his palace-garden with his own hand; and he did do it-for I see him with my own eyes. He wanted to ask me so much about our schools and rail-roads, and one thing or another, that he invited me to come again, and see his daughters: for he said his wife could speak better English than he could. So I went again yesterday; and she's a fine, knowing woman, I tell you; and his daughters are nice gals." 8. What did the empress say to you? 66 Oh, she asked me a sight o' questions. Don't you think, she thought we had no servants in Ameriky! I told her poor folks did their own work, but rich folks had plenty of servants. 'But then you don't call 'em servants,' said she; 'you call 'em help.' I guess, ma'am, you've been reading Mrs. Trollope? says I. We had that 'ere book aboard our ship. The emperor clapped his hands, and laughed as if he'd kill himself. 'You're right, sir,' said he; 'you're right. We sent for an English copy, and she's been reading it this very morning!' 9. "Then I told him all I knew about our country, and he was mightily pleased. He wanted to know how long I expected to stay in these parts. I told him I'd sold all the notions I brought over, and I guessed I should go back in the same ship. I bid 'em good-bye, all round, and went about my business. And I have had a glorious time! I expect you did n't calculate to see me run such a rig?" 10. No, indeed, I did not, my lad. You may well consider yourself lucky; for it's a very uncommon thing for crowned heads to treat a stranger with so much distinction. 11. A few days after, he called again, and said, “Ig guess I shall stay here a while longer, I'm treated so well. T'other day a grand officer come to my room, and told me the emperor had sent him to show me all the curiosities; and I dressed myself, and he took me with him in a mighty fine carriage, with four horses; and I've been to the theatre and the museum; and I expect I've seen about all there is to be seen in St. Petersburg. What do you think of that, Mr. Dallas ?" 12. It seemed so incredible that a poor, ungainly Yankee lad should be thus loaded with attentions, that the ambassador scarcely knew what to think or say. 13. In a short time, his strange visitor reäppeared. "Well," said he, "I made up my mind to go home; so I went to thank the emperor, and bid him good-bye. I thought I could n't do no less, he'd been so civil. Says he, 'Is there anything else you'd like to see before you go back to America?' I told him I should like to get a peep at Moscow; for I'd heard considerable about their setting fire to the Kremlin, and I'd read a deal about General Bonaparte; but it would cost a sight o' money to go there, and I wanted to carry my earnings to mother. So I bid him good-bye, and come off. 14. " Now, what do you guess he did? Next morning very early, he sent the same man, in regimentals, to carry me to Moscow in one of his own carriages, and bring me back again, when I've seen all I want to see! And we're going to-morrow morning, Mr. Dallas. What do you think now?" 15. And, sure enough, the next morning the Yankee boy passed the ambassador's house in a splendid coach and four, waving his handkerchief, and shouting "Good-bye! Goodbye!" 16. Mr. Dallas afterwards learned from the emperor that all the particulars related by this adventurous youth were strictly true. He again heard from him at Moscow, waited upon by the public officers, and treated with as much attention as is usually bestowed on ambassadors. The last tidings of him reported that he was travelling in Circassia, and writing a journal, which he intended to publish. Now, who but a Yankee could have done all that? CHAPTER LXVIII. LUCY HOOPER.* THEY tell me, Lucy, thou art dead That all of thee we loved and cherished, An ashen memory in its stead· Where fading light is cold and vain No! Even my weak and trembling faith Can lift for thee the veil which doubt And human fear have drawn about The all-awaiting scene of death. *Died in Brooklyn, L. I., on the 1st of 8th mo., 1841, aged 24 years. 'Midst lapse of waters, and the tone Of pine leaves by the west wind blown ; Of all we knew and loved in thee- Baptized in immortality! Not mine the sad and freezing dream Of slumbering in oblivion's rest, Sparks scattered from the central light, Not others, but themselves are they. They 've laid thee 'midst the household graves, And blessed and hallowed with her prayer Farewell! a little time, and we Who knew thee well, and loved thee here, One after one shall follow thee As pilgrims through the gate of fear, Which opens on eternity. Yet shall we cherish not the less All that is left our hearts meanwhile; The memory of thy loveliness Shall round our weary pathway smile, Like moonlight when the sun has setA sweet and tender radiance yet. Thoughts of thy clear-eyed sense of dutyThy generous scorn of all things wrongThe truth, the strength, the graceful beauty, Which blended in thy song. All lovely things by thee beloved Shall whisper to our hearts of thee; These green hills, where thy childhood roved Yon river winding to the sea, The sunset light of autumn eves Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves These, in our view, shall henceforth take A tenderer meaning for thy sake; Seem sacred to thy memory. |