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to the ground without your Father; are not ye much better than they? For the very hairs of your head are all numbered.' But it is dark now, and I must make haste home. Come soon to our house and stay all night, and sleep in my little bed, and then I'll tell you ever so much more about our Father in heaven.”

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If you were only at our house, Anne, I could show you where it says, in my own little Bible, 'Leave thy fatherless children to me, I will preserve them alive;' well then, our Heavenly Father cannot forget either of us, for we have no father. Besides, our Saviour says here, in Matthew, Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing, and yet not one of them falleth

"

Poor Anne often heard all this before; but with a father on earth who supplied all her wants, what was it to her that she had a Father in heaven? But he was now resting in the cold grave-yard; no earthly friend was near, for she had neither grandparent, aunt, or cousin, and she felt very lonely. She knelt down, as was her custom, to say her evening prayer, for words repeated only with the lips is not praying; but the recollection of all Mary's conversation rushed upon her, and bursting into tears, she exclaimed:

"Our Father who art in heaven!"

Then followed a simple petition of her wants; and when she rose from her knees she felt comforted, she scarcely knew why; but, children, the great, the powerful Almighty had listened to this poor little girl's whispered prayer, and had sent his Holy Spirit into her heart" the Comforter," as the blessed Saviour called Him-and she was comforted.

She soon went to live with Mrs. Stevenson, who, with her own children, taught her daily more and more of her Father in heaven; and, as she continues to reverence his commandments, to be desirous, by her dutiful conduct, to preserve His love, and in all her sinfulness and trials to pray to Him for grace to preserve her in the right way, she lives in the daily hope of one day meeting her earthly parents in the presence of her "Father in

*

The little girl lay a long time silent. At last she said despondingly:"When you go home to-night, Mary, and go to bed, you will have a kind mother to come and kiss you, seeing that you are safe and warm; but I shall have no one," --and her tears burst out afresh.

"But, dear Anne, my mother will shut her eyes and go to sleep too, and then who would watch over us if we had not a Fa-heaven." ther in heaven who never slumbers nor sleeps,' the Bible says?"

"God has a great many little children to watch over," said Anne, doubtfully; "how can I be certain that he will remember me?"

HOW TO DRESS WELL.
Dr. Johnson,
speaking of a lady who was celebrated for
dressing well, remarked-"The best evi-
dence that I can give you of her perfection
in this respect is, that one can never re
member what she had on." Delicacy of
feeling in a lady will prevent her putting
on anything calculated to attract notice;
and yet a female of good taste will dress
so as to have every part of her dress cor-
respond. Thus while she avoids what is
showy and attractive, everything will be
adjusted so as to exhibit symmetry and
taste.

IZVOSCHICK AND THE EMPEROR'S
CLOAK.

under which was simply the uniform of a
general officer, deposited it with the
izvoschick, to the great surprise of some

THE Emperor of Russia, having re- persons who happened to be passing, and

|

on his daily visit to his daughter the Grand
Duchess Maria-Nicolaivena, the Duchess
of Leuchtenberg, having no carriage with
him, and being desirous of returning
quickly to the palace, most probably having
an appointment for a stated time, as he is
known to be the very essence of punc-
tuality, took a street sledge. On arriving,
the Emperor left the sledge, and was about
to enter the palace, when the izvoschick,*
not knowing His Majesty, who had returned
to St. Petersburg only on the preceding
day, after an absence of some weeks, taking
off his monstrous cap with both hands,
reminded him that he had not paid the
fare. Good, good," said His Majesty,
"I will send you the money." "Ah,
baron," (pronounced bahrin, and is a term
of respect used by the lower classes in ad-
dressing their superiors,) said the poor
izvoschick, looking at the palace, "this is
a very large building, and has a great
many ways out; your nobleness might
make a mistake and leave by another door,
or the person you might send with the
money might not know at which door I am,
and might make a mistake; but if, baron,
your nobleness would leave your cloak
with me and take my plate,† we shall both
be safe." 66 "What!" said His Majesty," do
you imagine that an officer driving to the
palace of the emperor would rob you of
your fare, which cannot exceed a greeve-
nick, (about ten cents,) or at most a p'ye-
taltine, (about twelve cents)?" 'Ah, baron,
forgive me," replied the man," your noble-
ness is not an izvoschick. You do not
know what we do. It is precisely at the
palace of the emperor, at the theaters, at
the tribunals and great houses, that we are
robbed." His Majesty threw off his cloak,

had elapsed, when an aide-de-camp pre-
sented himself for the purpose of redeem-
ing the cloak; telling the izvoschick that
he had driven the emperor, who had sent
him a ten double note, (about $8,) which
His Majesty hoped would make up for any
sums of which he had been robbed by
officers or others, and desired he would
wait there until he was sent for. The poor
fellow was alarmed; he took off his cap
with both hands, as usual, fell upon his
knees, burst into tears, and crossing him-
self-" Gospodi pometa, (Lord, have mercy
upon me ;) Gospodi boja moi, (Holy God!
what have I done? what will become of
me ?) Boja moi! Boja moi! (No, no,
no, I will take no money, I will take no
money; pray let me go, oh baron, pray
let me go;") saying which he jumped on
his sledge, and flogging his horse, drove
off at full speed, leaving the money in the
hands of the officer, who was too much
surprised to stop him or have him stopped.
An order was given for the man to be
found and conducted to the palace, which
was immediately done, as His Majesty
always has persons near enough to him
when he goes out to mark anything that
transpires. The poor fellow was
more alarmed than before. He had not
only detained the emperor's cloak, but by
running away, had acted direct opposi-
tion to His Majesty's commands; and the
least he expected was to receive some
hundred pair of rods, and be put into the
army. What, then, was his surprise at
being received with kindness, and told not
to be alarmed, but to look upon the emperor
as his best friend, whose great happiness
and desire was to improve the condition
of those whose position placed them at
the mercy of evil-disposed persons. The
emperor then gave him a bank-note for
twenty silver roubles, (about $16,) and
dismissed him.

now

66

Izvoschick, the driver of a public carriage. During the winter hundreds of the peasantry, not being able to occupy themselves in the country, proceed to St. Petersburg with a sledge of their own manufacture, and one, two, or more horses, where they become izvoschicks, and in the spring return to their homes, frequently having realized considerable sums.

Every izvoschick wears suspended from the collar of his coat behind a tin plate, on which is his number, and for which he pays a certain sum annually. The shape of the plate is changed every year, that the tax may not be

evaded.

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CONCIERGERIE:

THE TWO PRISONERS OF THE to her garments. Vainly she strove to arrange them to the best advantage ere she quitted her cell. The daughter and the wife of kings must drink the cup of bitterness to its very dregs! When she reached the door of the prison, the first object on which her eye rested was the cart which was to convey her, and some of her fellow-prisoners, to the scaffold. A shudder convulsed her frame. Her husband had at least been allowed the favor of a covered carriage to convey him to the place of execution; but no such privilege was in store for her. She must go forth to meet her doom exposed to the gaze of the multitude in a common open cart, thronged with victims!

OR, OCTOBER 16TH, 1793, And october 16TH, 1852.

IT

was a chill autumn morning-a gray fog brooded over the city, and a gloom rested on the people of Paris. A few faint rays of sunshine struggled through the mist and rested on the roof of the Louvre, and the time-honored towers of Notre Dame. The streets were thronged with people; crowds stood as if in anxious expectation of some great event,-in front of the Palais de Justice, on the steps of the Church of St. Roche, and on the Place de la Revolution, (now the Place de la Concorde.)

And yet it might easily be perceived that it was no festal scene which drew the people from their houses on the 16th of October, 1793. Here and there, it is true, a countenance might be discovered which betrayed marks of sorrow; but those of the great majority wore an aspect either of idle curiosity, cold scorn, or bitter hatred and malignity.

On that day Marie Antoinette was to be led forth to the scaffold. Separated from her children, and from all who were dear to her on earth, she had for some time past dragged out a miserable existence in a gloomy cell of the Conciergerie, the prison belonging to the old Palais de Justice, on the banks of the Seine. This palace, once the abode of the kings of France-the spot whence St. Louis, surrounded by the flower of European chivalry, set forth for the wars of the crusades -this palace it was whose vaults were doomed to be the living grave of a queen of France-a queen whose sorrows and untimely fate have almost caused the world to forget her follies and her faults.

At an early hour of the morning her summons came; the night had been chiefly spent in writing to her children and to the Princess Elizabeth. Exhausted nature at length claimed a few moments for repose; but very brief had been the slumbers of the broken-hearted victim, when her jailer came to announce to her that everything was prepared for her departure. She was not even allowed the petty consolation of appearing in decent attire before the nation who had once beheld her in all the pomp and splendor of royalty. The damp of the dungeon and long-continued wear, had imparted a soiled and tattered aspect

Slowly and reluctantly she entered, and the cart drove off. After so many months spent in solitude and gloom, the cheerful light of day had no charms for the royal captive; and the sight of the throng of human beings by whom she was surrounded, completely overpowered her. Her exhausted frame was but ill able to bear the joltings of the cart as it passed onward over the rough stones. Vainly she strove to balance herself by grasping the side of the vehicle; alas! her hands were bound, and on she went that long and dreary way, suffering in body and crushed in spirit, while many an insulting jeer fell upon her ear, as she rocked from side to side; and not one in that vast human throng dared to cry, "God bless her!"

And yet, even then, in this her hour of misery, the fallen queen was not utterly deserted. It was remarked by many among the multitude that, as she drove up the Rue St. Honoré, her eye seemed to wander from house to house; they attributed this to her levity of character, which, even in that awful moment, was attracted by objects of passing interest. But gay and thoughtless as Marie Antoinette had once been, the anxieties which at this moment filled her heart were of no idle cast. She had refused to receive the last sacraments of her Church from the hands of the revolutionary priests, who were alone admitted to the prisons; and secret intelligence had been conveyed to her, on the evening preceding her execution, that one of the non-juring priests, concealed in a house of the Rue St. Honoré, would pronounce absolution over her as she passed on her way to the scaffold. Long did her eye wander from house to house in fruit

less search for the appointed sign at last, she discovered it over the door of an obscure dwelling-house. A passing ray of joy lighted up for a moment the pallid features of the fallen queen, and she bowed her head as she passed to receive the sacrament, which was thus alone accessible to her. Soon the Place de la Revolution was reached that scene of terror and of crime. As the queen approached the scaffold, close to the very gate of the Tuileries, she glanced for a moment toward that spot where she had once dwelt in royal splendor. How many visions of the past may not have crowded through her mind during that brief, sad moment !— visions of the day when she came to that palace, years before, a gay and lovely bride, and during the festivities attendant on her marriage, hundreds were crushed to death on that very Place !-visions of the days of thoughtless levity which followed, when the love of pleasure and admiration alone filled her heart!—visions of a time of better and purer joy, when a mother's love first stirred within her, and with a thrill of delight she had pressed her first-born to her heart!-visions, too, of the hour when the first muttering of the gathering storm reached her ear!

Once more

It inaugurated the empire! was a Prisoner of the Conciergerie the hero of the day. Amid the crash of falling dynasties and all the vicissitudes of time, those old gray towers had stood unchanged on the banks of the smiling Seine.

On many a sad heart had the gates of the Conciergerie closed since the day when Marie Antoinette left it for the scaffold; but few more daring spirits were ever confined within those gloomy precincts than Louis Napoleon, nephew of the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. After his landing at Boulogne, and the failure of that rash and premature attempt, the son of Hortense was confined in the ancient prison of the Palais de Justice, previous to his removal to the Fortress of Ham.

The game seemed utterly lost, and even the most daring and hopeful heart might well have despaired of success. But years rolled on; the prisoner escaped, bided his time; and when France, weary of anarchy and confusion, yearned for order and security, his firm hand grasped the reins of power, and on the 16th of October, 1852, the Prisoner of the Conciergerie entered Paris as the Emperor Elect of the French nation.

No fog obscured the sun of Austerlitz on this memorable day-the day which sealed the doom of France, at least during this present phase of her destinies. The air was clear and bright, and all Paris was astir; people were hurrying to and fro on the boulevards in busy preparation; shopboys looking anxiously at the clock, watch

All this, and much more,-thoughts of the children she was leaving behind her in pitiless hands and evil days-of the hour of anguish which now awaited her-and the awful future upon which she was about to enter. All this might, and probably did, pass through the mind of the unhappy queen, as she gazed for the lasting for the hour of twelve, which seemed time on the Tuileries-for the first time to them "long-a-coming," for then the on the guillotine! Brief, however, was shop was to be closed and the rest of the the space afforded her for meditation: hur- day devoted to festivity; workmen were ried by the executioner from the cart to the giving the finishing touch to triumphal scaffold, the sharp ax swiftly executed its arches; hawkers vending by thousands bloody task, and the Veuve Capet was pro- small gilt medals with the effigy of Louis claimed to be no more! Other victims Napoleon stamped on one side, and on the followed-the crowd gazed till they were other the imperial eagle, with the inscripsatiated with the sight of blood-and then tion, "La Ville de Paris, à Louis Napothey dispersed, each man to his home, and leon, Empereur;" while others were crying thus ended the 16th October, 1793! themselves hoarse, offering for sale flying sheets headed, "Vive l'Empereur! c'est le vœu de la France!" "Programme des Fêtes et Cérémonies qui vont avoir lieu dans Paris, le Samedi, 16 Octobre," &c., and all these valuable documents were to be acquired at the reasonable rate of five centimes a-piece.

A few quiet citizens walked about in amazement, scarcely seeming well assured

Sixty years had well nigh sped their changing course; anarchy had been succeeded by despotism; legitimacy, restored for a brief space, had yielded up the scepter it swayed with a feeble hand; constitutional monarchy had been tried and failed; organized republicanism, too, had had its day; and then another memorable 16th of October dawned on France.

whether the whole was not a dream; and one might be heard greeting another beneath the shadow of Napoleon's column on the Place Vendome, with the halfinquiring exclamation, "Eh bien, voilà I Empire!

presented by the sight of those one hundred and fifty thousand armed men, crowds of gayly dressed women, peasants from the country, all pouring along like a resistless, living tide for five whole hours, without intermission. When the prince had passed, and men no longer stood on the tip-toe of expectation," some of the sharers in the pageant seemed suddenly to remember that it was a long time since they had had their breakfast; and a young national guardsman might be seen quitting the lines, and cutting a loaf in pieces with his sword; while, on the point of the same serviceable weapon, he gallantly handed the several slices to some of the fair damsels of Montrouge, who had borne their part in the procession, and now stood, radiant with smiles and nosegays, beneath the triumphal arch. The merry peals of laughter which this act of civility elicited had scarcely subsided, when a fresh incident attracted the attention of the crowd. As a cuirassier was galloping along, his horse slipped on the smooth pavement of a crossing, and he fell to the ground with some violence. One of the pretty cantinières, or filles du regiment, dressed in picturesque military attire, immediately stepped forward, and assisted the fallen man to rise, at the same time offering him a draught from the cantee which hung gracefully by her sid Grayety and good humor served to end a charm to every passing incident, and an atmosphere of joyous hilarity pervaded all around. Meanwhile, the prince and his brilliant staff passed on their way through the gazing throngs, till they reached the Place de la Concorde.

But now the hour of noon has struck. Louis Napoleon is to arrive at the railway" station at two, and it is high time the procession should begin to form. On they pour—that vast human tide-hemmed in by the double file of soldiers which lined the boulevards throughout their whole extent.

Deputations from the neighboring communes, each bearing some gay flag, with a laudatory device; portly dames de la halle, with huge nosegays in their hands; spruce-looking demoiselles from divers marchés and halles, all dressed in white muslin and decked with violets; school children, led by priests and waving triumphantly their little tri-colored flags, while they shouted most lustily "Vive l'Empereur," and doubtless with them it was a hearty cry, for to him they were indebted for a holiday! Next came a venerable band, dressed in motley garbthe relics of the Vieille Garde and of the Grande Armée. As they passed onward with failing steps, in the varied uniforms of by-gone days, many a one with a wooden leg or broken arm, every heart warmed to the brave old men, and many a hearty cheer greeted them on their way. One of the aged men, who bore the banner, waved it three times solemnly over the heads of the younger soldiery who stood by his side, as though he would fain consecrate them to the service of his master's nephew.

Squadron after squadron of cavalry now dashed onward through the streets, their helmets glittering in the noon-day sun; while every now and then the measured tread of infantry again fell upon the ear.

No blood-stained guillotine now defaced that spacious area; sparkling fountains played on the very spot where once the blood of royalty had flowed, as though they would fain efface the foul stain which had erstwhile marked their site.

Did recollections of the deeds of violence which this Place de la Revolution had witnessed sixty years before, cast their shadow over the heart of the new potentate as he entered the gates of the palace, where

And now, heads are seen outstretched in anxious expectation; cries-not loud, it must be owned-of "Vive l'Empereur" are borne upon the breeze; a brilliant group appears in the distance, and, foremost of them all, his usually impassive counte-Marie Antoinette had once dwelt in royal nance kindling with triumph, rode Louis splendor? Did a conviction of the illusive Napoleon. Gracefully he bowed with un- nature of all this triumphal pomp flash covered head as he passed onward among across his mind, when, in answer to one of the crowd, his beautiful Arabian bearing his attendants, who expressed a hope that itself as though it shared in its master's his imperial highness had been satisfied triumph. It was a gorgeous pageant, that with his reception, he replied: "Beaucoup

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