the same parents, are all brethren: Nature has not made one better than another.' Busied with such childish fancies, they at length reached Berditschew-where they separated. They were never heard of more. "From this time forth, however, sorrow and lamentation filled the dwelling of Sukuricha. The chiding of the mother, the silent tears of her daughters, banished peace, which fled like the dove from a house in flames; the charms of the maidens withered like flowers in the frost of harvest. They died one after another, yet without disburdening their consciences; the churchyard was closed against them; the old woman buried them in this spot,-she raised a mound over their corses, and murmured over them unintelligible words of mystery. No flower, no garland, marked their graves, which remained as fresh as if they had been dug but yesterday, and waited for their prey. "Six years passed in this way. Every night was old Sukuricha seen with her dishevelled hair hanging in tangled locks, her countenance so withered that the very bones seemed starting through her skin-making her circuit round the graves of her children—and at the very hour of midnight scattering grains of corn towards the South and towards the West from the convulsive motion of her lips it was plain she muttered her incantations, yet no one dared venture near enough to hear what she said, or see exactly what she was engaged in. "Every thing on earth changes;-now are nations at peace: now again are they at enmity. The alliance of the three nations had been rent as readily as the web of the spider. Hordes of Tartars, after having plundered Moscow, advanced towards Poland. The Diet resolved upon a general levy; the Royal Decree was quickly published; the nobles rose in arms; the whistle of the Hettman was heard ;* and his warlike people ranged themselves under his banner at the sound of the trumpet. They took the field. Fear and consternation led the way,--murder, fire, and desolation followed in their rear. "Was it mere accident, or the work of supernatural power, that the horde of Cossacks pitched their tents on the very spot where the Three Sisters were buried. Be it as it might-they had scarcely dismounted from their saddles, when a body of Hussars burst upon them. Hard was the fight, the blood of both was shed in abundance, yet could neither claim the victory. At that moment big with fate, the Cossack host rode into the field and levelled their lances against the Mussulmen. The Tartar horde fled like a cloud of dust towards Berditschew, in hopes of there crossing the river which flowed through the vale. "The battle field was strewed with the bodies of the dead, as a harvest field with the thick corn; yet neither party could boast of victory, since the leaders of the three were slain. Sukuricha alonedressed as if she had been bidden to a wedding feast-showed herself at nightfall, and gazed without a sign of feeling upon the scene of carnage. When, however, she saw the leader of the Cossacks lying * When the Hettman of the Cossacks receives the royal command to assemble his troops, he appears in the front of his dwelling and whistles; the kettle-drums are immediately beaten, and the whole horde put themselves under arms. dead upon the grave of her youngest daughter, and recognized him as one of their three guests, she burst into a wild laugh and spurned him contemptuously with her foot. Then discovering another of them in the Mirza of the Tartars, she seized the corpse by the hair of the head, clotted as it was with dust and corruption, and with infuriated hands dragged it to the grave of her second daughter, moistening the earth as she did so with the blood of the Mussulman. She then searched among the dead bodies of the Poles; and when she had found him who had been beloved by her eldest daughter, when he sprang on his well-trained steed into the court-yard of their dwelling place, she seized it in her withered claws, even as a hawk seizes a sparrow, and with nimble feet bore it, shaking and bending, for it was yet warm, over the heaps of dead, and threw it upon the grave where her first born was buried. Then ascending the hillock, she clapped her hands with the glee of a child whose wish has been fulfilled, and disappeared. Whether she sank into the earth, or vanished into the air, no one knows; but she was never more seen. One who had from a place of concealment watched her proceedings, as soon as he recovered from his fright, related what he had witnessed to the inhabitants of the village. Men and women assembled with spades and mattocks; laid the bodies of the fallen, without distinction of nation, by those of their leaders; and raising a mound over them, named it the Grave of the Three Sisters.* "Years fled and returned no more; people died and none arose from the grave yet the treasures of memory have been preserved from the days that are past, in the traditions of the people; and these are handed down as an heir-loom to each succeeding generation. He, however, who would glean the real truth from these stores, must gather it, as the minor gold, from the rubbish in which it is imbedded. For as, in the course of years, the shafts which have been dug, fall in and bury the glittering metal under the earth of the mine, so does the memory of past events become confused and weakened by the influence of time. God, however, assists by unexpected means the endeavours of men; and the memory of that which it is His will should not be forgotten, endureth for ever. The "We see that earthquakes ofttimes lay open rich mines; that an accident often discovers to the inquirer the best view of by-gone times in some legend of the people. So has it happened unto me. ancient family of Sukuricha dwelt in our village, carefully concealing their descent. It was a time of mourning, pestilence was raging, and famine struck terror into the hearts of men. I was then a forester in the service of the late Bayda. Once, well do I remember it, we rode at midnight, past the Hill of the Three Sisters: the moon was hidden by the clouds, the wind howled, the horses snorted, fear penetrated my bones to the very marrow: I crossed myself and uttered a prayer. Instantly we perceived upon the summit of the Hill a super *The story tellers of the Ukraine are very proud of their talents; and by way of showing their skill and wisdom, are fond of introducing, by way of ornament, moral sentiments and reflections at the commencement and close of their narratives. natural being; I would have fled, but Bayda galloped his horse to the hill-top, and mine followed, sore against my will. By degrees my courage returned-I recognized a human form-it was a maiden of Haltschinjetz, of the race of Sukuricha. Beside her lay a shovel, and a black cock whose feet were tied together. She was busied gathering into a bag parti-coloured seeds, like grains of millet." The maiden was not alarmed, she did not turn pale, but bade us sit down, and related unto us what I have just told you, first adjuring us by the salvation of our forefathers not to mention the fact-or relate what we had witnessed upon the Hill-until half a century should have passed away. She then went with us into Haltschinjetz-and having bestrode the shovel like a horse, rode round the village, strewing the seeds on both sides of her, while the black cock crowed mournfully. She made the circuit of every house except two. Wonderful to relate, the pestilence destroyed the people of the surrounding villages-yet in ours no one died but the inhabitants of the two cottages which she had thus distinguished. "This day the fifty years are completed. I have kept my word; and am now master of my tongue.' Thus spake old Lewko, and then with his two companions returned to the village. "ICH DIEN!" BY LEWIS WAY, ESQ. Ir was at Cressy's bloody fight, Then kneeling on the sanguine field, Our Altar-and the Throne preserve, Bestowed his battle cry-" I SERVE!” * When the cholera committed such fearful ravages in Russia in the year 1830, the inhabitants of Haltschinjetz and its neighbourhood escaped the visitation. According to their superstitious belief-the approach of the pestilence was preceded by a female figure, pale as death, seated in a carriage drawn by six horses, and preceded by riders in all sorts of uncouth forms; and who, as she went, scattered seeds of corn to the right and left. CHAPTERS ON WINE. BY CYRUS REDDING. PRESENT.-Captain Seymour, Dean Skipwater, Doctor Fuscus, M. Egrappé, and Professor Laubenheim. TIME-After Dinner, Dessert placing on the Table. The Dean, Captain Seymour, &c.-Professor, you are our chairman, duly elected; put on your robe of office. Professor. I swear nolo episcopari. Dean. Then all must be conscientiously right, and you are ensconced without the cast of die, you are the chosen -Quem Venus arbitrum, Professor. Just place the wine before me,-to the left, with the bottle,-Captain Seymour, "the Captain" in seven Falernians! Captain. What are they? Doctor. Seven glasses of wine to meet the letters of his name, after the mode of the Romans. Read Martial to Somnus; a most excellent custom, Sir, far superior to modern toasting. Captain. You may well say that, Doctor, for it gives seven bumpers for one. Professor. We have improved much upon the ancients in drinking our wine without water. They could afford to swallow seven bumpers, six parts water and one of wine. Doctor. I do not know that, Mr. Professor-the wine of antiquity might have been proportionably potent; the vines grew more powerful fruit than in our time; the sun was younger. Professor. I do not like that diluting, attenuating system-it makes the wine a complete anatomy. Hesiod's three parts of water to one of wine is meagre work. Some one says, but I do not recollect if he says truth, that Plutarch affixed his allowance of water after the musical scale. To the three chords in music he matched mixtures or quantities of water. Thus, three parts water and two of wine gave the fifth; one part water and two wine, the octave; and three of wine and one of water the fourth. Captain. Just as we do at sea in three water grog,—a bad custom; I always suspected it came from the ancients. Doctor. A mistake, Captain; the ancients were capable of instructing us in every thing. Their wine was stronger than the weak vintages "of these degenerate days" concentrated. Facts are facts, Sir. Captain. But they are not facts till they are proved, I take it, or we are all abroad upon a wind. I will not believe in the Flying Dutchman unless I see him. Doctor. Is not every word of Homer proved, Sir, over and over again. The blind Meonides, the sire of Epic Verse, who lived three * Vestis convivialis. + Hor. Car. II. thousand years ago, we cannot see him, but he is accepted on good authority. He is earthly omniscience: we find all things or traces of them in Homer, from a potter's wheel to a steam-engine, Sir. Doubt your Bible, Sir. Professor. I wish, Doctor, you were less testy, that your discretion and temper were equal to your oinographical accomplishments. Some persons have advanced, that Solomon, King of Israel, wrote both the Iliad and Odyssey, and Doctor. Blasphemy, Sir. Did the late Sir William Curtis write the Letters of Junius? Some one said he did. I mean no disparagement to the royal poet of the Canticles. Really, Mr. Professor, such things are hardly compatible with the sober gravity of scholars, and the respect due to the manes of departed genius. Captain. Gravity over a bottle! Steadiness in a topsail-sheet block lying to! Professor. We will not get warm on the point. The love of antiquity is sometimes a disease, but oftener a solace. It is graved upon the human heart, intertwined with our natures; and if some of us go too far in our excess of it, it is no vice-the right to joke upon such a foible reserved notwithstanding. It is not less a pleasure than a duty to pour over the memory of the authors of antiquity the milk and wine of generous souls. What generations of men have their works enlivened! how many hours of listlessness have they beguiled! how many on the couch of declining health, even in sickness and pain, have they not lulled into forgetfulness of their ills! It is the greatest attribute of humanity thus to confer benefits on posterity; there is nothing else resembling it in the history of our mortality. Kings die, and all but their names are forgotten before their bodies decay; heroes scarcely live with the memory of their butcheries, and what long-drawn generations bless them? Yet how many eyes, dim in death, has Horace delighted; and for how many ages to come will Shakspere cheer the human heart?-[Monsieur Égrappé breaks his glass by accident.]— Here is a clean glass, M. Egrappé. Egrappé. I tank you, Sare. Doctor. Here is the port, Sir. Egrappé. I take none of de port, je vous remercie, nor of de claret, for it be none of de veritable Bordeaux. Professor. We think it excellent, Monsieur; cool and good after the port. Egrappé. All good for you, Sare. It make you hot Anglaise estomach hiss, hiss, comme one fire-iron in de vater. Mine estomac is no red fire; de claret be aigre for me, dat all, very good for you, Sare. I take oder vine of mine own country; de claret be not sound, but it cool var well. For me dat vine be de vine of one dog of Bretagne. Dean. What dog, Monsieur Egrappé? that is new to me. Egrappé. You n'entends, Sare? Vy I mean de dog-pardon mine Anglais, s'il vous plait, vat eat vonce a bunch of de grape of Rennes in Bretagne; passing dat way, all de grape dere be vat you call sour. One long time, more den one year, after de dog pass into Bretagne again, he was found by his master barking all day at de vinestock. VOL. XCVI. K |