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and of a difficult temper. She spared none of her party except her kind mother, to whom Ethel always was kind, and her father, whom, since his illnesses, she tended with much benevolence and care. But she did battle with Lady Kew repeatedly, coming to her aunt Julia's rescue, on whom her mother as usual exercised her powers of torturing. She made Barnes quail before her by the shafts of contempt which she flashed at him; and she did not spare Lord Kew, whose good-nature was no shield against her scorn. The old queen mother was fairly afraid of her; she even left off beating Lady Julia when Ethel came in, of course taking her revenge in the young girl's absence, but trying in her presence to soothe and please her. Against Lord Kew the young girl's anger was most unjust, and the more cruel, because the kindly young nobleman never spoke a hard word of any one mortal soul, and carrying no arms, should have been assaulted by none. But his very good-nature seemed to make his young opponent only the more wrathful; she shot because his honest breast was bare; it bled at the wounds which she inflicted. Her relatives looked at her, surprised at her cruelty, and the young man himself was shocked in his dignity and best feelings by his cousin's wanton ill-humor.

Lady Kew fancied she understood the cause of this peevishness, and remonstrated with Miss Ethel, "Shall we write a letter to Lucerne, and order Dick Tinto back again?" said her ladyship. "Are you such a fool, Ethel, as to be hankering after that young scapegrace, and his yellow beard? His drawings are very pretty. Why, I think he might earn a couple of hundred a year as a teacher, and nothing would be easier than to break your engagement with Kew, and whistle the drawingmaster back again."

Ethel took up the whole heap of Clive's drawings, lighted a taper, carried the drawings to the fire-place, and set them in a blaze. "A very pretty piece of work," says Lady Kew, "and which proves satisfactorily that you don't care for the young Clive at all. Have we arranged a correspondence? We are cousins, you know; we may write pretty cousinly letters to one another." A month before the old lady would have attacked her with other arms than sarcasm, but she was scared now, and dared to use no coarser weapons. "O!" cried Ethel in a transport, "what a life ours is, and how you buy and sell, and haggle over your children! It is not Clive I care about, poor boy. Our ways of life are separate. I can not break from my own family, and I know very well how you would receive him in it. Had he money, it would be different. You would receive him, and welcome him, and hold out your hands to him; but he is only a poor painter, and we forsooth are bankers in the city; and he comes among us on sufferance, like those concert-singers whom mamma treats with so much politeness, and who go down and have supper by themselves. Why should they not be as good as we are?"

"M. de C, my dear, is of a noble family," interposed Lady Kew; "when he has given up singing and made his fortune, no doubt he can go back into the world again."

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money as surely as ever Newcome was. Will there be no day when this mammon worship will cease among us?"

and Ethel the prettiest Countess in England." And the old lady, seldom exhibiting any signs of affection, looked at her granddaughter very fond

"Not in my time or yours, Ethel," the elderly. said, not unkindly; perhaps she thought of a day long ago before she was old herself.

From her Ethel looked up into the glass, which very likely repeated on its shining face the truth her elder had just uttered. Shall we quarrel with the girl for that dazzling reflection; for owning that charming truth, and submitting to that conscious triumph? Give her her part of

"We are sold," the young girl went on, "we are as much sold as Turkish women; the only difference being that our masters may have but one Circassian at a time. No, there is no free-vanity, of youth, of desire to rule and be admired. dom for us. I wear my green ticket, and wait till my master comes. But every day, as I think of our slavery, I revolt against it more. That poor wretch, that poor girl whom my brother is to marry, why did she not revolt and fly? I would, if I loved a man sufficiently, loved him

better than the world, than wealth, than rank,

than fine houses and titles-and I feel I love these best-I would give up all to follow him. But what can I be with my name and my parents? I belong to the world, like all the rest of my family. It is you who have bred us up; you who are answerable for us. Why are there no convents to which we can fly? You make a fine marriage for me; you provide me with a good husband, a kind soul, not very wise, but very kind; you make me what you call happy, and I would rather be at the plow like the women here."

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Meanwhile Mr. Clive's drawings have been crack-
ling in the fire-place at her feet, and the last spark
of that combustion is twinkling out unheeded.

A RUSSIAN STORY OF A CENTURY
AGO.

SOME hundred and thirty years ago, the ❝ Em-
peror of all the Russias" was not Nicholas I.
but Peter the Great; and Peter, with all his faults,
was a generous-hearted man, and loved an ad-
venture dearly. It was a cold bleak day in
November when our story commences, and the
fishermen on the Gulf of Finland could easily
foretell a coming storm from the clouds which
were gathering on the horizon from the south-
east. As the clouds grew darker, the wind blew
in louder gusts, and the waves rose with whiter
and taller crests, and lashed the shores with an

the north side of the Gulf of Finland are some twenty or thirty fishermen's huts, which form part of the straggling town of Lachta. Hard by is the spot where a ferry-boat starts—or rather started a century ago-for the opposite side of the gulf some twice or three times a week. As the door of one of these cottages opened, a young sailor came out, followed by his mother, who saw that he was bent upon crossing the lake for the purpose of transacting some business at the little village of Liborg, and was vainly endeavoring to stay him by pointing out the signs of the growing storm.

"No, you wouldn't, Ethel," replies the grand-ever increasing vehemence. Along the beach on mother, dryly. "These are the fine speeches of school girls. The showers of rain would spoil your complexion-you would be perfectly tired in an hour, and come back to luncheon-you belong to your belongings, my dear, and are not better than the rest of the world: very good looking, as you know perfectly well, and not very good tempered. It is lucky that Kew is. Calm your temper, at least before marriage; such a prize does not fall to a pretty girl's lot every day. Why, you sent him away quite scared by your cruelty; and if he is not playing at roulette, or at billiards, I dare say he is thinking what a little termagant you are, and that he had best pause while it is "Only see, my dear son," she cried, "how yet time. Before I was married, your poor grand-rough and angry the lake is now; see what madfather never knew I had a temper; of after-days I say nothing; but trials are good for all of us, and he bore his like an angel."

Lady Kew, too, on this occasion at least, was admirably good-humored. She also, when it was necessary, could put a restraint on her temper, and having this match very much at heart, chose to coax and to soothe her granddaughter rather than to endeavor to scold and frighten her.

"Why do you desire this marriage so much, grandmamma?" the girl asked. My cousin is not very much in love—at least I should fancy not," she added, blushing. "I am bound to own Lord Kew is not in the least eager, and I think if you were to tell him to wait for five years, he would be quite willing. Why should you be so very anxious?"

"Why, my dear? Because I think young ladies who want to go and work in the fields, should make hay while the sun shines; because I think it is high time that Kew should ranger himself; because I am sure he will make the best husband, VOL. IX.-No. 52.—K K

ness it is to venture out in an open boat upon its waves on such a day. If the ferry-boat must go, let it start without you, and do you stay at home, my Steenie, for your poor mother's sake."

"Oh! mother," replied the young man, "you are over anxious; my business with Carl Wald compels me to go across, whether I like it or not, and I can not disappoint him if the ferry-boat starts at all, and start it will directly, from the quay, for I see the passengers gathering together at the top of the steps. Only look now, there is Alec and Nicholas going across, and I can not stay behind. Then, good-by, mother, I am off to the Katharine." So saying he stepped briskly forward.

"Well, Paul, my man, here's rather a rough passage across for us; I suppose you will go all the same, though you don't seem to like the looks of the weather a bit better than I do? But I don't see any other boats out this afternoon for certain."

"Oh, Paul! oh, Steenie! it is just tempting

Providence to think of crossing over with such a sea rising, and with the wind almost dead against you," cried the distracted widow.

"As to that, there's always danger afloat," answered Paul, be it fair or foul; and Providence takes care of us afloat as well as ever he does on land. Good-by, mother. Here, Alec, let go that rope. Now, then, to your oars. She's off, boys! Helm aport now."

"Port it is," growled the steersman, who dently had no fancy for the voyage, and had all this time been crying out against the unpropitious aspect of the weather.

ing a portion of the coast. They had seen the perilous position of old Paul and his boat, and had borne down to their assistance, for in spite of the terrible raging of the winds and waves, the captain would not see the poor fellows swept away and drowned without making an effort at least to save them.

The vessel neared the sand-bank; but how may she approach close enough to rescue the evi-unhappy fellows? A boat is lowered from the vessel, and four as gallant Russian tars as ever plowed the fresh waters of Ladoga or the Baltic have rowed up to the spot; but the strength of two of the crew, added to the exertions of Stephen and the boatmen of the Katharine, are not sufficient to move the vessel from the firm grasp with which the sand held her keel. They were, therefore, beginning to relax their efforts, when a second boat, with a crew of six stout-hearted fellows, neared the bank, and by vigorous efforts reached the spot in time to reinforce their comrades. Without the loss of a moment, one of the crew, a fine tall muscular Russian, some six feet five inches high, stripped off his outer garments, leaped into the sea, and after swimming a few sharp strokes, gained a footing on the sand. This was heavy work indeed, as the sand was not hard and firm, but mixed with mud and slime; but the giant strength of the new arrival turned the scale, and after a few short and sharp heaves the Katharine moved once more. In a second she was afloat again and taken in tow by the other boat.

The boatmen who were on the steps and along the beach, assured the widow that there was no real danger; and so having bid her son an affectionate farewell, and uttering many a devout prayer for his speedy return next week, she went back into her cottage, low and depressed in her spirits, and sat watching the boat from her window as it did battle with each crested surge and rode proudly on its course. Need we say that she watched it with a mother's eye, until a projecting cliff shut it wholly out of sight. The storm, however, continued as before, and the mother had but one resource left, to commit her beloved son and the frail boat in which he crossed the waters of the lake to the merciful goodness of that Providence, who is "the God of the fatherless and the widow."

And where all this time was Stephen? Worn out with fatigue and cold, for he had been immersed some two hours in the chilly waves, and standing in deep water and nearly exhausted by their violence-he had lost his footing on the slippery bank, and having got in a moment beyond his depth, was vainly attempting to keep his head above water by swimming in his drenched and dripping clothes, the weight of which in a few seconds more would have carried him down.

"Oh! Steenie, Steenie," cried the old boatman, Paul, with a loud voice of agony, which would make itself heard even above the roaring of the angry winds and waves, "can none of you save my poor Stephen, the bravest lad that ever trod a deck? He's gone now, and but for his help this day my boat would have been lost."

Meanwhile the little vessel was battling with the angry waves in a place where there was a narrow passage, some fifty yards broad, between two dangerous shelving sand-banks, well known to the master of the Katharine and his crew. The sand-banks themselves, as it happened, lay partly under the lee of one of the little islands which stud the coast near Lachta; and the current was bearing strong upon the bank upon the leeward. At this moment the Katharine shipped a large quantity of water; as ill luck would have it, the tiller broke, and before the boat's head could be righted, she had drifted upon the edge of the bar of sand, and there she stuck fast. The little bark would have been overwhelmed by the breakers but for the shelter afforded by the corner of the island and the shifting of the wind a point or two round to the north; indeed, she was fast filling with water, in spite of the efforts of the passengers to keep her afloat by bailing. To add to the general confusion aboard, it now turned out that several of the passengers who had been drinking at the village inn before starting from Lachta were fairly intoxicated, and the rest were sinking down bewildered into the apathy of despair; so that only Stephen and two of the boatmen had their wits about them. But though they strove with all their might, they were unable to move the boat off from the sandbank. At this moment, when the waves were breaking over the little Katharine, and had already swept off into deep water one or two hap-soon as he showed signs of life, and began to open less passengers, who had lost all heart and courage, a sail was seen approaching.

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He's not lost yet!" cried the tall seaman; and, plunging into the waves, he caught him by the hair of his head, just as he was sinking a third time; the next wave would have carried him fairly down, and his life would have been gone past recall.

It was not the work of a moment for the strong, tall stranger to swim with the lad toward the boat, which was hovering near; and, in another second, the gallant crew had lifted him in over the gunwale, and laid him at the bottom of the boat. As

his eyes, a flask of brandy was applied to his mouth, and he soon revived. The tall man, too, It was a rather large vessel, with a gallant got in, and leaving two of his crew to help old crew of some twenty men, who had been inspect-Paul to tow the Katharine ashore, he gave the

signal to his men, and they pulled off with all their might in the direction of Lachta. Though the waves were still running high, yet, fortunately, the wind was astern; so the sharp, quick strokes of the crew soon brought the boat to the landing-place from which, a few hours before, poor Stephen had departed in such high spirits, and with such confidence in Paul's seamanship, and the ability of the Katharine to make the

passage.

4

in remembrance of this day; and when your boy Steenie' wakes up from the sound sleep into which he has fallen, tell him that he will always find a true friend in Peter Alexiowitch."

Our readers, when they learn that the above story is founded upon a plain historic fact-as they will find upon reading for themselves the Life of Peter the Great-will be grieved to hear that the noble conduct of the emperor on this occasion cost him his life. He had for a long time suffered under a chronic internal disease, which none of his court physicians could effectually combat; and in the month of November, 1724, in

As soon as the boat came to the sheltered nook where the steps of the landing-place led up from the sea, Stephen was put ashore, and, partly led partly carried, he reached the cottage of his moth-which our story is laid, he went, contrary to the er. At the sight of her son, the poor widow burst into a flood of tears, and began to give way to an agony of joy and grief. A warm bath was soon prepared for her son; and, after the application of some gentle restoratives, poor Stephen was able to sit up and to thank his kind preserver, the tall stranger, who, with two of his men behind him, just now lifted up the latch of the cottage-door, and had entered the room.

"Gracious Heaven," cried the grateful mother, "why, sir, you are in wet clothes, too! Sit down, sir, by the fire, and take of my humble fare, while I go and find some of my Steenie's clothes for you to put on, and I dry those dripping garments."

was.

The tall stranger sat down; and as the widow left the room, gave his two followers a hint not to make known to the boy or his mother who he In a few minutes the stranger had retired, and assumed a plain old dress belonging to the young man whose life he had saved, and was engaged in eating some hot bacon, which the widow had just laid upon the table before him, with many protestations of her eternal gratitude to the saviour of her son.

May the King of heaven, who never turns a deaf ear to the widow's prayer, mercifully reward you for saving my Steenie's life. It is not many a sailor, or merchant either, that would have done as you have done to-day. Heaven speed you; and may you never forget that the poor widow of Lachta is praying for you night and morning, that the Almighty may increase your store, whenever you are sailing over the stormy sea, or the lakes of Onega and Ladoga."

The tall stranger was about to rise and depart, when suddenly the door opened, and a naval officer entered, with a crowd of attendants. It was the captain and mate of the bark which Steenie and Paul had seen in the offing, and which had sent her boats to the rescue of the Katharine.

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advice of his physicians, to inspect the works on Lake Lagoda: his exposure to the wet and cold in rescuing the poor ferryman and his crew, on this stormy November day, affected him so seriously that he never recovered afterward. The emperor went home to his palace at St. Petersburg without loss of time, but his malady increased, in spite of all the remedies which the medical skill of Russia could furnish; and gradually he sank under the disease, till death put an end to his sufferings toward the close of the following January.

Such was the end of Peter I. of Russia, deservedly named "the Great;" though he was the strangest compound of contradictions, perhaps, that the world has ever seen. In him the most ludicrous undertakings were mingled with the grandest political schemes. Benevolence and humanity were as conspicuous in his character as a total disregard of human life. He was at once kind-hearted and severe, even to the extent of ferocity. Without education himself, he promoted arts, sciences, and literature. "He gave a polish," says Voltaire, "to his people, and yet he was himself a savage: he taught them the art of war, of which, however, he was ignorant himself: from the sight of a small boat on the river Moskwa he created a powerful fleet, and made himself an expert and active shipwright, sailor, pilot, and commander: he changed the manners, customs, and laws of the Russians, and lives in their memory, not merely as the founder of their empire, but as the father of his country."

Yes; the memory of Peter to this day is dear among all classes of Russians, from the noblest of the Boyards down to the meanest serf. But if among the towns and villages of his vast empire there be one in which his name is cherished with especial honor, it is that little fishing-town of Lachta; and in proof of our assertion we may

mother lived and died, is still familiarly known to every traveler in those parts as Peter's House.

My noble master, may it please your majes-add, that the cottage in which Steenie and his ty," he said, falling on one knee, "the Royal Peter has come safe, and she has towed the Katharine too into the little port of Lachta."

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MOUNTAIN STORMS.-TRAGEDY ON
THE SENTIS.

THE
THE storms experienced in mountainous coun-
tries have often a terrific grandeur seldom
witnessed by the inhabitants of lowland plains.
The flash of the lightning is more vivid, and the
report of the thunder more tremendous, owing to
closer proximity to the centre of disturbance in

steeples, houses, trees, especially solitary ones, and the masts of ships, are peculiarly liable, by exposure and elevation, to the stroke of lightning. A melancholy example occurred in the year 1832, on the top of the Sentis in Switzerland.

consequence of elevation. The repercussion of sound also, from the adjoining highlands, causes it to reverberate from rock to rock and crag to crag, while a thousand echoes repeat the intonation in distant glens and hence the peal has a longer roll than on levels where there is a com- This mountain is the highest point of the canparatively free passage through the atmosphere. ton of Appenzell. Though not directly belongGenerally the danger from lightning increases to ing to the grand range of the Alps, it rises to men at high points, though such an ascent may the height of 8200 feet above the sea, overlooks be gained as to place the individual in a per- the valley of the Upper Rhine on the east, and fectly harmless region, above the focus of explo- the lake of Constance on the north. On its sumsion, calmness, and bright sunshine being aloft mit, M. Buchwalder, a Swiss engineer, along and around, while clouds are in wild agitation, and with an assistant, passed the night of July 4, the elemental strife rages beneath. But travel- having raised a tent and established a signal for ers at considerable elevations have frequently ob- geodesical purposes. It rained abundantly toserved striking indications of electric action in ward evening, and the cold and wind became their immediate neighborhood, and found them- such that they prevented sleeping all night. At selves unawares in the very bosom of a thunder- four o'clock in the morning the mountain was cloud. Professor Forbes relates an instance covered with clouds, and some passed over their which came under his own observation in the heads; the wind also was very violent. At six Alps. He was on the track to the châlets of o'clock the rain began again, and the thunder reBreuil, at the height of 9000 feet, the atmosphere sounded in the distance. Soon the most impetbeing turbid, and some hail falling, when a curi-uous gale announced a tempest. Hail fell in ous sound was noticed, which seemed to proceed such abundance that, in a few moments, it covfrom the alpine pole with which he was walking.ered the Sentis with a frozen stratum of some He asked the guide next him what he thought it thickness. After these preliminaries, the storm was, and as the members of that fraternity have appeared calmer; but it was a silence, a repose, an answer ready for any emergency, the reply during which nature was preparing a terrible criwas coolly given, that the rustling of the pole no sis. At a quarter past eight o'clock the thunder doubt proceeded from a worm eating the wood in growled again, and, its noise approaching nearer the interior. But, holding up his hand, the fin- and nearer, was heard without interruption till gers yielded the same fizzing sound. There could ten. The engineer then went out to examine the be but one explanation-that of the party being sky, and to measure the depth of the snow at a so near a thunder-cloud as to be highly electrified few paces from the tent. Scarcely had he acby induction; and on closely observing circum-complished this, when the lightning burst forth stances, it was soon perceived that all the angular stones were hissing around like points near a powerful electrical machine. Prudence dictated the lowering of an umbrella, hoisted against the hail shower, whose gay brass point might become the paratonnerre of the travelers. Scarcely had this been done, when a clap of thunder, unaccompanied by lightning, justified the precaution. Instances are not wanting of thunder-clouds having been traversed with impunity while the fell lightning was in process of elaboration. In August, 1778, the Abbé Richard was in this position on the small mountain called Boyer, between Chalons and Tournus. Before he entered the cloud, the thunder rolled as it is wont to do. When he was enveloped in it, he heard only single claps, with intervals of silence, without roll or reverberation. After he passed above the cloud, the thunder rolled below him as before, and the lightning flashed. The sister of M. Arago wit-ger, and he fully understood it. nessed similar phenomena between the village of Estagel and Limoux; and the officers of engineers engaged in the trigonometrical survey repeatedly experienced the same occurrences on the Pyrenees. Still the risk of damage must obviously be augmented as the cause of danger is approached; and hence the fear instinctively engendered by the proximity of a thunder-cloud is founded upon intelligible principles. It is well known that objects raised above the surface in a storm, whether good or bad conductors, as church

with fury, and obliged him to take refuge in the tent, together with the assistant, who brought out some food to take his repast. Both lay down side by side on a plank. A thick cloud, dark as night, then enveloped the Sentis; the rain and hail fell in torrents; the wind blew with fury; and the near and confused lightnings seemed like a conflagration. They were in the very centre of the storm; and the lightning showed the scene in all its grandeur or in all its horror. The assistant could not free himself from a sensation of fear, and he asked if they were not running some danger. Mention was made, in order to remove his fears, that, at the time when MM. Biot and Arago were making geodesical experiments in Spain, the lightning had fallen on their tent, but had only passed over the roof without touching them. The inquiry, however, brought to the mind of M. Buchwalder the idea of dan

"At this moment," he relates, "a globe of fire appeared at the feet of my companion, and I felt my right leg struck with a violent commotion, which was an electric shock. He uttered a doleful cry: 'Ah!' I turned round to him. I saw on his face the effect of the lightning-stroke. The left side was covered with brown or reddish spots. His hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, were frizzled and burned; his lips and nostrils were of a brownish violet: his chest seemed still to heave at intervals; but soon the sound of respira

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