sojourn at St. Germains, in France. 
 Then came the 'sweet bindwith,' the royal maid, the Prince 
 Sobieski's beauteous daughter, to give her nuptial hand to the 
 only son of the exiled king ; and so, most remarkably, was united 
 the equally extraordinary destinies of the regal race of the he^ 
 roic John Sobieski with that of our anointed warrior, Robert 
 Ikuce, in the person of his princely descendant, James Fitz- 
 James, in diplomatic parlance styled the Chevalier de St. 
 George ; and from that blended blood, and by family connec- 
 tion, sprung from the same branching tree, I feel sanguinely 
 confident that the claim I have set up for myself and gentle 
 nephew, whose kindred spirit the warm heart of the Count So- 
 bieski has already acknowledged, will not be deemed an old 
 man's dream." 
 
 A short silence ensued. 
 
 Thaddeus had been riveted with an almost breathless atten- 
 tion to this part of the narrative, some of its public circum- 
 stances having found a dim recollection in his mind ; but his ap- 
 prehensive mother had always turned him aside from any line 
 in his historical reading which might particularly engage his 
 ever-wakeful interest to the chivalrous nation of his own never- 
 avowed parentage, and from which a father's desertion had ex- 
 patriated him even before his birth. But now, how ample had 
 been the atonement, the restitution, to this forsaken son ? 
 
 * The writer ff this note has seen a magnificent picture of that glorious king, a full 
 Jength, the stature of life. It was nobly painted by an artist of the period. 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 43^ 
 
 Xot being able to express any of the kindled feelings this 
 narration had suggested, added to the daily increasing claims 
 the blessing of such an atonement were hourly making on his 
 best affections, he could only grasp the hand of the venerated 
 speaker with a fervent pressure when he ceased. But Mary, 
 irradiating smiles, the emanating light of her soul then at her 
 ^Maker's feet, gently breathed her ardent felicitations at what 
 slie had just heard, which had indeed established her kindred 
 with the venerated friend whose kindness had met her so unre- 
 servedly as a stranger. 
 
 When the little party so signally brought together, to become 
 mutually entwined, as if already known to each other for years 
 instead of minutes, — when they became composed, after the ex- 
 cited emotions of the disclosure had subsided, the reverend host, 
 now considering the count and countess rather as young cousins 
 to be honored than as guests to be entertained, conversed awhile 
 more particularly with regard to the marquis and his family, 
 and finally accepted, with declared pleasure, the earnest invita- 
 tion of his gladly responsive new relatives to accompany them 
 the following day, when they would call for him in their carriage, 
 to dine with their dearest guardian and parental friend, Sir 
 Robert Somerset. 
 
 " He is my Mary's maternal uncle," remarked Thaddeus, 
 with a calm emphasis, "and has been to me as a father in this 
 her adopted land. I found a brother, also, in his admirable 
 son, Mr. Somerset, whom, with his young bride, you will meet 
 to-morrow at Sir Robert's family table. Hence, my revered 
 kinsman, you see what England still does in lier kind bosom 
 for a remnant of the race of Sobieski." 
 
 The appointed hour next day arrived. The count called for 
 his friend, who was ready at the door of the rectory mansion, 
 and, after much interesting conversation during the drive, con- 
 ducted him into the presence of the baronet. Sir Robert greeted 
 his guest in perfect harmony with the filial eloquence of Sobies- 
 ki, in describing his adopted father's ever-gracious heart, and 
 consequent benignant manners. Thaddeus had repeated to 
 Sir -Robert the revealments of yesterday's visit to the honorable 
 and reverend rector of St. Paul's, which had so stirringly min- 
 gled with his own most cherished memories. 
 
 The cordial reception thus given to the revered narrator 
 gratified him, as a full repayment for his imparted confidence 
 of the day before, though he could not be aware of the real 
 paternal fountain from which these warm welcomes Howed. 
 But Thaddeus recognized it in every word, look, and act of his 
 
438 TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 beloved father, and with his mother in his heart, he appreci- 
 ated all. 
 
 Dr. Cavendish and Dr. Blackmore had been added to the 
 party. Sincere esteem, with an ever-grateful recollection of the 
 past, always spread the board of Sobieski for the former, when- 
 ever he might have leisure to enrich it with his highly intellect- 
 ual store. Dr. Blackmore had arrived the preceding evening 
 with Lord Avon, grown a fine youth, to pass a few days with 
 his patron and friend, Sir Robert Somerset, on his way to 
 transfer his noble charge to the tutorage of the fully competent, 
 though young, vicar of Beaufort, Mr. Tillotson. Lord Avon 
 ■was to reside in the vicarage, but would also possess the con- 
 stant personal care of his friends at the Castle, and a home 
 invitation to visit there, with his accomplished tutor, whenever 
 it should be agreeable to Mr. Tillotson to bring him. 
 
 The rector of St. Paul's and the recently inducted rector of 
 Somerset (whither he was proceeding after he should have de- 
 posited his young lordship at Beaufort) were respectively intro- 
 duced to each other — worthy brethren in the pure church they 
 were equally qualified to support and to adorn. 
 
 When dinner was announced, the Rev. Bruce Fitz-James 
 received the hand of the cheerful Miss Dorothy to lead her 
 down. She had given him a frank greeting of relationship on 
 his being presented to her, as mistress of her brother's house, 
 on his first entrance into the drawing-room. During the social 
 repast, much elegant and intellectual conversation iook place, 
 and promises were solicited, both then and after the banquet, 
 by the members of the family group from their several guests 
 for visits at the seasons most pleasant to themselves, to Deer- 
 hurst, to Somerset, and to Beaufort. The venerable Fitz-James 
 and his young nephew were particularly besought by Thaddeus 
 and his ALiry, who anticipated a peculiar delight in becoming 
 intimately acquainted with that interesting boy. Lord Avon 
 they hoped might prove a compai^iionable attraction to the 
 latter. 
 
 The invitations were cordially accepted, the paternal uncle 
 of the young Lord Edward not doubting the ready approbation 
 of his brother, the marquis. And it was arranged that both at 
 Beaufort and at Deerhurst the whole of the baronet's family 
 group should be assembled, including Mr. Somerset and his 
 gentle lady, whose placid graces moved round his ever spark- 
 ling vivacity with a softly-tempering shade. 
 
 Thus, day after day, week after week, while continuing in 
 town, time passed on in the alternate interchanges of domestic 
 
TIIADDEUS OF WARSAW. 439 
 
 tranquillity and the active exercises of those duties to society in 
 general, and to the important demands of public claims on the 
 present stations of the several individuals on whom such calls 
 were made. 
 
 Nor in the countr}-, when returned to their separate dwell- 
 ing-places, did the same happy and honorable routine cease its 
 genial round. Pembroke's most stationary residence was 
 Somerset Castle, his father's beneficent representative, whose 
 favorite home was Deerhurst. And thus mutually endeared, 
 and worthy of their Heaven-bestowed stewardship, we leave the 
 family of Sir Robert Somerset. 
 
 We leave Thaddeus Sobieski, now one of its most beloved 
 members, blessed in the fruition of every earthly good. The 
 virtues, the muses, and the charities were the chosen guests at 
 his abundant table. Poverty could not veil genius from his 
 penetration, nor misfortune obscure the inborn light of its integ- 
 rity. Though exiled from his native land, where his birth gave 
 him dominion over rich territories, now in the hands of stran- 
 gers, and a numerous happy people, now no more, he had not 
 yet relinquished the love of empire. But it was not over 
 principalities and embattled hosts that he desired to prolong 
 the sceptre of command. Pie wished to reign in the soul. 
 His throne was sought in the hearts of the good, the kind, the 
 men of honest industry, and the unfortunate, on whom prosper- 
 ity had frowned. In fact, the unhappy of every degree and 
 nation found consolation, refuge, and repose within the shelter- 
 ing domains of Beaufort. No eye looked wistfully on him to 
 turn away disappointed ; his smiles cheered the disconsolate, 
 and his protecting arms warded off, when possible, the approach 
 of new sorrows. " Peace was within his walls, and plenteous- 
 ness within his palaces." 
 
 And when a few eventful months of the succeeding 3-ear had 
 distinguished its course with the death of the imperious destroyer 
 of Poland, and General Kosciusko (having been set at liberty 
 by her generous successor, and honorably empowered to go 
 whither he willed) had arrived in England on his way to the 
 United States, he sought and found Thaddeus, his young com- 
 rade in the fields of Poland, and was hailed with the warmest 
 welcome by that now indeed truly *' comforted " brave and last 
 representative of the noble race and name of the glory of his 
 country, the more than once Gideon-shield of Christendom — 
 John Sobieski. 
 
 " Ah, my chief ! " cried he, while he clasped the veteran to 
 his breast, " I am indeed favored above mortals. I see thee 
 
440 Til A DDE US OF WARSAW. 
 
 again, on wnom I believed the gates of a ruthless prison had 
 closed forever ! I have all that remains of my country now 
 within my arms. Kosciusko, my friend, my father, bless your 
 son ! " 
 
 Kosciusko did bless him, and embalmed the benediction 
 with a shower of tears more precious than the richest unction 
 that ever flowed on a royal head. They were drawn from a 
 Ciiristian soldier's heart — a true patriot and a hero. 
 
 Sobieski presented his lovely wife to this illustrious friend, 
 and while he gratefully acknowledged the rare felicity of his 
 ultimate fate, he owned that the retrospection of the past 
 calamity, like a shade in a picture, gives to our present bliss 
 greater force and brightness. But that such felicity was his, 
 he could only ascribe to the gracious providence of God, who 
 " trieth the spirit of man," and can bring him to a joy on earth 
 even like unto a resurrection from the dead. And the con- 
 clusion is not even then ; " there remaineth yet a better life, 
 and a better country for those who trust in the Lord of earth 
 and heaven 1 " 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 NOTES 
 
 CHIEFLY RELATING TO 
 
 GENERAL KOSCIUSKO 
 
NOTES 
 
 The writer prefaces these notes with the following dedica- 
 tory tribute she inscribed to the memory of this illustrious chief 
 in a former but subsequent edition, some years after the first 
 publication of the work. It runs thus : — 
 
 THADDEUS OF WARSAW. 
 
 THIS TENTH EDITION IS HUMBLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO 
 THE MEMORY OF THE LATE JUSTLY REVERED AND RENOWNED 
 
 (Bcncxai QL[)ali^cnQ Hosciusko. ^ 
 
 ** The spirit of war between nation and nation, and between man and man 
 in those nations, for public supremacy on the one side and private aggran- 
 dizement on the other, being still as much the character of the times as in 
 the days when the preceding biographical tale of Poland was written, the 
 author continues to feel the probable consequences of such a crisis in form- 
 ing the future principles of manly British youth — a feeling which was the 
 origin of the work itself. 
 
 " Its direct aim being to draw a distinguishing line between the spirit of 
 true patriotism and that of ambitious public discontent, — between real glory, 
 which arises from benefits bestowed, and the false fame of acquired con- 
 quests, which a leader of banditti has as much right to arrogate as would the 
 successful invader of kingdoms, — the character of General Kosciusko, under 
 these views, presented itself to the writer as the completest exemplar for 
 such a picture. 
 
 " Enthusiasm attempted to supply the pencil of genius, and though the 
 portraiture be imperfectly sketched, yet its author has been gratified by the 
 sympathy of readers, not only of her own people, but of those of distant na- 
 tions ; and that the principles of heroic virtue which she sought to inculcate 
 in her narrative were pronounced by its great patriot subject, in a letter lie 
 addressed to herself, ' as worthy of his approbation and esteem,' seems, now 
 that he is removed from all earthly influence, to sanction her paying that 
 honest homage to his memory which delicacy forbade her doing while he 
 lived. 
 
 "The first publication of this work was inscril)ed to a British hero, 'a laud 
 commander and a tar,' whose noble nature well deserved the title bestowed 
 upon it by his venerable sovereign, George III., (' Coeur-de-Lion.*) He, a 
 brother in spirit, fully appreciated the character of Thaddeus Kosciusko, 
 
444 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 and the writer of this devoted tribute feels that she deepen."? the tints of 
 honor on each name by thus associating them together. But may the tomb 
 of the British hero be 'long in finding its place! That of the I'obsh patriot 
 has already received its sacred deposit, and with the sincere oblation of a 
 not quite stranger's heart, this poor offering is laid on the grave of him who 
 fought for ' his country's freedom, laws, and native king ;' who, when riches 
 and a crown were proffered to himself by the then dictator of almost all Eu- 
 rope, declined both, because no price could buy the independence of an 
 honest man. 
 
 " Such was General Kosciusko; such was the model of disinterestedness, 
 of tempered valor, and of public virtue which his annalist sought to set 
 forth in the foregoing pages; such was the man who honored their narrator 
 with his approval and esteem ! and in that last word she feels a privilege, 
 but with due humility, to thus link some little memorial of herself to after 
 times, by so uniting to the name of Thaddeus Kosciusko that of his humble 
 but sincere aspirer to such themes, 
 
 « JANE PORTER. 
 *' LoNG-DiTTON ON-Thames, September, 1819." 
 
 Since the above inscription was first written and inscribed 
 in the former edition, the brave and benign "Christian knight," 
 the Cceur-de-Lion of our own times, has also been gathered 
 to the tears of his country, and his monumental statue, as if 
 standing on the victorious mount of St. Jean d'Acre, is now 
 preparing to be set up, with its appropriate sacred trophies, in 
 the great Naval Hall at Greenwich. It is understood that his 
 mortal remains will be removed from the Pere la Chaise in 
 Paris, where they now lie, to finally rest in St. Paul's Cathedral, 
 where Nelson sleeps. Kosciusko's tomb is at Cracow, the an- 
 cient capital of Poland ; and in the manner of its most ancient 
 style of sepulchre, it appears an immense earthen tumulus, 
 piled over the simple-mounded grave, which accumulating por- 
 tions were severally borne to their hallowed place in the arms 
 alone of each silent mourner, in a certain number of successive 
 days, till the whole was raised into a grand pyramidal mass. 
 
 In looking back through the avenue of life to those periods 
 the tale tells of, what events have occurred, public and pri- 
 vate, to the countries and the individuals referred to in these 
 memoranda ! to persons of lofty names and excellence, both 
 in our own and in other lands, mutually affected with admira- 
 tion and regret for the virtues and the calamities described. It 
 is an awful contemplation, and in sitting down in my now soli- 
 tary chamber to its retrospection, I find that nearly half a cen- 
 tury has passed since its transactions swept over Europe like a 
 desolating blast. Then I wrote my little chronicle v;hen the 
 birthright independence of Poland was no more ; when she lay 
 in her ashes, and her mighty men were trodden into the dust ; 
 when the pall of death overspread the country, and her widows 
 
NOTES. 
 
 ^145 
 
 and lier orphans wandered afar into the trackless v;ildcrness of 
 a barren world. 
 
 Durini; this wide expatriation, some distinguished captives, 
 who had fallen in the field, and were counted among the slain, 
 having been found by the victors alive in their stiffened blood, 
 were conveyed to various prisons ; and along with these was 
 discovered the justly feared, and not less justly deplored, Gen- 
 eral Kosciusko, who, though long unheard of by the lone wan- 
 derers of his scattered host, had been thus preserved by the su- 
 preme Lord of all, to behold again a remnant of his own bright- 
 ened in hope, and comforted by the honoring sympathy of the 
 good and brave in many nations. 
 
 Kosciusko was of noble birth, and early distinguished him- 
 self by his spirit and talents for the martial field. Indeed, 
 owing to the belligerent position of Poland, situated in the 
 midst of jealous and encroaching nations, arms was the natural 
 profession of every gentleman in the kingdom, commerce and 
 agriculture being the usual pursuits of the middle classes. But 
 it happened, in the early manhood of Thaddeus Kosciusko, that 
 the dangerous political Stromboli which surrounded his country, 
 and often aroused an answering blaze in that since devoted 
 land, slept in their fires ; and Poland being at peace, her young 
 military students, becoming desirous of practising their science 
 in some actual campaign, resolved to try their strength 
 across the Atlantic. Hearing of the war then just commenced 
 between the British Colonies in America and the mother coun- 
 try, Kosciusko, as a deciding spirit amongst his ardent associ- 
 ates, brought them to this resolution. Losing no time, they 
 embarked, passed over the wide ocean of the Western world, 
 and landing safe and full of their object, offered their services 
 to the army of independence. Having been readily accepted, 
 and immediately applied to use, the extraordinary warrior tal- 
 ents of Kosciusko soon shone conspicuous, and were speedily 
 honored by his being appointed special aide-de-camp to Gen- 
 eral Washington. His subsequent conduct in the camp and 
 field was consonant to its beginnine:, and he became a distin- 
 guished general in rank and command long before his volun- 
 teered militar}' services had terminated. When the war ended, 
 in the peace of mutual concessions between the national parent 
 and its children on a distant land, (a point that is the duty of 
 all Christian states to consider, and to measure their ultimate 
 conduct by,) the Poles returned to their own country, where 
 they soon met circumstances which caused them to call forth 
 their recently passed experience for her. Cut they had not 
 
446 NOTES. 
 
 departed from the newly-established American State without 
 demonstrations of its warm gratitude ; and Koscuisko, in par- 
 ticular, with his not less popular compatriot and friend, Niem- 
 civitz, the soldier and the poet, bore away with them the pure 
 esteem of the brave population, the sighs of private friendship, 
 and the tears of an abiding regret from many fair eyes. 
 
 To recapitulate the memorable events of the threatened 
 royal freedom of Poland, by the three formidable foreign powers 
 confederated for its annihilation, and in repelling which General 
 Kosciusko took so gallant a lead, is not here necessary to con- 
 nect our memoranda concerning his unreceding struggles to 
 maintain her political existence. They have already been 
 sketched in the preceding little record of the actual scenes in 
 which he and his equally devoted compeers held their indomit- 
 able resistance till the fatal issue. " Sarmatia lay in blood ! " 
 and the portion of that once great bulwaik of civilized Europe 
 was adjudged by the paricidal victors to themselves: a sen- 
 tence like unto that passed on the worst of criminals was thus 
 denounced against Christendom's often best benefactor, while 
 the rest of Europe stood silently by, paralyzed or appalled, 
 during the immediate execution of the noble victim. 
 
 But though dismembered and thrown out from the " map 
 of nations " by the combination of usurping ambition and 
 broken faith, and no longer to be regarded as one in its 
 *' proud cordon," Poland retained within herself ( as has been 
 well observed by a contemporary writer) '' a mode of existence 
 unknown till then in the history of the world — a domestic 
 national vitality." Unknown, we may venture to say, except 
 in one extraordinary 3'et easily and reverentially understood 
 instance. We mean the sense of an integral national being, 
 ever-living in the bosoms of the people of Israel, throughout 
 all their different dispersions and captivities. And, perhaps, 
 with respect to this -principle of a moral, political, and filial life, 
 still drawing its aliment from the inhumed heart of their 
 mother-country, who, to them, " is not dead but sleepeth ! " 
 may be explained, in some degree, in reference to the above 
 remark on the existing and individual feeling amongst the 
 wanderers of Poland, by considering some of the best effects, 
 latent in their "working together for good," in the deep 
 experience of her ancient variously-constituted modes of civil 
 government. 
 
 Under that of her early monarchs, the Piasts and their 
 senate, she sat beneath an almost jDatriarchal sceptre, they 
 being native and truly parental princes. John Sobieski was 
 
NOTES. 447 
 
 one of this description, by descent and just rule. Under the 
 Jagellon dynasty, also sprung from the soil, she held a yet more 
 generalizing constitutional code, after which she gradually 
 adopted certain republican forms, with an elective king — a 
 strange contradiction in the asserted object, a sound system 
 for political freedom, but which, in fact, contained the whole 
 alchemy of a nation's " anarchical life," and ultimately produced 
 the entire destruction of the state. From the established date 
 of the elective monarchy, the kingdom became an arena for 
 every species of ambitious rivalry, and its sure consequences, 
 the interference of foreign influences ; and hence rapidly 
 advanced the decline of the true independent spirit of the 
 land, to stand in her laws, and in her own political strength ; 
 her own impartial laws, the palladium of the people and a 
 native king the parental guardian of their just administration. 
 But, in sad process of time, " strangers of Rome, of Gaul, and 
 of other nations," in whose veins not a drop of Sclavonian 
 blood flowed, found means to successively seat themselves on 
 the throne of the Piasts, the Jagellons, and the Sobieskis, of 
 ancient Sarmatia ; and the revered fabric fell, as by an earth- 
 quake, to be registered no more amongst the kingdoms of 
 the world. 
 
 The Early Education of Kosciusko and his Compatriots, 
 with its subsequent effects on the principles of 
 THEIR Lives. 
 
 Though their country appeared thus lost to them, they felt 
 its kingdom still in their minds — in the bosom of memory, in 
 the consciousness of an ancestry of braver}^ and of virtue ; and 
 though the soil had passed away from the feet of those whose 
 ancestors of " sword or share " had trod it as sons and owners, 
 and it now holds no place for them but their fathers' graves, 
 yet the root is deep in such planting, and the tree, though in- 
 visible to the world, is seen and nourished in the depths of 
 their hearts by the dews of heaven. 
 
 The pages of univ^ersal history, sacred and profane, ancient 
 and modern, w^hen opened with the conviction that He who 
 made the world governs it also, will best explain the 7.'//v of 
 these changes in the destiny of nations j and within half of 
 
448 /.'OTESJ. 
 
 the latter part of the last (;entury, arid the nfc&rly half of the 
 present, awful have been the pages to be read. Hence we 
 may understand the vital influence of the objects of education 
 with regard to the principles inculcated, whether with relation 
 to individual interest or to the generalized consideration of 
 a people as a commonwealth or a kingdom. A kingdom and 
 a commonwealth may be considered the same thing, when tie 
 powder of both people and king are limited by just laws, 
 established by the long exercised wisdom of the nation, holding 
 the whole powers of the state in equilibrium ; and in this sense, 
 meaning " a royal commonwealth," comprising, as in England, 
 *' kings, lords, and commons," it is generally believed is intend- 
 ed to be understood the term, " The republic of Poland, with 
 its king." 
 
 The Polish nation, however, under all their dominions of 
 government, usually partook something of the policies and 
 manners of the then existing times. Yet they were always dis- 
 tinguished by a particular chivalry of character, a brave freedom 
 from all foreign and domestic vassalage, and a generous dis- 
 position to respect and to assist the neighboring nations to 
 maintain the same independence they themselves enjoyed. 
 Though actual schools, or colleges, or written lore, might not 
 originally have had much to do with it, the continued practice 
 of old, well-formed customs held them in " the w^ays their 
 fathers walked in," and they found them those of " pleasantness " 
 and true honor. But the time came when literary dictation 
 was to take the place of oral tradition, and of habitual imitative 
 reverence of the past. Schools and colleges were instituted, 
 teaching for doctrines the prevailing sentiments of the endowers, 
 or of the instructors employed. During the reigns of the later 
 sovereigns of the Jagellon dynasty, Sigismund I. and II., and 
 that of their predecessor, John Sobieski, the principles of these 
 seminaries might be considered sound. But soon after the 
 death of the last-named monarch, when the latent mischief 
 contained in the Utopian idea of the perfection of an always 
 elective monarchy began to shake the stability of even the 
 monarchy itself, certain of the public teachers evinced cor- 
 respondent signs of this destructive species of freemasonry ; 
 and about the same period the Voltaire venom of infidelity 
 against all the laws of God and man being poured throughout 
 the whole civilized world, the general effect had so banefully 
 reached the seats of national instruction in Poland, that several 
 of the most venerated personages, whose names have already 
 been commemorated in the preceding biographical story, con- 
 
NOTES. 
 
 449 
 
 grc;;atccl together to stem, by a counteracting current, tb.c 
 torrent where they saw it likely to overflow ; to sap up it.s 
 introduced sources', by obtaining the abolition of some of the 
 most subtle and dangerous of the scholastic institutions, and 
 the establishment of others in their room, on the sound 
 foundation of moral and religious polity between men and 
 nations. 
 
 Tiie sole remaining princely descendants of the three just 
 referred to, true patriot-monarchs, were the earliest awakened to 
 resist the spirit of evil spreading amongst all classes in the 
 nation. The Czartoryski and the Zamoyski race, both of the 
 Jagellon line, and near kinsmen to the then newly-raised 
 monarch to the Polish throne, Stanislaus Poniatowski, appeared 
 like twin stars over tlie darkened field, and the whole aspect 
 of the country seemed speedily changed. A contemporary 
 Vv-riter bears record that " one hundred and twenty-seven pro- 
 vincial colleges were founded, perfected, and supported by them 
 and their patriotic colleagues; while the University of Vilna 
 was judiciously and munificently organized by its prince palatine, 
 Adam Czartoryski himself, and a statute drav/n up wliich 
 declared it " an open high-school from the supreme board of 
 public education for all the Polish provinces." Herein was 
 every science exalting to the faculties of man, and conducive 
 to his sacred aspirations, seriously and diligently inculcated ; 
 and every principle of morality and religion, purifying to his 
 mixed nature, and therefore calculated to establish him in the 
 answering conduct, truth, justice, and loyal obedience to the 
 hereditary revered laws of the nation, equally instilled, qualify- 
 ing him to uphold them, and to defend their freedom from all 
 offensive operations at home or abroad, intended to subvert 
 the purity of their code or the integrity of their administration. 
 Such was the import of the implied vow on entering the 
 university. 
 
 Amongst the gallant youths brought up in such a school of 
 public virtue was 'Phaddeus Kosciusko and the young Timotheus 
 Niemcivitz, his friend from youth to age. Kosciusko, as has 
 already been said, was of noble parentage ; and to be the son 
 of a Polish nobleman was to be born a soldier, and its prac- 
 tical education, with sabre and lance, his daily pastime. But 
 military studies were included in these various colleges, and 
 the friends soon became as mutually expert in arms as they 
 ever after continued severally distinguished in the fields of 
 their country with sword or lyre. Besides, neither of the young 
 cavaliers passed quite away from their alma mater without 
 
450 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 having each received the completing accolade of '' true knight- 
 hood " by the stroke of " fealty to honor ! " from the inaugurating 
 sunbeam of some lovely woman's eye. Such befell the youthful 
 Kosciusko, one bright evening, in a large and splendid circle 
 of " the beautiful and brave " at Vilna ; and it never lessened 
 its full ra3^s in his chivalric heart, from that hour devoted to 
 the angel-like unknown who had shed them on him, and who 
 had seemed to doubly consecrate the ardors of his soul to his 
 country — her country — the country of all he loved and honored 
 upon earth. 
 
 How he wrought out this silent vow is a story of deep in- 
 terest — equally faithful to his patriotic loyalty and to his ever- 
 cherished love ; and in some subsequent reminiscences of the 
 hero, should the writer live to touch a Polish theme again, they 
 may be related Vvdth additional honor to his memory. 
 
 Brief was the time after the preceding sealing scene of the 
 young Kosciusko for his military vocation took place, before 
 himself and his friend Niemcivitz — who had also received his 
 " anointing spell," which he gayly declared came by more 
 bright eyes than he would dare whisper to their possessors — 
 made a joint arrangement to quit the study of arms, though 
 thus cheered on by the Muses and the Graces, and at once 
 enter the exercise in some actual field of ruo^sfed war. The 
 newly-opened dispute between Great Britain and her colonies 
 in North America seemed calculated for their honorable prac- 
 tice. Consulting some of their most respected friends, they 
 speedily found means to cross the seas, and shared the first 
 great campaign under Washington. Tlie issue of that cam- 
 paign, and those which followed it, need not be repeated here ; 
 suffice it to say, the hard-fought contest ended in a treaty of 
 peace between the parent country and its contumacious off- 
 spring, in the year 1783, with England's acknowledgment of 
 their independence, under the name of the United States of 
 America. 
 
 The two gallant Poles returned to Europe, and onward to 
 their own country, by a route tracked by former brave deeds ; 
 through France, Germany, and other lands, marked by the 
 Gustavuses, the Montecuculi, the Turennes, the Condes, the 
 Marlboroughs, the Eugenes, champions alike of national peace 
 and national glory on those widely-extended plains and bul- 
 warked frontiers, till the belligerent clouds of a still more 
 threatening hostility than any of those repelled invasions were 
 seen hovering luridly over their own beloved country. Warned 
 thus, during their pleasant travel, of the coming events whose 
 
uVOJYiS. 
 
 451 
 
 shadows seemed to rise on every side of Poland, in forms ap- 
 palling to the luxurious, the avaricious, the indolently selfish, 
 of every description in the land, but which only roused and 
 nerved the hearts and arms of her two sons, courageous in 
 I lie simplicity of their purpose — Poland's preservation ! they 
 hastened in that moment to her bosom. 
 
 The events of this her mortal struggle, in fast union with 
 these faithful sons, and other filial hearts, commemorated in 
 the foregoing narrative of Thaddeus Sobieski, need not be re- 
 capitulated here. It amply tells the fate of the great kingdom 
 which had stood as with gates of brass, until the intestine rival- 
 ries of an elective monarchy — the vrorshipped idol alike of pre- 
 sumptuous private ambition and pretended patriotic liberality 
 — the true masked priest of public anarchy — rent them asun- 
 der, and the watchful nations, ready for plunder and extended 
 dominion, poured into them a flood like the rivers of Babylon, 
 k-over all her walls and towers. 
 
 We have read that part of her bravest sons were swept 
 away into distant lands ; some to die in homeless exile, others 
 to meet the honorable compassion and the cheering hopes of 
 sympathy from a people like themselves, who had formerly 
 fought the good fight for England's laws, liberties, and royal 
 name in Europe. And some were shut up from the light of 
 day in the fettered captivity of foreign prisons, until " the iron 
 entered their souls." Amongst these noble captives were 
 General Kosciusko and his faithful Achates, Niemcivitz, to 
 whom might be justly applied the words of our bard of " The 
 Seasons," affixed to the young brow of Sir Philip Sidney — 
 
 "The plume of war, with early chaplets crown'd 
 The hero's laurel with the poet's bays." 
 
 But the Emperor Paul, on his accession to the throne of 
 the Czars, as has before been noted, was too generous a cap- 
 tor to hold in cage so sweet a singing bird and so noble a lion ; 
 and he gave them liberty, appending to the act, dearest to a 
 free-born heart, an imperial donation to Kosciusko that might 
 have furnished him with a golden argosy all over the world. 
 But the wounded son of Poland declined it in a manner worthy 
 her name, and with an ingenuous gratitude towards the munifi- 
 cent sovereign who had offered it, not as a bribe for " golden 
 opinions," but as a sincere tiibute to high heroic virtue. 
 
 The writer of this note was informed of this fact many years 
 ago, by a celebrated English banker, at that time at St. Peters- 
 burg, and corresponding between that city and London, with 
 
452 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 whom the imperial present had been lodged, and through whcm 
 General Kosciusko respectfully but decidedly declined its ac- 
 ceptance. 
 
 Then it was that, after halting a short time in England, he 
 with his school and camp companion in so many changes, pre- 
 pared a second crossing over the Atlantic, to revisit its victor 
 President in his olive-grounds at Mount Vernon. But Niemci- 
 vitz had another errand. His roving Cupid had long settled 
 its wing, and he eagerly sought to plight, before Heaven's altar 
 in the church, the already sacred vow he h.ad pledged to a fair 
 daughter of that country while sharing the dangers of its battle- 
 fields. 
 
 It was with great difnculty the portcullis of a friendship 
 strong as death had been raised in old chivalric Kent, to allow 
 departure to so dear and honored a guest as he, who their 
 master had seen fall in his memorable wounds on the plain of 
 Brzesc. But he promised to return again, should the same- 
 sweet cherub that sat up aloft on his first voyage to America 
 steer back his little bark in safety ; and then he trusted to 
 be once more clasped to the bosom of Poland, in that of his 
 most beloved friend, a dweller in England.* 
 
 Besides this cherished heir of his earliest remembrances, 
 there were other friends of olden days who had welcomed him 
 with gladdening recollections. Aniongst these was the family 
 of Vanderhorst, originally of the Spanish Netherlands, who, 
 from religious rather than political motives, had transferred 
 themselves from certain persecutions in that land during times 
 of papal tyranny to the shelter of the British colonies on the 
 Transatlantic shore, and who, on the separation of those colo- 
 nies into independent states from the mother country, had re- 
 moved, in relative grateful duties, to the governing land of 
 their early refuge, and were now dwelling here in prosperity 
 and happy repose, when General Kosciusko set his honored 
 foot on its sea-girt and virtue-bulwarked coast He was their 
 former guest while at New York, and he readily accepted their 
 eager invitation that he would revisit them in their nev; pater- 
 nal country. At this period the head of the respected family 
 resided at Bristol, in Queen's Square, (the Grosvenor Square 
 of that opulent city,) and Mr. Vanderhorst inhabited one of 
 the most superb mansions in it. General Kosciusko arrived 
 at his worthy host's door on the 7th of June, 1797, and was 
 greeted by the hearty embrace of his old friend and the blush- 
 
 * The portcullis, the gate, and the armorial crest cf Beaufort has descended from the 
 royal founder of the family, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. 
 
iVO TES. 
 
 453 
 
 ingly-presenled cheeks of his two dauglitcrs, young and lovely, 
 inlheir teens. Their brother, a fine youth, pressed the hand 
 of Ins father's gallant and revered guest to his lips. Niemcivitz, 
 meanwhile, with dew-like tear-drops glittering over his joyous 
 smiles, greeted every one with the affectionate recognition of 
 a heart that seemed to know only to love. The writer, for one, 
 shall never forget those tears and smiles on that venerable but 
 ever kindly face ; yet it was only in his old age that I first 
 knew him. But sweet sisters, whom I began to know in your 
 bright bloom, I can never forget those charming looks of re- 
 ciprocating welcome that sprang alone from the fulness of a 
 good and truthful virgin heart. I'hey are now before me, 
 though the eyes which then beamed so ingenuously on the 
 honored countenance of the Polish hero are closed in death ; 
 or rather, shall I say, re-opened on him in a fairer and never- 
 closing light. 
 
 He spent a happy week in that bright circle, in which the 
 present commemorator has often since moved, and heard mem* 
 bers of it over and over again describe its happy scenes ; some- 
 times the younger sister, my own especial friend ; at other 
 times the animated brother. The revered father has long been 
 in his respected grave ; and the elder sister, after an early 
 marriage with an officer of distinction in the British army, 
 breathed her last sigh in the island of Antigua, leaving an only 
 child, a daughter, Cordelia Duncombe Taylor, a beautiful me- 
 morial of the surpassingly lovely mother and aunt from whom 
 she is descended. 
 
 During the Bristol sojourn, brief as it was, numerous were 
 the sincere votaries to simple-hearted public virtue who sought 
 it to pay their homage to the modest hero within its hospitable 
 walls. Rufus King, then diplomatic minister from the L-nited 
 States to Great Britain, and the accomplished TurnbuU, by 
 pen, pencil, and sword the celebrated compeer of General 
 Washington in his fields of glory, was here also. 
 
 On the Polish chief's approach to the city becoming known, 
 the above gentlemen, with its sheriffs, Penry and Edgar, and 
 Golonel Sir George Thomas, commanding a regiment of dra- 
 goons in the vicinity, went out in procession to meet him, to 
 give him honoring welcome to the British shores. Crowds of 
 the neighboring gentry, in carriages or on horseback, thronged 
 the cavalcade ; and on each succeeding day, while he remained 
 at Bristol, similar throngs of enthusiastic visitants congregated 
 in the square to catch a moment's sight of him. The military 
 band of the cavalry regiment attended every evening in the 
 
454 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 hall of ;Mr. Vanderhorst, to regale the honor-oppressed invalid 
 with martial airs, from every land wherever a soldier's banner 
 had waved. 
 
 But letters arrived from Mount Vernon. General Washing- 
 ton had become impatient for his expected guest, and the 
 morning of his separation from his Bristol friends was fixed. 
 The vessel in which he was to embark was inspected with scru- 
 pulous care ; and from the state of some of his yet unhealed 
 wounds, he was obliged to be conve3'ed from Queen's Square 
 to the quay in a sedan-chair. Mr. Vanderhorst and his son 
 preceded it on foot, and two military officers. Captains Whor- 
 wood and Ferguson, walked on each side, each with his helmet 
 off and in his hand, resting them on the poles of the sedan as 
 they moved along. The colonel and other personal friends of 
 Mr. Vanderhorst, and admirers of his hero-guest, followed in 
 the rear of the chair, and a respectful and self-organized rank 
 and file of humbler station closed the procession to the water- 
 side. 
 
 There he embarked in a lightly-manned boat, with a sail 
 and rudder, a more precious freight than Csesar and his for- 
 tunes ; for the Roman general crossed a barrier-river to sub- 
 vert his country — Thadcleus Kosciusko a stream of refuge, 
 after having sacrificed his all, though in vain, to preserve the 
 independence of his native land. And thus the welcomed 
 coming speeded parting guest took a grateful leave of the party 
 who escorted him. They had seen him comfortably placed in 
 the boat, and when it had put off, he and Niemcivitz, un- 
 capped, extended their handkerchiefs, fluttering in the breeze, 
 to them and the other bystanders, as the little sail gave bosom 
 to the wind, and the farewell of this salution was answered 
 with the warm and brave-hearted cheers of old British custom, 
 and the waving of hats, which propitious sounds echoed back 
 from cliff to cliff of the superb St. Vincent rocks that rampart 
 the keys of the Bristol Avon. 
 
 All along the river, as the bark proceeded down, it was 
 met, when within sight of any of the numerous merchant villas 
 that adorned its banks, by pretty pleasure-skiffs, bringing votive 
 presents of fruits and flowers to the brave voyagers on board. 
 And then, while the wounded and fatigued veteran, as he lay 
 on his pallet on the deck, was only able to bow his head with 
 a gracious accepting smile to the respectful messengers, Niem- 
 civitz stood at the prow, his then bright locks dallying with the 
 sweet zephyrs from the gardened shores, and spoke the gen- 
 eral's and his own heartfelt thanks, in a language of poetry 
 
NOTES. 
 
 455 
 
 that best accorded with his own glowing and his chief's gallant 
 feelings, and the generous benedicite of the fair donators. 
 
 Onward the little vessel sped, until it reached the American 
 ship afloat in King's Road, to convey its two noble passengers 
 to the new republic, just established in the western hemisphere. 
 That the well-remembered aid-de-camp of its boasted hero, 
 Washington, was received with warrior honors, need not be 
 here descrit3ed. He rested that night under the variegated 
 flag streaming from the topmast head, which his own volunteer 
 arm had assisted to place there ; and he thought of Poland and 
 of England till he glided into a gentle sleep, and dreamed of 
 bc^h. By the following letter it may be seen that his eyes were 
 visited next day by a sweet vision, in real personal existence, ot 
 the same kind beings whose recollections alone had so blandly 
 soothed his pillow on the surge. 
 
 " Letter from General Kosciusko, to Vanderhorst, Esq., 
 
 &c., &c., &c. From the United States of America, No. 
 36 Queen's Square, Bristol. 
 
 " At sea," (but without further date ; circumstances, however, 
 establishing it to have been written on or about the 21st or 
 22djune, 1797.) 
 
 " Dear Sir : 
 
 " It is the subject for a drama only, where the actors can 
 express with the action and words what may approach nearest 
 to what was passed yesterday within us, that I try to write. 
 We were highly pleased, it is true, and with uncommon satisfac- 
 tion, to see the approach of your family in a boat to our ship. 
 But how short was the duration of the pleasure! When sepa- 
 ration took place, our hearts were melted in tears. And we 
 were frightened at their return, with fears of what might happen 
 to them upon a high sea in so small a boat. Every rising wave 
 gave the greatest pain to our anxiety, and the extreme painful- 
 ness of our alarm even increased when we were so far off that 
 we could not see them more. 
 
 " I must beg of you to give them a good reprimand. 
 Their kind and sensible hearts passed the limits of safety for 
 tliemselves, and gave us the most distressful emotions of soul. 
 The sea was so rough, I am sure they must all be very sick. 
 However, we send them the warmest thanks, with everlasting 
 friendship and remembrance. Be pleased, also, to take for 
 yourself our tender respects. 
 
 " Never shall I forget so kind reception of me in your 
 
456 KOTES. 
 
 house, nor the attentions of your friends. I am sensible that 
 I gave to you and your amiable family a great trouble ; but 
 your goodness will not acknowledge it, and by so doing, it 
 more impresses my mind with the obligation, and with a true 
 answering affection for your whole family. 
 
 " I am, dear sir, with friendship and esteem, your most 
 thankful and most obedient servant, 
 
 "T. Kosciusko." 
 
 " I can nothing add to the feelings of my worthy friend but 
 that I wish to the respectable and beautiful family of Vander- 
 i jrst all the happiness that virtue and the most excellent quali- 
 ties of the heart can deserve. 
 
 " J. NiEMCIVlTZ. 
 
 " The fair deity — I mean Mister Cupid — desires his best 
 compliments to you all." 
 
 This tender yet playful postscript from the young soldier 
 votary of Cupid and the muse is evidently appended in the 
 gayety of an affectionate heart, speeding to the land of his own 
 lady-love, shortly to become his bride after his arrival, and 
 v.'hichwas so consummated. Kosciusko never swerved from his 
 soul's loyalty to the bright Polish Laura of his cherished de- 
 votedness ; and his subsequent correspondence, one of pure, 
 unselfish friendship, with the youngest daughter of his vener- 
 able Anglo-American friend, lovely as she was pure, confided 
 to her how faithful had been his heart's allegiance to the 
 woman of his first and last vows. They had met during his 
 track of early military fame, and had exchanged these vows. 
 But blighting circumstances interfered, and they lived, and 
 loved, but never met again. 
 
 The narrator of these little reminiscences might well, per- 
 haps most agreeably, drop the curtain here ; for strange and 
 stirring incidents awaited the two friends on their return to 
 Europe, after a rather prolonged sojourn amongst the animated 
 hospitaUties of a grateful people. 
 
 The homeward side of that curtain was wrought in mingled 
 fabric, gold, silver, and various threaded yarns ; and many 
 were the different hands that threw the shuttles — emperors, 
 kings, princes, friends, traitors ; but above all, in the depth of 
 mischief, the spirit of suspicion had steeped the w^eb. 
 
 Such was the lurid appearance of the great drama of Eu- 
 
.vorFS. 457 
 
 rope when Koscius1;o and Xiemcivitz set foot agai;! upon its 
 siiores. Deatli had tlirown his pall over some in high phices 
 and others in low. But more cheering suns soon arose, to 
 scare away the darkening shadows, and the patriot heroes' 
 liopes ascended with them. How some were honored, some 
 deceived in the observance, need not lengthen out our present 
 pages ; suffice it to say that there were stars then rising on the 
 horizon which promised fairer elements. 
 
 It may be recollected that at the signing of the partition of 
 Poland by the benumbed Senate, on the fatal day of its politi- 
 cal decease, the young prince Adam Czartoryski, the eldest 
 son of the justly-renowned and virtuous palatine of Vilna, who 
 had been so signal a benefactor to his country by the endow- 
 ment and reformation of its chief schools, was sent out a host- 
 age to Russia, in seal of the then final resignation. His edu- 
 cation had been noble, like the principles of those schools in 
 the foundation of which the brave, illustrious and also erudiie 
 I ithuanian family of Krasinski had been eminent sharers.* 
 I'he young prince's manners were equally noble with his prin- 
 ciples, and not long in attracting the most ]X)werful eyes in the 
 cm]:ire. During the remainder of the reign of the Empress 
 Catharine, she caused him to be treated with protective kind- 
 ness, and on her demise he was instantly removed by the Em- 
 l)eror Paul from whatever surveillance had been left over Inm, 
 into the imperial palace of St. Petersburg, where this justly- 
 uclmired princely student of Vilna was to be the constant in- 
 mate and companion of the youthful Alexander, the eldest son 
 and heir of the empire. 
 
 Their' studies, their amusements, were shared together ; 
 and they soon became friends like brothers. About the same 
 time, as has before been related, Paul had given freedom to 
 Oeneral Kosciusko and his compatriot Niemcivitz. And still, 
 after the death of that mysteriously-destined sovereign, a hal- 
 cyon sky seemed to hold its bland aspects over Russia's Scla- 
 vonian sister people, ancient Sarmatia. Put ere longtime scene 
 changed, and the '' seething-pot " of a universal ambition, ihc 
 crucible of nations, grasped by the hand of Napoleon, began 
 again to darken the world's atmosphere. 
 
 * Count Valerian Krasinski, a distinguished son of this house, lias long been an hor.ored 
 pnesl in Enij.and, and held in high liteVary respect fur his verital>ie and adniir.ibie work-, 
 vvr.ltcn ill fi le English: "The Times of Piiili|) Augustus," and " Tlie History c f the P.i t- 
 e>tint Rf >rmition in Poland." Tlie writer of this note knows tlmt he has in his jc s;:cs- 
 sion some beautiful manuscript tales, descriptive of the manners of Poland ; one caned 
 '• Amoina," a most remarkable story ; another, entitled, " My (}rnndmamni.-i," fi: I cf 
 int;:»restinc; matter, written as a solace in occasional lests from severer lifi-rary cccurations. 
 Anil she liments that he has not yet allowed himself to be prevailed ou to give a.iy of these 
 teaching and elegant reminiscences to his English readers. 
 
458 iXOTES, 
 
 Kosciusko now looked on, sometimes with yet struggling 
 hopes, then with well-founded convictions that " the doom was 
 not yet spent ; " and no more to be deluded one way or another, 
 while such shifting grounds and sudden earthquakes were 
 erupting the earth under his feet, like the prophet of old, boding 
 worse things to come, he withdrew himself far into the solitudes 
 of nature, into the wide yet noiseless temple of God, where the 
 prayer of an honest man's heart might be heard and answered 
 by that all-merciful and all-wise Being, who sometimes leaves 
 proud men to themselves, to the lawless, headlong driving of 
 their arrogant passions, to show them, in the due turn of events, 
 what a vicious self-aggrandizing, abhorrent and despicable 
 monster in human shape such a noble creature, when turned 
 from the divine purpose of his creation, may become. To such 
 contemplations, and to the repose of a mind and conscience at 
 peace with itself, did the once, nay, ever-renowned hero of 
 Poland, retire into the most sequestered mountains of Switzer- 
 land. A few friends, of the same closed accounts with the 
 world, congregated around him ; and there he dwelt several 
 years, beloved and revered, as, indeed, he was wherever he 
 planted his pilgrim staff. 
 
 He died at Soleure, in the house of a friend, Mr. Zeltner, 
 in consequence of a fall from his horse while taking a solitary 
 ride. He was buried there with every demonstration of respect 
 in the power of the simple inhabitants to bestow. But the 
 Emperor Alexander, on hearing of the event, would not allow 
 remains so honorable to be divided from the land of their 
 birth ; and such high and sincere homage to the undaunted 
 heroism and universally acknowledged integrity of the lamented 
 dead found no difficulty in obtaining the distinguishing object 
 sought, that of transferring his virtue-consecrated relics to the 
 shrine of ancient Christian Poland, the city of Cracow, and 
 there reinterring them in the great royal cemetery of the most 
 revered patriots of the kingdom. 
 
 Years rolled on over the head and heart of the patriot and 
 the bard, Niemcivitz, the ever " faithful Achates " of his friend 
 and his country, even after, to his bereaved heart, he had sur- 
 vived both. He had also become a widower. His gentle and 
 delicate wife went to revisit her native climate in the United 
 States, but died there. On his return thence to Europe, the 
 consolations of a fraternal friendship, in the bosoms of his 
 noble countrymen, who had become adopted denizens of free 
 and happy England, vainly sought to retain him with them. 
 Sorrow in a breast of his temperament cannot find rest in any 
 
Aori;s. ^5, 
 
 place. Plis shining locks, once likened to those of Hyperion, 
 became frosted by an age of wandering as well as of sadness ; 
 and the till then joyous and ever-tender heart of the sweetest 
 poet of Sclavonian birth breathed its last sigh in Paris, in lirj 
 summer of 1S41. It was on the first of June ; and on the 
 eighth of the month he was buried with military honors and all 
 the distinguishing rites of the national church. The funeral 
 service was performed by the Archbishop of Chalcidonia, with 
 a large body of the clergy attending. A choir of fifty profes- 
 sors sung the mass, and more than a thousand persons thronged 
 the procession — persons of all nations, of all creeds, religious 
 or political, of every rank amongst men, of every mind, from 
 the prince to the peasant, that understood the true value of 
 genius when helmed by virtue, either on the land or on the 
 wave ; whether in the field or in the cabinet ; in the student's 
 closet, or in the duties of domestic home. 
 
 Such a man was Niemcivitz. So was he wept; so will he 
 be remembered, proving, indeed, most convincingly, that there 
 is a standard set up in men's hearts, if they would but look to 
 it, which, whatever be their minor clashing opinions, shows 
 that the truly great and good in this earth are all of one family 
 in the estimation of pure intellect, the spiritual organ of all just 
 estimation, which is, in fact, that of the kingdom of heaven — 
 that kingdom which, if its laws to man were properly preserved 
 and obeyed, would sprtal the shepherds' promised "peace 
 and good-will to all mankind." But men may listen, approve, 
 and admire, and yet withhold obedience. But why will the 
 heirs of such a covenant, with sight and hearing, die from its 
 inheritance ? 
 
 Kosciusko and Niemcivitz were real appreciators of so rich 
 a birthright in " the better country ! " and now are gone to 
 Him who purchased it by His most precious blood, to enter 
 with Him forever into its peaceful and glorious rest. 
 
 J. P. 
 Bristol, Septembep 1S45. 
 
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