her servants, sold her horses, and gone to Germany with the two barons. She was found by her creditors in the best hotel in Frankfort; but when the scandal came out, the landlord begged them all to depart; and the brilliant princess would have found herself in difficulties, had not an unexpected helper appeared on the stage.

The reigning prince of Limbourg had a principality of about two leagues in extent, but kept up all the rank of a sovereign. The Count Rochefort was the grand-marshal of his palace, and hearing the story he told of the woman he wished to marry, the prince set off to Frankfort to see her. She was just leaving the hotel; and her beauty and eloquence made a most powerful impression upon him. He paid a part of her debts, guaranteed the rest, and installed her immediately in the Chateau de Neusess with Baron Schenk, until her remittances should arrive from Persia. Day after day she increased her empire over the credulous prince; it was not difficult to see that he had fallen in love with her, but the offer of marriage was still unspoken. Weeks passed away, when one morning the eyes of the princess were red with weeping, and she owned that she had had a letter that morning from her guardian, Prince Galitzin, desiring her to return to her uncle in Persia, as he wished to marry her. This had the desired effect; the prince prayed her to give him her hand; and she appearing as much surprised as joyful, asked for the delay of a few days to consult her guardian. In short, the prince was completely enslaved to her will; she made him an accomplice in her projects, and he assisted her to build up the system of invention she had conceived. But the more he gave himself up to her, the more indifferent did she become; his fortune was spent, his temper was bad, and she began to entertain other views; nothing more was said of the marriage, which seemed to be indefinitely postponed. But about this time new reports were industriously circulated regarding her birth. She was said to be none other than the Princess Tarakanov, daughter of the Empress Elizabeth; having been placed in a convent, where they had tried to poison her, she was afterwards sent to Siberia, where she was saved by the kindness of her guardians, and sent to the Persian court. This story was accompanied by such exact details that the

tide of favor was turned to her, and a new career of ambition was opened to the adventurer, which was in the end to terminate in her ruin.

Other characters now appear on the scene. Poland had at length succumbed to Russia; the patriots were dispersed, and the greater part had attached themselves to the fortunes of Prince Radzivil, at Manheim, from whence he had sent one of his surest friends to offer the services of the Poles to the Sultan at Constantinople, who was then at war with Russia. Among the followers of the Prince Radzivil was a young man named Domanski, very handsome and intelligent, who had greatly distinguished himself by his bravery on the battle-field. In the month of December, 1773, during the absence of the Prince of Limbourg, the so-called Princess Tarakanov paid a visit of a few days to Manheim, and met Domanski, who straightway fell deeply in love with her. Scarcely had she returned to Oberstein than a stranger took up his residence in the village, and when the shades of evening drew on, was seen to wander near the castle, where a person very like the princess, enveloped in a mantle and hood, met him. Love was for her but a means to an end, but she needed this young man's help to advance her designs; and showing her warm sympathy for his nation, and her hatred for Catharine, she wished to appear to the world as the legitimate heiress of the Russian throne.

Radzivil was the first person to whom Domanski imparted the secret with which he had been entrusted; with the eloquence of love he succeeded in bringing him over to his views, so that Radzivil wrote to the princess, saying, "I regard the enterprise of your highness as a miracle of Providence, who watches over our unfortunate country, by sending her so great a heroine." The authority of this testimony allowed no one to doubt the birth of the princess; her history was believed by the Polish refugees, and even in Paris, to such a degree that Oginski sent a friend to inquire into the truth at Oberstein. It is easy to understand why Radzivil gave himself up to the delusion, since it raised new hopes of a revolution in Russia, when the war was being carried on with vigor on the Danube. He resolved to go to Venice, that he might be nearer to the Porte, and proceed with his negotiations; and as various difficulties

had arisen to prevent his secret interviews with the princess, it was arranged with Domanski that she also should meet Radzivil in that city, to place herself in communication with all parties.

The announcement of her speedy departure plunged the Prince of Limbourg into despair, but since her higher rank had been proclaimed, he had been more submissive than ever. The Countess Sangasko, a relative of Radzivil's, wrote from Paris, informing her of the approbation with which Louis XV. regarded her project, and her rights to the Russian throne. Notwithstanding the extreme want of money in which they were, the Prince of Limbourg succeeded in raising sufficient to take them to Venice in princely style; and as if to seal the union which he regarded sacred, he gave the princess a deed empowering her, in case of his death, to take his title.

Radzivil had been waiting for her for two months. A splendid suite of rooms had been prepared in the palace of the French ambassador. The day after her arrival he paid her a ceremonious visit, accompanied by a number of Poles in their rich costume, which she returned on the following week to his sister, the Princess Morawska. Her incognita was kept up by a very thin veil; and among the young Polish and French officers, her birth was freely spoken of, and they proposed to follow her to Turkey. They were warm admirers of her wit and beauty, and astonished with the deep acquaintance she showed with the politics of European nations. Her acquaintances were numerous, among others, Edward Wortley Montagu, the son of Lady Mary Montagu, a man of eccentric character, who had lately become a Mohammedan.

But again the necessity for ready money was felt; after a few advances, the Bank of Venice was closed against her, when the idea occurred to Radzivil that she had better remove to Ragusa, that she might be nearer to Turkey. He persuaded the French consul to give up his beautiful country villa for her use, and this then became headquarters for the discontented. Radzivil bore all the expenses, and dined daily with the princess and many distinguished guests. She showed him some documents which established her right to the imperial throne: the most important

was the will of the Empress Elizabeth, designing her as heiress to the crown, and the Duke of Holstein as her guardian. She proposed to publish these papers, but wished first to send a copy to the commander of the Russian fleet, then lying in the Bay of Leghorn, Alexis Orloff, who was discontented with the empress, and whom she hoped to gain over to the party.

This strange society, brilliant with hope and martial ardor, filled Ragusa with animation. The princess daily revealed fresh adventures-her refusal to marry the Shah, her travels through Russia in men's attire; and as there existed in Ragusa a nobility which dates from Charlemagne, they were all ready to lay down their lives for her honor. Not a suspicion was listened to; and when a stranger ventured to speak in terms not too respectful, Domanski called him out, and after slightly wounding him, forced him to leave the town.

But the year 1774 was fatal to sovereigns: Louis XV., the pope and the sultan all succumbed, and the last was succeeded by a less warlike ruler, who soon concluded a peace with the Russians. This was a deathblow to the calculations of Radzivil; the old reports against the princess began to circulate; the officers were weary of the quiet life they led in this small town, and though the object of their former admiration was treated with respect, she could not fail to perceive a change. Always ready to take the initiative, she announced her intention of going to Rome. Edward Montagu gave her a letter of introduction to Sir W. Hamilton, the English ambassador at Naples; and accompanied by the faithful Domanski, Czarnowski, and a Jesuit named Chanecki, she arrived at Naples.

Lady Hamilton, the first wife of the English minister, received her with open arms, and offered her apartments in her own house; but she felt she must have more retirement, and passed on immediately to the capital. Here, taking a secluded house, and avoiding the crowd of strangers, she only received the visits of some Polish Jesuits, making herself remarkable by the large gifts she made to the poor, though reduced to great difficulties herself. In fact, for some time she lived on the sale of brevets of orders founded by the Prince of Limbourg, who had left her long before, and lived in great retirement and disgust at his palace.

The winter of 1775 was an agitated one in Rome; the conclave could not agree upon a pope, though Cardinal Braschi was almost certain to be elected, in consequence of his well-known incapacity. It was very important to the princess to gain the head of the Jesuits, Cardinal Albani, but he, like the rest of the Sacred College, was shut up in his cell until the election was concluded. But the Jesuit Chanecki managed to pass a note through the window, informing him that the Princess Elizabeth was in Rome, and wished for his advice on a very important matter. He sent one of his most trusted friends, Roccatani, who came away seduced to allegiance, if not convinced; other friends were gained over who gave her temporary help, but she was soon overwhelmed with her former difficulties. In this emergeney she remembered the kindness of the Hamiltons, and wrote the letter that was to bring her to ruin. She said she was on the point of going to Turkey, through Vienna, and wished to borrow a considerable sum on the revenues of the Count of Oberstein. Sir W. Hamilton did not hesitate to do her this service, but wrote to the consul at Leghorn to assist him, enclosing the letter of the princess. This the consul showed to Orloff, with whom he was intimate, and the latter at once guessed that this was the adventuress who had sent him some mysterious despatches a few months before. He at once resolved to make her his prisoner.

Through a banker in Rome, he offered her large advances, and then sent his adjutant to apologize for not being able to pay his homage in person to the princess, and to entreat her to visit Pisa, where he could see her frequently. She was easily persuaded, though Domanski tried to open her eyes, and warned her of the treachery of Orloff. When," said she, haughtily, "have I been accustomed to consult you? I go where my destiny calls. If you are afraid, remain here." My life belongs to you," he replied; "I shall follow you everywhere." She was received in a splendidly furnished house at Pisa, and the devotion which Orloff showed her seemed to partake of love; indeed, there are many indications that he deceived her by a false marriage.

To celebrate this event, Orloff wished to give her the spectacle of a naval fight in

the port of Leghorn. He invited the censul and his wife, with the principal people, to a banquet, which took away all idea of treachery. Orloff, the princess and her friends were in the first vessel, the consul and the rest of the guests in the second. Thinking only of the spectacle, she did not notice that her vessel was soon separated from the rest. Orloff quietly retired, and she and her associates were surrounded by soldiers. The captain of the vessel came forward and disarmed them, at the same time announcing to her that she was a prisoner. Her papers were seized at Pisa, and her servants arrested.

The princess fell into a profound discouragement, and did not speak a word. She was confined in one of the admiral's rooms, and his servants attended on her. During the evening a man threw her a trinket that she had given to Orloff. "Is it an adieu ?" she asked. He did not reply, but waited. She wrote a few hasty lines, and two hours after received an orange wrapped up in a paper, saying that Orloff was a prisoner like herself, and praying her not to despair. From this time she seemed to be more tranquil.

The next day Admiral Greig set sail; Orloff was left at Leghorn. When they reached Cronstadt, Galitzin himself came on board in the dead of the night, and took the prisoners to the fortress of St. Peter. When he interrogated the princess, she burst into a fit of anger, and asked by what right she had been arrested in a foreign country, and subjected to such treatment. When she was calmer, she related all she knew of her former life: her Polish friends were persuaded that she was the daughter of the Empress Elizabeth. Two points she left unexplained-her real birth, and the origin of the papers she had sent to Orloff. The empress was very angry that her councillors could gain nothing more from the interrogatory, and showed her anxiety by writing out twenty reasons to prove that the so-called princess was a Pole, and the daughter of an innkeeper at Prague. At the same time she ordered her to be placed in an icy dungeon, deprived of the necessary clothes, and only fed with a morsel of bread.

They next tried to convict her through Domanski, who still showed a passionate attachment to her, and promised favor to both if she would confess the truth.

"Clemence darling," he says, as he presses the little hand which lies so confidingly in his until the rings on her fingers cut the tender flesh, "I did not mean to speak to you of my love until my return from Europe, when I hoped to have something to offer you beside; but while you were singing, your voice thrilled me through and through, and I knew that I must speak or die. Clemence, I shudder when I think how madly I worship you, for has not God said, 'Thou shalt have no other gods but me?' And I fear, ay, I know that I love you better than anything in heaven or on earth. But you do not answer by word or look; is it possible that you do not love me? Speak at once, my beautiful one, and tell me if you will be my wife."

There was a world of tenderness in those dark magnetic eyes, as Clemence Worthington lifted them to Carl Delisle's face, and said, in that low sweet tone he loved so well to hear:

"Carl, you ask me to be your wife, but I will not promise now. I do not deny that I love you with my whole heart, and I would ask no greater blessing than to know that I was wholly yours. To-morrow, dear Carl, you start for Europe, to be absent three years. If, when you return, you can come to me and say that no other woman has listened to words of love from your lips, and that you love me then as fondly as now, I will become your wife whenever you wish. I will not bind you by a promise; I leave you free as air. It remains with you whether I ever become your wife." "Then I am sure to win you," he cried, "for no other woman will ever hear a word of love from me."

He folded her in his strong arms, and kissed her cheeks, lips and forehead, and after once more declaring that he loved her beyond everything else, he released her, and they returned to the drawing-room, and mingled freely with the guests for the rest of the evening. And that night they parted for three years.

*

Italy! Land that inspires the poet's song and the artist's pencil! land of cloudless skies and balmy breezes! Dear, dreamy, delightful Italy, our story next opens within thy sunny limits!

It was evening. Flowers sent forth their fragrance on the dewy night air, and the golden stars hung over the beautiful earth.

Along a lane thickly bordered by shrubbery walked Carl Delisle, but he was not alone, for on his arm leaned one of Italy's fairest daughters. She was very beautiful, with her clear dark skin, dark, dreamy, passionate eyes, and superb form. Carl Delisle knew that Cornell Pernoe loved him, for every act of hers showed it. For many months he had seen her daily, and he was fascinated, intoxicated by her wondrous beauty, until he believed he loved her. To-night, at this romantic hour and in this romantic spot, he determined to tell her of his passion, and ask her to become his wife. He had taken her hand, and words of passionate entreaty sprang to his lips, but ere he could utter them, from a house not far distant came the sound of a piano, and a clear rich voice sang:

"By the love we cherished, by the hopes that perished,

By the smile that ever answered mine, Give, O give some token, ere my heart be broken, That will lead my weary soul to thine!"

The hand he held was suddenly dropped, and the words he was about to utter died on his lips. He saw before him in imagination a brilliantly lighted drawing-room, and a sea of human faces, but fairest among them all, the sad but beautiful face of Clemence Worthington. He remembered the scene in the garden, and he remembered her words, too: "If, when you return, you can come to me and say that no other woman has Jistened to words of love from your lips, and that you love me then as fondly as now, I will become your wife whenever you wish." How near he had come to losing her! The thought made him shudder. His companion had been listening to the music, and did not notice his agitation, but she wondered what made him so silent as he walked home with her.

That night, ere he sought his bed, he wrote a long tender letter to Clemence, in answer to one which he had received from her some months ago. He told her all, and humbly begged her pardon for ever being untrue to her even in thought. Half a year after this he returned home, and soon after became the happy husband of the peerless Clemence. He often asks his wife to sing the song which saved him from a life of misery, for, without her love, he declares it must have been so. Who shall estimate the power of music?