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THE ENTHUSIAST. A TALE OF THE POLISH WARS.

Ma

THE ruinous but beautiful castle of I-, in Podolia, once the scene of contest and bloodshed, of jubilee and revelry, and likewise of words and acts of self-devoted patriotism well worthy to be recorded, though I do not mean to attempt that task here, was some time since inhabited by a widow and her children alone. dame Czialenski was French by birth; General Czialenski, when sojourning in Burgundy, had been so arrested by her charms at the age of fifteen, when she trudged weekly past his dwelling to take to market the produce of her father's garden, that he transformed her from the toiling and carolling. country girl into the sharer of his rank and possessions. He partook, in a large degree, of the self-devoted enthusiasm for pure and genuine liberty which distinguished so many of his countrymen; therefore, when he VOL. 1. (18.)

returned with madame to his castle, he was a little mortified to find in her no helpmate to his visions of national deliverance and prosperity. Let it not be inferred that she opposed them : she was exceedingly fond of her husband, and an exceeding good housekeeper, and thereto were all her energies bounded; she had no notion of being the heroine of a siege, or of casting away substantial comforts in order to struggle for a national independence, which seemed to her a phantom quite immaterial whether secured or not. Much attached to the general, she was yet more attached to a comfortable home; so, whenever he was on warlike expediditions, she confined herself to matters in the castle more congenial to her taste. In a few years, however, he died, leaving her a son and daughter, to whose care, and to that of her little household, she devoted herself with much assiduity. Of course their personal care is all that is here meant ;

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spicable as that of the Alguazil and the Escribano?-was at first unsuccessful; but at length they discovered in a closet, in a corner obscurely lighted and well suited to the purposes of concealment, an unfinished piece of embroidery, in the form of a pennon or standard, and bearing those three odious colours under which freedom had so recently triumphed in France. This emblem of emancipation was greedily dragged from its hiding-place by the eager justicia. Its being found in her apartment was sufficient to stamp her as a traitor to her king and country; and the helpless Donna Maria was hurried to prison, and there placed in rigorous confinement.

Convinced of the hopelessness of pardon, she is said to have looked forward to death with quiet fortitude. On the evening before the fatal day which was to conduct her to an ignominious execution, she wrote letters to her dearest relatives and friends, exhorting them to bear the misfortune which assailed them with the same energy which she herself felt. This duty occupied her till a late hour of the night, when she laid down and slept tranquilly till the morning. When she rose, she made her toilette with more than usual care, arranging her hair with her own hands, and adjusting her attire as deliberately as if she were not going forth to death, but to some scene of holiday enjoyment. I do not know how she received the exhortations of the priesthood, who in Spain are always at hand to console the last moments of the criminal; but as religion is deeply implanted in the heart of the Spanish woman, and, in forms, at least, exerts a strange influence over the most profligate of her sex, it is probable some of the last hours of one whose reputation was so spotless were devoted to holy exercise. When the fatal hour of mid-day was tolled from the tower of the cathedral, she was taken out of the prison, placed upon an ass, as is the custom of the country, and being surrounded by a strong force of foot soldiers and cavalry, was slowly conducted through the silent and awe-stricken crowd to the fatal place, the great square of Elvira.

All eyes were directed to the centre of the square, where a wooden plat

form had been raised, upon which Donna Maria was seated; her dark brown hair was smoothly divided over her pale forehead, and I fancied I could discern, even at the long distance which separated us, the traces of that beauty which I had heard so much praised. A friar of the order of mercy, in white flannel robes, with a girdle of rope, a long rosary, and having the crown of his head shaven, was seen holding up a cross before her, upon which was nailed the image of the suffering Saviour. Disposed in a hollow square round the platform, to cut off the hope of rescue or escape, a company of foot soldiers were posted with fixed bayonets; without them was a troop of cavalry, their drawn sabres and steel caps glittering in the sun. I had scarcely passed some two or three minutes in looking round, upon this gloomy scene, when a man vulgarly dressed was seen to ascend the platform. It was undoubtedly the executioner. A sensation of heartsick misery came over me; for an instant, indeed, the thought flashed upon me that if a thousand, nay, but a hundred, resolute arms could be raised for the rescue, that unfortunate woman might live. But where were they? She had but a few fast fleeting moments left, and her death was as certain as the course of yonder sun towards the mountains of Loxa. I turned sadly away, and left the square of Elvira without daring to look back. Very soon after Donna Maria expired, adding another name to the bloody record of the victims of absolutism.

COMMON-PLACES.

EDUCATION has upon the natural mind the same transforming effect that culture has upon the wild rose. In the latter case, nothing new is added, but the leaves are so multiplied and the colour so deepened that the improvement looks like a new creation.

It is not well to have many enemies, but it is worse, far worse to have many friends. A useless friend is a millstone about one's neck. Next to one's self, one's worst enemy is an intimate friend.

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THE ENTHUSIAST. A TALE OF THE POLISH WARS.

Ma

THE ruinous but beautiful castle of I——, in Podolia, once the scene of contest and bloodshed, of jubilee and revelry, and likewise of words and acts of self-devoted patriotism well worthy to be recorded, though I do not mean to attempt that task here, was some time since inhabited by a widow and her children alone. dame Czialenski was French by birth; General Czialenski, when sojourning in Burgundy, had been so arrested by her charms at the age of fifteen, when she trudged weekly past his dwelling to take to market the produce of her father's garden, that he transformed her from the toiling and carolling country girl into the sharer of his rank and possessions. He partook, in a large degree, of the self-devoted enthusiasm for pure and genuine liberty which distinguished so many of his countrymen; therefore, when he VOL. 1. (18.)

returned with madame to his castle, he was a little mortified to find in her no helpmate to his visions of national deliverance and prosperity. Let it not be inferred that she opposed them : she was exceedingly fond of her husband, and an exceeding good housekeeper, and thereto were all her energies bounded; she had no notion of being the heroine of a siege, or of casting away substantial comforts in order to struggle for a national independence, which seemed to her a phantom quite immaterial whether secured or not. Much attached to the general, she was yet more attached to a comfortable home; so, whenever he was on warlike expediditions, she confined herself to matters in the castle more congenial to her taste. In a few years, however, he died, leaving her a son and daughter, to whose care, and to that of her little household, she devoted herself with much assiduity. Of course their personal care is all that is here meant ;

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as to forming their principles, or directing their feelings, her own intellect did not enable her to fulfil such a task. Ephene Czialenski had arrived at the age of sixteen, her brother Stanislaus being four years younger, with out any other knowledge of the world than books could give her; consequently with very incorrect ideas of it. The history of her own country, legends, romances, and poetry, were her treasure; but especially her heart kindled over the virtues, the sufferings, the gallantry, and the achievements of her oppressed countrymen. Her mother never interfered with her reading, and there was in the library a congregation of such records, which had been hoarded in it for centuries, and never opened till Ephene's avidity explored them. Her feelings were all confined to her own bosom; she had frequently attempted to converse on her favourite topics to madame, but her glowing imagination was always opposed by a chilling sarcasm, or a matter-of-fact apathy, which soon silenced her; and those undisciplined wanderings of unappropriated sensibility, which might have been elicited and tutored by conversation, were left to find food for them selves, or to prey upon themselves, as they might.

As to Stanislaus, he was too much a child for his character to have developed itself so as to be judged of with accuracy. Yet it is said, and with much truth, that the childhood shows, in some degree, the manhood; and therefore the traits of character in childhood are interesting. In Stanislaus were observable many tokens of excellence, but they were such as belonged rather to a girl; he was certainly devoid of that masculine firm. ness and energy which should have marked his father's son.

Autumn was far advanced, and the sun was shedding his soul-raising last beams upon the dark pines that surrounded I-castle, when Ephene one evening, as usual, laid aside her emoroidery, in order to join her mother and brother at a huge fire and plentiful meal in the hall. She paused a few moments in the little casement, and contemplated the beautiful scenery around with a thrilling ecstasy not

to be expressed. The construction, situation, and associations of the castle were calculated to excite romantic ideas: the setting sun, and the pure sky above, feelings of a higher and more sublime characterEuphene's imagination embraced, and combined, and revelled in all. When she gazed on the majestic and glorious luminary, she was worshipping with the angels in heaven; when she turned to the cedar grove, and the ancient banner waving over the dilapidated tower, she was on the bosom of a beautiful hero of Poland, more beautiful perhaps in her fancy than any that ever really existed, and listening to the trumpet which summoned him to fight and fall for her suffering and beloved country. Tears of emotion filled her eyes, and she could not help exclaiming, “Oh that I had been destined for such a husband! Oh that I had been born to aid in redeeming and blessing my dear my persecuted country!" She knew she was not within madame's hearing, or she would instinctively not have given utterance to this wild effusion, which would most likely have been visited with a well-meant but ill-operating sarcasm.

Near to one side of the castle was a by-road, which, from its winding up a gradual acclivity, might be seen for some distance. As Ephene stood gazing, she discerned a horseman coming slowly down it, a circumstance that excited her attention, the road being very unfrequented, and especially in the evening. As he came nearer, she perceived by his dress that he was an officer of the Russian army. Her first impulse was a shudder of indignation and horror at the very sight of one whose hands had, in all probability, been dipped in Polish blood; but this was superseded by one of generous pity, when she observed him to be wounded, and so weak that he could scarcely keep the saddle, while his horse, covered with blood, was evidently almost dying. Ephene hastened to inform her mother, whose hospitable good nature prompted her instantly to give orders that the gates should be opened, and the stranger desired to alight. Accordingly, a superannu

ated porter, who kept an entrance as decayed as himself, sped to withdraw bolt and bar, bespectacling his visage in order to scan the traveller. The horse had stumbled but a few yards from the castle, and the rider, after vainly trying to raise him, was feebly endeavouring to extricate himself; but the exertion caused his wounds to gush afresh, and he sank on the ground exhausted. Madame and Ephene hastened to him with the whole muster of domestics, by whom he was conveyed into the hall. Madame disencumbered him of his trappings, in which her daughter assisted her, though torrents of tears flowed from the eyes of Ephene, who, living in times of war, had yet hardly in her life seen a wound, and who shuddered and trembled almost to fainting, at the sight of the blood which completely bathed the unfortunate Russian. He was too much exhausted to speak, and was, indeed, all but insensible.

"He shall be put to bed," said madame," and John shall set out to-night for Doctor Kropoff. I'll bind his wounds myself, and Ephene and her maid shall sit up with him, for it always makes me ill. Stanislaus, my dear, leave off crying, and give a little help; go and see that John and Nicholas make a good fire in the chamber in the keep; and bring down my chest of salves. I hope he will be better to-morrow, and then Father Timothy shall come to him."

All her directions were put in execution; and in about an hour Ephene and Elizabeth took their station beside the sleeping invalid. It was a rather incongruous office to be deputed to two girls, but madame's honest impulses and good-natured intentions never weighed decorums, or anything else, when they obstructed the straightforward accomplishment of her object. She suffered, as she said, by night-watching, and she was not one of those very few who would sacrifice their own health to restore that of another, more particularly of one whom it was a sin not to look upon as an enemy. Still, when she took a good deed in hand, she would not fulfil it slackly; there was not such a thing as an old nurse within two leagues of the castle; and as to

one of the men servant's sitting up, she would on no account suffer it, for, she said, he would neglect the patient, and fall asleep, and set the whole place in a flame. So that she had no resource but to apportion the task to her daughter, who, she observed, though fanciful, and sometimes rather absent, was a well-meaning girl, and she could trust her in a matter of importance.

One of Ephene's first movements was naturally to examine the countenance of her charge. It was one of conspicuous beauty; and though pale and languid by pain, was still strikingly expressive of a manly and martial spirit. Ephene was no physiognomist, and surveying only the effect of the whole, exclaimed, "What a beautiful face!" But Elizabeth, who though only a servant and a girl, piqued herself upon her scientific penetration, added, with the approval of a critic," It is an admirable countenance, Miss Ephene; look at the open, decided brow, and the generous, interesting expression of the mouth. I wish you would read Lavater, and you would see what a description he gives of such a countenance; could not you love it, Miss Ephene ? I wish I had such a one to love; I would soon forget Poland then, and think Russia the dearest country in the world.

Do, now, let me get

Lavater, and we can read it so comfortably while this poor fellow is asleep."

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"Oh! no, no," said Ephene ; we have something else to do than to read comfortably; would you give your attention to a book, Elizabeth, when you are commissioned to watch by a dying man? I thought you knew your duty better."

"Oh, I did not mean to overlook my duty-but you are so particular. But you are quite right, dear Miss Ephene, and I'll be as good as you are."

Although John set off that night for a physician, so great was the distance, and so many were the obstacles he had to encounter, that he did not return with one until late on the following evening. The young Russian had scarcely awaked through the day, and was again fast slumbering

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