alarm) was conducted by Madame Fedoroff after her husband's arrest, and while deprived of communication with him, the distressing circumstances of their reunion prevented his being immediately informed of the name of the merchant to whom his child was to be consigned-and before he roused himself to make the! alas! indispensable inquiry, his poor wife's reason had given way under the united evils of exile and bereavement. For years after his recall from banishment, did Count Fedoroff wander with his harmless and interesting maniac, in vain quest alike of restored intellect, and tidings of their child. Not the slightest clew or trace could ever be elicited from the poor Countess, till, on her death-bed, a few months ago, she had, in such a lucid interval as frequently precedes dissolution, distinctly pronounced, in the hearing of Nicolai, the name of Livingstone, connecting it, though incoherently, with that of Alexina. The judicious old man, fearing to raise on such slender ground, false hopes in his aged and grief-worn master, wrote, without communicating his intentions to any one, the mysterious billet which it was my fate to decipher; but after waiting for some time its result, in tolerable suspense, he heard with delight the poor Count resolve on a voyage to England, and felt renewed hope in the purpose of personal investigation. The result has been already mentioned, and it only remains for me to tell, in a few words, the brief sequel of my soldier's tale. Count Fedoroff had seen too much of the power of sorrow to rob the eye of meaning, and the cheek of bloom, to allow its worm to prey twice upon a daughter's heart. Had a peasant gained her af fection in her days of friendless obscurity, I verily believe the chastened spirit of the good old man would have hailed him with grateful approbation. He was not, therefore, disposed to exclude from his heart, a soldier of ancient family and unblemished reputation. When I next saw Alexina's letter of acceptance, which, precious as it was, I had insisted on replacing, before her father's entrance, in her almost insensible hand, it bore, in addition to her dear signature, the trembling ratification of a parent. What a contrast between Alexina's former nuptials, with their extorted consent, and half-reluctant celebration, their "cold marriage tables," and "funeral baked meats," so strangely interwoven, and our blissful union some months after, surrounded by friends, purchased and endeared by years of dignified suffering! There was the old Count, his frame invigorated, and his affections renovated-his faithful domestic reflecting his master's every feeling, and partaking his every joy. F. and his kind-hearted wife-my darling Sophy-and last, not least, Lucy and her husband-for, as the picture could no longer go to the West Indies, (at least under my auspices,) the mountain came to Mahomet. I managed Harry Percival's exchange into Willoughby's place, and while he was wooing and winning his West India flame, while "all Barbadoes bells did ring" -those of St. George's, Hanover Square, rung out their merriest peal, in honour of Jack Donovan and his little Russian widow. Count Fedoroff ended his life in Britain; and his daughter made, with the nearest male-heir, an arrangement, by which she exchanged slaves and snow at the Pole for cash and comfort in England, ΤΟ Do I not love thee? Yes, how well, Thou best, thou only, Love, canst tell; For other eyes have never seen How much a look of mine can mean ; Nor other lips than thine can guess How deep the feeling mine express. But thee both eyes and lips have told, Most truly, that I am not cold. Yet now, in absence, all thou art Rushes afresh upon my heart, An makes me feel that heart not yet Has ever half discharged its debt. For Memory, as to mock me, brings A crowd of half-forgotten things That Love before had scarcely leisure To think upon, for present pleasure; Reproaching me with virtues slighted, And deeds of kindness unrequited; While shadowy, awful, undefined, The Future rises to my mind, And as its depths my thoughts explore, I seem to feel thine absence more. Shuddering I strive to pierce its shade, By Love a very coward made; Then turn to meet thy smile. But thou Art distant-future-shadowy now. Oh, art thou still a breathing form, Lovely, and tangible, and warm? So parted utterly we seem, As though the past were all a dream; And thou, as if unearthly, Dearest, A hallow'd, saintly thing appearest : So long from sight and touch estranged, I almost dread to meet thee changed. Oh, say, do wayward thoughts like these, Tender regrets, wild phantasies, And vague misgivings, ever find Unbidden entrance to thy mind? Oh, it would absence half repay, To know my spirit held such sway O'er thine, as that thou couldst not be, Nor feel thyself, apart from me. But absence cannot be repaid: THE CASTLE OF CLEVES. TOWARDS the close of the year 179-, a division of the twenty-second French brigade, in which Charles Surville had just entered upon service, was ordered to Cleves (the capital of the duchy bearing that name,) there to establish its winter quarters. Up to the period we have specified that city had not been included in the league with France; but, according to a convention entered into with Prussia, the troops of the republic were to hold it in possession until articles of peace should be signed between the belligerent powers. To almost any stranger the sojourn at Cleves could scarcely have failed to prove delightful. The hospitable welcome offered by the inhabitants, the enchanting scenery of the environs, together with the extremely moderate expence of living (to a soldier of fortune an object of material importance,) rendered the quarters in every respect desirable. But, alas! how often do we feel that there is a worm in the gourd'-a check to our happiness, which neither change of climate, nor the most flattering circumstances, can dissipate or control. And under such depression of mind was it the lot of poor Charles at this period to suffer. For, whilst in obedience to the call of his country, he was bending all his energies, and hazarding life itself, to preserve her rights and li berties, he learnt that the very same government which he was thus serving, had barbarously sacrificed the lives of his dearest relatives. Besides several junior members of the family, his aged parents themselves had, by an unjust decree, been consigned to the guillotine. Almost every post, indeed brought him the harrowing detail of some fresh calamity; for the demon of the French revolution was at that period stalking about with bloody footsteps, and suggesting a continual succession of victims to satiate its fierce and unhallowed cravings. Agonized and distracted by the list of horrors, the unhappy Charles tore open again a wound he had but recently received in a skirmish, and which was still unhealed; and in the depth of night he wandered forth from the hospital, big with the design of avenging himself deeply upon those whom he regarded as the murderers of his beloved relatives. This design was, however nothing short of madness, and he had not proceeded far ere he became faint and exhausted, and his over-wrought feelings overcoming his enfeebled frame, he sat down on the road-side completely powerless. Some of his comrades fortunately coming up almost at the moment, they lost no time in conveying back the sufferer to the asylum he had just quitted. Several months passed before he recovered from the effects of this relapse, and acquired sufficient strength to resume active service. In doing so, however, he did no for a moment renounce or abandon the thoughts of vengeance. They haunted him night and day: and he lived on in the confident hope that an early time would arrive, at which he might accomplish his cherished pur pose. It was shortly after his return to his regimental duties, at some distance from Cleves, that a young officer, George B――, who had been recently appointed to the same corps, joined his detachment. It was not long ere circumstances revealed to Charles that his new comrade was no other than nephew to one of the tyrants who had been mainly instrumental in butchering his kinsmen. The eyes of the enraged youth, when he first learned this unexpected news, flashed with almost demoniacal joy, and as he contemplated the devoted sacrifice thus suddenly presented, he thanked kind fortune for so speedily granting the desire of his heart. Accident soon brought the young men into collision, and a dispute having arisen between them upon some trifling matter, swords were instantly drawn. They fought long and bravely; until at length the point of Charles's weapon pierced the heart of his adversary, who fell to the earth a corpse. Our hero, aware of the danger to which he was now exposed, repaired at once to the commandant, to whom he communicated the fatal occurrence; and that officer who entertained a very high opinion of Charles's character, and sincerely sym pathised in his misfortunes, sanctioned and even aided his escape, provided him with a letter of introduction to the colonel of the twenty-second regiment, wherein he was strongly recommended to that officer's protection and favour. Surville arrived safely at the head-quarters of the brigade at Cleves; and by his unassuming and modest demeanour, strict attention to discipline and courageous bearing, recommended himself to the respect of his superior officers, and the esteem of his comrades. He rarely joined the latter in their social hours, but was to be found in solitary contemplation, silently brooding over the horrid pictures his imagination drew of the fate of his friends; at times indeed he sought the kind converse of an amiable family, wherein he had become an inmate. The members of this small circle consisted of the father, Mr. Muller an antiquary; his son Gustavus, a secretary in an official office, and two daughters, Alexandria and Dorothea; the eldest of whom was 17 and the youngest 16 years of age. They were all much attached to Surville; and he endeavoured to retain their good-will by every means in his power: sometimes he would relate his travels to the old gentleman, and describe with all their technical peculiarities, the various antiquities he had beheld; at others, he was engaged in giving instruction to Gustavus in the French language; and again he would embrace opportunities of pleasing the fair sisters, by procuring from the master of his band select pieces of music, or getting from Cologne the most interesting works of the day, which he read to them. Thus the stranger became more and more intimately associated with the members of the family, and was at length almost looked upon as one of themselves. The winter season had now nearly passed away and it became observable that a tender attachment united the hearts of Charles and Dorothea. The maiden, candid and sincere, made no secret of her sentiments; while the young soldier, now bereft of the nearest ties of relationship-his hopes and expectations fixed upon the colours of his regiment, could not conceal the plea sure he derived from a prospect of forming so respect. able an alliance. At length the brother, Gustavus, was commissioned by the lovers to be their messenger to his father, to whom he undertook to communicate their hopes and wishes, and to beg the sanction of his blessing. The agent executed his task with all the warmth and ardour of an affectionate brother and sincere friend: he did not however succeed in his object; the only reply he could obtain being: When Surville can produce a captain's commission, or can gain an adequate addition to his present income-then shall Dorothea become his wife.' This sentence was received by Charles with dismay, The property of his family had been confiscated at the time of their execution; and he saw no prospect of promotion unless he could distinguish himself by so me act of bravery--an event which opportunity alone could bring about, and of which he saw no chance for a length of time. Discouraged and sick at heart, he sat musing on his hard fate, when, suddenly a thought struck him, no less singular than bold, which he instantly prepared to carry into effect. The father of his Dorothea not only speculated in one particular class of antiquities, but whenever occasion presented itself, he also collected for his own use vario" rare and costly articles, so that he was now in possession of the most complete and choice collection of ancient relics to be found in the province. Charles, therefore, in order to administer to this taste, and conciliate the affections of the old gentleman, which, like those of the aged generally, had become wayward and capricious, formed a resolution to devote his leisure to the pursuit and discovery of specimens of virtu, which he determined to acquire, even at the risk, if necessary, of his life-for it should be mentioned, that several natural curiosities, highly prized by the antiquarian, were attainable only at considerable personal hazard. It was now he recollected reports which had reached him, that under the ruins of the ancient castle of Cleves certain vaults existed, deeply hidden in the bowels of the earth, said to contain almost countless treasures in relics of ancient times. Credulous of the truth of this rumour, the sanguine youth fixed all his hopes upon this enterprise. He has tened to get together the implements necessary to force a passage into the receptacle, and without betraying his purpose to any one (not even to his beloved Dorothea herself,) he set out on his momentous expedition. Having effected an entrance into the cavern, he pursued its course through its subterraneous passages, until he arrived at the deep descent which conducted to the vaults. He began his labours at once, clearing away obstructions, and gradually saw the accomplishment of his wishes become nearer. For three successive nights did he resume his unremitting toil, till at length his exertions were rewarded by the affecting an opening, and he anxiously gazed round the long-unpenetrated cave wherein he found himself. By the aid of his lantern, our hero saw that report for once had spoken truth relics lay strewn around him, sufficient to captivate the hearts of a whole host of virtuosi. Charles selected what he deemed most suited to his immediate purpose, and then revisited the upper air, laden with sundry coins and medals, a helmet, and a shield. On his arrival at home, he presented these valuable objects to the antiquary, who, ceased not to praise the young adventurer, and to express his gratitude for so important an addition to his catalogue. In high glee at this first result of his adventures, Charles would have repeated his visit that same day, had he not been compelled to resume his regimental duties, which engrossed his attention during the whole of the subsequent month, No sooner was he again at liberty, than his urgent hopes prompted him to renew his labours; and emboldened by success, he resolved to penetrate still deeper into the bowels of the earth, having hitherto explored only the most superficial of the vaults. In order, however, that the extended term of his absence (which he had fixed for three days and nights) might not produce anxiety in the mind of Dorothea, he decided to impart his secret to her. He accordingly explained his plan, and encouraged her with the certain prospect of their union being secured by the rich cargo he should be enabled to present to the world on his re home immediately, to prevent her absence being noticed. She quitted the spot, therefore, almost in despair lest she should never see him again, although she tried to console herself with the idea that he had already once encountered the hazards of the expedition (for the walls were everywhere crumbling, and ready to topple down) and had yet returned unhurt. In order, however, to diminish the danger as much as possible, she furnished him with a piece of string which might assist him in tracing his road back (the involutions of the subterranean ruins being perfectly labyrinthine,) or guide her to him in case he did not appear at the expiration of the appointed time. The second day of our hero's absence had not yet quite expired, when the Mullner family, and the whole town, were surprised by the unexpected arrival of the commandant of the division, with orders for the immediate march of the twenty second brigade, to join the main body of the army, which had just taken its posi tion on the banks of the Meuse, The drums beat to arms, the regiment formed in the square, and the muster-roll was called over, upon which it was found that Charles Surville was missing, All were at a loss to explain the cause of his absence, He was known to be a brave soldier, and a strict disciplinarian-tenacious of his honour, and incapable of abandoning his colours. deed, amongst the many evidences of his character he had from time to time given, was the fact, that although severely wounded in the right hand, which was thereby deprived of its fore-finger, and by which circumstance he had the option of abandoning the service, he had notwithstanding preferred to retain his commission, and had ever since continued on active duty. In In this instance, however, he was clearly absent without leave; and having been sought for throughout the town as seduously as circumstances would permit, there remained no alternative but to report the young man as a deserter. His regiment marched away without him, to the universal regret, mingled with astonishment, of officers, privates, and townsfolk. It so happened, however, that counter orders overtook the corps, soon after it had left Cleves; in consequence of which the soldiers returned to that city, and having arrived once more at their barracks, the general of di vision felt himself bound to issue orders for the assem bling of a court martial the following day, to sit in judgment on the unhappy Surville. The third day of his disappearance had now drawn to a close, and no tidings were received of the absent officer. Poor Dorothea, in an agony of despair at the probable fate impending over her lover, waited until the family had retired to rest. Fortifying herself by fond remembrances of him, for the preservation of whose life she felt resolved, if necessary, to sacrifice her own, the intrepid girl set out alone for the ancient ruins. When she reached the entrance of the gloomy cavern, she was overcome with a dread of Charles's fate, and was forced to rest herself upon a block of stone. The silence and darkness which pervaded every thing around, enhanced her excitement and her fears. Her imagination was tortured with the most gloomy images; and as she sat, bending her eyes on vacancy, spectral shapes began to fit before them, and the desolated fabric of the castle seemed to be metamorphosed into one vast tomb. At length her hand accidently fell upon the thread which was to guide her to the arms of her It affianced husband. She seized it with eagerness. appeared to form a link between her and hope. Her courage and spirits revived; and holding the thread firmly between her fingers, she grasped the lantern she had brought with her, and appealing to heaven for sup port, proceeded to enter the obscure abyss. As Dorothea passed onward, her steps grew steadier, her heart grew lighter; until the dead stillness that continued to brood around, again caused her spirits to sink. She called aloud on Charles, but none answered. A gloomy echo was the only rejoinder! More than an hour passed thus, as the resolute girl followed up the various openings her lover had made. But now she felt her strength give way, and leant for support against a projection of the rocky wall, A few minutes repose, in some degree recovered her and enabled her to resume her anxious search. Onwards she glided, her streaming hair (which had become disengaged from its bands,) lifted by the blast that occasionally eddied through the crevices, and, together with her wan cheeks, giving her the semblance of a restless ghost: onward she wandered, till suddenly the thread-her only guide and source of hope-terminated! Then it was she felt overpowered with despair-she became chilled both in soul and body. She could with difficulty articulate the words -Charles! my beloved Charles, where, oh! where art thou?' She listened in breathless suspense, and with parted lips, but in vain.- Alas!' cried she, at length, he is dead.' Even as she spoke, the dubious light of the lantern rendered an object at some little distance partly definable, towards which, with frantic energy and a heartbreaking shriek, she instantly sprang. Part of a wall had fallen over, and beneath its ruins were protruded part of the head and arms of the illstarred Surville. He had evidently been endeavouring to break through this barrier, for in one hand still clenched with the convulsive grasp of death, was the fatal pick-axe. The breach he made had shaken down the whole obstruction! The poor girl threw herself upon the relics of her bleeding lover, and remained long in a state of insensi bility. But fate forbad, as yet, her following him in death. She awoke to a consciousness of misery. With considerable difficulty and danger, she succeeded in extricating his head from amidst the stones by which it was nearly crushed, and laid it upon her lap, bedewing it with tears. She then resolved in her despair to remain here until hunger might in mercy produce that death she so much longed to share with him. But, after a while, the thought flashed upon her mind, that it was still possible to rescue the honour of the deceased soldier, and that a duty the most sacred had thus devolved upon her to perform, ere she could resolve to join him for ever in the grave. She hastened, therefore, at once to secure the only means remaining to redeem the character of her betrothed; and seizing that same hand which had been plighted to her in faith and love-now, alas! cold and stiffened, she with unshrinking resolution performed the dreadful operation, of severing it from the wrist with an instrument that lay by the body. Furnished with this terrible but undeniable proof of his innocence, she then hurried through the dark passages, nor paused until she had regained the entrance to that fatal cavern. Day had already dawned when Dorothea reached her home, faint and haggard. Her sister, alarmed at her appearance at that unseasonable hour, and in such a state, required an explanation. In the greatest agitation she hastily related the distressing scenes of the last night, concluding with an enquiry as to every particular of what had been determined on respecting her Charles. Alexandria replied that even at that early hour a court martial would be sitting in judgment on him. Horror. struck and alarmed lest she should be too late, she broke from her sister, and rushed through the streets to the council-room. In vain did the sentinels oppose her entrance; her desperation (as desperation often will) overcame all obstacles, and she burst into the chamber at the very moment these words were pronouncing: 'Charles Surville, convicted of desertion, is sentenced to be shot!' Hold! hold!' she eried. Justice! Justice! Charles Surville has not deserted his colours: he has sacrificed himself for me, Dorothea Mullner! Behold the uudeniable proof I bring! And herewith she drew forth the cold hand of their late comrade, which being directly recognised by the missing finger, they at once reversed the sentence. Poor Dorothea! thy ghastly task was ended! thy broken heart had earned its lasting rest! Thy lover's sentence of acquittal, was thy summons for rejoining him. Stretched at the feet of the appalled and wonderstricken-officers, with one convulsive shudder, but undiminished faith and fortitude, Dorothea expired. —Library of Fiction. STANZAS. Yes! Pride of soul shall nerve me now, No ;-by my hopes of Heaven! I'll be Thy hand hath oft been clasped in mine,- My lip hath e'n been pressed to thine- Since MEMORY's star can ill controut But I'll reproach thee not ;-Farewell! Since Fate bath willed that we must par', "Twere better now to brave the smart. Not seldom is the soul depressed Such now as in my bosom swell, LONDON AND PARISIAN FASHIONS. DRESSES.-Dresses for the ball room are made in a very plain manner. Flowers and foliage in velvet, gold or silver, feathers and marabouts are the most appropri ate decorations. As to shapes, the corsage flat half-high mounting and sloped to a point on the bust, is appropriate for half. dress. Evening dresses commonly have the corsages à la grecque, or draped, the corsages are sometimes flat in order to allow of the addition of a mantilla or suitable ornament. The manche plate which we have characterised as "flat sleeve" is still seen, but more in the minority; in this appellation a most extensive latitude is allowed; those with plaits, volans, ruches and even some description of bouffans coming under this denomination. Flounces are much worn, and are placed on double, the upper one being but about two thirds of the width. The wide sleeve has the appearance of closeness, this being very frequently obtained by bands &c., being in reality cut quite wide, indeed it is now frequently made close to the elbow and wide to the wrist, but, having bands or spiral ornaments, volans or biais in the lower part. A charming toilette was composed of a redingote of satin-velouté, with a corsage closely fitted to the shape, and sleeves demi-large of the bayadère kind, and a black velvet quilted bonnet; velvet shawl; sable muff; shoes and gaiters. A dress of rose-colored moire, the corsage plain and formed into a point, was cut very low about the neck and shoulders. A deep blond colleret edged the cor sage. The sleeves flat and short, with sabots intermixed with nœuds. The skirt was ornamented with a flounce of similar materials to the dress, having a heading with a satin piping. On the head a pearl torsade placed far back with a bouquet of marabouts, and, a bandeau composed of two rows of pearls on the forehead. A white satin dress for the ball room, or more properly speaking a fabric with stripes, alternately satin and transparent, (the latter division worked in gold) and a corsage à la grecque fixed in the middle of the bust by a diamond pin. Two torsades surrounded by diamonds and a large pink feather ornamented the hair which was drawn behind and twisted, and some portion suffered to escape in spiral locks. A most elegant and becoming dress was composed of a tunic of white moire entirely surrounded both at the hem and side front with an embroidered bordering of heath-flowers and pinks, was very short, opened at the side and continued upwards to the height of the shoulders. The sleeves which were short, were embellished by three bouilons formed by three garlands of flowers; this toilette was not ornamented by lace or ribbonds of any kind, the flowers which adorned it and the coiffure were the only ornaments. The cloak retains its place successfully amid the varying forms of winter, apparel, and is made up in still greater varieties than throughout the former part of the season. The manteau élastique, without taking the shape of the waist, has a large pendant collar which is formed so as to have a resemblance to sleeves, over the openings for the arms. Small pelerines of a distinguished and yet most com modious shape, and well fitted for the theatre or assem bly have the name of Victorine. One which we saw in rose-colored satin, worked in silver and lined with ermine was particularly effective and rich in appearance. Velvet mantelets trimmed with ermine are in great vogue, swans's down is also a much admired addition. Mantelets instead of being lined with fur, have fur for the body with a lining of silk &c. and wadded. The palatine-mantelets are thus made, but in many varieties of shape. HATS AND CAPS.-Hats continue much the same as to form, unless it be remarked that they are somewhat closer and lower down on the face. Velvet is a favorite material and we have seen many with a simple satin ornament or a colored feather or marabout, afford a charming combination. A black velvet hat with a single feather, rose-colored, was worn rather more elevated both in the crown and brim than usual and the feather, commencing in the intervening space, continuing over the crown until it drooped as low as the neck gave an extremely elegant tournure to the costume. Another hat of the same material in green, was ornamented with a white feather issuing from a rosette on the left side and falling towards the right shoulder. A violet colored bonnet of the same had a nœud placed behind the crown, inclining very much to one side, with long pendant ends; a green feather graced this elegant bonnet, the effect of which was completed by a wide nœud on the contrary side to that to which the feather was fixed. Another of blue plush, had an ornament inside the brim of english point lace, and a feather of the color of the hat. A dress hat of white spangled velvet, was ornameeted with a superb drooping marabout, Another of rose-colored, spangled and small dimensions, much turned up on the one side, was embellished on one side with a plume of white feathers, and on the other a ribbon chou, the long ends of which fell below the shoulders. Caps, which are greatly in vogue, are seen in numerous styles, the small shapes are prefered. A tulle bouillon enclosing a ribbon, encircles the head, the ends of which of unequal length, hang on one side. A garland of flowers fixed to a tulle foundation is not unfrequent. A little velvet bord turned up on one side has a heron or bird of paradise feather, usually fixed on one side and falling over the other. A plush capote was ornamented beneath the brim with a tulle bouillon, small in front and enlarged at the sides representing a cap: in the midst were several ribbon coques; a ribbon encircled the crown and crossing the bottom formed ties. On each side next the ears was a cocade of ribbon coques, the ends of which fell very low. The curtain was wide and in regular folds. Many velvet hats and capotes a good deal turned up at the neck, are ornamented under the brim, near the border, with a tulle ruche. Feathers colored in a similar shade are much worn with velvet and satin bonnets, sometimes they are only partially tinted, principally at the edges and shaded off gradually. MATERIALS AND COLORS.-We have little to add |