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support it, his great soul was sunk, he fell into a profound melancholy, lost sight of his projects, his affairs, and the care of his empire; he shut himself up, would see no one, and obstinately refused admittance to any body. Alone, in his apartment, he abandoned himself to grief, and even Catharine herself, durst not approach him. This situation lasted several days; Catharine was in the most trying inquietude, for she had not only to support her own sorrow, but also the terrible state to which she saw the Czar reduced: she addressed herself to the senator Dolgowrouki, a steady, sensible, and worthy man, of great abilities, and much attached to the Czar and his country, and who possessed a wellmerited influence over the mind of his Prince.

Dolgowrouki promised to put every thing in practice to draw the Czar out of this solitary grief, and he meditated the following plan:-He assembled the Senate, put himself at their head, made them follow him, and went to the door of the Czar's chamber: they knocked, no answer; they knocked again, repeated it, and cried out, with evident terror.-Peter, struck by these cries, and feeling uneasy, presented himself, asked who dared trouble his repose, and infringe upon the order he had given of being left alone? Dolgowrouki cried out, that his empire was lost if he did not shew himself; that all business was at a stand, and that of the utmost importance; every thing was in an unsettled state, and if he did not come and regulate his affairs, they were proceeding to to the election of a new sovereign, since the state could not stand without a head.

The Czar, struck with the firmness of Dolgowrouki, and with a language so new to him, conquered his obstinacy, and suffered himself to be dragged from the abode of grief; he followed Dolgowrouki to the Senate, and soon the multiplicity of business, and the affairs he had to examine and regulate, made him forget his grievous loss, and he thought only of occupying himself in the cares of government.

Origin of Czarko-Celo; or, the Borough of Sarka, in Russia.

Peter lived a long time at a distance from his empire, either on account of the wars he had to sustain, or by his travels into different countries. It was in one of these absences that Catharine employed herself with the pleasure of giving him an agreeable surprise.

At fifteen or sixteen Russian miles south of Petersburgh, she had remarked at a distance from the high road, an elevated situation, which would, she thought, be very appropriate to the erecting on it a small summer residence, making it commodious, simple, commanding a fine prospect, and surrounded with smiling

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objects, such as Peter was fond of. She had it constructed privately; it was built of wood, and she herself presided over the work: she drew the plans, and ordered the laying out of the gardens, disposing every thing with that promptitude, that all was finished on the arrival of her husband.

Peter, on his return to Petersburgh, ever active, was continually in motion; he dug canals, he formed quays, and forwarded the works of his new city. Catharine told him she had made a discovery of a charming situation, of which he was yet ignorant, where he had never been, though very near to Petersburgh.

Peter suffered himself to be conducted there by Catharine: they soon went out of the high road, and arrived at a height, where stood a house, concealed by a wood, so that Peter could not see it; but there a rural festival was in preparation for him; he could not, however, help admiring the place, and its situation. Catharine informed him, she had made herself happy by building on this spot an habitation according to his taste; Peter applauded the idea, and still conversing, they walked on; they approach it, and he sees, at length, before his eyes, a pleasant garden, a charming house, the chimnies smoking, and several persons in readiness to receive him: and he enters, and experiences all the pleasure of surprise; while he caused Catharine to enjoy one more infinitely exquisite, by the extreme satisfaction he evinced at all he beheld; he praised every thing, found all in the most perfect order, embraced the lovely architect, who had so ingeniously employed herself in promoting his pleasures; took her by the hand, led her to the table and never did Peter make so agreeable and cheerful a respast.

Elizabeth afterwards built the spacious Castle of Czarko-Celo; which is constructed of brick, and is yet in fine preservation.

Miss Hamilton.

The Empress, wife of Peter the Great, had a maid of honour named Hamilton; she was young, pretty, and of great tenderness. Reputation and pleasure are not always compatible with female decorum. Twice already had she extinguished every maternal sentiment in her bosom, and had, by murder, deprived the fruit of her imprudence from being brought to light: two innocent victims had received from this beauteous Hamilton life by love, and death from a sense of reputation. The third pregnancy was visible, and she was closely watched, and it was proved that Miss Hamilton had, for the third time, destroyed her offspring. The law condemned herto lose her head, and the sentence was executed accordingly.

Peter had not beheld so many attractions unmoved; he had loved her, and she had made him happy. Miss Hamilton, in her

prison, given up to the most bitter reflections, could not yet help flattering herself with escaping death, as she reckoned the Czar amongst her lovers. The day marked for her punishment arrived; she appeared upon the scaffold, habited in a robe of white satin, trimmed with black-ribbands; and never had she looked so beautiful. The monarch advanced to bid her farewell; he embraced her, encouraged her, and said to her, "I cannot save thee; the law, which condemns thee, is greater than I! Trust in God, and suffer patiently." And at the very moment when the Czar, deeply affected, pressed her hand for the last time, and walked away, that captivating head, with one blow, was separated from her beautiful body, and so terminated the life of the unfortunate Miss Mamilton!



Cartouche the robber, infested Paris in the early part of the last century [born in Paris 1693.] His people were arranged in bands, and regularly placed, every night, as so many guards; but certainly not for the protection of property. He piqued himself on being a generous and gallant man; and his behaviour to Madame de Ségur, has some claims to support his pretensions. That lady found on her toilette, one morning, the following epis tle, respectfully addressed to her, without being able to form the most distant conjecture, as to the means by which it was placed there.

"Madame,-As I am informed of every thing that passes both in the city, and at court, I know that two days ago you spoke of me very advantageously to the Regent, Monseigneur the Duke of Orleans, and that you said, a man like me might make a good general of an army :"-I am extremely grateful for the good opinion you entertain of my abilities; and by way of demonstrating my gratitude, I have caused one hundred bottles of Champagne wine, which I have carefully chosen as excellent, to be placed in your wine cellar. I add to this small present an impression from my seal. It is a sovereign safe conduct, and you may securely walk in any part of Paris, at whatever hour you please, without feeling the smallest misadventure.

"I am with respect, Madame,

Your most humble, and most obedient servant,

Madame de Ségur, astonished at this information, recollected however, that she had spoken of Cartouche to the Regent. She instantly sent servants to examine her wine cellar, and sure

enough they found the hundred bottles of Champagne mentioned in the letter She conceived violent suspicions of the honesty of her domestics, and proposed to remove to another house; but her friends advised her to confide in the honour of the robber who had promised his protection, and who would not suffer her to be robbed. Besides, said they, all Paris is full of Cartouchiens, and perhaps you may fall into hands of gangs still more desperate. It is certain, that Madame de Ségur, never could discover by what means his agents had access to her house; and, it is equally certain that she never could perceive that she suffered the smallest injury.


Cursory Circumstances connected with the late Henry Fielding.

ACCIDENT lately threw me into the company of an aged gentleman in the country, who formerly possessed some little share of intimacy with the late Henry Fielding and his family. So entire is the dearth of information respecting the minute biographical circumstances of the greatest novel-writer which this country ever produced, that I listened with much interest to the trifles mentioned by my new acquaintance. Trifling indeed was the information acquired; but those who love the memory of the author that has charmed them through many an hour of exquisite relaxation, may, perhaps, admit that no circumstance connected with him can be too trivial for record.

My friend married the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Skelton, at whose academy Sir John Fielding, and the sons of the poet, were educated. He has there frequently seen Fielding, and declares his conversation, even in the latter and declining years of his life, to have been animated and winning beyond description. In point of person, Fielding allows himself (see his voyage to Lisbon) to be far from interesting. Sickness, as he approached the grave, must have made strange inroads on his complexion and general aspect. Fielding was an invalid when first my friend knew him. Much may, therefore, be attributed to the effect of disease; but my aged informer emphatically assured me, that he "was the plainest man he ever beheld."

Mrs. Feilding (his last wife, and the mother of those children whose infantile gambols interrupted the author so often while writing Tom Jones, and from whom he parted with such heartfelt regret, when quitting England for Lisbon,) was raised, or my authority misleads me, from a menial capacity to the bed of the author. She was a woman of great personal attraction, and,

though not much indebted to education, was of pleasing manners, and most decorous conduct. She resided, on her return from Lisbon, after the death of her husband, for several months, at Mr. Skelton's, and a neighbouring gentleman was so far captivated by her manners and appearance, that he requested her in marriage; but, with an honourable respect for the recollection of her husband, she peremptorily declined this flattering over


Fielding is known to have died in circumstances truly poetical in regard to pecuniary matters. His last work (the Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon) was dedicated to the public, under the hope of national gratitude, causing a contribution (perhaps I should say honorary offering) to be made for the benefit of the children of him who had proved so great an honour to his country. The booksellers had grown rich while the author remained poor. But, in regard to the connection between Fielding and his publishers, an instance of generosity occurs, which cannot be too generally known. The person who had chiefly been in the habit of purchasing his manuscripts, was so entirely convinced of the excellence of the bargains which he had made, and so honourably anxious to render a compensation to the family of his literary benefactor, that he left, at his death, a considerable sum (my informer believes fifteen hundred pounds,) to Mrs. Fielding!

Sir John Fielding, the brother of the poet, appears to have inherited his portion of family humour, although he has left no record, in a lettered form, of his comic propensity. The following circumstance my friend adduced as an instance. After paying a visit to a country gentleman of eminent hospitality, Sir John mounted his horse, in company with several brother-convivialists. The knight, though "a thick drop serene" had quenched the lustre of his orbs, was a fearless horseman. In fact, his steed was trained to obedience, and was familiar with the rider's haunts. Sir John rode forwards; but when he arrived at Hatley-row, under the impulse of the gay purpose of the hour, he checked his horse, and the animal entered the paved yard of an inn. Our traveller was in the habit of wearing a shade over his sightless eyes, which the apprehensiveness and surprise of the innkeeper and his wife converted into a mask. It was during the time of a general panic throughout the country, in consequence of a threatened invasion from France. Sir John found, by the tremulous accents of the people at the inn, that his appearance had produced a striking effect on their imagination, and he accordingly humoured their apprehensions. He, with many significant shrugs, and divers protestations of extreme haste, informed his auditors that the French were landed in great numbers, and were far advanced on their march to the metropolis; that himself had been

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