O Dream that darkens Hope's eclipse! In one long clasp, that clung, and drew And through the night, and through the day, O Fool, for thee, that thou wert dead, Than live to fix thy love on her ! The wide mere glimmers far away, On its far edge, with waning ray, The moon's red crescent drops and drops. The outlines of the Abbey wall, Gable and turret, grey and sere, Across the blue-starred irids fall That fringe afar the lonely mere. I linger by the sculptured gate, And o'er the darkening waters threw The magic of her voice-whose tone Comes back no more-or comes anew In Memory's mocking dreams alone. III. Around the broad pine-belted hills V. She sang a little German song- Now she is gone-but though no more Our hearts exchange their greeting My own keeps ever, o'er and o'er, Du bist wie eine Blume! Again upon our hearts-and well VII. VI. The tumbled rocks lie thick between The wind, with forest odours fraught, And lingered for a moment there. So endeth our poor dream, you said- Dost thou remember how I gave to thee gay, I missed the flower-and said, O Cruel, say, And all my heart within me, then went round That fill'd my heart in those old days agone! RUSSIAN REMINISCENCES. BY ANAT IVE. CHAPTER I. EAUTIFUL is the city of the mighty Czar of all the Russias-the Venice of the North-St. Petersburgh, as she lies basking in the sun, glittering with her hundreds of gilt domes and cupolas, and admiring herself in the blue waters of the majestic Neva. Yet her inhabitants do not heed her beauty, and the traffic in the streets is hushed. Dust and silence reign supreme on the heated flags. Mankind is hiding in the houses or flying into the cool shades of the surrounding country. Countless are the vehicles that are speeding towards the various popular resorts of amusement. In all directions might they be seen leaving the Capital, yet by far the largest stream of pedestrians, carriages and 'busses are taking a northward direction towards the Kursaal of Isler, beyond doubt the most popular man of the season. Sometime ago, under the reign of Nicholas, a certain class of the inhabitants of St. Petersburgh made the discovery that it was highly fashionable to visit a mineral water spring. Yet, unfortunately, there were none known in Russia at the time, and the Emperor, fearful lest his loyal subjects should be tainted by the liberal ideas prevailing "beyond the frontiers," did not favour travelling abroad. At this time the ingenious Isler made his début, by building his Kursaal for the dispensation of artificially prepared waters, and amusements in various forms. His Hall and Garden at once became highly popular with all classes of society, and this predilection for "Isler's" continues unto the present day, although his mineral waters have long since made room for some other mysterious compounds dispensed under the name of Champagne, Port, Sherry, Vodka (or whiskey), etc. Among the numerous vehicles speeding towards this "El Dorado" of the people, an elegant one-horse carriage attracts our attention by the slow pace it keeps. The bearded driver is hardly able to restrain the fiery steed, which rebels against the pressure of the bit. "Drive up to the porch, Nickhita," says the occupant of the carriage, in a listless manner. A bound, a dash, and they are there. The lines are slackened and in a moment the well-trained animal stops with grace and ease. tea. "Nickhita, you may go and have some "Have you any money?" "Not about me, your Brightness.' "Take this, and return in an hour.” "My humble thanks to your Brightness. I shall not fail." The young gentleman entered Isler's porch, and the driver having succeeded, notwithstanding the impatient prancing of his horse in extracting his well-filled leather money-bag from his boot-leg, carefully added the silver coins to its contents and said: "A poor man needs his wits. Mine have served me a good turn just now, though I am sorry I had to tell Roslaf Alexandrovich a lie to obtain this half-rouble. But he can spare it, so never mind, Nickhita, go and get your tea." driving-shed, tied his horse, entered the traktir or tea-house, and ordered his tea and lemon with a dignity that was surpassed only by the obsequiousness of the waiter. Roslaf Alexandrovich, in the meanwhile, had entered the garden and taken a seat on a verandah opposite the military band that filled the air with the inspiring sounds of a lively march. He, too, had ordered tea, yet the fragrant beverage that sparkled before him in the glass tumbler did not tempt him, and he sat moodily surveying the motley crowd that waved to and fro through the garden. I do not know what is the matter with me to night," he said to himself. "Should it be one of those forebodings of evil that my mother professes to believe in! We shall see." He reclined in his seat, trying to find a welcome face among the hundreds at his feet. After a while he suddenly rose with an exclamation of pleasure, hurried down from the verandah, and rapidly made his way through the crowd. The waiter, afraid of losing his pay, ran in pursuit, brandishing his napkin. At last he overtook Roslaf and was just about to take him by the arm, when he saw him addressing and shaking hands with a little greyhaired gentleman, whom his half-dress uniform and decorations showed to be a retired General. Seeing this the waiter slunk back into the crowd, scratched his ear and looked like a man that has just had a narrow escape from some great danger. "Your Excellency, Fedor Fedorovich, I am happy indeed to see you." "The pleasure is mutual, Roslaf. But what are you doing here? Some intrigue, I suppose!" "I almost wished I had one, in order to dispel my ennui to-night. But now, having met with you, I shall be happy." "You compliment me. However, I think I can still increase your happiness if you With these words he dashed up to the grant me five minutes." Certainly. I shall await you on that verandah." Roslaf returned to his seat. The waiter was at his post already and tried to look as if nothing had happened. Soon after, General Mokrof ascended the steps, leading a veiled lady under each arm. "I see," exclaimed Roslaf, "you mean to keep your word, General. I shall be happy to be introduced to these ladies." He uncovered his head and placed chairs for them. "No introductions, Roslaf, you must guess who they are." Roslaf was puzzled, and the General, seeing his bewilderment, enjoyed it so much that he could hardly repress his laughter. In order to do so, he distorted his wrinkled old face in a succession of the most comical grimaces. The waiter who stood by awaiting orders, burst into a broad grin as he looked at him, but immediately checked himself by administering a vigorous slap to his mouth. He excused his conduct by adding in perfect good faith and with great humility, that it was not in human power to refrain from laughing when looking at the General's face. After some more teasing on the General's part, the ladies lifted their veils, and Roslaf beheld the venerable and loving face of his mother, and the noble and beautiful features of his sister. in the shed and resolved to find you. Can I induce you to return with us to town?" "With pleasure, mother." Having obtained Roslaf's consent, the younger lady-Maria Alexandrovina-called out to the waiter : "Please go and order Ivan to drive up." The waiter soon returned, driving before him five or six big bearded fellows, and having placed them in a row before the ladies, and recovered his breath, he exclaimed: "What obstinate, yellow-eyed fellows they are to be sure! They are all Ivans, but wouldn't come that you might pick out the one you wanted.” This incident was the consequence of Maria's mistake, as she should have ordered "Lady Romova's driver" to get ready, instead of giving the driver's name. The right Ivan was not amongst them, and after they had been dismissed, our party left the garden and soon were comfortably seated in lady Romova's carriage, rolling towards the city. They were all in excellent humour, except the older lady, whose face was sorrowful, and upon whose mind there seemed to be a heavy burden. At last Roslaf, grieved to see his mother so ill at ease, ventured to ask what troubled her. "My dear son," she answered, I hardly know what to say. You do not believe in my forebodings, and yet it is these that cause my trouble. My mind has been weighted. "Mother! Sister! You both here? At down for some time by a presentiment of Isler's !!" The General greatly enjoyed the scene, and nearly swallowed the slice of lemon that was swimming in his tea. This occasioned a coughing and sneezing so peculiar, that the waiter, apparently afraid that his powers might fail him again, hastily retired to a safe distance. "I must take the blame upon myself," said lady Romova, “if, indeed, we are to be blamed for coming here to-night. I was anxious to see you without delay, and as we were driving to town, I noticed your horse coming evil. Do not make light of my fears, oh my son; and believe me that there are some troubles in store for you." She spoke in low and passionate tones, and her voice quivered with her intense emotion. Roslaf was much impressed by her manner, yet he was unwilling to admit that any credence should be attached to such imaginings, as he called them, and he therefore respectfully tried to convince his mother that there was no cause for her troubles. General Mokrof, however, took her part, and indulged in a long speech, the object of which was to prove that these forebodings, in common with prophetic dreams and visi ons, were not merely the result of imagination or over excitement of the nerves, but the manifestation of a natural gift or faculty inherent in certain persons, and similar to mesmeric clairvoyance and the other results of animal magnetism. In proof of his theory he said that the observations of phrenologists had established the seat of this faculty in the so-called "bosse" of spirituality, and that the existence or grade of elevation of this "bosse" was the touchstone of the question whether the feelings of a given individual were merely due to an anomalous state of the nerves, or the activity of the true gift of spirituality. He wound up by saying, that when he had been allowed to phrenologically examine lady Romova's head, he had found that bump to be unusually developed, and he solemnly besought Roslaf not to neglect her warning. Whilst they were yet discussing the question, the carriage drove up at the porch of Roslaf's house. It was a sombre-looking stone building, in the heaviest Roman style, with a colonnaded front, and situated on the granite quay of the canal Fontanca. The staircase was well lighted, grand, and wide, worthy of the lordly mansion, and from the hall below led up to a piazza of the "bel-étage," as the first floor above the level is called in Russia. Here was the door that led into the inner apartments. The piazza was lighted by a skylight, and furnished with a rustic seat, a table, a small looking-glass and some exotic plants. In the eastern corner of the walls, about seven feet above the floor, was to be seen a little shelf supporting the sacred picture of some saint with a coffee-brown face, and hideous features, and before it flickered faintly the light of the ever-burning lamp. Roslaf had nimbly left the carriage, produced a latch key, and having unlocked the heavy oaken door, conducted his friends into the hall. "Where is old Michael?" asked the General. "I suppose he is in his room, or perhaps in the library reading some "Lives of the Saints," or such like. I never trouble him to let me in, for he is getting very weak, poor old man, and suffers greatly from the heart disease." "Your words are a comfort to me, my son," said lady Romova, "Michael deserves every consideration in his old age. Spare him as much as possible, Roslaf. He has been a faithful friend and trusty servant to your father, and incessant in his care of you." They traversed a long flight of richly furnished rooms, and at last seated themselves in Roslafs study. Their conversation reverted once more to Lady Romova's apprehensions, and they were endeavouring to find out the nature of Roslaf's supposed danger. General Mokrof, in the meanwhile, had taken up a new periodical, cut its leaves, and was reading. Suddenly he dropped the book and exclaimed: "Here it is! Here lies Roslaf's danger, and it is no small one!" "What is it, do tell us," anxiously exclaimed all three. "It is Roslaf's novel. Of course you know, ladies, that he is writing one for the 'Patriot Monthly.' The object of it, so far as I can see, is to contrast the present reign with the oppressive one of Nicholas. But in writing on this theme he has ventured on dangerous ground, and here, in the ninth chapter, he has committed a blunder that may have, nay, will have, the gravest consequences. In exposing the arbitrary measures of the officials in the time of the late Emperor Nicholas, he has openly attacked the Minister of the Secret Police, forgetting that the position is held by the same man to the present day." When General Mokrof mentioned the |