Whatever surprise Suworoff had felt on learning the disasters of the allies, no less was experienced by Moreau, when he was informed of the rapid and victorious march of the Russian general. Prince Bagration, as usual, commanded the advanced guard. General Auffemberg led a small column, which was the first to reach Clonthalersee, where the French had obtained a strong position. Auffemberg having been misinformed on this head, was surrounded, and summoned to surrender. So far from acceding to their demand, he defended himself with admirable resolution, and gave time to Bagration to come up to his assistance. The French were then attacked in their turn with fixed bayonets, their ranks broken, and put to the rout. A strong line of the enemy yet retained some advantageous heights; and though our gallant prince was again wounded, he saw that it would be difficult for the remainder of the allied army, which had now arrived, to march in safety under their fire; and therefore, during the night, he made a sudden and desperate attack upon them; drove them from their posi. tions ; seized their cannon ; and pursued them to the environs of Naefels. This exploit gave the Russians entire possession of the road from Schweitz to Glarus.

Suworoff was prosecuting his victorious march, when he was confounded by the arrival of orders from St. Petersburgh, that he and the army under his command should immediately return home. It is not necessary to enter here into the detail of the follies which impelled the Emperour Paul to this absurd measure. The retreat of the Russians alarmed Europe ; and exposed to view dissensions which had long been anticipated by the best informed politicians

Bagration and his veteran friend now bade a long, and perhaps an eternal adieu to Switzerland. The prince beheld the glorious issue of their Alpine career, thus prematurely cut off, with the deepest regret, and the most painful reflections. He looked at Suworoff, and a strange foreboding seemed to announce a melancholy termination of so bright a track. He beheld this redoubted warriour, even in the midst of victory, bending under the weight of years. He was sixty-nine years of age when he raised his invincible standard on the summit of St. Gothard. He had fought the Prussians, the Poles, the Turks, and the Tartars. He had carried conquest from the shores of the Baltick, to the Black and the Caspian seas. Nothing was wanting to complete his resplendent career but to become a scourge to the monsters of regicide ; and this had happened! The man who had in the north of Asia, conquered barbarians, came to the south of Europe to vanquish still more savage men, who boasted of having arrived at the highest pitch of civil perfection. He who had carried his battalions to the remote countries 'which the Romans could not penetrate, also conducted them into the very seat of that august empire. He who had surveyed the horrours of Caucasus, came to clime the precipitous St. Gothard, and lay all its horrours at his feet. The same man who had acquired renown in triumphing over nations which opposed to him courage without science, supported a prouder name in fighting against enemies, who added to bravery science, and to science genius. The same man who had reduced Schains Ghiroy, Khau of Tatary, to the rank of a private individual, nay, more, who had dethroned Stanislaus, king of Poland, went to Italy to restore its dominions to its lawful sovereigns! So extraordinary a destiny, so wide in its aims, so inconsistent in its pursuits, though all meeting in the point of military glory, absorbed the meditations of Bagration, and pos. sessed his thoughts till he reentered St. Petersburgh.

The reception of Marshal Suworoff was unworthy of his merits. Paul had lost his sense of real worth, and, with a mad ingratitude, he frowned upon the conqueror for Russia, the great Rymnikski. Suworoff bore his undeserved disgrace like a hero. His father, the godson of Peter the First, had bequeathed him a large property, which the munificence of the empress Catharine had augmented to immense riches: to this estate he retired. He had survived his good fortune, the favour of his sovereign, and the smiles of his friends. All fled the now įll-treated Suworoff but his grateful Bagration. That prince revered him 'more under this unmerited cloud, than when he was blazing in the meridian splendour of court hunours, and national popularity. Disappointment and ingratitude conquered the van quisher of hosts, and the disposer of kingdoms. In the year 1801 his valiant heart sunk a prey to his fate. He died, and left Europe to mourn his loss,

The death of his master in arms answered the melancholy foreboding's of the gallant Bagration, and ruck deep to his heart. The horrible tyranny of the execrable Paul so ill agreed with his noble spirit, that he withdrew himself to his palace at Moscow, and there passed his time in studying plans of future heroism and renown. The prince was not a hermit in his seclusion, He had a circle around him of noble warriours like himself; and in their society, embellished with the occasional presence of the most lovely and illustrious of the fair sex in that august capital, he beguiled the tedious months ; till the death of Paul relieved his country from a monster, and placed an amiable and brave monarch on the imperial throne.

When Alexander took the field against the French, Prince Bagration followed his standard; and in the various conflicts preceding the fatal battles of Austerlitz and Friedland, distinguished himself by extraordinary instances of promptitude and enterprise. Like Coriolanus, he could bare his breast, and show how many scars he had received for his country.

On his return to Russia, after one of these hard fought fields, wherein he had two horses shot under him, and rescued the flower of another general's division, at the hazard of his life ; when all hearts were drawn towards him by the disinterested patiotism of the action; a magnificent ene tertainment was prepared by the nobility of Moscow, to greet his arrival. lle was received into a superb saloon, illuminated by ten thousand lamps, and blazing with all the beauty of that immense and imperial city. At the further end of the room, amidst a grove of laurel trees, stood a colossal sta. que of the great Suworoff. On its pedestal was engraved this inscription :

The immortal Suworoff!
A crown of laurel is dedicated from the same grove,

Prince Peter Ivonitch Bagration,


His grateful countrymen. At the moment he approached, an ode, such as was used to celebrate the Olympick victors, burst from the bosom of the grove :

[.A prose translation of this Ode, from the original Russian Poetry]
Friendship unites, and brings us liere; Joy enraptures each heart;
Truth herself proclaims that Bagration dedicates himself to the empire ;
Superiour to ambition, glory is bis aim;
He loves our monarch, and he defends our country;
Despising envy and detraction, he alone is the instrument of great acts and
of justice

Entwine for him a crown from the hero's grove,
por þe truly deserves that sacred laurel!

Fortune was not his auxiliary; Bagration's well earned honours
Were won with toil, and steeped in his flowing blood.
The fame of Russia he gemmed not with trivial acquisitions,
But emblazoned by the greatness of his victories.
If disaster clouded the brightness of our arins, lie appeared
And the gloom dispelled ; courage revived,
And the shouts of triumph rang through the battalions.
The hosts of an enemy never dismayed his soul;-
His strength was in his heart, and with a chosen few
lle vanquished thousands.

Entwine for him a crown from the hero's grove,
For he truly deserves that sacred laurel !
A hero devotes his life to his country, is satisfied with the gratitude of her

He disdains all other recompense;
Its success is his reward, its honour his glory,
He despises the luxuries of indolence, as he abhors the pleasures of vice.
He lives but in his country, and his life is immortal ;
For those who build an eternal name on acts of patriotism and valour,
Die not-they live for ever!

Entwine for him a crown from the hero's grove,

For he truly deserves that sacred laurel ! While this air was sung, the emotions of the prince were very visibles and when it was finished, unable to restrain them any longer, in a transport of enthusiastick remembrance, he rushed towards the statue of the deceased Suworoff, and most ardently embracing it, exclaimed : “ To thee do I owe all !"

This action drew bursts of admiration from the warriours that were present; and the women wept tears of delight to see such amiable sensibility in so brave a bosom.

This prince is as accomplished as he is valiant; and unites with a graceful person, a countenance of the most heroick cast. His complexion bears the marks of many climates ; but his eyes are bright and piercing. His nose is aquiline ; and his mouth expresses all the sweetness and affability of his nature. His deportment is modest, dignified, and engaging. Such a man is the Prince Bagration, the “ Power of Russian chivalry," the admiration of his enemies, and the friend of all good and great men of every nation.

After the fall of Dantzick, he saw the olive withering, which bound Russia to the English empire. It burst asunder, and the brand of war was lighted. His troops were again assembled; but not to retread the plains of Italy, nor to reascend the steeps of the Alps. He changed the march of his brave followers, to meet a respected foe on the plains of Finland ; and there, under Russian colours, contend with the enemies of France, with the late friends of Russia! Mysterious policy of courts ! amazing versatility of cabi. Dets, whither will yé lead us! The Prince Bagration, the conqueror of Britain's foes, is now in arms against her on the shores of Bothnia. When virtue so meets, then may hostility die; and there may peace again mingle the olive with his laurel; once more may it bind the united hands of tho two greatest empires in the world, England and Russia !

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“ Let me breathe now a little, and ponder
[An excellent new song to a tune never On what it were better to do:
sung before.)

That terrible lane, I see yonder,
I SING of a journey to Clifton*

I think we shall never get through."
We would have performed, if we could;
Without cart or barrow, to lift on

“ So think I :
Poor Mary,ť and me, through the mud. But by the by,
Sle, Sla, Slud,

We never shall know, if we never should
Stuck in the mud ;

O it is pretty to wade through a flood !
So away we went slipping, and sliding,

But, should we get there, how shall we
Hop, hop, a la mode de deur frogs:

get home; 'Tis near as good walking as riding,

What a terrible deal of bad road we have When ladies are dressed in their clogs.

past !
Wheels no doubt,

Slipping, and sliding; and if we should
Go briskly about,
But they clatter, and rattle, and make To a difficult stile, I am ruined at last !
such a rout.

Oh this lane!

Now it is plain,
That struggling, and striving, is labour

in vain.”
“Well! now, I protest it is charming ;

How finely the weather improves !
That cloud, though, is rather alarming,

“ Stick fast there, while I go and look.” How slowly and stately it moves.”

“ Don't go away, for fear I should fall :”
“ Pshaw! never mind,

“ I have examined it every nook,
'Tis not in the wind :
We are travelling south, and shall leave

And what you have here, is a sample of

all. it behind."

Come wheel round;

The dirt we have found “ I am glad we are come for an airing ; Would be an estate, at a farthing a pound.”

For folks may be pounded and penn'd, Now sister Annet the guitar you must take, Until they grow rusty, not caring

Set it, and sing it, and make it a song : To stir half a mile to an end."

I have varied the verse, for variety's sake,

And cut it offshort-because it was long“ The longer we stay,

"Tis hobbling, and lame, The longer we may;

Which criticks won't blame; It's a folly to think about weather or For the sense, and the sound, they say, way.”

should be the same.







* A village near Olney.

† Mrs. Unwin.

The late lady Austin.

APPOINTMENT DISAPPOINTED! Soup, turkey, beef, by turns were serv'd, or,

Mein Herr declined each one:
VOX SCHLEMMER, AND “POT LUCK.” Fowls, turtle, sauce, they followed next,

Von Schlemmer tasted none.
An Englishman invited once
A German friend to dine

His host at length, by kindness urged, On plain pot luck,-for such his phrase Press'd him to taste some duck:

And drink some good port wine. “ Achnein!” with groans Von Schlemmer Mein Herr repaired at proper time

said, With stomach for the treat:

“ I vait for de Por Luck!" The viands on the table placed,

QUIZ. Von Schlemmer took his seat.


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