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VOL. I. 

London : 

Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoodcj 

New- Street- Square. 





Loin d'aimer la guerre, il Tabhorre ; 
En triomphant meme il deplore 
Les desastres qu'elle produit: 
Et couronn^ par la victoire, 
II g^mit de sa propre gloire, 
Si la paix n'en est pas le fruit. 









" Miss Porter has availed herself of a very interesting period 
in history for the foundation of her tale. Often have we felt 
our heart rent by indignation and pity, at the dismemberment of 
Poland and the cruel fate of Stanislaus. Truth and fiction are 
blended with much propriety in these Volumes ; and we have 
turned with sincere pleasure the pages that praise the valour of 
Kosciuszko ; and recount, though but as a novel, the adventures 
of Sobieski," — Critical Review, Sejyt. 1803. 

" Thaddeus is a work of genius, and has nothing to fear at 
the candid bar of taste : he has to receive the precious meed of 
sympathy from every reader of unsophisticated sentiment and 
genuine feeling." — Imperial Review, Feb. 1804. 

O '0 / 




VOL. I. 

O ! bloodiest picture in the book of time ; 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ! 

Campbe ll. 

A 3 










Sir Philip Sidney consigned his excellent Work, 

to the Affection of a Sister. 

I, confide my aspiring Attempt, to the 

Urbanity of the Brave : to the Man of Taste, 

of Feeling, and of Candour ; 

To him, whose Friendship will bestow 

That Indulgence on the Author, which his Judgment 

might have denied to the Book ; 

To him, of whom future Ages will speak with Honour, 

and the present Times boast as their Glory ! 


Sir Sidney Smith, 

I submit this humble Tribute of the highest Respect, 

Which can be offered by a Briton, 

Or animate the Heart 

Of his sincere and obliged Servant, 


A 4. 

*^0 O- oJ> ja^O 








One view, in the original design of this 
work, having been to draw a distinguish- 
ing line between the spirit of patriotism, 
and that of ambitious public disturbance ; 
between the disinterested brave man, 
and a military plunderer ; between true 
glory, which arises from benefits be- 
stowed, and the false fame which a cap- 

A ^ 

tain of banditti has as much right ta 
arrogate, as the invader of kingdoms ; to 
exhibit this radical difference between the 
hero, and the mere soldier of fortune^ 
the character of General Kosciuszko 
presented itaelf as the completest exist- 
ing exemplar for such a picture. En- 
thusiasm supplied the pencil of adequate 
genius. Though the written portraiture 
be imperfectly sketched, yet its author 
has been gratified by the sympathy of 
readers, not only of her own country, 
but of that of her hero. The work 
having gone through so many editions, 
proves that she did not aspire quite in 
vain ; and that the principles of heroic 
virtue, which she sought to inculcate in 
her story of Poland, have been pro- 
nounced by the great patriot of Poland, 
as not unworthy his approbation, seem,N 
now that he is removed from all earthly 
influences, to sanction her paying that 
tribute to his memory, which delicacy 
forbade during his life. 


The first publication of this work, was 
inscribed to a British hero, whose noble 
nature well deserves the title bestowed 
upon it by his venerable sovereign — 
Cceiir de Lion ! He fully appreciated 
the character of Thaddeus Kosciuszko ; 
and the author of this sketch feels that 
she deepens the tints of honour on each 
name, by thus associating them togetlier. 
May the tomb of the British hero be 
long of finding its place ! That of Kos- 
ciuszko has already received its sacred 
d'^eposit ; and, with emotions far from a 
stranger's heart, this poor offering is laid 
x)n the grave of him who fought for 
freedom under the banner of a patriot 
king; who, when riches and a crown 
were proffered to himself, declined both, 
because no price could buy the inde- 
pendence of an honest man ! Such was 
General Kosciuszko ! — Such was the 
model of disinterestedness, valour, and 
of public virtue, which I set before me 
in these pages ! — Such was the man who 


honoured the writer of them with his 
esteem ; and, in that one word, she feels 
a sufficient privilege to dedicate, with 
humble and affectionate devotion, these 
few inadequate pages to his memory ! — 
Daring to catch at some memorial of 
herself to after-times, by thus uniting to 
the name of Thaddeus Kosciuszko, that 
of his ever grateful 


Long Dittoriy 
Sept A. 1819. 



Having attempted a work of Four 
Volumes, it is natural that the consider- 
ation of so much time and thought as 
must have been spent in its execution, 
should occasion to the Author some 
anxiety respecting its fate ; therefore, 
before the Reader favours the tale itself 
with hiu attention, I beg leave to offer 
him an account of its design. 

Agreeably to the constant verdict of 
good taste, I have ever held the novels 
of Richardson in the greatest reverence. 
— Their pure morality, and their unity 
of plan, which might well entitle them 
to be called Epic Poems in prose, have 


equally been the objects of my respect 
and admiration. I see the trials and 
triumph of Chastity manifested in the 
person of Pamela. With the same trials 
and triumphs, Piety, in her brightest 
garb, is exhibited in the character of 
Clarissa. And in Sir Charles Grandison, 
we have a most attractive and charming 
example of every Christian virtue. 

The contemplation of such a model, 
inspired me with emulation, while 1 
remarked, with concern, that these good 
novels themselves had given place on 
the family reading-table, to light and 
often dangerous tales, from the French 
school, of false sentiment, and headlong 
passion. Observing also the mistakes 
which my young contemporaries make 
in their estimates of character and of 
life; how much they require that the 
difference between certain splendid vices, 
and the brilliant order of virtues, should 
be distinctly marked, with perhaps a too 
daring hand 1 here venture to sketch the 
sacred Hne. 


Wishing to portray a character which 
prosperity could not inflate, nor adver- 
sity depress, I chose Magnanimity as the 
subject of my story. I found the original 
of my portrait in Poland. — There is a 
powerful ray of the Almighty in truly 
great minds : it burns with equal splen- 
dour in prosperity and in adversity ; its 
purity as well as its ardour, declares its 
divine origin. — This is the talisman of 
those achievements, which amaze every 
one but their accomplisher. — When the 
eye is fixed on Heaven, «« Ossa seems a 

What flattered Alexander into a mad- 
man, and degraded the high-souled 
Cagsar into a tyrant, I have selected as 
the first ordeal of Thaddeus Sobieski. — 
Placed at the summit of mortal ambition, 
surrounded with greatness and glory, he 
shows neither pride nor vanity. And 
when, in the progress of his second trial, 
he is plunged into the depths of sorrow ; 
the weakness of passion never sinks the 
dignity of his fortitude ^ neither does the 


firmness of that virtue blunt the amiable 
sensibility of his heart. 

This being the aim to which every in- 
cident in the story ought to tend, it be- 
came necessary to station my hero amidst 
scenes, where events might probably 
arise that were proper to excite his 
valour and generosity, and to put his 
moderation to the test. — Poland seemed 
the country best calculated to promote 
my intention. Her struggles for inde- 
pendence, and her misfortunes, afforded 
me situations exactly fitted to my plan : 
— and, preferring a series of incidents, 
which are true and interesting, before a 
legend of war fabricated by my own hand, 
I have made no hesitation to accept truth 
as the helpmate of fiction. 

I have now described my plan ; if 
it be disapproved, let the Work be 
neglected : but, should the Reader be 
so candid as to wish to proceed, I must 
beg him to peruse the "whole of the 
First volume. Aware that war and 
politics are not promising subjects of 


amusement, it is requisite to assure 
him that he needs not to be alarmed at its 
battles ; they are neither frequent, nor do 
they last long : and, 1 request him, not 
to pass over any scene as extraneous, 
which, though it begin like a state-paper 
or a sermon, always terminates by cast- 
ing some new light on the portrait of the 
hero. — As the three remaining volumes 
are totally confined to domestic events, 
they have none of these prejudices to 
encounter ; but if the Reader do not ap- 
proach them regularly through all the 
developement of character opened in the 
First volume, what they exhibit will seem 
a mere wilderness of incidents, without 
interest or end. — Indeed, I have design- 
ed nothing in the personages of this story 
beyond the sphere of living evidence. I 
have sketched no virtue that I have not 
seen, nor painted any folly from imagin- 
ation. I have endeavoured to be as faith- 
ful to reality in my pictures of domestic 
morals, and of heroic life, as a just 
painter is to the existing and engaging 


objects of nature ; and, on these grounds, 
I have attempted steadily to inculcate, 
*« That virtue is the highest proof of 
understanding, and the only solid basis 
of greatness ; and that vice is the natural 
consequence of narrow thoughts ; which 
begin in mistake, and end in ignominy." 



Ihe large and magnificent palace of 
Villanow, whose vast domains stretch 
along the northern bank of the Vistula, 
was the favourite residence of John So- 
bieski, King of Poland. That monarch, 
after having delivered his country from 
innumerable enemies, rescued Vienna, 
and subdued the Turks, retired to this 
place at certain seasons, and thence dis- 
pensed those acts of his luminous and 
benevolent mind, which rendered his 
name great, and his people happy. 

When Charles the Twelfth of Sweden 
visited the tomb of Sobieski, at Cracow, 
he exclaimed, <« What a pity that so great 
a man should ever die !" Another gene- 
ration saw the spirit of this lamented hero 

VOL. T. B 


revive in the person of his descendant, 
Constantine, Count Sobieski ; who, in a 
comparatively private station, as Palatine 
of Masovia, and the friend, rather than 
the lord, of his vassals, evinced by his 
actions, that he was the inheritor of his 
forefather's virtue, as wxll as of his blood. 

He was the first Polish nobleman, who 
granted freedom to his peasants. He 
threw down their mud hovels, and built 
comfortable villages ; he furnished them 
with seed, cattle, and implements of 
husbandry 5 and calling their families to- 
gether, laid before them the deed of their 
enfranchisement : But, before he signed 
it, he expressed a fear, that they would 
abuse this Uberty, of which they had not 
had experience, and become licentious. 

" No ;" returned a venerable peasant, 
" when we possessed no other property 
than the staffs which we hold in our hands, 
we were destitute of all worldly motive for 
discreet conduct : not having any thing to 
lose, we acted in too many occasions in 


an intemperate manner. But now that 
the fruits of our labours are absolutely 
our own, the care of protecting them will 
be a sufficient restraint upon our actions." 

The good sense and truth of this answer 
were manifested in the event. On the 
emancipation of these people, they be- 
came so prosperous in business, and cor- 
rect in behaviour, that the example of the 
Palatine was speedily followed by several 
of the principal nobility. The king's re- 
form hig spirit moved in unison with that 
of Sobieski ; and a constitution was given 
to Poland, to place her in the first rank 
of free nations. 

Encircled by his happy tenantry, and 
within the bosom of his family, this illus- 
trious man educated Thaddeus, the only 
male heir of his name, to the exercise of 
all the virtues which ennoble and endear 
the possessor. 

But this reign of public and domestic 
peace was not to continue. A formida- 
ble, and apparently friendly, state, envied 

B 2 


the effects of a patriotism it would not 
imitate ; and in the beginning of the year 
1792, regardless of existing treaties, broke 
in upon the unguarded frontiers of Po- 
land ; threatening, with all the horrors of 
a merciless war, the properties, lives, and 
liberty, of the people. 

The family of Sobieski had ever been 
foremost in the ranks of his country ; and 
at the present crisis, its venerable head 
did not hang behind the youngest war- 
rior in preparations for the field. 

On the evening of an anniversary of 
the birth-day of his grandson, the Palatine 
rode abroad with a party of friends who 
had been celebrating the festival with 
their presence. The Countess his daugh- 
ter, and Thaddeus, were left alone in the 
saloon. She sighed as she gazed on her 
son, who stood at some distance, fitting 
to his youthful thigh a variety of sabres, 
which his servant, a little time before, had 
laid upon the table. She observed with 
anxiety the eagerness of his motion, and 


the ardour that was flashing from his 

" Thaddeus," said she, " lay down that 
sword ; I wish to speak with you.^' Thad- 
deus looked gaily up. " My dear Thad- 
deus !" cried his mother, and tears started 
to her eyes. The blush of enthusiasm 
faded from his face ; he threw the sabre 
from him, and drew near the Countess. 

" Why, my dear mother, do you distress 
yourself? When I am in battle, shall I not 
have my grandfather near me ; and be as 
much under, the protection of God as at 
this moment ?" 

« Yes, my child," answered she, " God 
will protect you. He is the protector of 
the orphan, and you are fatherless.*' 
The Countess paused — " Here, my son," 
said she, giving him a sealed packet, 
** take this : it will reveal to you the his- 
tory of your birth, and the name of your 
father. It is necessary that you should 
know the truth, and all the goodness of 
your grandfather. Thaddeus received it, 
5 3 


and stood silent with surprise. Read it, 
my love," continued she, ** but go to your 
own apartments : here you may be inter- 

Bewildered by the manner of the Coun- 
tess, Thaddeus, without answering, in- 
stantly obeyed. Shutting himself within 
his study, he impatiently opened the pa- 
pers ; and soon found his whole attention 
absorbed in the following recital. 

To my dear Son^ Thaddeus Constantine 
SobieskL — 

" You are now, my Thaddeus ! at the 
early age of nineteen, going to engage 
the enemies of your country. Ere I re- 
sign my greatest comfort to the casualties 
of war, ere I part with you, perhaps for 
ever, I would inform you, who your fa- 
ther really was : that father whose exist- 
ence you have hardly known ; and whose 
name you have never heard. You be- 
lieve yourself an orphan ; your mother a 
widow: but, alas! I have now to tell 


you, that you were made fatherless by 
the cruelty of man, not by the dispens- 
ation of heaven, 

** Twenty years ago I accompanied 
my father in a tour through Germany 
into Italy, Grief for the death of my 
mother had impaired his health ^ and 
the physicians ordered him to reside in 
a warmer climate : accordingly we fixed 
ourselves near the Arno. During several 
visits to Florence, my father met, in that 
city, witii a young Englishman of the 
name of Sackville. These frequent meet- 
ings opened into intimacy, and he was 
invited to our house. 

" Mr. Sackville was not only the hand- 
somest man I had ever beheld, but the 
most accomplished ; and his heart seemed 
the seat of every graceful feeling. He 
was the first man for whose society I 
found a lively preference. I used to smile 
at this strange delight, or sometimes 
weep : for the emotions which agitated me 
were undefinable : but they were enchant- 
B 4 


ing; and unheedingly I gave them in- 
dulgence. The hours which we passed 
together in the interchange of reciprocal 
sentiments; the kind beaming of his looks; 
the thousand sighs that he breathed; the 
half-uttered sentences ; all conspired to 
rob me of myself. 

" Eight months were spent in these 
delusions. — During the last three, doubts 
and anguish displaced the blissful reveries 
of an infant tenderness. The attentions of 
Mr. Sackville died away. From being the 
object of his constant search, he now se- 
dulously sought to avoid me. When my 
father withdrew to his closet, he would 
take his leave, and allow me to walk alone. 
Solitary and wretched were my rambles. 
I had full leisure to compare my then dis- 
turbed state of mind, with the comparative 
peace I had enjoyed in my own country. 
Immured within the palace of Villanow, 
watching the declining health of my mo- 
ther, I knew nothing of the real world ; 
the little I had learnt of society, being 
drawn from books, and uncorrected by ex- 


perience, I was taught to believe a perfec- 
tion in man, which to my affliction, I since 
found to be but a poet's dream. When I 
came to Italy, I continued averse to public 
company. In such seclusion, the presence 
of Sackville being almost my only plea^ 
sure, chased from my mind its usual re- 
serve ; and gradually, and surely, won 
upon the awakened afiections of my heart. 
Artless and unwarned, I knew not the 
nature of the passion which I cherished, 
until it had gained an ascendency that 
menaced my life. 

** On the evening of one of those days 
in which I had not seen this too dearly- 
beloved friend, I strolled out, and hardly 
conscious of my actions, threw myself 
along the summit of a flight of steps that 
led down to the Arno. My head rested 
against the base of a statue, which, be- 
cause of its resemblance to me, Sackville 
had presented to my father. Every re- 
collected kindness of his now gave me 
additional torment ; and, clinging to the 
B 5 


pedestal, as to the altar of my adoration, 
in the bitterness of disappointment, I ad- 
dressed the insensible stone ; ' O ! were 
I pale as thou art, and this breast as cold 
and still, would Sackville, when he looked 
on me, give one sigh to the creature he 
had destroyed ?' My sobs followed this 
adjuration, and the next moment I felt 
myself encircled in his arms. I struggled, 
and, almost fainting, begged to be re- 
leased. He did release me, and, falling 
on his knees, implored my pardon for the 
misery which I had endured. * Now, 
Therese,* cried he, * all is as it ought to 
be ! you are my only hope. Consent to 
be mine, or the world has no hold on 
me !' His voice was hurried and incohe- 
rent. Raising my eyes to his, I beheld 

them wild and bloodshot. Terrified at his 
look, and overcome by my own emotions, 
my head sunk on the marble. With in- 
creased violence, he exclaimed, * Have I 
deceived myself here too ? Therese, did 
you not prefer me ? Did you not love me ? 
— Speak now, I conjure you, by your 


own happiness and mine ! Do you reject 
me ?' He clenched my hands with a force 
that made me tremble, and I hardly arti- 
culated, * I will be yours/ At these 
words he hurried me down a dark vista, 
which led out of the gardens to the 
open country. A carriage stood at the 
gate. I fearfully asked what he intended. 
* You have given yourself to me,' cried 
he, ' and by the Great Lord of Heaven, 
no power shall separate us until you are 
mine beyond the reach of man !' Un- 
nerved in body, and weak in mind, I 
yielded to his impetuosity ; and, suffering 
him to lift me into the chariot, was carried 
to the door of the nearest monastery, 
where in a few minutes we were married, 
" I am thus particular in the relation 
of every incident, in the hope that you 
will, my dear son, see some excuse for 
my great imprudence, — in the circum- 
stances of my youth ; and in the influ- 
ence, which a man who seemed all ex- 
cellence, had over my heart. However, 
my fault went not long unpunished. 
B 6 


" The ceremony passed, my husband 
conducted me in silence back to the car- 
riage. My full bosom discharged itself in 
abundance of tears, while Sackville sat by 
me, unmoved and mute. Two or three 
times I raised my eyes, in hopes of dis- 
cerning in his, some consolation for my 
hasty acquiescence. But no j his gaze, 
vacant and glaring, was fixed on the win- 
dow ; and his brow scowled, as if he had 
been forced into an alliance with one he 
hated, rather than had just made a volun- 
tary engagement with the woman he 
loved. My soul shuddered at this com- 
mencement of a contract which I had 
dared to make unsanctioned by my fa- 
ther's consent. At length my sighs 
seemed to startle my husband ; and, turn- 
ing suddenly round, * Therese,' cried 
he, 'this marriage must not be told to 

the Palatine.' 1 demanded a reason 

for so unexpected a prohibition. * Be- 
cause I have been precipitate. It would 
ruin me with my family. Wait, only for 
one month j and then I will publicly ac- 


knowledge you/ The agitation of his 
features, the sternness of his voice, and 
the feverish burning of his hand, which 
held mine, alarmed me. Trembling from 
head to foot, I answered, * Sackville ! I 
have already erred enough in consenting 
to this stolen union. I will not transgress 
further, by concealing it. I will in- 
stantly throw myself at my father's feet, 
and confess all.' His countenance dark- 
ened. * Therese,' said he, ' I am your 
husband. You have sworn to obey me, 
and I command your silence. Till I 
allow you, divulge this marriage at your 
peril.' This last cruel sentence, and the 
more cruel look that accompained it, 
pierced me to the heart, and I fell sense- 
less on the seat. 

" When I recovered, I found myself at 
the foot of that statue, beneath which my 
unfortunate destiny had been fixed. My 
husband was leaning over me. He raised 
me with tenderness from the ground ; and 
conjured me, in the mildest accents, to be 
comforted ; to pardon the severity of those 


words which had arisen from a fear that, 
by an imprudent avowal on my part, I 
should risk both his happiness and my 
own. He informed me, that he was heir 
to one of the first fortunes in England ; 
he had pledged his honour with his fa- 
ther never to enter into any matrimonial 
engagement, without first acquainting 
him with the particulars of the lady and 
her family. Should he omit this duty, his 
father declared, that though she were a 
princess, he would disinherit him, and 
never again admit him to his presence. 

" ' Consider this, my dear Therese,' 
continued he ; * could you endure to be- 
hold me a beggar, and stigmatized with 
a parent's curse, when a little forbearance 
on your part would make all right ? I 
know I have been hasty in acting as I 
have done, but now I cannot remedy my 
error. To-morrow I will write to my 
father, describe your rank and merits, 
and request his consent to our immediate 
marriage. The moment his permission 


arrives, I will cast myself on the Palatine's 
friendship, and reveal what has passed.' 
The tenderness of my husband blinded 
my reason ; and with many tears, I sealed 
his forgiveness, and pledged my faith on 
his word. 

" My dear deceived parent little sus- 
pected the perfidy of his guest. He de- 
tained him as his visitor : and often ral- 
lied himself, on the hold which his distin- 
guished accomplishments had taken on 
his esteem. Sackville's manner to me in 
public was obliging and free ; it was in 
private only, that I found the tender, 
the capricious, the, unfeeling husband. 
Night after night I have washed the me- 
mory of my want of duty to my father, 
with bitter tears : but my husband was 
dear to me, was more precious than my 
life : one kind look from him, one fond 
word, would solace every pain, and make 
me w^ait the arrival of his father's letter 
with all the gay anticipations of youth 
and love. 


" A fortnight passed away. A montli, 
a long and lingering month. Another 
month, and a packet of letters was pre- 
sented to Sackville. He was at breakfast 
with us. At sight of the superscription, he 
coloured, tore open the paper, ran his eyes 
over a few lines, and then, pale and trem- 
bling, rose from his seat, and left the 
room. My emotions were almost uncon- 
trollable. I had already half risen from 
my chair to follow him, when the Palatine 
exclaimed, < What can be in that letter ? 
Too plainly I see some afflicting tidings.' 
And without observing me, or waiting for 
a reply, he hurried out after him. I stole 
to my chamber, where, throwing myself 
on my bed, I tried, by all the delusions 
of hope to obtain some alleviation from 
the pangs of suspense. 

" The dinner bell roused me from my 
reverie. Dreading to excite suspicion, and 
anxious to read in the countenance of my 
husband the denunciation of our fate, I 
obeyed the summons, and descended to 
the dining-room. On entering it, my eyes 


irresistibly wandered round to fix them- 
selves on Sackville. He was leaning 
against a pillar, his face pale as death. 
My father looked grave, but immediately 
took his seat, and tenderly placed his 
friend beside him. 1 sat down in silence. 
Little dinner was eaten, and few words 
spoken. — As for myself, my agitations 
almost choked me. I felt that the first 
word I should attempt to pronounce, 
must give them utterance, and that their 
vehemence would betray our fatal secret. 
<* When the servants withdrew, Sack- 
ville rose, and taking my father's hand, 
said, in a faultering voice, ' Count, I must 
leave you.' — * It is a wet evening,' re- 
plied the Palatine ; * you are unwell — 
disturbed — stay till tOrmorrow !' — * I 
thank your Excellency,' answered he, 
* but I must go to Florence to-night. You 
shall see me again before to morrow after- 
noon : all will then, I hope, be settled to 
my wish.' Sackville took his hat. Mo- 
tionless, and incapable of speaking, I sat 


fixed to my chair, in the direct way that 
he must pass. His eye met mine. He 
stoppedj and looked at me, abruptly 
caught my hand ; then as abruptly quit- 
ting it, darted out of the room. I never 
saw him more. 

" I had not the power to dissemble 
another moment. I fell back, weeping, 
into the arms of my father. He did not, 
even by this imprudence, read what I 
almost wished him to guess ; but with all 
the indulgence of perfect confidence, 
lamented the distress of Sackville, and 
the sensibility of my nature, which sympa- 
thized so painfully with his friend. I durst 
not ask what was the distress of his friend j 
abashed at my duplicity to him, and over- 
whelmed with a thousand dreads, I obtain- 
ed his permission to retire to my chamber. 

*' The next day, I met him with a se- 
rene air ; for I had schooled my heart to 
endure the sufferings it had deserved. The 
Palatine did not remark my recovered 
tranquillity J neither did he appear to 


think any more of my tears ; so entirely 
was he occupied in conjecturing the cause 
of Sackville's grief; who had acknow- 
ledged having received a great shock, but 
would not reveal the occasion. This ig- 
norance of my father surprised me ; and 
to all his suppositions I said little. My 
soul was too deeply interested in the sub- 
ject, to trust to the faithfulness of my lips. 

" The morning crept slowly on, and the 
noon appeared to stand still. I anxiously 
watched the declining sun, as the signal 
for mv husband's return. Two hours had 
elapsed since his promised time, and my 
father grew so impatient, that he went out 
to meet him. I eagerly wished that they 
might miss each other. I should then see 
SackviUe a few minutes alone ; and by one 
word, be comforted, or driven to despair. 

" I was listening to every footstep that 
sounded under the colonnade, when my 
servant brought me a letter which had just 
been left by one of Mr. Sackville's grooms. 
I tore open the seal ; and fell senseless on 


the floor, ere I had read half the killing 
contents — " 

Thaddeus, with a burning cheek, and a 
heart all at once robbed of that elastic 
spring, which till now had ever made him 
the happiest of the happy, took up the 
letter of his father. The paper was worn 
and blistered with his mother's tears. 
His head seemed to swim as he contem- 
plated the hand-writing, and he said to 
himself, " Am I to respect or to abhor 
him ?" He proceeded in the perusal. 

" To Therese^ Couiitess SoUeski, 

** How, Therese, am I to address you ? 
But an attempt at palliating my conduct, 
would be to no purpose ; indeed it is im- 
possible. You cannot conceive a viler 
opinion of me, than I have of myself. I 
know that I forfeit all claim to honour j 
that I have sacrificed your tenderness to 
my distracted passions : But you shall no 
more be subject to the caprices of a man, 
who cannot repay your love with his own. 
— You have no guilt to torture you : and 


you possess virtues which will render you 
tranquil under every calamity. I leave 
you to your own innocence. Forget the 
ceremony which has passed between us : 
my wretched heart disclaims it for ever. 
Your father is happily ignorant of it; 
pray spare him the anguish of knowing 
that I was so completely unworthy of his 
kindness ; I feel that I am more than 
ungrateful to you and to him. Therese, 
your most inveterate hate cannot more 
strongly tell me, than I tell myself, that I 
have treated you like a villain. But I 
cannot retract. I am going where all 
search will be vain ; and I now bid you 
an eternal farewell. May you be happier 
than ever can be the wretched, self- 

Florence. « R. S— .'* 

Thaddeus went on with his mother's 

" When my senses returned, I was lying 
on the ground, holding the half-perused 
paper in my hand. Grief and horror 
locked up the avenues of complaint, and I 


sat as one petrified to stone. My father 
entered. At the sight of me, he started as 
if he had seen a spectre. His well-known 
features opened at once my agonized 
heart. With fearful cries, I cast myself at 
his feet, and putting the letter into his 
hand, clung, almost expiring, to his knees. 
" When he had read it, he flung it from 
him, and dropping into a chair, covered 
his face with his hands. I looked up im- 
ploringly, for I could not speak. My 
father stooped forward, and raising me in 
his arms pressed me to his bosom. * My 
Therese,' said he, ' it is I who have done 
this. Had I not harboured this villain, he 
never could have had an opportunity of 
ruining the peace of my child.' In return, 
for the unexampled indulgence of this 
speech ; and his repeated assurances of 
forgiveness ; I promised to forget a man, 
who could have so little respect for grati- 
tude, or his own honour. The Palatine re- 
plied, that he expected such a resolution, 
in consequence of the principles which he 
had taught me j and to show me how far 


dearer to him was my real tranquillity than 
any false idea of impossible restitution, he 
would not remove, even from one princi- 
pality to another, were he sure by that 
means, to discover Mr. Sackville, and to 
avenge my wrongs. My understanding 
assented to the justice of all his reasoning; 
but long and severe were the struggles, 
before I could erase from my soul, the 
image of that being wlio had been the 
lord of all its joys and sorrows. 

" It was not until you, my dear Thad- 
deus, were born, that I could repay the 
goodness of my father with the smiles of 
cheerfulness. — He would not permit me 
to give you any name, which could remind 
him, or myselfi of the cruel parent who 
gave you being ; and by his desire I chris- 
tened you Thaddeus Constantine, after 
himself, and his best-beloved friend Ge- 
neral Kosciuszko. — You have not yet seen 
that illustrious Polander, whose prescient 
watchfulness for his coiuitry has always 
kept him on the frontiers. He is now with 
the army at Winnica, whither you must 


soon go : In him, you will see a second 
Sobieski. In him, you may study one 
of the brightest models of patriotic and 
martial virtue, that ever was presented to 
mankind. It may well be said of him, — 
* That he would have shone with dis- 
tinguished lustre in the ages of chivalry.' 
Gallant, generous, and strictly just ; he 
commands obedience by the reverence in 
which he is held ; and attaches the troops 
to his person, by the affability of his man- 
ners, and the purity of his life. He teaches 
them discipline, endurance of fatigue, 
and contempt of danger, by his dauntless 
example : and inspires them with confi- 
dence, by his tranquillity in the tumult of 
action, and the invincible fortitude with 
which he meets the most adverse strokes 
of misfortune. His modesty in victory, 
shows him to be one of the greatest among 
men ; and his magnanimity under defeat, 
confirms him to be little less than a god. 
" Such is the man, whose name you 
bear : How bitterly do I lament that the 


one, to which nature gave you a claim, 
was so unworthy to be united with it, 
and that of my no less heroic father ! — 

" On our return to Poland, the story 
which the Palatine related, when ques- 
tioned about my apparently forlorn state, 
was simply this; — "My daughter was 
married, and widowed in the course of 
two months. — Since then, to root from 
her memory, as much as possible, all 
recollection of a husband who was only 
given to be taken away, she still retains 
my name ; and her son, as my sole heir, 
shall bear no other," This reply satisfied 
every one : the King, who was my father's 
only confidant, gave his sanction to it, 
and no further enquiries were started. 

** You are now, my beloved child, en- 
tering on the eventful career of life. God 
only knows when the venerable head of 
your grandfather is laid in dust, and I, 
too, have shut my eyes upon you for ever, 
where destiny may send you ! perhaps to 
tlie country of your father. Should you 

VOL. I, c 


ever meet him — but that is unHkely ; so 
I will be silent on a subject, which nine- 
teen years of reflection have not yet de- 
prived of its sting. 

. " Not to embitter the fresh spring of 
your youth, my Thaddeus, with the draught 
that has poisoned mine ; not to implant 
in your breast, hatred of a parent whom 
you may never behold, have I written 
this : but to inform you in fact from 
whom you sprung. My history is made 
plain to you, that no unexpected events 
may hereafter perplex your opinion of 
your mother ; or cause a blush to rise on 
that cheek for her, v/hich from your 
grandfather can derive no stain. For his 
sake as well as for mine, whether in 
peace or in war, may the angels of 
Heaven guard my boy ! This is the 
unceasing prayer of thy fond mother, 
•^ <« Therese, Countess Sobip:ski." 
March, 179^. 


' When he finished reading, Thaddeus 
held the papers in his hand ; but unable 
to recover from the shock of their con- 
tents, he read them a second time to the 
end: then laying them on the table, 
against which he rested his now aching 
head, he gave vent to the fulness of his 

The Countess, anxious for the effect 
which her history might have on her son, 
at this instant entered the room. Seeing 
him in so dejected an attitude, she ap- 
proached, and pressing him to her bosom 
mingled her tears with his. Thaddeus, 
ashamed of his emotions, yet incapable 
of dissembling them, struggled a few 
moments to release himself from her 
arms. The Countess, mistaking his mo- 
tive, said in a melancholy voice, " And 
do you, my son, despise your mother for 
the weakness which she has revealed ? Is 
this the reception that I expected from a 
child, on whose affection I reposed ray 
confidence and my comfort ?" 
c 2 


" No, my mother/' replied Thaddeus ; 
" it is your afflictions which have dis- 
tressed me. This is the first unhappy 
hour I ever knew, and can you wonder 
I should be affected ? Oh ! mother," con- 
tinued he, laying his hand on his father's 
letter, " whatever were his rank, had my 
father been but noble in mind, I would 
have gloried in bearing his name; but 
now, I put up my prayers never to hear 
it more." 

"'Forget him," cried the Countess, 
hiding her eyes with her handkerchief. 

" I will !" answered Thaddeus, " and 
allow my memory, to dwell only on the 
virtues of my mother." 

It was impossible for the Countess or 
her son, to conceal their agitation from 
the Palatine, who now opened the door. 
On his expressing alarm at a sight so 
unusual, his daughter finding herself in- 
capable of speaking, put into his hand 
the letter which Thaddeus had just read. 
Sobieski cast his eye over the first lines ; 


he comprehended their tendency, and 
seeing the Countess had withdrawn, he 
looked towards his grandson. Thaddeus 
was walking up and down the roonj, 
striving to command himself for the con- 
versation he anticipated with his grand- 

" I am sorry, Thaddeus," said Sobieski, 
" that your mother has so abruptly im- 
parted to you the real name and cha- 
racter of your father. I see that his 
villany has distressed a heart, which 
heaven has made alive to the slightest 
dishonour. But be consoled, my son ! I 
have prevented the publicity of his con- 
duct, by an ambiguous story of your 
mother's widowhood. Notwithstanding 
this arrangement, she judged it proper^ 
that you should not enter general society 
without being made acquainted with the 
true events of your birth. I believe 
my daughter is right. But cheer your- 
self, my child! you will imbitter the 
remainder of my days, if you suffer the 
c 3 


vices of a worthless man to prey upon 
your mind/' 

" No, my lord," answered his grand- 
son ; *' you have been more than a parent 
to me j and henceforward, for your sake 
as well as my own, I shall hold it my 
duty, to forget that I drew my being 
from any other source than that of the 
house of Sobieski." 

" You are right," cried the Palatine, 
with an exulting emotion, ** you have the 
spirit of your ancestors ; and I shall live 
to see you add glory to the name !" 

The beaming eyes and smiling lips of 
the young Count, declared that he had 
shaken sorrow from his heart. His grand- 
father pressed his hand with delight; 
and saw in his recovered serenity the 
sure promise of his fond prophecy. 



The fearful day arrived, when Sobieski 
and his grandson were to bid adieu to 
Villanow and its peaceful scenes. 

The well-poised mind of the veteran, 
bade his daughter farewell, with a forti- 
tude which imparted some of its strength 
even to her. But when Thaddeus, ready 
habited for his journey, entered the room, 
at the sight of his military accoutre- 
ments she shuddered ; and when, with a 
glowing countenance, he advanced smil- 
ing through his tears, towards her, she 
clasped him in her arms ; and ri vetted her 
lips to that face, the very loveliness of 
which, added to her affliction. She gazed 
at him, she wept on his neck, she pressed 
him to her bosom. <* O ! how soon might 
all that beauty be mingled with the dust ! 
c 4 


how soon might that warm heart, which 
then beat against hers, be pierced by the 
sword! be laid on the ground, mangled 
and bleeding, exposed, and trampled on !'* 
These thoughts thronged upon her soul, 
and deprived her of sense. She was car- 
ried away lifeless by her maids, while the 
Palatine compelled Thaddeus to quit the 

It was not until the lofty battlements of 
Villanow blended with the clouds, that 
Thaddeus could throw off his melancholy. 
The parting agony of his mother hung on 
his spirits ; and heavy and frequent were 
his sighs; as he gazed on the rustic cottages 
and fertile fields, which reminded him that 
he was yet passing through the territories 
of his grandfather. The picturesque mill 
of Mariemont was the last spot on which 
his sight lingered. The ivy that mantled 
its sides, sparkled with the brightness of 
a shower which had just fallen : and the 
rays of the setting sun, gleaming on its 
shattered wall, made it an object of such 


romantic beauty, that he could not help 
pointing it out to his fellow-travellers. 

Whilst the eyes of General Butzou, who 
was in the carriage, followed the direction 
of Thaddeus, the Palatine observed the 
heightening animation of his features ; and 
recollecting at the same time, the trans- 
ports which he himself had enjoyed, when 
he visited that place one- and- twenty 
years ago, he put his hand on the shoulder 
of the veteran, and exclaimed, " General, 
did you ever relate to my boy the par- 
ticulars of that mill ?" 

"No, my Lord." 

** I suppose,'* continued the Palatine, 
** the same reason deterred you from 
speaking of it uncalled for, as lessened 
my wish to tell the story ? We are both 
too much the heroes of the tale, to have 
volunteered the recital." 

** Does your Excellency mean," asked 
Thaddeus, " the rescue of our King from 
this place?" 

** I do." 

c 5 


" I have a very indistinct knowledge 
of the affair. I remember that it was told 
me many years ago ; but I have almost 
forgotten it ; and can only account for 
my apparent insensibility in never having 
enquired further, by pleading the happy 
thoughtlessness in which you have hither- 
to permitted me to live.'* 

** But/' said the Palatine, whose object 
was to draw his grandson from melan- 
choly reflections ; " what will you say 
to me turning egotist ?" 

" I now ask the story of you," returned 
Thaddeus, smiling ; " besides, as soldiers 
are permitted by the fire-side to ^Jight 
their battles o'er again f your modesty, 
my dear grandfather, cannot object to re- 
peat it to me on the way to more." 

" As a preliminary," said the Palatine, 
" I must suppose it is unnecessary to tell 
you, that General Butzou was the brave 
soldier who, at the imminent risk of his 
life, saved our sovereign." 

" Of course, I know that," replied the 


young Count ; " and that you, too, had 
a share in the honour; for when I was 
yesterday presented to His Majesty, 
amongst other things which he said, he 
told me, that he beheved, under heaven, 
he owed his present existence to General 
Butzou and yourself." 
^ " So very little to me," resumed So- 
bieski, " that I will, to the best of my 
recollection, repeat every circumstance 
of the affair. Should I err, I must beg of 
you. General," turning to the veteran, 
** to put me right ." 

Butzou, with a glow of honest exulta- 
tion still painting his face, nodded assent ; 
and Thaddeus bowing in sign of atten- 
tion, the Palatine began. 

" It was on a Sunday night, the third of 
September, in the year 1771> that this event 
took place. At that time, instigated by the 
courts of Vienna and Constantinople, a 
band of disloyal and confederate Lords of 
Poland were laying waste their country, 
and perpetrating all kinds of outrage on 
c 6 


their fellow subjects who adhered to the 

" Amongst their numerous crimes, a 
plan was laid for surprising, and taking 
the royal person. Pulaski was one of the 
most daring of their leaders ; and assisted 
by Lukawski, Strawenski, and Kosinski, 
three Poles of distinction, he resolved to 
accomplish this design or perish. Ac- 
cordingly, the three latter, in obedience 
to his orders, with forty other conspira- 
tors, met at Czetschokow, and in the 
presence of their commander, swore with 
the most horrid oaths, to deliver Stanislaus 
alive or dead into his hands. 

" About a month after this meeting, 
these noblemen, at the head of a band of 
assassins, disguised themselves as pea- 
sants ; and concealing their arms in wag- 
gons of hay, which they drove before 
them, they entered Warsaw unsuspected. 

<« It was about ten o'clock p.m., on the 
Sd of September, as I have told you, that 
they found an opportunity to execute their 


scheme. They placed themselves under 
cover of the night in those avenues of the 
city through which they knew His Ma- 
jesty must pass in his way from Villanow, 
where he had been dining with me. His 
carriage was escorted by four of his own 
attendants, myself and twelve of my 
guards. We had scarcely lost sight of 
Villanow when the conspirators rushed 
out and surrounded us, commanding the 
coachmen to stop, and beating down the 
men, with the butt end of their musquets. 
Several shot were fired into the coach. 
One passed through my hat, as I was get- 
ting out sword in hand, the better to re- 
pel an attack the motive of which 1 could 
not divine. A cut across my right leg 
with a sabre laid me under the wheels ; 
and whilst in that situation, I heard the 
shot pouring into the coach like hail, and 
felt the villains stepping over my body to 
finish the murder of the King. 

** It was then that our friend Butzou 
(who at that period was a private soldier 


in my service) stood between his sovereign 
and the rebels. In one instant he received 
several balls through his limbs, and a 
thrust from a bayonet in his breast, which 
cast him weltering in his blood upon me. 
By this time all the persons who had 
formed the escort, were either wounded or 
dispersed. Secure of their prey, one of 
the assassins opened the carriage door, 
and with shocking imprecations, seizing 
the King by the hair, discharged liis pistol 
so near His Majesty's face, that he felt 
the heat of the flash. A second villain cut 
him on the forehead with a sword ; whilst 
a third, who was on horseback, laying hold 
of his collar, dragged him along the 
ground through the suburbs of the city. 

" During the latter part of this outra- 
geous scene, some of our frighted people 
returned with a detachment, and seeing 
Butzou and me apparently lifeless, carried 
us to the royal palace, where all was com- 
motion and distraction. The foot guards 
followed the track which the conspirators 
had taken. In one of the streets they 


found the King's hat dyed in blood, and 
his peUsse perfectly reticulated with bul- 
let holes. This confirmed their apprehen- 
sions of his death ; and they came back, 
filling all Warsaw with dismay. 

*' The assassins, meanwhile, got clear 
of the town. Finding, however, that the 
King, by loss of blood, was not Ukely to 
exist much longer, if they continued their 
manner of dragging him towards their em- 
ployer ; and that delay might even lose 
them his dead body ; they mounted him, 
and redoubled their speed. When they 
came to the moat which surrounds War- 
saw, they compelled him to leap his horse 
across it. In the attempt, the horse fell, 
and broke its leg. They then ordered 
His Majesty, fainting as he was, to mount 
another and spur it over. The conspi- 
rators had no sooner passed the ditch, and 
saw their king fall insensible on the neck 
of his horse, than they tore from his breast 
the ribbon of the black eagle, and its dia- 
mond cross. Lukawski was so foolishly 
sure of his prisoner, dead or alive, that 


he quitted his charge, and repaired with 
these spoils to Pulaski : meaning to show 
them as proofs of his success. Many of 
the other plunderers, concluding that 
they could not do better than follow their 
leader's example, fled also ; and left only 
seven of the party, with Kosinski at their 
head, to remain over the unfortunate 
Stanislaus, who shortly after recovered 
from his swoon. 

" The night was now grown so dark, 
they could not be sure of their way ; and 
their horses stumbling at every step over 
stumps of trees and hollows in the earth, 
increased their apprehensions to such a 
degree, that they obliged the King to 
keep up with them on foot. He literally 
marked his path with his blood j his shoes 
having been torn off in the struggle at the 
carriage. Thus they continued wander- 
ing backwards and forwards, and round 
the outskirts of Warsaw, without any ex- 
act knowledge of their situation. The 
men who guarded him, at last became so 
afraid of their prisoner's taking advantage 


of these circumstances to escape, that 
they repeatedly called on Kosinski for 
orders to put him to death. Kosinski re- 
fused y but their demands growing more 
imperious, as the intricacies of the forest 
involved them completely, the King ex- 
pected every moment to find their bayo- 
nets in his breast. 

<' When I recovered from my swoon, 
my leg was bound up, and I was able to 
stir. Questioning the officers who stood 
about my couch, I found that a general 
panic had seized them. They knew not 
how to proceed ; they shuddered at leav- 
ing the King to the mercy of the confe- 
derates ; and yet were fearful by pursuing 
him farther to incense them through ter- 
ror or revenge to massacre their prisoner, 
if he were still alive. I did all that was 
in my power to dispel this last dread. 
Anxious at any rate to make another 
attempt to preserve him, though I could 
not ride myself, I strenuously advised an 
immediate pursuit on horseback ; and in* 
sisted that neither darkness nor danger 


should be permitted to impede their 
course. Recovered presence of mind in 
the nobles restored hope and animation to 
the terrified soldiers ; and my orders were 
obeyed. But I must add, they were 
soon disappointed : for in less than half 
an hour the detachment returned in des- 
pair, showing me His Majesty's coat, 
which they had found in the fosse. I 
suppose the ruffians tore it off when they 
rifled him. It was rent in several places, 
and so wet with blood, that the officer 
who presented it to me thought they had 
murdered the King there, and had drawn 
away his body ; for by the light of the 
torches, the soldiers could trace drops of 
blood to a considerable distance. 

" Whilst I was attempting to invalidate 
this new evidence of His Majesty's being 
beyond the reach of succour or of insult, 
he was driven before the seven conspi- 
rators so far into the wood of Bielany that 
not knowing whither they went, they 
came up with one of the guard-houses, 
and to their extreme terror were accosted 


by a patrole. Four of the banditti imme- 
diately disappeared, leaving two only with 
Kosinski ; who, much alarmed, forced his 
prisoner to walk faster and keep a pro- 
found silence. Notwithstanding all this 
precaution, scarce a quarter of an hour 
afterwards, they were challenged by a 
second watch ; and the other two men 
taking to flight, Kosinski, full of dismay, 
was left alon e with the Xing. His Maj esty, 
sinking with pain and fatigue, beseeched 
permission to rest for a moment; but 
Kosinski refused, and pointing his sword 
towards the King, compelled him to 

" As they walked on, the unfortunate 
Stanislaus, who was hardly able to drag 
one limb after the other, observed that 
his conductor gradually forgot his vigi- 
lance, until he was thoroughly given up 
to thought. The King conceived some 
hope from this change, and ventured to 
say, * I see, that you know not how to pro- 
ceed. You cannot but be aware that the 
enterprise in which you are engaged, how* 


ever it may end, is full of peril to you. 
Successful conspirators are always jealous 
of each other : Pulaski will find it as easy 
to rid himself of your life, as it is to take 
mine. Avoid that danger ; and I will pro- 
mise you none on my account. Suffer me 
to enter the convent of Bielany ; we can- 
not be far from it ; and then, do you pro- 
vide for your own safety.' Kosinski, 
rendered desperate by the circumstances 
in which he was involved, replied, * No ; 
I have sworn ; and I would rather sacri- 
fice my life than my honour.' 

" The King had neither strength nor 
spirits to make an answer. They conti- 
nued to break their way through the un- 
derwood, until they approached Marie- 
mont. Here Stanislaus, unable to stir 
another step, sunk down at the foot of 
the old yew-tree, and again implored for 
one moment's rest. Kosinski no longer 
refused. This unexpected humanity en- 
couraged His Majesty to employ the 
minutes they sat together in another 
attempt to soften his heart j and to con- 


vince him, that the oath which he had 
taken was atrocious, and by no means 
binding to a brave and virtuous man* 

" Kosinski heard him with attention ; 
and even showed he was affected. * But/ 
said he, * if I should assent to what you 
propose, and reconduct you to Warsaw, 
what will be the consequence to me ? I 
shall be taken and executed.' — * I 
give you my word,' answered the King, 
* that you shall not suffer any injury. 
But if you doubt my honour, escape 
while you can. I shall find some place 
of shelter ; and will direct your pursuers 
to take the opposite road to that which 
you may choose.' Kosinski, entirely over- 
come, threw himself on his knees before 
His Majesty ; and, imploring pardon for 
what he had done, swore, that from this 
hour he would defend his King against 
all the conspirators ; and would trust 
confidently in his word for future pre- 
servation. Stanislaus repeated his pro- 
mise of forgiveness and protection ; and 


directed him to seek refuge for them 
both in the mill near which they 
were discoursing. Kosinski obeyed, and 
knocked ; but no one gave answer. He 
then broke a pane of glass in the window, 
and through it, begged succour for a no- 
bleman who had been way-laid by rob- 
bers. The miller refused to come out, 
or to let them in ; telling them it 
was his belief, that they were robbers 
themselves ; and if they did not go away, 
he would fire on them. 

<* This dispute had continued for 
nearly an hour, when the King contrived 
to crawl up close to the windows, and 
said, * My good friend, if we were ban- 
ditti as you suppose, it would be as easy 
for us, without all this parley, to break 
into your house, as to break this pane of 
glass ; therefore if you would not incur 
the shame of suffering a fellow- creature 
to perish for want of assistance, give us 
admittance.' This argument had its 
weight with the man, and opening the 


door he desired them to enter. After 
some trouble, his Majesty procured pen 
and ink ; and addressing a few hues to 
me at the palace, with difficulty pre- 
vailed on one of the miller's sons to 
carry it ; so fearful were they of falling 
in w^ith any of the troop, who, they un- 
derstood, had plundered their guests. 

" My joy at sight of this note, I can- 
not describe. I well remember the con- 
tents ; they were literally these : 

" ' By the miraculous hand of Provi- 
dence I have escaped from the hands of 
assassins, I am now at the mill of Marie- 
mont. Send immediately, and take me 
hence. I am wounded, but not danger- 

" Regardless of my own condition, I 
instantly got into a carriage, and, fol- 
lowed by a detachment of horse, arrived 
at the mill. I met Kosinski at the door, 
keeping guard with his sword drawn. 
As he knew my person, he admitted me 
directly. The King had fallen into a 
sleep ; and lay in one corner of the 


hovel on the ground, covered with the 
miller's cloak. To see the most vir- 
tuous monarch in the world, thus abused 
by his ungrateful subjects, pierced me to 
the heart ; and kneeling down by his side, 
I took hold of his hand, and in a paroxysm 
of tears, which I am not ashamed to con- 
fess, I exclaimed, * I thank thee. Al- 
mighty God, that I again see my sove- 
reign alive !' It is not easy to say how 
these words struck the simple family. 
They dropped on their knees before the 
King, whom my voice had awakened, and 
beseeched his pardon for all their ill-man- 
ners. The good Stanislaus soon quieted 
their fears ; and graciously thanking them 
for their kindness, told the miller to come 
to the palace the next day, when he would 
show him his gratitude in a better way 
than by promises. 

The officers of the detachment then 
assisted His Majesty and myself into the 
carriage ; and, accompanied by Kosinski, 
we reached Warsaw about six in the 


« Yes," interrupted Butzou, ** I re- 
member my tumultuous joy, when the 
news was brought to me, in my bed, that 
I had not in vain received the wounds in- 
tended for my sovereign ; it ahuost de- 
prived me of my senses : — and besides, 
His Majesty visited his poor soldier in his 
chamber. Does not your Excellency 
recollect, how he was brought into my 
room in a chair, between two men ? and 
how he thanked me, and shook hands 
with me ? It made me weep like a child." 

" But," enquired Thaddeus, hardly re- 
covering from the deep attention with 
which he had listened to this recital ; 
" what became of Kosinski ? I suppose 
the King kept his word." 

" He did indeed," replied Sobieski ; 
<* his word is at all times sacred. Yet I 
believe Kosinski entertained fears tliat 
he would not be so generous ; for I per- 
ceived him change colour very often, 
while we were in the coach. However 
he was tranquillised, when His Majesty, 

VOL. I. D 


on alighting at the palace in the midst of 
the joyous cries of the people, leaned 
upon his arm, and presented him to the 
populace as his preserver. The great gate 
was ordered to be left open ; and never, 
whilst I live, shall I again behold such a 
scene ! Every soul in Warsaw, from the 
highest to the lowest, came to catch a 
glimpse of their rescued sovereign. See- 
ing the doors free, they entered without 
ceremony ; and thronged forwards in 
crowds to get near enough to kiss his 
hand, or to touch his clothes ; then, elated 
with joy, they turned to Kosinski, and 
loaded him with demonstrations of grati- 
tude, calling him the ' Saviour of their 
KingJ Kosinski bore all this with sur- 
prising firmness ; but in a day or two, 
when the facts became known, he guessed 
he might meet with different treatment 
from the people, and therefore petitioned 
His Majesty for leave to depart. Stanis- 
laus consented ; and he retired to Semi- 
gallia, where he now lives, on a handsome 
pension from the King." 


" Generous Stanislaus !" exclaimed 
the General ; " you see, my dear young 
Count, how he has rewarded me, for do- 
ing that which was merely my duty. He 
put it at my option, to become what I 
pleased about his person, or to hold what 
rank I liked in the army. Love enno- 
bles servitude ; and, attached as I have 
ever been to your family, under whom 
all my ancestors have lived and fought, 
I vowed in my own mind never to quit 
it; and accordingly, begged permission 
of my sovereign to remain with the 
Count Sobieski. I did remain : but 
see," cried he, his voice faltering, 
** what my benefactors have made of 
me ! I command those troops, amongst 
whom, it was once my greatest glory to 
be a private soldier." 

Thaddeus pressed the hand of the ve- 
teran between both his; and regarded 
him with respect and affection, whilst 
the grateful old man wiped away a tear 
from his face. 

D 2 


" How happy ought it to make yoLT, 
my son," observed Sobieski : " that you 
are called out to support such a sovereign I 
He is not merely a King, whom you fol- 
low to battle, because he will lead you to 
honour. The hearts of his people ac- 
knowledge him in a superior light ; they 
look on him as their Patriarchal head ; 
as a being delegated by God, to study 
what is their greatest good ; to bestow it ; 
and, when it is attacked, to defend it. 
To preserve the life of such a sovereign, 
who would not sacrifice his own ? 

*« Yes," cried Butzou ; ** and how 
ou'oht we to abhor them who threaten his 
life ! How ought we to estimate those 
crowned heads, who, under the mask of 
amity, have, from the year sixty-four 
when he ascended the throne, until now% 
been plotting his overthrow or death ! 
Either calamity, O Heaven, avert ! But 
his death, I fear, will be a prelude to the 
certain ruin of our country !" 

<* Not so/' interrupted Thaddeus, with 


eagerness ; " not whilst a Polander has 
power to lift an arm, shall it be quite lost." 
Butzou applauded his spirit ; and was 
warmly seconded by the Palatine, who, 
(never weary of infusing into every feeling 
of his grandson an interest for his coun- 
try,) pursued the discourse ; and dwelt 
minutely on the happy tendency of the 
glorious constitution of 1791, in defence 
of which they were now going to hazard 
their lives. As Sobieski pointed out its 
several excellencies, and expatiated on 
the pure spirit of freedom which animated 
its laws, the soul of Thaddeus followed 
his eloquence ; and with the unrestrained 
fervour of youth, he branded the names 
of Catherine, and the faithless Frederick, 
with some of those epithets, which pos- 
terity will affix to them for ever. During 
these conversations, Thaddeus forgot his 
regrets ; and at noon, on the third day, 
lie saw his grandfather put himself at the 
head of his men, and commence a regu- 
lar march. 

d3 * 



The little army of the Palatine passed 
by the battlements of Chelm ; crossed 
the Bug into the plains of Volhinia ; and 
impatiently counted the leagues over 
those vast tracts, until it reached the 
borders of Kiovia. 

When the column, at the head of which 
Thaddeus was stationed, descended the 
heights of Lininy, and the broad camp of 
his countrymen burst upon his sight, his 
heart heaved with an emotion quite new 
to him. He beheld with admiration the 
regular disposition of the entrenchments, 
the long intersected streets, and the war- 
like appearance of the soldiers, whom he 
could descry, even at that distance, by 
the beams of a bright evening sun which 
shone upon their arms. 


In half an hour, his troops descended 

into the plain ; where, meeting those of 

the Palatine, and the General, the three 

columns again united ; and Thaddeus 

joined his grandfather in the van. 

" My Lord," cried he, as they met, 
" can I behold such a sight, and despair 
of the freedom of Poland !'* 

Sobieski made no reply ; but giving 
him one of those expressive looks of ap- 
probation, which immediately makes its 
way to the soul, commanded the troops 
to advance with greater speed. In a few 
minutes they reached the outworks of the 
camp, and entered the lines. The eager 
eye of Thaddeus wandered from object 
to object. Thrilling with that delight, 
with which youth beholds wonders, and 
anticipates more, he stopped with the rest 
of the party before a tent, which General 
Butzou informed him belonged to the 
commander in chief. They were met in 
the vestibule, by an hussar officer of a 
most commanding appearance. Sobieski, 
D 4 


and he, having accosted each other 
with mutual congratulations, the Pala- 
tine turned to Thaddeus, took him by 
tiie hand, and presenting him to his 
friend, said with a smile, 

" Here, my dear Kosciuszko, this 
young man is my grandson ; he is called 
Thaddeus Sobieski ; and I trust, that he 
will not disgrace either of our names !" 

Kosciuszko embraced the young Count ; 
and, with a hearty pressure of his hand, 
replied, " Thaddeus! if you resemble your 
grandfather, you can never forget, tiiat 
tiie only King of Poland who equalled Sta- 
nislaus, was a Sobieski ; and, as becomes 
liis descendant, you will not spare your best 
blood in tiie service of your country." 

As Kosciuszko finished speaking, an 
aide-de-camp came forward to lead the 
party into tiie room of audience. Prince 
Poniatowski welcomed the Palatine and 
his suite with the most lively expressions 
of pleasure. He gave Thaddeus, whose 
figure and manner instantiy charmed him. 


many flattering assurances of friendship ; 
and promised, that he would appoint him 
to the first post of honour which should 
offer. After detaining the Palatine and 
his grandson half an hour, His Highness 
withdrew ; and they rejoined Kosciuszko, 
who conducted them to the quarter where 
the Masovian soldiers had already pitched 
their tents. 

The officers who supped with Sobieski, 
left him at an early hour, that he might 
retire to rest ; but Thaddeus was neither 
able nor inclined to benefit by their con- 
sideration. He laid liimself on the bed, 
shut his eyes, and tried to sleep ; but the 
attempt was without success ; in vain he 
turned from side to side ; in vain he at- 
tempted to restrict his thoughts to one 
thing at once : his imagination was so 
roused by anticipating the scenes in which 
he w^as to become an actor, that he found 
it impossible even to lie stilL His spirits 
being quite awake, lie determined to rise, 
and to walk himself drowsy. 

Seeing his grandfather sound asleep, he 
D 5 


got Up and dressed himself quietly ; then 
stealing gently from the marquee, he gave 
the word in a low whisper to the guard at 
the door, and proceeded down the lines. 
The pitying moon seemed to stand in the 
heavens, watching the awaking of those 
heroes who the next day might sleep to 
rise no more. At another time, and in 
another mood, such might have been his 
reflections ; but now he pursued his walk 
with different thoughts : no meditations 
but those of pleasure possessed his breast. 
He looked on the moon with transport : 
he beheld the light of that beautiful pla- 
net, trailing its long stream of glory across 
the entrenchments. He perceived a so- 
litary candle here and there, glimmering 
through the curtained entrance of the 
tents ; and thought that their inmates 
were probably longing, with the same 
anxiety as himself, for the morning's dawn. 
Thaddeus walked slowly on ; some- 
times pausing at the lonely footfall of the 
centinel, or answering with a start to the 
sudden challenge for the parole; then 


lingering at the doo'r of some of these 
canvas dwellings, he offered up a prayer 
for the brave inhabitant, who, like him- 
self, had quitted the endearments of home, 
to expose his life on this spot, a bulwark 
of liberty. Thaddeus knew not what it 
was to be a soldier by profession ; he had 
no idea of making war a trade, by which 
a man is at any rate to acquire subsist- 
ence and wealth : he had but one motive 
for appearing in the field, and one for 
leaving it : To repel invasion, and to es- 
tablish peace. — The first energy of his 
mind, was a desire to assert the rights of 
his country : It had been inculcated into 
him, when an infant; it had been the 
subject of his morning thoughts and 
nightly dreams ; it was now the passion 
which beat in every artery of his heart; 
yet he knew no honour in slaughter ; his 
glory lay in defence ; and, when that was 
accomplished, his sword would return to 
its scabbard, unstained by the blood of a 
vanquished, or an invaded people. On 
these principles, he was at this hour full 
D 6 


of enthusiasm : a glow of triumph flitted 
over his cheek, for he had left the indul- 
gences of his mother's palace, had left 
her maternal arms, to take upon him the 
toils of war, and risk an existence just 
blown into enjoyment. A noble satisfac- 
tion rose in his mind ; and with all the 
animation which an inexperienced and 
raised fancy imparts to that age when boy- 
hood breaks into man, his soul grasped at 
every show of creation with the confidence 
of belief. Pressing the sabre which he 
held in his hand, to his lips, he half ut- 
tered, " Never shall this sword leave my 
arm, but at the command of mercy, or 
when death deprives my nerves of their 

Morning was tinging the hills which 
bound the eastern horizon of Winnica, be- 
fore Thaddeus found that his pelisse was 
wet with dew, and that he ought to return 
to his tent. Hardly had he laid his head 
upon the pillow, and * lulled his senses in 
forgetfulnesSy when he was disturbed by 
the drum beating to arms. He opened his 


eyes ; and seeing the Palatine out of bed, 
lie sprung from his own, and eagerly en- 
quired the cause of the alarm. 

" Only follow me directly," answered 
his grandfather, and quitted the tent. 

Whilst Thaddeus was putting on his 
clothes; and buckling on his arms with 
a trembling eagerness which almost de- 
feated his haste, an aide-de-camp of the 
Prince entered. He brought information 
tliat an advanced guard of the Russians 
had attacked a Polish out-post, under the 
command of Colonel Lomza ; and that 
His Highness had ordered a detachment 
from the Palatine's brigade to march to 
its relief. Before Thaddeus could reply, 
Sobieski sent to apprise his grandson, the 
Prince had appointed him to be second in 
command over the troops which were 
turning out to assist the Colonel. 

Thaddeus heard this message with de- 
light: yet fearful in what manner the 
event might answer the expectations 
which this high distinction declared, he 


issued from his tent like a youthful Mars ; 
or rather like the Spartan Isadas, trem- 
bling at the dazzling effects of his temerity ; 
and hiding his valour and his blushes be- 
neath the waving plumes of his helmet. 
Kosciuszko, who was to head the party, 
observed this modesty with pleasure, and 
shaking him warmly by the hand, " Go, 
Thaddeus," said he, " take your station 
on the left flank ; I shall require your 
fresh spirits to lead the charge I intend 
it to make, and to ensure its success." 
Thaddeus bowed to these encouraging 
words, and took his place according to 

Every thing being ready, the detach- 
ment quitted the camp ; and dashing 
through the dews of a sweet morning, for 
it was yet May, in a few hours arrived in 
view of the Russian battalions. Lomza, 
who from the only redoubt now in his 
possession, caught a glimpse of this wel- 
come reinforcement, rallied his few re- 
maining men, and by the time that Kos- 


ciuszko came up, contrived to join him 
in the van. The fight re-commenced. 
Thaddeus at the head of his hussars, in 
full gallop, bore down upon the enemy. 
They received the charge with firmness ; 
but their young adversary, perceiving 
that extraordinary means were necessary, 
exerted his voice to the utmost ; calling 
on his men to follow him, he put spurs to 
his horse, and rushed into the thickest 
of the battle. His soldiers did not shrink : 
they pressed on, mowing down the fore- 
most ranks : whilst he, by a lucky stroke 
of his sabre, disabled the sword-arm of 
the Russian standard-bearer, and seized 
the colours. His own troops seeing the 
standard in his hand, with one accord, in 
loud and repeated cries shouted victory. 
The reserve of the enemy alarmed at this 
outcry, instantly gave way j and retreating 
with precipitation, was soon followed by 
the rear ranks of the centre ; where Kos- 
ciuszko had already slain the commander 
of the attack. The flanks next gave 
ground 5 and after holding a short stand 


at intervals, at length fairly turned about, 
and fled, panic-struck, across the country. 
The conquerors, elated with so sudden 
a success, put their horses on full speed ; 
and without order or attention, pursued 
the fugitives, until they were lost amidst 
the trees of a distant wood. Kosciuszko 
called on his men to stop ; but he called 
in vain : they continued their career, ani- 
mating each other; and with redoubled 
shouts, drowned the voice of Thaddeus, 
who was galloping forwards, repeating the 
command. At the entrance of the wood 
they were stopped by a few stragglers, 
who had formed themselves into a body. 
These men withstood the first onset of 
the Poles with considerable steadiness ; 
but after a short skirmish, they fled a 
second time, and took refuge in the 
bushes, where, still regardless of orders, 
their enemies followed. Kosciuszko, 
foreseeing the consequence of this rash- 
ness, ordered Thaddeus to dismount part 
of his squadron, and march after these 
headstrong men, into the forest. He came 


up with them on the edge of a heathy 
tract of land, just as they were closmg in 
with a band of arquebusiers, who, having 
kept up a quick running fire as they re- 
treated, had drawn their pursuers thus far 
into the thickets. Heedless of any thing 
but giving their enemy a complete defeat, 
tlie Polanders went on, never looking to 
the left nor to the right, till all at once 
they found themselves encompassed by 
two thousand Muscovite horse, several 
battalions of chasseurs, and in front of 
fourteen pieces of cannon, which tliis 
dreadful ambuscade opened upon them. 

Thaddeus threw himself into the midst 
of his countrymen, and taking the place 
of their unfortunate conductor, who had 
been killed in the first sweep of the artil- 
lery, prepared the men for a desperate 
stand. He gave his orders with intrepi- 
dity and coolness, though under a heavy 
shower of musquetry, and a cannonade, 
which carried death in every round. For 
liimself he had no care 5 how to relieve 


the brave Poles from the dilemma into 
which they had plunged themselves, was 
the only thought that occupied his mind. 
In a few minutes, the scattered soldiers 
were consolidated into a close body, 
flanked and reared with pikemen ; who 
stood, like a grove of pines in a day of 
tempest, only moving their heads and 
arms. Many of the Russian horse, im- 
paled themselves on the sides of this little 
phalanx, which they vainly attempted to 
shake, although the ordnance was rapidly 
weakening its strength. File after file, 
the men were swept down j their bodies 
making a horrid rampart for their brave 
comrades, who, rendered desperate, at 
last threw away their most cumbrous ac- 
coutrements, and crying to their leader, 
" Escape or death !" followed him sword 
in hand; and bearing like a torrent upon 
the enemy's ranks, cut their way through 
the forest. The Russians, exasperated 
that their prey should not only escape, 
but escape by such dauntless valour. 


hung closely on their rear, goading them 
with musquetry ; whilst they, (like a 
wounded lion, hardly pressed by the 
hunters, who retreats, and yet stands 
proudly at bay,) gradually retired towards 
the camp with a backward step, their 
faces towards the foe. 

Meanwhile, Sobieski, anxious for the 
fate of the day, mounted the dyke, and 
looked eagerly around for the arrival of 
some messenger from the little army. As 
the wind blew strongly from the south, a 
cloud of dust precluded his view ; but 
from the approach of firing, and the 
clashing of arms, he was led to fear that 
his friends had been defeated, and were 
retreating towards the camp. He in- 
stantly quitted the lines to call out a re- 
inforcement j but before he could advance, 
Koscluszko and his squadron on the full 
charge, appeared in flank of the enemy ; 
who suddenly halted, and wheeling round, 
left the harassed Polanders to enter the 
trenches unmolested. 


Thaddeus, covered with dust and 
blood, flung himself into his grandfather's 
arms. In the heat of action, his left arm 
had been wounded by a Cossac. Aware 
that loss of blood might disable him from 
further service, at the moment it happen- 
ed he bound it up in his sash, and had 
thought no more of the accident until 
the Palatine remarked blood on his cloak. 

" My injury is slight, my dear sir ;" said 
he, " I wish to heaven, that it were all the 
evil which has befallen us to-day ! Look 
at the remnant of our brave comrades." 

Sobieski turned his eyes on the panting 
soldiers, and on Kosciuszko, who was in- 
specting them. Some of them, no longer 
upheld by desperation, were sinking with 
wounds and fatigues ; these, the good 
General sent off in litters to the medical 
department ; and others, who had sus- 
tained unharmed the conflict of the day, 
after having received the praise and ad- 
monition of their commander, were dis« 
missed to their quarters. 


Before this inspection was over, the 
Palatine had to assist Thaddeus to his 
tent ; who, in spite of his exertions to 
the contrary, became so faint that it was 
necessary to lead him off the ground. 

A short time restored him. With his 
arm in a sling, he joined his brother 
officers on the fourth day. After the duty 
of the morning, he heard with concern 
that during his confinement the Russians 
had augmented their force to so tremen- 
dous a strength, it was impossible for the 
comparatively slender force of the Poles 
to remain longer at Winnica. In conse- 
quence of this report, the Prince had 
convened a council late the preceding 
night, in which it was determined that 
the camp should immediately be razed, 
and removed towards Zieleme. 

This information displeased Thaddeus, 
who in his fairy dreams of war, had 
always made conquest the sure end of 
his battles ; — and many were the sighs 
he drew, when, at an hour before dawn 


on the following day, he witnessed the 
striking of the tents, which, he thought, 
was only the prelude to a shameful flight 
from the enemy. While he was standing 
by the busy people, and musing on the 
nice line which divides prudence from 
pusillanimity, his grandfather came up. 
He desired him to mount his horse ; and 
told him, that owing to the unhealed 
state of his wound, he was removed from 
the van guard, and ordered to march 
in the centre, along with the Prince. 
Thaddeus remonstrated against this ar- 
rangement ; and almost reproached the 
Palatine, for forfeiting his promise, that 
he should always be stationed near his 
person. Sobieski would not be moved, 
either by argument or entreaty ; and 
Thaddeus, finding that he neither could, 
nor ought oppose him, obeyed, and fol- 
lowed an aid-de-camp to His Highness. 



After a march of three hours, the army 
came in sight of Volunna, where the 
advanced column suddenly halted. Thad- 
deus, who was about half a mile to its 
rear, with a throbbing heart, heard that a 
momentous pass must be disputed before 
they could proceed. He curbed his 
horse, then gave it the spur ; so eagerly 
did he wish to penetrate the cloud of 
smoke which rose in volumes from the 
discharge of musquetry, on whose wing, 
at every round, he dreaded might be 
carried the fate of his grandfather. At 
last the firing ceased, and the troops 
were commanded to go forward. On 
entering the contested defile, Thaddeus 
shuddered ; for at every step the heels of 
his charger struck upon the wounded or 
the dead. There lay his enemies, here 


lay his friends ! his respiration was nearly 
suspended ; and his eyes clung to the 
ground, expecting at each moment, to 
fasten on the breathless body of his 

Again the tumult of battle presented 
itself. About an hundred soldiers, in one 
firm rank, stood at the end of the pass, 
firing on the rear guard of the Russians. 
Thaddeus checked his horse. Five hun- 
dred had been detached to this post; 
how few remained ! Could he hope So- 
bieski had escaped so desperate a ren- 
contre ? Fearing the worst, and dreading 
to have those fears confirmed, his heart 
sickened when he received orders from 
Poniatowski to examine the extent of the 
loss. He rode to the mouth of the defile. 
He could no where see the Palatine. A 
few of his hussars, a little in advance, 
were engaged over a heap of the killed, 
defending it from a troop of chasseurs, 
who appeared fighting for the barbarous 
privilege of trampling on the bodies, 


Thaddeus at this sight, and impelled by 
despair, called out, *' Courage, soldiers ; 
the Prince is here." The chasseurs 
looking forward, saw the information was 
true, and took to flight. Poniatowski, 
almost at the word, was by the side of 
his young friend, who, unconscious of any 
idea but that of filial solicitude had dis- 

" Where is the Palatine ?" was his im- 
mediate enquiry to a soldier who was 
stooping towards the slain. The man 
made no answer, but lifted from the 
heap the bodies of two soldiers ; beneath, 
Thaddeus saw the pale and deadly fea- 
tures of his grandfather. He staggered 
a few paces back : and the Prince thinking 
he was falling, hastened to support him ; 
but he recovered himseifi and flew for- 
wards to assist Kosciuszko, who had 
raised the head of the Palatine upon hi 

" Is he alive ?" enquired Thaddeus. 

*« He breathes." 

VOL. I. E 



Hope was now warm in his breast. The 
soldiers soon released Sobieski from the 
surrounding dead ; but his swoon continu- 
ing, the Prince desired that he might be 
laid on a bank, until a litter could be 
brought from the rear ranks to convey 
him to a place of security. Meantime, 
Thaddeus and the General bound up his 
wounds, and poured some water into his 
lips. The effusion of blood being stopped, 
the brave veteran opened his eyes ; and 
in a few minutes, whilst he leaned on the 
bosom of his grandson, was so far re- 
stored as to receive, with his usual 
modest dignity, the thanks of His High- 
ness for the intrepidity with which he 
had preserved a passage, which ensured 
the safety of the whole army. 

Two surgeons who arrived with the 
litter, relieved the anxiety of the by- 
standers, by an assurance that the wounds, 
which they re-examined, were not dan- 
gerous. Having laid their patient on the 
vehicle, they were preparing to retire 


with it into the rear, when Thaddeus 
petitioned the Prince to grant him per- 
mission to take the command of the 
guard which was appointed to attend his 
grandfather. His Highness consented ; 
but Sobieski positively refused. 

" No, Thaddeus,'' said he ; *' you 
forget the effect which this soUcitude 
about so trifling a matter might have on 
the men. Remember, that he who goes 
into battle, only puts his own life to the 
hazard ; but he that abandons the field, 
sports with the lives of his soldiers. Do 
not give them leave to suppose, that even 
your dearest interest could tempt you 
from the front of danger, when it is 
your duty to remain there." Thaddeus 
obeyed his grandfather in silence ; and 
at seven o'clock the army resumed its 

Near Zielime, the Prince was saluted 
by a re-inforcement. It appeared very 
seasonably ; for scouts had brought in- 
formation that directly across the plain the 
Russians, under General Branicki, were 
E 2 


drawn up in order of battle, to dispute 
his progress. 

Thaddeus, for the first time, shuddered 
at the sight of the enemy. Should his 
friends be defeated, what might be the 
fate of his grandfather, now rendered 
helpless by many wounds ! Occupied by 
these fears, with anxiety in his heart, he 
kept his place at the head of the light 
horse, close to the hill. 

Prince Poniatowski ordered the lines 
to extend themselves, that the right 
should reach to the river ; and the left 
he covered by a rising ground, on which 
were mounted seven pieces of ordnance. 
Immediately after these dispositions, the 
battle commenced. It continued with 
violence and unabated fury from eight in 
the morning until sunset. Several times 
the Poles were driven from their ground ; 
but as often recovering themselves, and 
animated by their commanders, they pro- 
secuted the fight with advantage. Ge- 
neral Branicki perceiving that the fortune 
of the day was going against him, ordered 


up the body of reserve ; which consisted 
of four thousand men and several cannon. 
He erected temporary batteries in a few 
minutes ; — and with these new forces 
opened a rapid and destructive fire on 
the Polanders. Kosciuszko, alarmed at 
perceiving a retrograde motion in his 
troops, gave orders for a close attack on 
the enemy in front, whilst Thaddeus, at 
the head of his hussars, should wheel 
round the hill of artillery, and with loud 
cries, charge the opposite flank. This 
stratagem succeeded. The cossacks who 
were posted on that spot, seeing the im- 
petuosity of the Poles, and the quarter 
whence they came, supposed them to be 
a fresh squadron ; gave ground, and 
opening in all directions, threw their own 
people into a confusion that completed 
the defeat. Kosciuszko and the Prince 
were equally successful ; and a general 
panic amongst their adversaries was the 
consequence. The whole of the Russian 
army now took to flight, except a few 
E 3 


regiments of carabiniers, which were en- 
tangled between the river and the Poles. 
These were immediately surrounded by 
a battalion of Masovian infantry 5 who, 
enraged at the loss their body had sus- 
tained the preceding day, answered a 
cry for quarter, with reproach and de- 
rision. At this instant, the Sobieski 
squadron came up 5 and Thaddeus, who 
saw the perilous situation of these regi- 
ments, ordered the slaughter to cease, 
and the men to be taken prisoners. The 
Masovians exhibited strong signs of dis- 
satisfaction at such commands ; but the 
young Count, charging through them, 
ranged his troops before the Russians, 
and declared that the first man who 
should dare to lift a sword against his 
orders should be shot. The Poles dropped 
their arms. The poor carabiniers fell 
on their knees to thank his mercy ; whilst 
their officers, in a sullen silence, which 
seemed ashamed of gratitude, surren- 
dered their swords into the hands of 
their deliverers. 


During this scene, only one very young 
Russian, appeared wholly refractory. He 
held up his sword in a menacing pos- 
ture, when Thaddeus drew near ; and 
before he had time to speak, the young 
man made a cut at his head, which a hussar 
parried, by striking him to the earth, 
and would have killed him on the spot, 
had not Thaddeus caught the blow on his 
own sword : then instantly dismounting, 
he raised the officer from the ground, and 
apologised for the too hasty zeal of his 
soldier. The youth blushed, and bowing 
presented his sword ; which was received, 
and as directly returned. 

" Brave Sir," said Thaddeus, " I con- 
sider myself ennobled in restoring this 
sword to him who has so courageously 
defended it." 

The Russian made no reply, but by a 
second bow ; and put his hand on his 
breast, which was wet with blood. Cere- 
mony was now at an end. Thaddeus 
never looked upon the unfortunate as 
E 4 


Strangers, much less as enemies. Ac- 
costing the wounded officer with a friend- 
ly voice, he assured him of his services, 
and made him lean on his shoulder. 
The young man, incapable of speaking, 
accepted his assistance ; but before a 
conveyance could arrive, for which two 
men were dispatched, he fainted in 
his arms. Thaddeus being obliged to 
join the Prince with his prisoners, un- 
willingly left the young Russian in this 
situation ; but before he did so, he di- 
rected one of his lieutenants to take 
care that the surgeons should pay at- 
tention to the officer, and have his litter 
carried next to the Palatine's during the 
remainder of the march. 

When the army halted at nine o'clock, 
preparations were made to fix the camp ; 
and in case of a surprisal from any part 
of the dispersed enemy, which might 
have rallied, orders were delivered for 
throwing up a dyke. Tiiaddeus, having 
been assured that his grandfather and 


the wounded Russian, were comfortably 
stationed near each other, did not hesitate 
to accept the command of the entrench- 
ing party. To that end, he wrapped 
himself loosely in his pelisse, and pre- 
pared for a long watch. The night was 
beautiful. It being the month of June, 
a softening warmth still floated through 
the air, as if the moon, which shone over 
his head, emitted heat as well as splen- 
dour. His mind was in unison with the 
season. He rode slowly round, from 
bank to bank ; sometimes speaking to 
the workers in the fosse : sometimes 
lingering for a few minutes looking on 
the ground, he thought on the element 
of which he was composed, to which he 
might so soon return ; then gazing up- 
wards, he observed the silent march of 
the stars, and the moving scene of the 
heavens. On whatever object he cast 
his eyes, his soul, which the recent 
events had dissolved into a temper not 
the less delightful for being tinged with 
£ 5 


melancholy, meditated with intense com- 
passion ; and dwelt with wonder on the 
mind of man ; which, whilst it adores the 
Creator of the universe, and measures the 
immensity of space with an expansion of 
intellect almost divine, can devote itself 
to the narrow limits of sublunary posses- 
sions ; and exchange the boundless para- 
dise above, for the low enjoyments of 
human pride. He looked with pity over 
that wide tract of land, which now lay 
betwixt him and the remains of those 
four thousand Russians who had fallen 
victims to the insatiate desires of am- 
bition. He well knew the difference be- 
tween a defender of his own country, and 
the invader of another's. His heart beat, 
his soul expanded, at the prospect of se- 
curing liberty, and life, to a virtuous 
people. He felt all the happiness of such 
an achievement; while he could only 
imagme, how that spirit must shrink from 
reflection, which animates the self-con- 
demned slave to fight, not merely to 


fasten chains on others, but to rivet his 
own the closer. The best affections of 
man having put the sword into the hand 
of Thaddeus, his principles as a Chris* 
tian, did not remonstrate against his 
passion for arms* 

When he was told the fortifications 
were finished, he retired with a tranquil 
step towards the Masovian quarters. He 
found the Palatine awake, and eager to 
welcome him with the joyful information 
that his wounds were so slight as to pro- 
mise a speedy amendment. Thaddeus 
asked for his prisoner. The Palatine 
answered, he was in the next tent, where 
a surgeon closely attended him ; and who 
had given a very favourable opinion of 
the wound, which was in the muscles of 
the breast, 

*' Have you seen him, my dear Sir ?" 
enquired Thaddeus. "Does he appear 
to think himself well treated ?" 

"Yes," replied the Palatine; " I was 
supported into his marquee, before I re» 



tired to my own. I told him who I was, 
and repeated your offers of service. He 
received my proffer with expressions of 
gratitude ; and at the same time de- 
clared he had nothing to blame but his 
own folly, for bringing him to the state 
in which he now lies/* 

"How, my Lord !" rejoined Thaddeus. 
** Does he repent of being a soldier ? or 
is he ashamed of the cause for which he 
fought ?" 

"Both, Thaddeus ; he is not a Russian, 
but a young Englishman.*' 

" An Englishman ! and raise his arm 
against a country struggling for liberty !" 

" It is very true," returned the Pala- 
tine : " but as he confesses it was his 
folly, and the persuasions of others ^\hich 
impelled him, he may be pardoned. He 
is a mere youth: 1 think hardly your 
age. I understand that he is of rank j 
and having undertaken the tour of 
Europe under the direction of a travel- 
ling governor, he took Russia in his 


route. At Petersburg!!, he became in- 
timate with many of the nobiUty ; par- 
ticularly with Count Branicki, at whose 
house he resided : and when the Count 
was named to the command of the army 
in Poland, Mr. Somerset, (for that is your 
prisoner's name,) instigated by his own 
volatility, and the arguments of his host, 
volunteered with him ; and so followed his 
friend to oppose that freedom here, which 
he would have asserted in his own na- 

Thaddeus thanked his grandfather for 
this information ; and pleased that the 
young man, who had so much interested 
him, was any thing but a Muscovite, he 
gaily, and instantly repaired to his tent. 

A generous heart is as eloquent in ac- 
knowledging benefits, as it is bounteous 
in bestowing them ; and Mr. Somerset 
received his preserver with the warmest 
demonstrations of gratitude. Thaddeus 
begged him not to consider himself as 
particularly obliged, by a conduct whicli 


every soldier of honour has a right to 
expect from another. The EngUshman 
bowed his head ; and Thaddeus took a 
seat by his bed-side. 

Whilst he gathered from his own lips, 
a corroboration of the narrative of the 
Palatine, he could not forbear enquiring 
how a person of his apparent candour ; 
and who was also the native of a soil, 
where liberty had so long been the pal- 
ladium of its happiness, could volunteer 
in a cause, the object of which was to 
make a brave people slaves ? 

Somerset listened to these questions 
with blushes ; and they did not leave his 
face when he confessed, that all he could 
say in extenuation of what he had done 
was to plead his youth, and having 
thought little on the subject. 

" I was wrought upon,'^ continued he, 
** by a variety of circumstances ; first, the 
principles of Mr. Loftus, my governor, 
are strongly in favour of the court of Pe- 
tersburgh : secondly, my father disliked 


the army, and I am enthusiastically fond 
of it j this was the only opportunity in 
which I might ever satisfy my passion : 
and lastly, I believe that I was dazzled 
by the picture which the young men 
about me, drew of the campaign. I 
longed to be a soldier ; they persuaded 
me ; and I followed them to the field as 
I would have done to a ball-room, heed- 
less of the consequence.'* 

*' Yet," replied Thaddeus, smiling, 
*< from the intrepidity with which you 
maintained your ground, when your arms 
were demanded, any one might have 
thought that your whole soul as well as 
your body, was engaged in the cause." 

** To be sure," returned Somerset, " I 
was a blockhead to be there ; but when 
there, I should have despised myself for 
ever, had I given up my honour to the 
ruffians who would have wrested my sword 
from me ! But when i/ou came, noble So- 
bieski, it was the fate of war, and I con- 
tided myself to a brave man." 



Each succeeding morning, not only 
brought fresh symptoms of recovery to 
the two invalids ; but condensed the 
mutual admiration of the young men, 
into a solid and ardent esteem. 

It is not the disposition of youthful 
minds, to weigh for months and years, the 
sterling value of those qualities which at- 
tract them. As soon as they see virtue, 
they respect it ; as soon as they meet 
kindness, they believe it ; and as soon 
as a union of both presents itselfi they 
love it. Not having passed through the 
disappointments of a delusive world, they 
grasp for reality every pageant w^hich ap- 
pears. They have not yet admitted that 
cruel doctrine, which, when it takes ef- 
fect, creates and extends the misery it 


affects to cure. Whilst we give up our 
souls to suspicion, we gradually learn to 
deceive ; whilst we repress the fervours of 
our own hearts, we freeze those which ap- 
proach us ; whilst we cautiously avoid oc- 
casions of receiving pain, at every remove 
we acquire an unconscious influence to 
inflict it on those who follow us. They 
again, meet from our conduct and lips 
the reason and the lesson to destroy the 
expanding sensibilities of their nature j. 
and thus the tormenting chain of deceived 
and deceiving characters is lengthened to 

About the latter end of the month, So- 
bieski received a summons to court, where 
a Diet was to be held in consequence of 
the victory at Zielime, to consider of fu- 
ture proceedings. In the same packet 
His Majesty enclosed a collar and inves- 
titure of the order of St. Stanislaus, as an 
acknowledgment of service to the young 
Thaddeus ; and he accompanied it with 
a note from himselfj expressing his com- 
mands that the young knight should re- 


turn with the Palatine and other generals, 
to receive thanks from the throne. 

Thaddeus, half wild with delight, at 
the thoughts of so soon meeting his mo- 
ther, ran to the tent of his British friend 
to communicate the tidings. Somerset 
participated in his pleasure ; and with re- 
ciprocal warmth accepted the invitation 
to accompany him to Villanow. 

" I would follow you, my friend," said 
he, pressing the hand of Thaddeus, <* all 
over the world." 

"Then I will take you to the most 
charming spot in it!" cried he. "Vil- 
lanow is an Eden ; and my mother, the 
dear angel, who would make a desert 
so to me." 

"You speak so rapturously of your 
enchanted castle, Thaddeus," returned 
his friend, " I believe, I shall consider 
my knight-errantry in being fool enough 
to trust myself amidst a fray in which I 
had no business, as one of the wisest 
acts of my life !" 


" I consider it," replied Thaddeus, 
"as one of the luckiest events in mine." 

Before the Palatine quitted the camp, 
Somerset thought it proper to acquaint 
Mr. Loftus, who was yet at Petersburgh, 
of the particulars of his late danger ; and 
that he was going to Warsaw wdth his 
new friends, where he should remain for 
several weeks. He added, that as the 
court of Poland, through the intercession 
of the Palatine, had generously given 
him his liberty, he should be able to see 
every thing in that country worthy of in- 
vestigation ; and that he would write to 
him again, enclosing letters for England, 
soon after his arrival at the Polish capital. 

The weather continuing fine, in a few 
days the party left Zielime ; and the Pala- 
tine and Somerset being so far restored 
from their wounds, that they could walk, 
the one with a crutch, and the other by 
the support of his friend's arm, they 
went through the journey with animation 
and pleasure. The benign wisdom of 


Sobieski; the intelligent enthusiasm of 
Thaddeus ; and the playful vivacity of 
Somerset; mingling their different na- 
tures, produced such a beautiful union, 
that the minutes flew fast as their wishes. 
A week more carried them into the pala- 
tinate of Masovia ; and soon afterwards 
within the walls of Villanow. 

Every thing that presented itself to 
Mr. Somerset was new and fascinating. 
He saw, in the domestic felicity of his 
friend, scenes which reminded him of the 
social harmony of his own home. He 
beheld in the palace and retinue of So- 
bieski, all the magnificence which be- 
spoke the descendant of a great King ; 
and a power which wanted nothing of 
royal grandeur, but the crown, which he 
had the magnanimity to think and to 
declare, was then placed upon a more 
worthy brow. Whilst Somerset venerated 
this true patriot, the high tone his mind 
acquired, was not lowered by associat- 
ing with characters nearer the common 
standard. The friends of Sobieski were 


men of tried probity : Men, who, at all 
times preferred their country's welfare, 
before their own peculiar interest. Mr. 
Somerset, day after day, listened with 
deep attention to these virtuous and ener- 
getic noblemen. He saw them full of fire 
and personal courage when the affairs of 
Poland were discussed ; and he beheld 
with admiration, their perfect forgetful- 
ness of themselves in their passion for the 
general good. In these moments, his 
heart bowed down before them ; and all 
the pride of a Briton distended his breast, 
when he thought that such as these men 
are, his ancestors were. He remembered, 
how often their chivalric virtues used to 
occupy his reflections in the picture gal- 
lery at Somerset Castle ; and his doubts, 
when he compared what is, with what 
was, that history had glossed over the ac- 
tions of past centuries ; or that a differ- 
ent order of men lived then, from those 
which now inhabit the world. Thus, 
studying the sublime characters of So- 
bieski and his friends ; and enjoying the 


endearing kindness of Thaddeus and his 
mother, did a fortnight pass away, with- 
out his even recollecting the promise of 
writing to his governor. At the end of 
that period, he stole an hour from the 
Countess's society ; and inclosed in a 
short letter to Mr. Loflus the following 
epistle to his mother : — 

" To Lady Somerset ^ Somerset- 
Castle, Leicestershire, 

" Many weeks ago, my dearest mother, 
I wrote a letter of seven sheets from Pe- 
tersburgh"; which long ere this time, you 
and my dear father must have received. 
I attempted to give you some idea of the 
manners of Russia ; and my vanity whis- 
pers, that I succeeded tolerably well. The 
court of the famous Catherine ; and the 
attentions of the hospitable Count Bra- 
nicki ; were then the subjects of my pen. 

" But, how shall I account for my 
being here ? How shall I allay your sur- 
prise and displeasure, on seeing that this 


letter is dated from Warsaw ! I know 
that I have acted against the wish of my 
father, in visiting one of the countries he 
proscribed. I know that I have dis- 
obeyed your commands, in ever having 
at any period of my Hfe taken up arms 
without an indispensable necessity ; and 
I have nothing to allege in my defence. 
I fell in the way of temptation, and I 
yielded to it. I really cannot enumerate 
all the things which induced me to vo- 
lunteer with the Russians ; suffice it to 
say, that I did so ; and that we were de- 
feated by the Poles at Zielime : and as 
Heaven has rather rewarded your prayers, 
than punished my imprudence, I trust 
you will do the same, and pardon an in- 
discretion I vow never to repeat. 

" Notwithstanding all this, I must have 
lost my life through my folly, had I not 
been preserved, even in the moment when 
death was pending over me, by a young 
officer with whose family I now am. The 
very sound of their title will create your 


respect ; for we of the Fatrician order, 
have a strange tenacity in our behef that 
virtue is hereditary ; and in this instance 
our creed ii> duly honoured. The title is 
Sobieski : the family which bears it, is the 
only remaining posterity of the great mo- 
narch of that name ; and the Count, who 
is at its head, is Palatine of Masovia; 
which, next to the throne, is the first dig- 
nity m the state. He is one of the warm- 
est champions of his country*s rights : 
and though born to command, has so far 
transgressed the golden adage of despots, 
* Ignorance and subjection,^ that through- 
out his territories, every man is taught to 
worship his God with his heart as well as 
with his knees. The understandings of 
his peasants are opened to all useful know- 
ledge. He does not put books of science 
and speculations into their hands, to con- 
sume their time in vain pursuits ; he gives 
them the Bible ; and implements of indus- 
try \ to afford them the means of know- 
ing, and of practising their duty. All 


Masovia, around his palace, blooms like 
a garden. The cheerful faces of the 
farmers ; and the blessings which I hear 
them implore on the family, when I am 
walking in the fields with the young 
Count, (for in this country, the sons bear 
the same title with their fathers,) have 
even drawn a few delighted drops from 
the eyes of your thoughtless son! I know 
that you think I have nothing senti- 
mental about me ; else you would not so 
often have poured into my 7iot inattentive 
earSy * that to estimate the pleasures of 
earth and heaven, we must cultivate the 
sensibilities of the heart. Shut our eyes 
against them, and we are merely nicely 
constructed speculums, which reflect the 
beauties of nature, but enjoy none.' 
You see, mamma, that I both remember 
and adopt your lessons. 

<*Thaddeus Sobieski is the grandson 
of the Palatine, and the sole heir of his 
illustrious race. It is to him that I owe 
the preservation of my life at Zielime; 

VOL. I. F 


and much of my happiness since ; for he 
is not only the bravest, but the most 
amiable young man in the kingdom ; 
and he is my friend. Indeed, as things 
have happened, you must think that out 
of evil has come good. Though I have 
been disobedient, my fault has intro- 
duced me to the affection of people 
whose friendship will hence forward con- 
stitute the greatest pleasure of my days. 
The mother of Thaddeus is the only 
daughter of the Palatine ; and of her, I 
can say no more, than that nothing on 
earth can more remind me of you ; she 
is equally charming; equally tender to 
your son. 

" Whilst the Palatine is engaged at the 
Diet, Her Excellency, Thaddeus, and 
myself, with now and then a few visitors 
from Warsaw, form the most agreeable 
parties you can suppose. We walk to- 
gether, we read together, we converse 
together, we sing together : at least, the 
Countess sings to us ; which is all the 


same: and you know, that time flies 
swiftly on the wings of harmony. She 
has an uncommonly sweet voice ; and a 
taste which I never heard paralleled. 
By the way, you cannot imagine any 
thing more beautiful than the Polish 
music. It partakes of that delicious 
languor so distinguished in the Turkish 
airs ; with a mingling of those wander- 
ing melodies, which the now-forgotten 
composers must have caught from the 
Tartars. In short, whilst the Countess is 
singing, I hardly suffer myself to breathe ; 
and I feel, just what our poetical friend 
William Scarsdale said a twelvemonth ago 
at a concert of yours, * I feel as if love 
sat upon my heart, and flapped it with 
his wings.' 

** I have tried all my powers of per- 
suasion, to prevail on this charming Coun- 
tess to visit our country. I have over and 
over again told her of you, and described 
you to her ; that you are near her own 
age 5 (for this lovely woman, though she 
F ^ 


has a son nearly twenty, is not more than 
forty ; ) that you are as fond of your or- 
dinary boy, as she is of her 'peerless one ; 
that, in short, you and my father will re- 
ceive her, and Thaddeus, and the Pala- 
tine, with open arms and hearts \ if they 
will condescend to visit our humble home 
at the end of the war. I believe I have 
repeated my entreaties both to the Coun- 
tess and my friend, regularly every day 
since my arrival at Villanow ; but always 
with the same issue ; she smiles, and re- 
fuses ; and Thaddeus * shakes his ambro- 
sial curW with a very * godlikefro^wn^ of 
denial ; I hope, it is self-denial, in com- 
pliment to his mother's cruel and un- 
provoked negative, 

" Before I proceed, I must give you 
some idea of the real appearance of this 
palace. I recollect your having read a 
superficial account of it in a few slight 
sketches of Poland which have been pub- 
lished in England ; but the pictures they 
exhibit are so faint they hardly resemble 


the original. Pray do not laugh at me, 
if I begin in the usual descriptive style ! 
You know, there is only one way to de- 
scribe houses, and lands and rivers ; so 
no blame can be thrown on me for tak- 
ing the beaten path where there is no 
other. To commence — 

*« When we left Zielime, and advanced 
into the province of Masovia, the coun- 
try around Prague rose at every step in 
fresh beauty. The numberless chains of 
gently swelling hills, which encompass 
it on each side of the Vistula, were in 
some parts chequered with corn field^S 
meadows, and green pastures covered 
with sheep, whose soft bleatings thrilled 
in my ears, and transported my senses 
into new regions ; so different was my 
charmed and tranquillized mind, from 
the tossing anxieties attendant on the 
horrors I had recently witnessed. Surely 
there is nothing in the world, short of 
the most undivided reciprocal attach- 
ment, that has such power over the 
F 3 


workings of the human heart, as the mild 
sweetness of nature. The most ruffled 
temper, when emerging from the town, 
will subside into a calm at the sight of a 
wide stretch of landscape reposing in 
the twilight of a fine evening. It is then 
that the spirit of peace settles upon the 
heart, unfetters the thoughts, and elevates 
the soul to the Creator. It is then that 
we behold the Parent of the universe in 
his works ; we see his grandeur, in earth, 
sea, and sky ; we feel his affection, in the 
emotions which they raise 5 and, half 
:/i.ortal, half etherealized, forget where 
we are, in the anticipation of what that 
world must be, of which this lovely earth 
is merely the shadow. 

«< Autumn seemed to be unfolding all 
her beauties, to greet the return of the 
Palatine. In one part, the hay-makers 
were mowing the hay, and heaping it 
into stacks ; in another, the reapers were 
gathering up the wheat ; with a troop 
of rosy little gleaners behind them, each 


of whom might have tempted the proud- 
est Palemon in Christendom, to have 
changed her toil into * a gentler duty? 
Such a landscape, intermingled with the 
little farms of these honest people, whom 
the philanthropy of Sobieski has rendered 
free, (for it is a tract of his extensive 
domains I am describing,) reminded me 
of Somerset. Villages repose in the green 
hollows of the vales j and cottages are 
seen peeping from amidst the thick 
umbrage of the woods, which cover 
the face of the hills. The irregular 
forms and thatched roofs of these simple 
habitations, with their infant inhabitants 
playing at the doors, composed such 
lovely groups, that I wished for our dear 
Mary's pencil and fingers, (for alas ! that 
way mine are motionless !) to transport 
them to your eyes. 

" The palace of Villanow, which is 
castellated, and stands in the midst of a 
fortress, now burst upon my view. It 
rears its embattled head from the sum- 

F 4" 


mit of a hill that gradually slopes down 
towards the Vistula, and borders to the 
south the plain of Vola ; a spot long fa- 
mous for the election of the kings of 
Poland. On the north of the building 
the earth is cut into natural ramparts, 
which, rise in high succession, until they 
reach the foundations of the palace, where 
they terminate in a noble terrace. These 
ramparts, covered with grass, overlook 
the stone-outworks, and spread down 
to the bottom of the hill j which being 
clothed with fine trees and luxurant 
underwood, forms such a rich and ver- 
dant base to the fortress as I have not 
language to describe ; were I privileged 
to be poetical, I would say, it reminds 
me of the god of war, sleeping amid 
roses in the bower of love. Here, the 
eye may wander over the gifts of boun- 
teous nature, arraying hill and dale in all 
the united treasures of spring and au- 
tumn. The forest stretches its yet un- 
seared arms to the breeze ; whilst that 


breeze comes laden with the fragrance 
of the tented hay, and the thousand 
sweets breathed from flowers, which, in 
this deHcious country, weep honey. 

" A magnificent flight of steps led us 
from the foot of the ramparts, up to the 
gate of the palace. We entered it ; and 
were presently surrounded by a train of 
attendants in such sumptuous liveries, 
that I found myself all at once carried 
back into the fifteenth century ; and 
might have fancied myself within the 
courtly halls of our Tudors and Planta- 
genets. You can better conceive, than 
I can paint, the scene which took place 
between the Palatine, the Countess, and 
her son. I can only repeat, that from 
that hour I have known no want of 
happiness ; but what arises from regret 
that my dear family are not partakers 
with me. 

" You know that this stupendous 
building was the favourite residence of 
John Sobieski j and that he erected it 
F 5 


as a resting place from the labours of 
his long and glorious reign. I cannot 
move without meeting some vestige of 
that truly great monarch. I sleep in his 
bed-chamber : there hangs his portrait, 
dressed in the robes of sovereignty ; 
here, are suspended the arms with which 
he saved the very kingdoms which have 
now met together to destroy his country. 
On one side, is his library ; on the other, 
the little chapel in which he used to 
pay his morning and evening devotions. 
Wherever I look, my eye finds some ob- 
ject to exite my reflections and emula- 
tion. The noble dead seem to address 
me from their graves ; and I blush at the 
inglorious life I might have pursued, had 
I never visited this house and its inhabit- 
ants. Yet, my dearest mother, I do not 
mean to reproach you ; nor to insinuate 
that my revered father, and brave ances- 
tors, have not set me examples as bright 
as man need follow ; but human nature 
is capricious j we are not so easily sti- 


mulated by what is always in our view, 
as with sights, which rising up when we 
are removed from our customary asso- 
ciations, surprise and captivate our at- 
tention. Villanow has only awakened 
me to the lesson, which I conned over 
in drowsy carelessness at home. Thad- 
deus Sobieski is hardly one year my se- 
nior ! but, good heaven ! what has he not 
done ? What has he not acquired ? Whilst 
I abused the indulgence of my parents, 
and wasted my days in riding, shooting, 
and walking the streets, he was learning 
to act as became a man of rank and 
virtue ; and by seizing every opportunity 
to serve the state, he has obtained a rich 
reward in the respect and admiration of 
his country. I am not envious, but I 
now feel the truth of Caesar's speech, 
when he declared, * the reputation of 
Alexander would not let him sleep.* 
Nevertheless, I dearly love my friend. 
I murmur at my own demerits, not at his 

p 6 


" I have scribbled over all my paper ; 
otherwise, I verily believe I should write 
more ; however I promise you another 
letter in a week or two. Meanwhile I 
shall send this packet to Mr. Loftus, who 
is at Petersburgh, to forward it to you. 
Adieu, my dear mother -, I am, with re- 
verence to my father and yourself, 
" Your truly affectionate son, 

" Pembroke Somerset. 
** Villanow, 
** August, 1792.'' ^ 



** To Lady Somerset, Somerset Castle, 
' England. 

[Written three weeks after the preceding.] 

** You know, my dear mother, that your 
Pembroke is famous for his ingenious 
mode of showing the full value of every 
favour he confers ! Can I then relinquish 
the temptation of telling you, what I 
have left to make you happy with this 
epistle ? 

" About five minutes ago, I was sitting 
on the lawn at the feet of the Countess, 
reading to her, and the Princess Ponia- 
towski, the charming poem of * The 
Pleasures of Memory J" As both these 
ladies understand English, they were ad- 
miring it, and paying many comphments 


to the graces of my delivery, when the 
Palatine presented himself, and told me, 
if I had any commands for Petersburgh, 
I must prepare them, for a messenger 
was to set off on the next morning by 
day-break. I instantly sprang up, threw 
my book into the hand of Thaddeus ; 
and here I am in my own room, scrib- 
bling to you ! 

** Even at the moment in which I dip 
my pen in the ink, my hurrying imagina- 
tion paints on my heart, the situation of 
my beloved home, when this letter reaches 
you. I think I see you and my good 
aunt seated on the blue sofa in your 
dressing-room, with your needle-work on 
the little table before you ; I see Mary 
in her usual nook, the recess by the old 
harpsichord; and my dear father, bringing 
in this happy letter from your son ! I 
must confess this romantic kind of fancy- 
sketching makes me feel rather oddly ; 
very unlike what I felt a few months 
ago, when I was a mere coxcomb j in- 


different, unreflecting, unappreciating, 
and fit for nothing better than to hold 
pins at my lady's toilet. Well, it is now 
made evident to me, that we never know 
the blessings of existence until we are 
separated from the possession of them. 
Absence tightens the string which unites 
friends, as well as lovers ; at least, I find 
it so ; and though I am in the fruition of 
every good on this side the ocean, yet 
my happiness renders me ungrateful ; 
and I repine, because I enjoy it alone. 
Positively, I must bring you all hither to 
pass a summer ; or come back at the ter- 
mination of my travels, and carry away 
this dear family by main force to Eng- 

" Tell my cousin Mary, that either 
way, I shall present to her esteem the 
most accomplished of human beings ; 
but I warn her not to fall in love with 
him, neither hi propria persona, nor by 
his public fame, nor with his private 
character. Tell her, * he is a bright and 


particular star^* neither in her sphere, 
nor in any other woman's. In this way, 
he is as cold as ' Dian's Crescent / and 
to my great amazement too ; for when I 
throw my eyes over the many lovely 
young women who at different times fill 
the drawing-room of the Countess, I 
cannot but wonder at the perfect in- 
difference with which he views their (to 
me) irresistible attractions. 

" He is polite and attentive to them 
all ; he talks with them, smiles with them, 
and ti'eats them with every active com- 
placency : but they do not live one in- 
stant in his memory. I mean, they do 
not occupy his particular wishes ; for 
with regard to every respectful senti- 
ment towards the sex in general, and 
esteem to some amiable individuals, he 
is as awakened, as in the other case he 
is still asleep. The fact is, he has no 
idea of appropriation ; he never casts 
one thought upon himself: kindness is 
spontaneous in his nature ; his sunny eyes 


beam on all with modest benignity ; and 
his frank and glowing conversation is 
directed to every rank of people. They 
imbibe it with an avidity and love, which 
makes its way to his heart without awaken- 
ing his vanity. Thus, whilst his fine per- 
son, and splendid actions, fill every eye 
and bosom, I see him moving in the cir- 
cle, unconscious of his eminence, and 
the interest he excites. 

*« Drawn by such an example, to which 
his high quahty, as well as extraordinary 
merit, gives so great an influence, most 
of the younger nobility have been led to 
enter the army. These circumstances, 
added to the detail of his bravery and 
uncommon talents in the field, have made 
him an object of universal regard ; and, 
in consequence, wherever he is seen he 
meets with applause and acclamation : 
nay, even at the appearance of his carriage 
in the streets, the passengers take off 
their hats, and pray for him till he is out 
of sight. It is only then, that I perceive 


his cheek flush with the conviction that 
he is adored. 

" * It is this, Thaddeus,' said I to him 
one day, when walking together we were 
obHged to retire into a house from the 
crowds that followed him : * It is this, 
my dear friend, which shields your heart 
against the arrows of love. You have no 
place for that passion; your mistress is 
glory, and she courts you/ 

" < My mistress is my country,' replied 
he ; 'at present I desire no other. For 
her, I would die ; for her only, I would 
wish to live.' Whilst he spoke, the 
energy of his soul blazed in his eyes : I 

** * You are an enthusiast, Thaddeus.' 

" * Pembroke!' returned he, in a sur- 
prised and reproachful tone. 

" ' I do not give you^that name, oppro- 
briously,' resumed I, laughing; * but 
there are many in my country, who, 
hearing these sentiments, would not 
scruple to call you mad.' 


" * Then I pity them,' returned Thad- 
deus. * Men who cannot ardently feel, 
cannot taste supreme happiness. My 
grandfather educated me at the feet of 
patriotism ; and when I forget his pre- 
cepts and example, may my guardian 
angel forget me !' 

" ' Happy, glorious, Thaddeus !' cried 
I, grasping his hand ; « how I envy you 
your destiny ! — To live as you do, in the 
lap of honour ; virtue and glory, the aim 
and end of your existence !' 

*' The animated countenance of my 
friend changed at these words, and laying 
his hand on my arm, he said, * Do not 
envy me my destiny. Pembroke, you are 
the citizen of a free country, at peace 
with itself J insatiate power has not dared 
to invade its rights. Your King, in 
happy security, reigns in the hearts of 
his people; whilst our anointed Sta- 
nislaus is baited and insulted, by oppres- 
sion from without, and ingratitude with- 
in. Do not envy me : I would rather 


live in obscurity all my days, than have 
the means which calamity has bestowed, 
of acquiring celebrity over the ruins of 
Poland. O ! my friend, the wreath that 
crowns the head of conquest is thick and 
bright ; but that which binds the olive of 
peace on the bleeding wounds of my 
country will be the dearest to me.' 

"Such sentiments, my dear madam, 
have opened new lights upon my poor 
mistaken faculties. I did not consider 
the subject so maturely as my friend has 
done ; victory and glory were with me 
synonymous words. I had not learnt, until 
frequent conversations with the young, 
ardent, and pious Sobieski taught me, 
how to discriminate between ferocity and 
valour ; between the patriot and the 
assassin ; between the defender of his 
country, and the ravager of other states. 
In short, I see in Thaddeus Sobieski all 
that my fancy hath ever pictured of the 
heroic character. Whilst I contemplate 
the subUmity of his sentiments, and the 


tenderness of his soul, I cannot help 
thinking, how few would believe that so 
many admirable qualities could belong 
to one mind ; and yet that mind remain 
unacquainted with the throes of ambition 
or the throbs of vanity." 

Pembroke judged rightly of his friend ; 
for if ever the real, disinterested amor 
patrice glowed in the breast of a man, it 
animated the heart of the young Sobieski. 
At the termination of the foregoing sen- 
tence in the letter to his mother, Pem- 
broke was interrupted by the entrance of 
a servant, who presented him a packet, 
which had that moment arrived from 
Petersburgh. He took it, and laying his 
writing materials into a desk, read the 
following epistle from his governor. 

** To Pembroke Somerset, Esq, 

** My dear Sir, 
" I have this day received your letter, 
enclosing one for Lady Somerset. You 
must pardon me, that I have detained it ; 


and will continue to do so until I am 
favoured with your answer to this ; for 
which I shall most anxiously wait. 

" You know, Mr. Somerset, my repu- 
tation in the sciences j you know my 
depth in the languages ; and besides, the 
Marquis of Inverary, with whom I tra- 
veiled over the Continent, offered you 
sufficient credentials respecting my know- 
ledge of the world, and the honourable 
manner in which I treat my pupils. Sir 
Robert Somei^set, and your lady mother, 
were amply satisfied with the account, 
which His Lordship gave of my character ; 
but with all this, in one point every man 
is vulnerable. No scholar can forget 
those lines of the poet, 

Felices ter, et amplius, 

Quos irrupta tenet copula ; nee malis 
Divulsus quaerimoniis, 

Suprema citius solvet amor die. 

It has been my misfortune that I have 
felt them. 

" You are not ignorant, that I was 
known to the Branicki family, when I 


had the honour of conducting the Mar- 
quis through Russia. The Count's ac- 
compHshed kinswoman, the amiable and 
learned widow of Baron SurowkofF, even 
then took particular notice of me : and 
when I returned with you to St. Peters- 
burgh, I did not find that my short ab- 
sence had obliterated me from her me- 

" You are well acquainted with the 
dignity of that lady's opinions, on political 
subjects. She and I coincided in ardour 
for the cause of insulted Russia ; and in 
hatred of that leveUing power which per- 
vades all Europe. Many have been the 
long and interesting conversations we 
have held on the prosecution of those 
schemes, which her late husband had so 
principal a hand in laying, for the sub- 
version of the miserable kingdom in 
which you now are. 

" The Baroness, I need not observe, is 
as handsome as she is ingenious ; her un- 
derstanding is as masculine, as her person 


is desirable ; and I had been more, or less 
than man, if I had not understood that 
my figure and talents were agreeable to 
her. I cannot say that she absolutely 
promised me her hand, but she went as 
far that way as delicacy would permit. I 
am thus circumstantial, Mr. Somerset, to 
show you that I do not proceed without 
proof. She has repeatedly said in my 
presence that she would never marry any 
man, unless he were not only well-look- 
ing, but of the profoundest erudition, 
united with an acquaintance with men 
and manners, which none could dispute. 
* Besides,' added she, ' he must not 
differ with me one tittle in politics ; for 
on that head I hold myself second to no or woman in Europe.' And then 
she has complimented me, by declaring, 
that I possessed more judicious senti- 
ments on government, than any man in 
St. Petersburgh ; and that she should 
consider herself happy on the first vacancy 
in the Imperial College, to introduce me 


at court ; where she was sure the Empress 
would at once discover the value of my 
talents : ' but/ she continued, * in such 
a case, I will not allow, that even Her 
Majesty shall rival me in your esteem.' 
The modesty natural to my character, 
told me these praises must have some 
other source than my comparatively une- 
qual abilities ; and I unequivocally found 
it in the partiality with which Her Lady- 
ship condescended to regard me. 

" Was I to blame, Mr. Somerset? Would 
not any man of sensibility and honour 
have comprehended such advances from 
a woman of her rank and reputation ? I 
could not be mistaken, her looks and 
words needed no explanation, which my 
judgment could not pronounce. Though 
I am aware, that I do not possess that 
lumen purpureum juventce which attracts 
very young, uneducated women, yet I 
am not much turned of fifty ; and from 
the Baroness's singular behaviour, I had 
every reason to expect handsomer treat- 

VOL. I. ' G 


raent than she has been pleased to dis- 
pense to me since my return. 

" But to proceed regularly ; (I must 
beg your pardon for the warmth which has 
hurried me to this digression,) you know. 
Sir, that from the hour in which I had the 
honour of taking leave of your noble 
family in England, I strove to impress 
upon your rather volatile mind, a just 
and accurate conception of the people 
amongst whom I was to conduct you. 
When I brought you into this extensive 
empire, I left no means unexerted to 
heighten your respect, not only for its 
amiable sovereign, but for all regal 
powers. It is the characteristic of genius 
to be zealous : I was so, in favour of the 
pretensions of the great Catharine, to 
that paltry country in which you now are, 
and to which she deigned to offer her 
protection. To this zeal, and my unfor- 
tunate, though honourable devotion to 
the wishes of the Baroness, I am con- 
strained to date my present dilemma. 


** When Poland had the insolence to 
rebel against its illustrious mistress, you 
remember, that every man of rank in St. 
Petersburgh was highly incensed. The 
Baroness Surowkoff declared herself fre- 
quently, and with vehemence ; she ap- 
pealed to me ; my veracity and my prin- 
ciples were called forth, and I confessed, 
that I thought every friend to the Tza- 
ritza ought to take up arms against that 
ungrateful people. The Count Branicki 
was then appointed to command the 
Russian forces ; and Her Ladyship, very 
unexpectedly on my part, answered me, 
by approving what I said ; and saying, 
that of course I meant to follow her 
cousin into Poland ; for that even she, 
as a woman, was so earnest in the cause, 
she would accompany him to the fron- 
tiers, and there await the result. 

" What could I do ? How could I 
withstand the expectations of a lady of 
her quality, and one who, I believed, 
loved me? However, for some time I 

VOL. I. * G 2 


did oppose my wish to oblige her ; I 
urged my cloth ; and the impossibility 
of accounting for such a line of con- 
duct to the father of my pupil? The 
Baroness ridiculed all these arguments, 
as mere excuses : and ended with say- 
ing, ' Do as you please, Mr. Loftus. I 
have been deceived in your character ; 
the friend of the Baroness SurowkofF 
must be consistent ; he must be as will- 
ing to fight for the cause he espouses 
as to speak for it ; in this case, the sword 
must follow the oration, else we sjiall see 
Poland in the hands of a rabble.' 

" This decided me. I offered my ser- 
vices to the Count, to attend him to the 
field. He, and the young lords, per- 
suaded you to do the same; and as I 
could not think of leaving you, when 
your father had placed you under my 
charge, I was pleased to find that my 
approval confirmed your wish to turn 
soldier. I was not then acquainted, 
Mr. Somerset, (for you did not tell me of 


it until we were far advanced into Po- 
land,) with Sir Robert's and my Lady's 
dislike of the army. This has been a 
prime source of my error 5 had I known 
their repugnance to your taking up 
arms, my duty would have triumphed 
over even my devotion to the Baroness : 
but I was born under a melancholy horo- 
scope ; nothing happens as any one of 
my humblest wishes might warrant. 

" At the first onset of the battle, I 
became so suddenly ill, I was obliged to 
retire; and on this unfortunate event, 
which was completely unwilled on my 
part, (for no man can command the pe- 
riods of sickness,) the Baroness founds 
a contempt which has disconcerted all 
my schemes. Besides, when I attempted 
to remonstrate with Her Ladyship on the 
promise which, if not directly given, was 
implied, she laughed at me j and when I 
persisted in my suit, all at once, like the 
rest of her ungrateful, undistinguishing 
sex, she burst into a tempest of invec- 
tives, and forbade me her house. 
G 3 


" What am I now to do, Mr. Somer- 
set? This inconsistent woman has be- 
trayed me into a conduct diametrically 
opposite to the commands of your fa- 
mily. Your father particularly desired 
that I would not suffer you to go either 
into Hungary or Poland. In the last 
instance I have permitted you to disobey 
him. And my Lady Somerset, (who lost 
both her father and brother in diiSferent 
engagements,) you tell me, hath declared 
that she never would pardon the man who 
should put mihtary ideas into your head. 
" Therefore, Sir, though you are my 
pupil, I throw myself on your generosity. 
If you persist in acquainting your family 
with the late transactions at Zielime, and 
your present residence in Poland, I shall 
finally be ruined. I shall not only for- 
feit the good opinion of your father and 
mother, but lose all prospect of the liv- 
ing of Somerset j which Sir Robert was 
so gracious as to promise should be mine 
on the demise of the present incumbent. 
You know, Mr. Somerset, that I have 


a mother and six sisters in Wales ; whose 
support depends on my success in life ; 
if my preferment be stopped now, they 
must necessarily be involved in a distress 
which makes me shudder. 

" I cannot add more, Sir ; I know 
your generosity ; and I therefore rest 
upon it. I shall detain the letter, which 
you did me the honour to inclose for my 
Lady Somerset, till I receive your deci- 
sion ; and ever, whilst I live, will I hence- 
forth remain firm to my old and favourite 
maxim, which I adopted from the glo- 
rious epistle of Horace to Numicius. 
Perhaps you may not recollect the lines ? 
They run thus : 

Nil admirari, prope res est una, Numici, 
Solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatura. 

** I have the honour to be, 

" Dear Sir, 

*« Your most obedient servant, 

" Andrew Loftus. 
*^St» Pefersburgh, 

Septemhevy 1792.'* 

G 4 


"P. S. Just as I was sealing this 
packet, the EngUsh ambassador for- 
warded to me a short letter from your 
father, in which he desires us to quit 
Russia ; and to make the best of our 
way to England, where you are wanted 
on a most urgent occasion. He explains 
himself no farther ; only repeating his 
orders in express commands that we set 
off instantly. I wait your directions." 

This epistle disconcerted Mr. Somer- 
set. He always guessed the Baroness 
SurowkofF was amusing herself with his 
vain and pedantic preceptor ; but he 
never entertained a suspicion that Her 
Ladyship would carry her pleasantry to 
so cruel an excess. He clearly saw that 
the fears of Mr. Loftus, with regard to 
the displeasure of his parents, were far 
from groundless ; and therefore, as there 
was a probability from the age of Dr. 
Manners, that the rectory of Somerset 
would soon become vacant, he thought 
it better to oblige his poor governor, and 


preserve the secret for a month or two, 
than to give him up to the indignation 
of Sir Robert On these grounds, Pem- 
broke resolved to write to Mr. Loftus, 
and ease the anxiety of his heart. Al- 
tJiough he ridiculed his vanity, he could 
not help respecting the affectionate soli- 
citude of a son and a brother ; and, as 
that plea had won him, half angry, half 
grieved, and half laughing, he dispatched 
a few hasty lines. 

*' To the Reverend Andrew Loftus^ 
St, Petersburgh. 

** What whimsical fit, my dear Sir, 
has seized my father, that I am recalled 
at a moment's notice ? Faith, I am so 
mad at the summons ; and at his not 
deigning to assign a reason for his order, 
— that I do not know how I may he 
tempted to act. 

" Another thing ! you beg of me not 
to say a word of my having been in Po- 
land ; and for that purpose, you have 
G 5 


withheld the letter which I sent to you 
to forward to my mother ! You offer far- 
fetched, and precious excuses, for having 
betrayed your own wisdom, and your 
pupil's innocence, into so mortal an 
offence. One cause of my being here 
you say was your * ardour in the cause 
of insulted Russia ; and your hatred of 
that levelling potver which pervades all 

" Well, I grant it. I understood from 
you and Branicki, that you were leading 
me against a set of violent, discontented 
men of rank, who, in proportion as they 
were inflated with personal pride and in- 
solence, despised their own order ; and 
under the name of freedom, were intro- 
ducing anarchy throughout a country 
which Catharine would graciously have 
protected. All this I find is false. But 
both of you may have been misled ; the 
Count by partiality ; and you by misre- 
presentation : therefore I do not perceive 
why you should be in such a terror. The 


wisest man in the world may see through 
bad lights; and why should you think 
my father would never pardon you for 
having been so unlucky ? 

" Yet to dispel your dread of such 
tidings ruining you with Sir Robert, I 
will not be the first to tell him of our 
quixoting. Only remember, my good 
Sir ! — though to oblige you I withhold 
all my letters to my mother ; and when 
I arrive in England shall lock up my lips 
from mentioning Poland y yet positively 
I will not be mute one day longer than 
that in which my father presents you 
with the living of Somerset : then, you 
will be independent of his displeasure ; 
and I may, and will, declare my everlast- 
ing gratitude to this illustrious family, 

" I am half mad when I think of 
leaving them, I must tear myself from 
this mansion of comfort and affection, 
to wander with you in some rumbling 
old barouche * over brake and through 
briar /' Well, patience ! Another such 
G 6 


drubbing given to my quondam friends 
of the Neva, and with * victory perched 
like an eagle on their laurelled brows/ I 
may have some chance of wooing the 
Sobieskis to the banks of Thames. At 
present, I have not sufficient hope to 
keep me in good humour. 

** Meet me this day week at Dantzic : 
I shall there embark for England. You 
had best not bring any of the servants 
with you ', they might blab ; discharge 
them at Petersburgh, and hire others for 
yourself and me when you arrive at the 

" I have the honour to remain, 
" Dear Sir, 
" Your most obedient servant, 

*' Pembroke Somerset, 
** Villanow, 
September, 179^.'* 

When Somerset joined his friends at 
supper, and imparted to them the com- 
mands of his father, an immediate change 


was produced in the spirits of the party. 
During the lamentations of the ladies 
and the murmurs of the young men, the 
Countess tried to dispel the effects of 
the information, by addressing Pem- 
broke with a smile, and saying, " But 
we hope that you have seen enough at 
Villanow, to tempt you back again at 
no very distant period ? Tell Lady So- 
merset you have left a second mother 
in Poland, who will long to receive an- 
other visit from her adopted son." 

" Yes, my dear Madam," returned 
he ; " and I shall hope before a very dis- 
tant period to see those two kind mo- 
thers united as intimately by friendship, 
as they are in my heart." 

Thaddeus listened with a saddened coun- 
tenance. He had not been accustomed 
to disappointment ; and when he met it 
now, he hardly knew how to proportion 
his uneasiness to the privation. Hope 
and all the hilarities of youth flourislied 
in his soul ; his features continually 


glowed with animation, whilst the gay 
beaming of his eyes ever answered to 
the smile on his lips. Hence the slight- 
est veering of his mind was perceptible 
to the Countess, who turning round, saw 
him leaning thoughtfully in his chair; 
whilst Pembroke, with increasing ve- 
hemence, was running through various 
invectives against the hastiness of his 

" Come, come, Thaddeus !" cried 
she, " let us think no more of this 
separation until it arrives. You know 
that anticipation of evil is the death 
of happiness ; and it will be a kind of 
suicide, should we destroy the hours 
we may yet enjoy together, in vain 
complainings they are so soon to ter- 

A little exhortation from the Coun- 
tess, and a maternal kiss which she im- 
printed on his cheek, restored him to 
cheerfulness ; and the evening past away 
pleasanter than it had portended. 


Much as the Palatine esteemed Pem- 
broke Somerset, his mind was too deeply 
absorbed in the losses of his country, to 
attend to less considerable cares. He 
beheld his country, even on the verge of 
destruction, awaiting with firmness the 
approach of the earthquake which was 
to ingulph it in the neighbouring nations. 
He saw the storm lowering ; but he de- 
termined, whilst there remained one spot 
of vantage ground above the general 
wreck, that Poland should yet have a name 
and a defender. These thoughts pos- 
sessed him ; these plans engaged him 5 
and he had not leisure to regret pleasure, 
when he was struggling for existence. 

The Empress continued to pour her 
armies into the heart of the kingdom. 
The King of Prussia, boldly flying from 
his treaties, refused it his succour ; and 
the Emperor of Germany, following the 
example of so great a Prince, did not 
blush to show that his word was equally 


Dispatches daily arrived, of the villages 
being laid waste : that neither age, sex, 
nor situation prevented their unfortu- 
nate inhabitants becoming the victims of 
cruelty; and that all the frontier pro- 
vinces were in flames. 

The Diet was called, and the debates 
agitated with the anxiety of men,^ who 
were met to decide on their dearest in- 
terests. The bosom of the benevolent 
Stanislaus bled at the dreadful picture of 
his people's sufferings ; and hardly able 
to restrain his tears, he answered the 
animated exordiums of Sobieski for re- 
sistance to the last, with an appeal im- 
mediately to his heart. 

" What is it that you urge me to do, 
my Lord ?" said he. " Was it not to 
secure the happiness of my subjects, that 
I laboured ? and finding my design im- 
practicable, what advantage would it be 
to them, should I pertinaciously oppose 
their small numbers, to the accumulated 
hordes of the north? What is my kingdom, 


but the comfort of my people? What 
will it avail me, to see them fall around 
me, man by man ; and the few who re- 
main, hanging in speechless sorrow over 
their graves ? Such a sight would break 
my heart. Poland without its people, 
would be a desart ; and I a hermit rather 
than a King." 

In vain the Palatine combated this 
argument, and the quiet which a peace 
would aftbrd, by declaring it could only 
be temporary. In vain he told His 
Majesty, that he would purchase safety 
for the present race, at the vast expense 
of not only the liberty of posterity, but 
of its probity and happiness. 

** However you disguise slavery," cried 
he, " it is slavery still. Its chains, though 
wreathed with roses, not only fasten on 
the body but rivet on the mind. They 
bend it from the loftiest virtue, to a de- 
basement beneath calculation. They dis- 
grace honour ; they trample upon justice. 
They transform the legions of Rome 


into a band of singers. They prostrate 
the sons of Athens and of Sparta at 
the feet of cowards. They make man 
abjure his birthright, bind himself to 
another's will, and give that into a 
tyrant's hands, which he received as a 
deposit from heaven — his reason, his 
conscience, and his soul. Think on this, 
and then, if you can, subjugate Poland 
to her enemies." 

Stanislaus, weakened by years, and sub- 
dued by disappointment, now retained no 
higher wish than to save his subjects from 
immediate outrage. He did not answer 
the Palatine ; but with streaming eyes, 
bent over the table, and annulled the 
glorious constitution of 1791. Then with 
emotions hardly short of agony, he signed 
an order presented by a Russian officer, 
which directed Prince Poniatowski to 
deliver the army under his command into 
the hands of General Branicki. 

As the King put his signature to these 
papers, Sobieski, who had strenuously 
withstood each decision, started from his 


chair, bowed to his sovereign, and in 
silence left the apartment. Several no- 
blemen followed him. 

These pacific measures did not meet 
with better treatment from without. 
When they were noised abroad, an alarm- 
ing commotion arose amongst the inha- 
bitants of Warsaw ; and nearly four thou- 
sand men of the first families in the king- 
dom assembled themselves in the park of 
Villanow, and with tumultuous eagerness, 
declared their resolution to resist the 
power of their combined ravagers to the 
utmost. The Prince Sapieha, Kosciuszko, 
and Sobieski, were the first who took the 
oath of eternal fidelity to Poland ; and 
they administered it to Thaddeus, who 
kneeling down, called on heaven to hear 
him, as he swore to assert the freedom 
of his country to the last gasp of its 

In the midst of these momentous af- 
fairs, Pembroke Somerset bade adieu to 
his friends; and set sail with his go- 
vernor from Dantzic for England. 



Those winter months, which before this 
year had been at Villanow the season for 
cheerfulness and festivity, now rolled 
away in the sad pomp of national debates 
and military assemblies. 

Prussia usurped the best part of Pome- 
relia, and garrisoned it with troops ; 
Catharine declared her dominion over 
the vast tract of land which lies between 
the Dwina and Borystenes ; and Frederic 
William marked down another sweep of 
Poland, to follow the fate of Dantzic and 
of Thorn. 

Calamities, insults, and robberies, were 
heaped, day after day, on the defenceless 
Poles. The Deputies of the provinces 
were put into prison ; and the Russian 
ambassador had the insolence, even to 


interrupt provisions intended for the 
King's table, and appropriate them to 
his own. Sobieski remonstrated on this 
outrage; but incensed at reproof, and 
irritated at the sway which the Palatine 
still held at court, he issued an order 
for all the Sobieski estates in Lithuania 
and Podolia to be sequestrated, and di- 
vided between four of the Russian ge- 

In vain the Villanow confederation en- 
deavoured to remonstrate with the Em- 
press. Her ambassador, not only refused 
to forward the dispatches, but threatened 
the nobles, *' if they did not comply with 
every one of his demands, he would lay all 
the estates, possessions, and habitations, 
of the members of the Diet under an 
immediate military execution. Nay, 
punishment should not stop there ; for if 
the King joined the Sobieski party, (to 
which he now appeared inclined,) the 
royal domains should not only meet the 
same fate, but harsher treatment should 


follow, until both the people, and their 
proud Sovereign, were brought into sub- 

These menaces were too arrogant, to 
have any other effect upon the Poles, than 
that of giving a new spur to their resolu- 
tion. With the same firmness, they re- 
pulsed similar fulminations from the 
Prussian ambassador ; and with a cool- 
ness which was only equalled by their 
intrepidity, they prepared to resume 
their arms. 

Hearing by private information that 
his threats were despised, next morning 
before day-break the insolent Russian 
surrounded the building were the con- 
federation was sitting, with two battalions 
of grenadiers and four pieces of cannon ; 
and then issued orders, that no Pole 
should pass the gates without being fired 
on. General Rautenfeld, who was set 
over the person of the King, declared 
that not even His Majesty should stir, 
until the Diet had given an unanimous 


and full consent to the Empress's com- 

The Diet set forth the unlawfulness of 
signing any treaty, whilst thus withheld 
from the freedom of will and debate. 
They urged that it was not legal to enter 
into deliberation, when violence had re- 
cently been exerted against any individual 
of their body ; and how could they do it 
now, deprived as they were of five of 
their principal members, whom the am- 
bassador well knew he had arrested in 
their way to the senate ? Sobieski and 
four of his friends, being the members 
most inimical to the wishes of Russia, 
were these five. In vain their liberation 
was required; and enraged at the per- 
tinacity of this opposition, Rautenfeld 
repeated his former threatenings with the 
addition of more ; swearing they should 
take place without appeal, if the Diet 
did not, directly and unconditionally, sign 
the pretensions both of his court, and 
that of Prussia. 


After a hard contention of many hour^, 
at last the members agreed amongst them- 
selves, to make a solemn public protest 
against the present tyrannous measures of 
the Russian ambassador 5 and seeing that 
any attempt to inspire him even with 
decency was useless, they determined to 
cease all debate, and keep a profound 
silence when the marshal should propose 
the project in demand. 

This sorrowful silence was commenced 
in resentment, and retained through des- 
pair ; this sorrowful silence was called 
by their usurpers a consent ; this sorrow- 
ful silence is held up to the world, and to 
posterity, as a free cession of the Poles, 
of all those rights, which they had re- 
ceived from nature, and defended with 
their blood. 

The morning after this dreadful day 
the senate met at one of the private 
palaces : and indignant, and broken- 
hearted, they delivered the following de- 
claration to the people : 


" The Diet of Poland, hemmed in by 
foreign troops, menaced with an invasion, 
which would be attended by universal 
ruin, and finally insulted by a thousand 
outrages, have been forced to witness 
the signing of a treaty with Prussia. 

** They strenuously endeavoured to 
add to that treaty, some conditions to 
which they supposed the lamentable 
state of this country would have ex- 
torted an acquiescence, even from the 
heart of power. But the Diet were de- 
ceived : they found, that power was un- 
accompanied by humanity : they found, 
that Prussia, having thrown his victim 
to the ground, would not refrain from 
exulting in the barbarous triumph of 
trampling upon her neck. 

" The Diet rely on the justice of Po- 
land ; rely on her beUef, that they would 
not betray the citadel she confided to 
their keeping ; her preservation is dearer 
to them than their lives ; but fate seems 
to be on the side of their destroyer. 

VOL. 1. H 


Fresh insults have been heaped upon 
their heads, and new hardships have 
been imposed upon them. To prevent 
all deliberations on this debasing treaty, 
they are not only surrounded by foreign 
troops, and dared with hostile messages, 
but they have been violated by the arrest 
of their prime members; whilst those 
who are still suffered to possess a per- 
sonal freedom, have the most galling 
shackles laid upon theu' minds. 

" Therefore, I, the King of Poland, 
enervated by age, and sinking under the 
accumulated weight of afflictions ; — and 
also, we, the members of the Diet, — de- 
clare, that being unable, even by the sa- 
crifice of our lives, to relieve our country 
from the yoke of its oppressors, we con- 
sign it to posterity. 

" In another age, means may be 
found to rescue it from chains and mi- 
sery ; but such means are not in our 
power. Other countries neglect us ; 
whilst they reprobate the violations 


which a neighbouring nation is alleged 
to have committed against rational li- 
berty, they behold not only with apathy 
but with approbation, the ravages which 
are desolating Poland. Posterity must 
avenge it ; we have done. We accede, 
for the reasons above mentioned, to the 
treaty laid before us ; though we declare, 
that it is contrary to our wishes, to our 
sentiments, and to our rights." 

Thus, in November, 1793, — compress- 
ed to one-fourth of her dimensions, 
within the lines of demarcation drawn 
by her enemies, — Poland was stripped 
of her rank in Europe : the lands of her 
nobles given to strangers ; and her citi- 
zens left to perish in chains. Ill-fated 
nation ! Posterity will weep over thy 
wrongs ; whilst the burning blush of 
shame, that their fathers witnessed such 
wrongs unmoved, shall cause the tears 
to blister as they fall. 

During these transactions, the Coun- 
tess Sobieski continued in solitude at 
H 2 


Villanow, awaiting with awful anxiety 
the termination of those portentous 
events, which so deeply involved her 
own comforts with those of her country. 
Her father was in prison, her son at a 
distance with the army. Sick at heart, 
she saw the opening of that spring, 
which might be the commencement 
only, of a new season of injuries : and 
her fears were prophetic. 

Those soldiers who had dared to retain 
their arms in their hands, were again or- 
dered by the Russian ambassador to lay 
them down. Some few^ thinking denial 
vain, obeyed ; but bolder spirits followed 
Thaddeus Sobieski into South Prussia; 
whither he had directed his steps on the 
arrest of his grandfather ; and where he 
had gathered, and kept together, a 
handful of brave men still faithful to 
their liberties. His name alone collected 
numbers in every district through which 
he marched. Persecution from their 
advei^ary, as well as admiration of 


Thaddeus, gave a resistless power to his 
appearance, look, and voice ; all which 
had such an effect on the people, they 
crowded to his standard by hundreds ^ 
whilst their lords, having caught a simi- 
lar fire from the ardour of the young 
Count, committed themselves without 
reserve to his sole judgment and com- 
mand. The Empress, hearing of this, 
ordered Stanislaus to command him to 
disband his troops. But the King re- 
fusing, she augmented the strength of 
her own forces ; and enraged at so stub- 
born a resistance, renewed the war witli 
redoubled horrors. 

The Palatine remained in confinement, 
hopeless of obtaining release without the 
aid of stratagem. The emissaries of 
Catharine were too well aware of their 
interest to give freedom to so active an 
opponent. They loaded him with irons 
and insult ; — but in spite of their arts 
this patriotic victim to vindictive tyranny 
received every consolation which can 
H 3 


soothe a brave man, (his own arms being 
tied from serving his- country,) in the in- 
formation which the bKnd maHce of his 
jailors hourly brought to his ears. They 
told him, " that his grandson continued 
to carry himself with such insolent op- 
position in the south, it would be well if 
the Empress, at the termination of the 
war, allowed him to escape with eternal 
banishment to Siberia." Every reproach 
which was levelled at the Palatine, he 
found had been bought by some new 
conquest of Thaddeus ; and instead of 
permitting their malignity to intimidate 
his age, or alarm his affection, he told 
the officer, (whose daily office was to at- 
tend and to torment him,) that — if his 
grandson were to lose his head for fide- 
lity to Poland, he should behold him, 
with as proud an eye, mounting the 
scaffiDld, as entering the streets of War- 
saw with Russia at his chariot wheels. 
" The only difference would be,'' con- 
tinued Sobieski, " that, as the first can- 


not happen until all virtue be dead in 
this land, I should regard his last gasp 
as the expiring sigh of that virtue, which, 
by him, had found a triumph even under 
the axe. And for the second, — it would 
be joy unutterable, to behold the victory 
of justice over rapine and murder! But, 
either way, Thaddeus Sobieski is still the 
same ; ready to die, or ready to live, for 
his country — and equally worthy of the 
eternal halo, with which posterity will 
encircle his name." 

Indeed the accounts which arrived 
from this young soldier, who had formed 
a junction with General Kosciuszko, were 
in the highest degree formidable to the 
coalesced powers. Having gained seve- 
ral advantages over the Prussians, his 
troops were advancing towards Inow- 
lotz, when a large and fresh body of the 
enemy appeared closely on their rear. 
The fugitives on the opposite bank of 
the river, (whom the Poles were driving 
before them,) at sight of this reinforce- 
H 4 


ment suddenly rallied; and to retard 
the approach of their pursuers, and en- 
sure their defeat from the army in view, 
they broke down the wooden bridge by 
which they might have escaped. The 
Poles were at a stand. Kosciuszko pro- 
posed swimming across ; but owing to 
the recent heavy rains the river was so 
swoln and rapid that the young men to 
whom he mentioned the project, terrified 
by the blackness and dashing of the 
water, drew back. The General per- 
ceiving their panic, called Thaddeus to 
him, and both plunged into the stream. 
Ashamed of hesitation, the others now 
tried who could first follow their exam- 
ple ; and after hard buffeting with the 
waves the whole army gained the oppo- 
site shore. The Prussians who were in 
the rear, incapable of the like intrepidity, 
halted ; and those in the van, intimi- 
"Sated at the daring courage of their ad- 
versaries, concealed themselves amidst 
the thickets of an adjoining valley. 


The two friends proceeded towards 
Cracow, carrying redress and protection 
to the provinces through which they 
marched. But they had hardly rested 
two days in that city before dispatches 
were received, that Warsaw was lying at 
the mercy of General Branicki. No 
time could be lost, officers and men had 
set their lives on the cause ; and they re- 
commenced their toils, with a persever- 
ance which brought them before the ca- 
pital on the I6th of April. 

Things were in a worse state than 
even was expected. The Russian am. 
bassador, with his usual arrogance, had 
not only demanded the surrender of the 
national arsenal ; but subscribed his or- 
ders with a threat, that whoever of the 
nobles presumed to dispute his authority 
should be arrested and put to death ; 
and if the people should dare to murmur, 
he would immediately command General 
Branicki to lay the city in ashes. 
H 5 


The King remonstrated against such 
oppression ; and to " punish his pre- 
sumption,''^ this proper representative of 
the Imperial Catharine, ordered that His 
Majesty's garrison and guards should be 
instantly broken and dispersed. At the 
first attempt to execute this mandate, 
the people flew in crowds to the palace ; 
and falling on their knees, implored 
Stanislaus for permission to avenge the 
insult offered to his troops. His Ma- 
jesty looked at them with pity, gratitude, 
and anguish ; for some time his emotions 
were too strong to allow him to speak ; 
at last in a voice of agony, which was 
wrung from his tortured heart, he an- 
swered, " Go, and defend your honour 1" 

The army of Kosciuszko marched into 
the town at this critical moment ; they 
joined the armed citizens ; and that day, 
after a dreadful conflict, Warsaw was 
rescued from the immediate grasp of 
Russia. During the fight, the King, 


who was alone in one of the rooms of 
his palace, sunk almost fainting on the 
floor ; he heard the mingling clash of 
arms, the roar of musquetry, and the 
cries and groans of the combatants ; 
ruin seemed no longer to hover over his 
kingdom, but to have pounced at once 
upon her prey. At every renewed vol- 
ley, which followed each pause in the fir- 
ing, he expected to see his palace-gates 
burst open, and himself^ then indeed 
made a willing sacrifice to the fury of his 

Whilst he was yet upon his knees, pe- 
titioning the God of battles for a little 
longer respite from that doom, which was 
to overwhelm devoted Poland — Thad- 
deus Sobieski, panting with heat and toil, 
flew into the room ; and before he could 
speak a word, was clasped in the arms of 
the agitated Stanislaus. 

" Are my people safe ?" asked the 

H 6 


" And victorious !" returned Thad- 
deus. " The foreign guards are beaten 
from the palace ; — your own have re- 
sumed their station at the gates." 

At this assurance tears of joy ran over 
the venerable cheeks of His Majesty ; 
and again embracing his young deliverer, 
he exclaimed, " I thank Heaven, my un- 
happy country is not bereft of all hope ! 
Whilst Kosciuszko and a Sobieski live, 
she will not quite despair." 



Thaddeus was not less eager to release 
his grandfather, than he had been to 
relieve the anxiety of his sovereign. 
He hastened at the head of a few troops 
to the prison of Sobieski, and gave him 
liberty amidst the acclamations of his 

The universal joy at these prosperous 
events did not last many days : it was 
speedily terminated by information, that 
Cracow had surrendered to a Prussian 
force ; the King of Prussia was advanc- 
ing towards the capital ; and that the 
Russians, more implacable, in conse- 
quence of the late treatment their gar- 
rison had received at Warsaw, were 
pouring into the country like a deluge. 


At this intelligence, the consternation 
became dreadful. The Polonese army, 
worn with fatigue and long services, and 
without clothing or ammunition, were 
not in any way, excepting courage, fitted 
for the field. 

The treasury was exhausted ; and 
means of raising a supply, seemed im- 
practicable. The provinces vere laid 
waste, and the city had already been 
drained of its last ducat. In this exigency, 
a council met in His Majesty's cabinet, 
to devise some expedient for obtaining 
resources. The consultation was as de- 
sponding as their situation, until Thad- 
deus Sobieski, who had been a silent 
observer, rose from his seat. Sudden in- 
disposition had prevented the Palatine 
attending, but his grandson knew well 
how to be his substitute. Whilst blushes 
of awe and eagerness crimsoned his 
cheek, he advanced towards Stanislaus ; 
and taking from his neck, and other 
parts of his dress, those magnificent 


jewels it was customary to wear in the 
presence of the King, he knelt down, 
and laying them at the feet of His Ma- 
jesty, said in a suppressed voice, " These 
are trifles ; but such as they are, and all 
of the like kind which I possess, I be- 
seech Your Majesty to appropriate to the 
public service/' 

" Noble young man!" cried the King, 
raising him from the ground ; " you have 
indeed taught me a lesson : I accept these 
jewels with gratitude. Here," said he, 
turning to the treasurer, «« put them 
into the national fund; and let them be 
followed by my own, with my plate ; 
which latter, I desire may be instantly 
sent to the mint. One half, the army 
shall have ; the other w^e must expend 
in giving some little support to the 
surviving families of the brave men who 
have fallen in our defence." The Pa- 
latine readily united with his grandson, 
in the surrender of all their personal 
property, for the benefit of their country: 


and according to their example, the 
treasury was soon filled with gratuities 
from the nobles. The very artisans 
offered their services gratis ; and, all 
hands being employed to forward the 
preparations, the army was soon enabled 
to take the field, newly equipped, and in 
high spirits. 

The Countess had again to bid adieu 
to a son, who was now become as much 
the object of her admiration, as of her 
love. In proportion as glory surrounded 
him, and danger courted his steps, the 
strings of affection drew him closer to 
her soul : the " aspiring blood" of the 
Sobieskis, which beat in her veins, could 
not drown the feelings of a parent; could 
not cause her to forget, that the spring 
of her existence now flowed from the 
fountain, which had taken its source from 
her. Her anxious and waiting heart paid 
dearly in tears and sleepless nights, for 
the honour with which she was saluted at; 
every turning, as the mother of Thaddeus : 


that Thaddeus, who was not more the 
spirit of enterprise, and the rallying 
point of resistance, than he was to her, 
the gentlest, the dearest, the most amia- 
ble of sons. It matters not to the un- 
<listinguishing bolt of carnage, whether 
it strike common breasts, or those rare 
hearts, w^hose lives are usually as brief 
as they are dazzling j this leaden mes- 
senger of death, banquets as greedily on 
the bosom of a hero, as if it had lit 
upon more vulgar prey : all is levelled 
to the chance of war j which comes like 
a whirlwind of the desert, scattering man 
and beast in one wide ruin. 

Such thoughts as these possessed the 
melancholy reveries of the Countess So- 
bieski, from the hour in which she saw 
Thaddeus and his grandfather depart for 
Cracow, until she heard that it was re- 
taken, and that the enemy were defeated 
in many battles. 

Warsaw was again bombarded; and 
again Kosciuszko, with the Palatine, and 


Thaddeus, preserved it from destruction. 
In short, wherever they moved, this 
dauntless httle army carried terror to 
their adversaries ; and diffused hope 
through the homes and hearts of their 

They next turned their course to the 
rehef of Lithuania ; but whilst they were 
on their route thither, they received in- 
telligence that a detachment from their 
body having been beaten by the Russians 
under Suwarrow, that General, elated 
with success, was hastening forwards, to 
re-attack the capital. 

Kosciuszko, resolved to prevent him, 
prepared to give immediate battle to 
Ferfen, another Russian commander, 
who was on his march to form a junction 
with his victorious countrymen. To this 
effect, Kosciuszko divided his forces: 
half of them, under the command of 
Prince Poniatowski, were to pursue 
Suwarrow, and keep a watchful eye over 
his motions ; whilst Kosciuszko, accom- 


panied by the two Sobieskis, would pro- 
ceed with the remainder towards Brzesc. 

It was the tenth of October. The 
weather being fine, a cloudless sun dif- 
fused life and brilliancy through the pure 
air of a keen morning. The vast green 
plain before them glittered with the 
troops of General Ferfen, who had al- 
ready arranged them in order of battle. 

The word was given. Thaddeus, as 
he drew his sabre from his scabbard, 
raised his eyes to implore the justice of 
Heaven on that day's events. The attack 
was made. The Poles kept their station 
on the heights. Twice the Russians 
rushed on them like wolves, and twice 
they repulsed them by their steadiness. 
Conquest declared for Poland. Thad- 
deus was seen in every part of the field. 
But reinforcements poured in to the 
support of Ferfen, and war raged in new 
liorrors. Still the courage of the Poles 
was unabated. Sobieski, fighting at the 
head of the infantry, would not recede 


one foot : and Kosciuszko, exhorting his 
men to be resolute, appeared in the hot- 
test places of the battle. 

At one of these portentous moments, 
the commander-in-chief was seen strug- 
gling with the third charger, which had 
been shot under him that day. Thaddeus 
galloped to his assistance, and giving him 
his horse, mounted another which was 
offered by a soldier ; and remained fight- 
ing by his side, till on the next charge, 
Kosciuszko himself fell on the neck of 
his horse. Thaddeus caught him in his 
arms ; and finding that his breast was 
immediately covered with blood (a Cossac 
having stabbed the General in the back), 
he unconsciously uttered a groan of hor- 
ror. The surrounding soldiers took the 
alarm, and " Kosciuszko, our General, is 
killed !" was echoed from rank to rank 
with such piercing shrieks, that the 
wounded hero started from the breast of 
his young friend, just as two Russian 
chasseurs, in the same moment, made a 


cut at them both. The sabre struck the 
exposed head of Kosciuszko, who fell 
senseless to the ground ; and Thaddeus 
received a gash in his shoulder that laid 
him by his side. 

The consternation became universal ; 
groans of despair seemed to issue from 
the whole army, whilst the few resolute 
Poles who had been stationed near the 
fallen General, fell in mangled heaps 
upon his breast. Thaddeus with diffi- 
culty extricated himself from the bodies 
of the slain ; and fighting his way through 
the triumphant troops which pressed 
around him, he joined his terror-stricken 
comrades ; who, in the wildest confusion, 
were dispersing under a heavy fire, and 
flying like frighted deer. In vain he 
called to them ; in vain he urged them 
to avenge Kosciuszko ; the panic was 
complete, and they fled. 

Almost alone, in the rear of his soldiers, 
he opposed with his single and desperate 
arm, party after party of the enemy, until 


a narrow stream of the Muchavez stopped 
his retreat. The waters were crimsoned 
with blood. He plunged in, and beating 
the blushing wave with his left arm, in a 
few seconds gained the opposite bank ; 
where, fainting from fatigue and loss of 
blood, he sunk, almost deprived of sense, 
amidst a heap of the killed. 

When the pursuing squadrons had 
galloped by him, he again summoned 
strength to look around. He raised him- 
self from the ground, and by the help of 
his sword, supported his steps a few 
paces farther : but, good God ! what was 
the shock he received, when the bleed- 
ing and lifeless body of his grandfather 
lay before him ? He stood for a few mo- 
ments, motionless, and without sensation ; 
then, kneeling down by his side, whilst 
he felt as if his own heart were palsied 
with death, he searched for the wounds 
of the Palatine. They were numerous 
and deep. He would have torn away the 
handkerchief with which he had staunch- 


ed his own blood to have appUed it to 
that of his grandfather, but by so 
doing he must have disabled himself from 
giving him farther assistance. He took 
his sash and neck-cloth, and when they 
were insufficient, he rent the linen from 
his breast ; then hastening to the river, 
he brought a little water in his cap, and 
threw some of its stained drops on the 
pale features of Sobieski. 

The venerable hero opened his eyes : 
in a minute afterwards he recognized, 
that it was his grandson who knelt by 
him. The Palatine pressed his hand, 
which was cold as ice : the marble lips of 
Thaddeus could not move. 

*« My son," said the veteran in a low 
voice, " Heaven hath led you hither, to 
receive the last sigh of your grandfather." 
Thaddeus trembled ; the Palatine con- 
tinued, " Carry my blessing to your 
mother ; and bid her seek comfort in the 
consolations of her God. May that God 
preserve you ! ever remember that you 


are his servant ; be obedient to him ; 
and as I have been, be faithful to your 

" May God so bless me !" cried Thad- 
deus, looking up to Heaven. 

** And ever remember," said the Pala- 
tine, raising his head, which had dropt 
on the bosom of his grandson, " that you 
are a Sobieski ! it is my dying command, 
that you never take any other name." 

*' I promise." 

Thaddeus could say no more, for the 
countenance of his grandfather became 
altered ; his eyes closed. Thaddeus 
caught him to his breast. No heart beat 
against his ; all was still and cold. The 
body dropped from his arms, and he sunk 
senseless by its side. 

When sensation returned to him, he 
looked up. The sky was shrouded in 
clouds, which a driving wind was blow- 
ing from the orb of the moon, as a few 
of her white rays here and there gleamed 


on the weapons of the slaughtered sol- 

The scattered senses of Thaddeus 
slowly recollected themselves. He was 
now lying, the only living creature, 
amidst thousands of the dead, who, the 
preceding night, had been like himself, 
alive to all the consciousness of existence ! 
His right hand rested on the chilled face 
of his grandfather, it was wet with dew; 
he shuddered ; and taking his own cloak 
from his shoulders, laid it over the body. 
He would have said as he did it, " So, 
my father, I would have sheltered thy 
life, with my own!" but the words 
choked in his throat, and he sat watching 
by the corpse, until the day dawned, and 
the Poles returned to bury their slain. 

The wretched Thaddeus was discovered 
by a party of his own hussars, seated on 
a little mound of earth, with the cold 
hand of Sobieski grasped in his. At this 
sight the soldiers uttered a cry of horror. 
Thaddeus rose up : ** My friends," said 

VOL. r. I 


he, " I thank God that you are come ! 
Assist me to bear my dear grandfather 
to the camp." 

Astonished at this composure, but dis- 
tressed at the deathful hue of his coun- 
tenance, they obeyed him in mournful 
silence ; and laid the remains of the 
Palatine upon a bier, which they fonned 
with their sheathed sabres ; then gently 
raising it, they retrod their steps to the 
camp ; leaving a detachment to accom- 
plish the duty for w^iich they had quitted 
it. Thaddeus, hardly able to support his 
weakened frame, mounted a horse, and 
fbllow^ed the melancholy procession. 

General Wawrzecki, on whom the 
command had devolved, seeing the party 
returning so soon, and in such an order, 
sent an aid-de-camp to enquire the reason. 
He came back with dejection in his face; 
and informed the commander, that the 
brave Palatine of Masovia, whom they 
supposed had been taken prisoner with 
his grandson and Kosciuszko, was the 


occasion of this sudden return ; that he 
had been killed, and was now approach- 
ing the lines on the arms of his soldiers. 
Wawrzecki, though glad to hear that 
Thaddeus was alive and at liberty, turned 
to conceal his tears ; then calling out a 
guard, he marched at their head to meet 
the corpse of his illustrious friend. 

The bier was carried into the General's 
tent. An aid-de-camp and some gentle- 
men of the faculty, were ordered to 
attend Thaddeus to his quarters; but the 
young Count, though scarcely able to 
stand, appeared to linger ; and holding 
fast by the arm of an officer, he looked 
stedfastly on the body. Wawrzecki un- 
derstood his hesitation. He pressed his 
hand; "Fear not, my dear Sir," said he; 
<* every honour shall be paid to the re- 
mains of your noble grandfather." Thad- 
deus bowed his head, and was supported 
out of the tent to his own. 

His wounds, of whicli he had received 
several, were not deep ; and might have 
I 2 


been of little consequence, had not his 
thoughts continually hovered about his 
mother, and painted her affliction, when 
she should be informed of the lamentable 
events of the last day's battle. These 
reflections, awake, or in a slumber (for 
he never slept), possessed his mind ; and 
even whilst his wounds were healing, 
produced such an irritation in his blood, 
as hourly threatened a fever. 

Things were in this situation, when 
the surgeon put a letter from the Coun- 
tess into his hand. He opened it, and 
read with breathless anxiety, these lines : 

** To TJiaddeuSy Count SohiesM. 
" Console yourself my most precious 
son, console yourself for my sake. I 
have seen Colonel Lomza; and I have 
heard all the horrors which took place 
on the tenth of this month. I have 
heard them, and I am yet alive ; I am re- 
signed ; but he tells me you are wounded. 
Oh ! do not let me be bereft of my son 


also ! Remember, that you were my dear 
sainted father's darUng : remember, that 
as his representative, you are to be my 
consolation : in pity to me, if not to our 
suffering country, preserve yourself^ to 
be at least the last comfort which Hea- 
ven will spare to me. I find, that all is 
lost to Poland, as well as to myself; 
that when my glorious father fell, and 
his friend with him, the republic became 
extinct. The Russian army is now on 
its march towards Masovia ; and I am 
too weak to come to you. Let me see 
you soon, very soon, my beloved son ; 
I beseech you come to me. You will 
find me feebler in body, than in mind ; 
for there is a holy comforter that de- 
scends on the bruised heart, which none 
other than the unhappy have conceived 
or felt. Farewell, my dear, dear Thad- 
deus ! Let the memory, that you have a 
mother, check your too ardent courage. 
God for ever guard you. Live for your 
mother ; who has no stronger words to 
I 3 


express her affection for you than that 
she is thy mother ; — thy 

" Therese C. Sobieski." 
«* VillanoWj 
October, 1794.'-' 

This letter was indeed a balm to the 
soul of Thaddeus. That his mother had 
received intelligence of the cruel event 
with such resignation, was the best me- 
dicine that could now be applied to his 
wounds, both of mind and body ; — and 
when he was told, that on the succeed- 
ing morning the body of his grandfather 
w^ould be removed to the convent near 
Biala, he declared his resolution to 
attend it to the grave. 

In vain his surgeons and General 
Wawrzecki remonstrated against the 
danger of this project ; for once the 
gentle and yielding spirit of Thaddeus 
was inflexible. He had fixed his deter- 
mination, and it was not to be shaken. 

Next day, being the seventh from 


that in which the fatal battle had been 
decided, Thaddeus, at the first beat of 
the drum, rose from his bed, and almost 
unassisted put on his clothes. His uni- 
form being black, he needed no other 
index than his pale and mournful coun- 
tenance, to announce that he was chief 

The procession began to form, and 
he walked from his tent. It was a fine 
morning : Thaddeus looked up, as if to 
upbraid the sun for shining so brightly. 
Lengthened and repeated rounds of can- 
non rolled along the air. The solemn 
march of the dead was moaning fi'om the 
muffled drum, interrupted at measured 
pauses by the shrill tremor of the M^. 
The troops, preceded by their General, 
moved forward with a decent and me- 
lancholy step. The Bishop of Warsaw 
followed, bearing the sacred volume in 
his hands ; and next, borne upon the 
crossed pikes of his soldiers, and sup- 
ported by twelve of his veteran compa- 
1 4 


nions, appeared the body of the brave 
Sobieski. A velvet pall covered it, on 
which were laid those arms, with which 
for fifty years he had asserted the liber- 
ties of his country. At this sight, the 
sobs of the men became audible. Thad- 
deus followed with a slow but firm step, 
his eyes bent to the ground, and his 
arms wrapped in his cloak : it was the 
same which had shaded his beloved 
grandfather from the dews of that dread- 
ful night. Another train of solemn mu- 
sic succeeded ; and then the squadrons, 
which the deceased had commanded, 
dismounted, and leading their horses, 
closed the procession. 

On the verge of the plain that borders 
Biala, and within a few paces of the con- 
vent gate of St. Francis, the bier stopped. 
The monks saluted its appearance with 
a requiem, which they continued to 
chant till the coffin was lowered into the 
ground. The earth received its sacred 
deposit. The anthems ceased : and the 


soldiers kneeling down, discharged their 
muskets over it ; then, with stream- 
ing cheeks, rose, and gave place to 
others. Nine vollies were fired, and 
the ranks fell back. The Bishop ad- 
vanced to the head of the grave ; all 
was hushed ; he raised his eyes to 
Heaven ; then, after a pause, in which 
he seemed to be communing with the 
regions above him, he turned to the 
silent assembly, and in a voice, collected 
and impressive, addressed them in a short, 
but affecting oration, in which he set 
forth the brightness of Sobieski's life ; 
his noble forgetfulness of selfi in the in- 
terests of his country ; and the dauntless 
bravery, which had laid him in the dust. 
— A general discharge of cannon and 
of musquetry, was the awful response to 
this appeal. Wawrzecki took the sword 
of the Palatine, and breaking it, dropt it 
into the grave. The aides-de-camp of 
the deceased did the same by theirs ; 
showing, that by so doing, they resigned 
I 5 


their offices ; and then covering theii' 
faces with their handkerchiefs, they 
turned away with the soldiers who filed 
off. Thaddeus sunk on his knees : his 
hands were clasped, and his eyes for a 
few minutes fixed themselves on the 
coffin of his grandfather; then rising, 
he leaned on the arm of Wawrzecki, and 
with a tottering step and pallid counte- 
nance mounted his horse, which had been 
led to the spot ; and returned with the 
scattered procession to the camp. 

The cause for exertion being over, his 
spirits fell with the rapidity of a spring 
too highly wound up, which snaps, and 
runs down to immobility. He entered 
his tent, and threw himself on the bed, 
from which he did not arise, for the ^ve 
following days. 



At a time when the effects of these 
sufferings and fatigues had brought him 
very low, the young Count Sobieski was 
aroused by information that the Russians 
had planted themselves before Prague, 
and were preparing to bombard the 
town. This intelligence rallied the spi- 
rits of the depressed soldiers, who readily 
obeyed their commander, to put them- 
selves in order of march the next day. 
Thaddeus saw the decisive blow was 
pending ; and though hardly able to sit 
his horse, he refused the indulgence of a 
litter ; determining that no illness, w^hile 
he had power to master its effects, should 
make him recede one hour from the 
active exercise of his duty. 

Devastation was spread over the face 
of the country. As the troops moved, 
I 6 


the unhappy and houseless villagers, pre- 
sented an agonizing picture to their view. 
Old men stood amongst the ashes of their 
homes, deploring the cruelty of power ; 
children and women sat by the way-side, 
weeping over the last sustenance, which 
the wretched infant drew from the breast 
of its perishing mother. 

Thaddeus shut his eyes on the scene. 

«* O, my country ! my country !" ex- 
claimed he, " what are my personal 
griefs to thine ? It is your wretchedness 
that barbs me to the heart! Look there," 
cried he, to the soldiers, pointing to the 
miserable spectacles before him, " look 
there, and carry vengeance into the breasts 
of their destroyers. Let Prague be the 
last act of this tragedy !" 

Unhappy young man, unfortunate 
country ! It was indeed the last act of 
a tragedy, to which all Europe were 
spectators ; a tragedy, which the nations 
witnessed without one attempt to stop 
or to delay its dreadful catastrophe ! O ! 


how must virtue be lost, when it is no 
longer an article of policy, even to as- 
sume it ! 

After a long march through a dark 
and dismal night, the morning began to 
break : and Thaddeus found himself on 
the southern side of that little river 
which divides the territories of Sobieski 
from the woods of Kobylka. Here, for 
the first time, he endured all the tortur- 
ing varieties of despair. 

The once fertile fields were burnt to 
stubble ; the cottages were yet smoking 
from the ravages of the fire; and in 
place of smiUng eyes and thankful lips, 
he beheld the dead bodies of his pea- 
sants, stretched on the high roads, 
mangled, bleeding, -and stripped of that 
decent covering, which humanity would 
not deny to the vUest criminal. 

Thaddeus could bear the sight no 
longer ; but setting spurs to his horse, 
fled from the contemplation of scenes 
which harrowed up his heart. 


At night-fall, the army halted under 
the walls of Villanow. The Count 
looked towards the windows of the pa- 
lace, and by a light shining through the 
half-drawn curtains, distinguished his 
mother's room. He then turned his 
eyes on that sweep of building which 
contained the Palatine's apartments ; 
but not one solitary lamp illumined its 
gloom ; the moon alone glimmered on 
the battlements; silvering the painted 
glass of the study window, where, with 
that beloved parent, he had so lately 
gazed upon the stars ; and anticipated a 
campaign, which had now so fatally ter- 

These thoughts, with his grief) and 
his forebodings, were buried in the 
depths of his soul. Addressing General 
Wawrzecki, he bade him welcome to 
Villanow ; requesting at the same time, 
that the men might be directed to rest 
till the morning; and that he, and the 


officers, would partake of refreshment 
within the palace. 

As soon as Thaddeus saw his guests 
seated at different tables in the eating- 
hall, and had given orders for the sol- 
diers to be served from the cellars, he 
withdrew to seek the Countess. He 
found her in her dressing-room, sur- 
rounded by the attendants who had just 
informed her of his arrival. The mo- 
ment he appeared at the door, the wo- 
men went out at an opposite passage, 
and Thaddeus with an anguished heart 
threw himself on the bosom of his mo- 
ther. They were silent for some time. 
Poignant recollection stopped their ut- 
terance : but neither tears nor sighs 
filled its place, until the Countess — on 
whose soul the full tide of maternal affec- 
tion pressed, and mingled with her grief, 
— raised her head from her son's neck, 
and said, whilst she strained him in her 
arms ; *« Receive my thanks, O ! Father 


of Mercy, for having spared to me this 
blessing !" 

Sobieski breathed a response to the 
address of his mother : and drying her 
tears with his kisses, dwelt upon the 
never-dying fame of his beloved grand- 
father; upon his preferable lot to that 
of their brave friend Kosciuszko, who 
was doomed, not only to survive the 
liberty of his country, but to pass the 
residue of his life within the dungeons of 
a Russian prison. He then tried to re- 
animate her spirits with hope. He spoke 
of the approaching battle, without ex- 
pressing any doubt of the valour and 
desperation of the Poles rendering it 
successful. He talked of the firmness 
of the King ; of the courage of the Ge- 
neral; of his own resolution. His dis- 
course began in a wish to cheat her into 
tranquillity ; but as he advanced on the 
subject, his soul took fire at its own 
warmth, and he half believed the proba- 
bility of his anticipations. 


The Countess looked on the honour- 
able glow which crimsoned his harassed 
features, with a pang at her heart. 

" My heroic son !" cried she, " my 
darling Thaddeus ! what a vast price do I 
pay for all this excellence ! I could not 
love you, were you otherwise than what 
you are ; and being what you are, O ! 
how soon may I lose you ! Already has 
your noble grandfather paid the debt 
which he owed to his glory : he promised 
to fall with Poland; he has kept his 
word ; and now, all that I love on earth 
is concentrated in you.'' The Countess 
paused, and pressing his hand almost 
wildly on her heart, she continued in a 
hurried voice ; " The same spirit is in 
your breast; the same principle binds 
you; and I may at last be left alone. 
Heaven have pity on me !" 

She cast her eyes upwards as she ended. 
Thaddeus, sinking on his knees by her 
side, implored her with all the earnestness 
of piety and confidence, to take comfort. 


The Countess embraced him with a forced 
smile; "You must forgive me, Thad- 
deus, I have nothing of the soldier in 
my heart ; it is all woman. But I will 
not detain you longer from the rest you 
require ; go to your room, and try to 
recruit yourself for the dangers to- 
morrow will bring forth. I shall employ 
the night in prayers for your safety." 

Consoled to see any composure in his 
mother, he withdrew, and after having 
heard that his numerous guests were pro- 
perly lodged, went to his own chamber. 

Next morning at sun-rise the troops 
prepared to march. General Wawrzecki 
with his officers, begged permission to pay 
their personal gratitude to the Countess, 
for the hospitality of her reception ; but 
she declined the honour, on the plea of 
indisposition ; and in the course of an 
hour the Count appeared from her apart- 
ment, and joined the General. 

The soldiers filed off through the 
gates J crossed the bridge; and halted 


under the walls of Prague. The lines of 
tlie camp were drawn, and fortified, be- 
fore the evening ; at which time they 
found leisure to observe the enemy's 

Russia seemed to have exhausted her 
wide regions to people the narrow shores 
of the Vistula ; from east to west, as far 
as the eye could reach, her armies were 
stretched to the horizon. Sobieski looked 
at them, and then on the handful of in- 
trepid hearts contained in the small cir- 
cumference of the Polish camp. Sighing 
heavily, he retired into his tent ; and 
vainly seeking repose, mixed his short 
and startled slumbers, with frequent 
prayers for the preservation of these last 
victims to their country. 

The hours appeared to stand still. 
Several times he rose from his bed, and 
went to the door, to see whether the 
clouds were tinged with any appearance 
of dawn. All continued dark. He again 
returned to his marquee, and standing by 


the lamp, which was nearly exhausted, 
took out his watch, and tried to dis- 
tinguish the points ; but finding that the 
light burnt too feebly, he was presshig 
the repeating spring, which struck five, 
when the report of a single musket made 
him start. 

He flew to his tent door, and looking 
around, saw that all in that quarter was 
at rest. Suspecting it to be a signal of 
the enemy, he hurried towards the en- 
trenchments ; but found the centinels in 
perfect security from any fears respect- 
ing the sound, as they supposed it to 
have proceeded from the town. 

Sobieski paid little attention to their 
opinions, but ascending the nearest bas- 
tion to take a wider survey, in a few 
minutes he discerned, though obscurely 
through the gleams of morning, the 
whole host of Russia advancing in pro- 
found silence towards the Polish lines. 
The instant he made this discovery, he 
came down, and lost no time in giving 


orders for a defence; then flying to 
other parts of the camp, he awakened 
the commander-m-chief, encouraged the 
men, and saw that the whole encamp- 
ment was not only in motion, but pre- 
pared for the assault. 

In consequence of these prompt arrange- 
ments, the Russians were received with 
the cross-fire of the batteries ; and case 
shot and musketry from several redoubts, 
which raked their flanks as they ap- 
proached. But, in defiance of this shower 
of bullets, they pressed on with an in- 
trepidity worthy of a better cause ; and 
overleaping the ditch by squadrons en- 
tered the camp. A passage once secured, 
the Cossacs rushed in by thousands ; and 
spreading themselves in front of the 
storming party, put every soul to the 
bayonet who opposed their way. 

The Polish works being gained, the 
Russians turned the cannon on its former 
masters; and as they rallied to the de- 
fence of what remained, swept them 


down by whole regiments. The noise of 
artillery thundered from all sides of the 
camp : the smoke was so great, that it 
was hardly possible to distinguish friends 
from foes ; nevertheless, the spirits of 
the Poles flagged not a moment : as fast 
as one rampart was wrested from them, 
they threw themselves within another ; 
which was as speedily taken, by the help 
of hurdles, fascines, ladders, and a 
courage as resistless, as it was ferocious, 
merciless, and sanguinary. Every spot of 
vantage ground was at length lost ; and 
yet the Poles fought like lions ; quarter 
was neither offered to them nor required ; 
they disputed every inch of way, until 
they fell upon it in heaps ; some, lying 
before the parapets ; others, filling the 
ditches; and the rest covering the ground, 
for the enemy to tread on, as they cut 
their passage to the heart of the camp. 

Sobieski, almost maddened by the 
scene, dripping with his own blood, and 
that of his brave friends, was seen in 


every part of the action ; he was in the 
fosse, defending the trampled bodies of 
the dying; he was on the dyke, animating 
the few who survived. Wawrzecki was 
slain and every hope hung upon Thad- 
deus ; his presence and voice infused 
new energy into the arms of his fainting 
countrymen : they kept close to his side, 
until the Russians, enraged at the daunt- 
less intrepidity of this young hero, 
uttered the most unmanly imprecations, 
and rushing on his little phalanx, at- 
tacked it with redoubled numbers and 

Sobieski sustained the shock with firm- 
ness ; but wherever he turned his eyes, 
they were blasted with some object 
which made them recoil ; he beheld his 
companions, and his soldiers, strewing 
the earth ; and their barbarous adver- 
saries mounting their dying bodies, as 
they hastened with loud huzzas, to the 
destruction of Prague, whose gates were 
now burst open. His eyes grew dim at 


the sight; and at the very moment in 
which he tore them from spectacles so 
deadly to his heart, a Lavonian officer 
struck him with a sabre, to all appearance 
dead upon the field. 

When Thaddeus recovered from the 
blow, which, having lit on the steel of his 
cap, had only stunned him, he looked 
around, and found that all near him was 
quiet ; but a far different scene presented 
itself from the town. The roar of cannon, 
and the bursting of bombs, thundered 
through the air ; which was rendered 
livid and tremendous by long spires of 
fire, streaming from the burning houses, 
and mingling with the volumes of smoke, 
which rolled from the guns. The dread- 
ful tocsin, and the hurras of the victors, 
pierced the soul of the Count. Spring- 
ing from the ground, he was preparing 
to rush towards the gates, when loud 
cries of distress issued from the interior 
of the place, — and a moment after, the 


grand magazine blew up with a horrible 

In an instant the field before Prague 
was filled with women and children, 
flying in all directions, and rending the 
sky with their shrieks. " Father Al- 
mighty !" cried Thaddeus, wringing his 
hands, " canst thou suffer this ?" Whilst 
he yet spake, some straggling Cossacs, 
from the town, who were prowling about, 
glutted, but not sated with blood, seized 
the poor fugitives, and with a ferocity as 
wanton as unmanly, released them at 
once from life and affliction. 

This hideous spectacle brought his 
mother's defenceless state before the 
eyes of Sobieski. Her palace was only 
four miles distant ; and whilst the barba- 
rous avidity of the Russians was too 
busily engaged in sacking the place, to 
permit them to perceive a solitary in- 
dividual hurrying away amidst heaps of 
dead bodies, he flew across the deso- 

VOL. I. K 


lated meadows which intervened between 
Prague and Villanow. 

Thaddeus was met at the gate of the 
palace by General Butzou ; who having 
learnt the fate of Prague from the noise 
and flames in that quarter, anticipated 
the arrival of some part of the victorious 
army before the walls of Villanow. When 
the Count crossed the draw-bridge, he 
saw that the worthy veteran had pre- 
pared every thing for a stout resistance ; 
the ramparts were lined with soldiers, 
and well mounted with artillery. 

" Here, my dear Lord," cried he, as 
he conducted the Count to the keep, 
*« let the worst happen, here I am re- 
solved to dispute the possession of your 
grandfather's palace, until I have not a 
man to stand by me !" 

Thaddeus strained him in silence to 
his breast ; and after examining the force 
and dispositions, he approved all, with a 
cold despair of their being of any effec- 


taal use ; and went to the apartments of 
his mother. 

The Countess's women, who met him 
in the vestibule, begged him to be care- 
ful how he entered Her Excellency's 
room ; for she had only just recovered 
from a swoon, occasioned by alarm at 
hearing the cannonade against the Polish 
camp. Thaddeus waited for no more ; 
but regardless of their caution, threw 
open the door of the chamber ; and 
hastening to his mother's couch, cast 
himself into her arms. She clung round 
his neck : and for a while joy stopped 
her respiration, till bursting into tears 
she wept over him, incapable of express- 
ing by w^ords her tumultuous gratitude of 
again beholding him alive. He looked 
on her altered and pallid features. 

** O ! my mother," cried he, clasping 
her to his breast, " you are ill; and what 
will become of you ?" 

** My beloved son," replied she, kissing 
his forehead through the clotted blood 

K 2 


which oozed from a cut on his temple; 
" my beloved son, before our cruel mur- 
derers can arrive, I shall have found a 
refuge in the bosom of my God." 

Thaddeus could only answer with a 
groan. She resumed. " Give me your 
hand. I must not witness the grandson 
of Sobieski, given up to despair : let 
your mother incite you to resignation. 
You see, I have not breathed a com- 
plaining word, although I behold you 
covered with wounds." As she spoke, 
her eye pointed to the sash and hand- 
kerchief which were bound round his 
thigh and arm, " Our separation will 
not be long ; a few short years, perhaps 
hours, may unite us for ever in a better 

The Count was still speechless ; he 
could only press her hand to his lips. 
After a pause, she proceeded. — 

" Look up, my dear boy ! and attend 
to me. Should Poland become the pro- 
perty of other nations, I conjure you, if 


you survive its fall, to leave it. When 
reduced to slavery, it will no longer be 
an asylum for a man of honour. I be- 
seech you, should this happen, go that 
very hour to England : That is a free 
country : and I have been told, the peo- 
ple are kind to the unfortunate. Thad- 
deus ! Why do you delay to answer me ? 
Remember, these are your mother's 
dying prayers." 

" 1 will obey you." 

" Then," continued she, taking from 
her bosom a picture, " let me tie this 
round your neck. It is the portrait of 
your father." Thaddeus bent his head, 
and the Countess fastened it under his 
neckcloth : " Prize this gift, my child ; 
it is likely to be all that you will now 
inherit either from me, or that father. 
Try to forget his injustice, my dear son ; 
and in memory of me never part with it. 
O, Thaddeus ! since the moment in 
which I first received it, until this in- 
stant, it has never been from my heart !" 
K 3 


" And it shall never leave mine," an- 
swered he, in a stifled voice, " whilst I 
have being." 

The Countess was preparing to reply, 
when a sudden volley of fire-arms made 
Thaddeus spring upon his feet. Loud 
cries succeeded. Women rushed into 
the apartment, screaming, " The ram- 
parts are stormed !" and the next mo- 
ment that quarter of the building rocked 
to its foundation. The Countess clung 
to the bosom of her son ; Thaddeus 
clasped her close to his breast, and cast- 
ing up his petitioning eyes to Heaven, 
*< O God !" cried he, " can I not find 
shelter for my mother !" 

Another burst of cannon was followed 
by a heavy crash, and the most piercing 
shrieks echoed through the palace. ** All 
is lost!" cried a soldier, who appeared 
for an instant at the room door, and 

Thaddeus, overwhelmed with despair, 
grasped his sword, which had fallen to 


the ground, and crying, " Mother, we 
will die together!" would have given her 
one last and assuring embrace, when his 
eyes met the dreadful sight of her before 
agitated features, now tranquillized in 
death. She fell from his palsied arms 
back on the sofa, and he stood gazing on 
her, as if struck by a power which had 
benumbed all his faculties. 

The tumult in the palace encreased 
every moment ; but he heard it not, until 
Butzou, followed by two or three of his 
soldiers, ran into the apartment, calling 
out, ** Count, save yourself!'* 

Sobieski still remained motionless. The 
General caught him by the arm, and 
covering the body of the deceased Coun- 
tess with the mantle of her son, hurried 
his unconscious steps, by an opposite 
door, through the state chambers into the 

Thaddeus did not recover his recollec- 
tion until he reached the outward gate ; 
then breaking from the hold of his friend, 
K 4 


was returning to the sorrowful scene he 
had left, when Butzou, aware of his in- 
tentions, just stopped him time enough 
to prevent his rushing on the bayonets of 
a party of Russian infantry who were 
pursuing them at full speed. 

The Count now rallied his distracted 
faculties ; and making a stand with the Ge- 
neral and his three Poles, they compelled 
this merciless detachment to seek refuge 
among the arcades of the building. 

Butzou would not allow his young Lord 
to pursue the wretches, but hurried him 
across the park. He looked behind him ; 
a column of fire issued from the south 
towers. Thaddeus sighed as if his life 
were in that sigh ; ** All is indeed over ;" 
and pressing his hand to his forehead, in 
that attitude followed the steps of the 
General towards the Vistula. 

From the wind's being very high, the 
flame spread itself over the roof of the 
palace ; and catching at every combusti- 
ble in its way, the Russians became so 


terrified at the quick progress of a fire 
wliich threatened to consume themselves 
as well as their plunder, that they quitted 
it with precipitation ; and descrying the 
Count and his soldiers at a little distance, 
directed all their malice to that point. 
Speedily overtaking the brave fugitives, 
they blocked up the bridge by a file of 
men with fixed pikes ; and not only me- 
naced the Polanders as they advanced, 
but derided their means of resistance. 

Sobieski, indifferent alike to danger 
and to insults, stopped short to the left, 
and follow^ed by his friends, plunged into 
the stream amidst a shower of musket 
balls from the enemy. After hard buffet- 
ing with the torrent, lie at last reached 
the opposite bank ; and was assisted from 
the river by some of the weeping inha- 
bitants of Warsaw ; who had been watch- 
ing the expiring ashes of Prague, and 
the flames which were feeding on the 
boasted towers of Villanow. 
K 5 


Emerged from the water, Thaddeus 
stood to regain his breath 5 and leaning 
on the shoulder of Butzou, he pointed to 
his burning palace with a smile of agony, 
"See what a funeral pile. Heaven has 
given to the manes of my dear mother !" 

The General did not speak, for grief 
stopped his utterance; but motioning 
the two soldiers to proceed, he supported 
the Count into the citadel. 



TROM the termination of this awful day, 
in which a brave and virtuous people 
were consigned to slavery, Thaddeus was 
confined to his apartment in the garrison. 

It was now the latter end of November. 
General Butzou supposing that the illness 
of his lord might continue some weeks, 
and aware that no time ought to be lost 
in maintaining all that was yet left of 
the kingdom of Poland, obtained his per- 
mission ; and quitting Warsaw, joined 
Prince Poniatowski, who was yet at the 
head of a few troops near Sachoryn. 

Not long afterwards, the young Count 
finding himself tolerably restored, ex- 
cept in those wounds of the heart, which 
time only can heal, was enabled to leave 
his room, and breathe the fresh air on the 
K 6 


ramparts. His appearance was greeted 
by the officers, with melancholy congra- 
tulations ; but their replies to his eager 
questions, displaced the faint smile which 
he tried to spread over his countenance ; 
and with a contracted brow, he listened 
to the following information. 

Prague was not only razed to the 
ground : but upwards of thirty thousand 
persons, besides old men, women, and 
defenceless infants, had perished by the 
sword, the river, and the flames. All 
the horrors of Ismail were re-acted by 
Suwarrow on the banks of the Vistula. 
The citizens of Warsaw, intimidated bv 
such a spectacle, assembled in a body, 
and driven to desperation, repaired to 
the foot of the throne. On their knees 
they implored His Majesty to forget the 
contested rights of his subjects ; and in 
pity to their wives and children, allow 
them by a timely submission, to save 
those dear relatives from the ignominy 
and cruelty which had been wreaked 


upon the inhabitants of Prague. Sta- 
nislaus saw that opposition would be 
fruitless. The walls of his capital were 
already surrounded by a train of artillery, 
ready to blow the town to atoms ; the fate 
of Poland seemed inevitable : and with a 
deep sigh the King assented to the pe- 
tition, and sent deputies to the enemy's 

"Suwarrow," continued the officer, 
** demands that every man in Poland 
shall not only surrender his arms, but sue 
for pardon for the past. This is his re- 
ply to the submission of the King, and 
these hard conditions are accepted." 

" They never shall be by me," said 
Sobieski ; and turning from his informer, 
hardly knowing what were his intentions, 
he walked towards the royal palace. 

When His Majesty was apprized that 
the young Count Sobieski aw^aited his 
commands in the audience chamber, he 
left his closet, and entered the room. 
Thaddeus with a swelling heart would 


have thrown himself on his knee, but 
the King prevented him and pressed him 
with emotion in his arms. 

" Brave young man !" cried he, " I 
embrace in you the last of those Polish 
youth, who were so lately the brightest 
jewels in my crown." 

Tears stood in the monarch's eyes, as 
he spoke; and Sobieski, with hardly a 
steadier utterance, answered, " I come 
to receive Your Majesty's commands. I 
will obey them in all things, but in sur- 
rendering this sword (which was my 
grandfather's) into the hands of your 

" I will not desire you, my noble 
friend," replied Stanislaus ; "by my ac- 
quiescence with the terms of Russia, I 
comply only, with the earnest prayers of 
my people; I do not wish them to be 
slaves. I shall not ask you to betray 
your country; but alas! you must not 
throw away your life in a now hopeless 
cause. Fate has consigned Poland to sub- 


jection ; and when Heaven in its all-wise 
though mysterious decrees confirms the 
destruction of kingdoms, man's duty 
is resignation. For myself, I am ordered 
by our conqueror to bury my griefs and 
indignities in the castle of Grodno." 

The blood rushed over the cheek of 
Thaddeus at this meek declaration, to 
which the proud indignation of his soul 
could in no way subscribe ; with a heated 
and agitated voice, he exclaimed, " If my 
Sovereign be already at the command of 
our oppressors, then indeed is Poland no 
more ! and I have nothing to do, but to 
perform the dying will of my mother. 
Will Your Majesty grant me permission 
to set off for England, before I can be 
obliged to witness the last calamity of 
my wretched country ?" 

" I would to Heaven," replied the 
King, " that I, too, might repose my age 
and sorrows in that happy kingdom ! Go, 
Sobieski j my prayers and blessings shall 
follow you." 


Thaddeus pressed His Majesty's hand 
to his lips. 

" Beheve me, my dear Count," con- 
tinued Stanislaus, "my soul bleeds at 
this parting. I know the treasure which 
your family has always been to this na- 
tion : I know your own individual merit : 
I know the wealth which you have 
sacrificed for me, and my subjects : and 
I am powerless to express my gratitude." 

** Had I done any thing more than my 
duty," replied he, "such words from 
Your Majesty's lips, would have been a 
reward adequate to every privation : but, 
alas, no ! I have perhaps performed less 
than my duty ; the blood of Sobieski 
ought not to have been spared one drop, 
when the liberties of his country pe- 
rished!" Thaddeus blushed whilst he 
spoke ; and almost repented the too ready 
zeal of his friends, in having saved him 
from the general slaughter at Villanow. 

The voice of the venerable Stanislaus 
became fainter, as he resumed — 


"Perhaps, had a Sobieski reigned at 
this tune, these horrors might not have been 
accompHshed! That tyrannous power, 
which has crushed my people, I cannot 
forget is the same which put the sceptre 
into my hand. Catharine misunderstood 
my principles : She calculated on giving 
a traitor to the Poles ; but when she 
made me a King, she could not oblite- 
rate the stamp which the King of Kings 
had graved upon my heart : I believed 
myself to be his vicegerent ; and to the 
utmost, I have struggled to fulfil my 

** Yes, my sovereign !" cried Thad- 
deus, " and whilst there remains one 
man on earth, who has drawn his first 
breath in Poland, he will bear witness 
in all the lands through which he may 
be doomed to wander, that he has re- 
ceived from you the care and affection 
of a father. O ! Sire, how will future 
ages believe, that in the midst of civi- 
lized Europe, a brave people and a vir- 


tuous monarch, were suffered unaided, 
undeplored, to fall into the grasp of 
usurpation and murder?" 

Stanislaus laid his hand on the arm of 
the Count. 

** Man's ambition and baseness," said 
he, "are monstrous to the contempla- 
tion of youth only. You are learning 
your lesson early : I have studied mine 
for many years, and with a bitterness of 
soul, which in some measure prepared 
me for the completion. My kingdom 
has passed from me, at the moment you 
have lost your country. Before we part 
for ever, my dear Sobieski, take with 
you this assurance ! — You have served 
the unfortunate Stanislaus, to the latest 
hour in which you beheld him. That 
which you have just said, expressive of 
the sentiments of those who were my 
subjects, is indeed a balm to my heart 5 
and I wdll carry its consolations to my 

The King paused j Sobieski, agitated 


and incapable of speaking, threw himself 
at His Majesty's feet, and pressed his 
hand with fervency and anguish to his 
lips. The King looked down on his 
graceful figure; and pierced to tlie soul, 
by the more graceful feelings which dic- 
tated the action, the tear which stood on 
his eye-lid rolled over his cheek, and 
was fbllow^ed by another, before he could 

" Rise, my young friend, and take 
this ring. It contains my picture ; wear 
it in remembrance of a man who loves 
you; and who never can forget your 
worth, or the loyalty and patriotism of 
your house." 

The Chancellor at that moment be- 
ing announced, Thaddeus rose from his 
knee ; and was preparing to leave the 
room, when His Majesty perceiving his 
intention, desired him to stop. 

« Stay, Count !" cried he, " I will bur- 
then you with one request. I am now 
a King without a crown, without sub- 


jects, without a foot of land, in which 
to bury me when I die ; I cannot reward 
the fidehty of any one of the few friends 
of whom my enemies have not deprived 
me ; but you are young, and Heaven 
may yet smile upon you in some distant 
nation. Will you pay a debt of gratitude 
for your poor Sovereign? Should you 
ever again meet with the good old But- 
zou, who rescued me when my preserv- 
ation lay on the fortune of a moment, 
remember, that I regard him as the sa- 
viour of my life ! I was told to-day, that 
on the destruction of Prague, this brave 
man joined the army of my brother. It 
is now disbanded ; — and he, with the 
rest of my faithful soldiers, is cast forth 
in his old age on the bounty of a pityless 
world. Should you ever meet him, So- 
bieski, succour him for my sake.'* 

" As Heaven may succour me !" cried 
Thaddeus ; and putting His Majesty's 
hand a second time to his lips, he bowed 


to the Chancellor, and passed into the 

When the Count returned to the cita- 
del, he found that all was as the King 
had represented. The soldiers in the 
garrison were reluctantly preparing to 
give up their arms : and the nobles, in 
compassion to the cries of the people, 
were trying to humble their necks to 
the yoke of the ravager. The magis- 
trates lingered, as they went to take the 
city keys from the hands of their good 
King ; and with bitter sighs anticipated 
the moment in which they must surrender 
them and their rights into the power of 
Suwarrow, and that ^foul woman of the 
Northy^ who exulted in nothing more 
than devastation. 

Poland was now no place for Sobi- 
eski. He had survived all his kindred. 
He had survived the liberties of his 
country. He had seen the King a pri- 
soner; and his countrymen trampled on 
by deceit and cruelty. As he walked 


on, musing over these circumstances, 
he met with Httle interruption j for the 
streets were deserted. Here and there 
a poor miserable wretch passed him, who 
seemed by his wan cheeks and haggard 
eyes, already to repent the too success* 
ful prayers of the deputation. The 
shops were shut. Thaddeus stopped a 
few minutes in the great square, which 
used to be crowded with happy citizens, 
but now, not one man was to be seen. 
An awful and expecting silence reigned 
over all. He sighed ; and walking down 
the east street, ascended that part of the 
ramparts which covered the Vistula. 

He turned his eyes to the spot, where 
once stood the magnificent towers of his 
paternal palace. 

** Yes," cried he, ** it is now time for 
me to obey the last command of my /mo- 
ther! Nothing remains of Poland, but 
its soil; nothing of my home but its 
ashes !" 

The Russians had pitched a detach- 


ment of tents amidst the ruins of Villa- 
no w ; and were at this moment busying 
themselves in searching amongst the 
stupendous fragments for what plunder 
the fire might liave spared. 

** Insatiate robbers !" exclaimed Thad- 
deus, " Heaven will requite this sacri- 
lege." He thought on the Countess, 
who lay beneath the ruins, and tore him- 
self from the sight, whilst, he added, 
*vFarewell for everj farewell, tliou be- 
loved Villanow, in which I have spent 
so many blissful years ! I quit thee, and 
my country for ever!" As he spoke, he 
raised his hands and eyes to Heaven, 
and pressing the picture of his mother 
to his lips and bosom, turned from the 
parapet; determining to prepare that 
night, for his departure the next morning. 

He arose by day-break: and having 
gathered together all his little wealth ; 
the whole of which was compressed with* 
in the portmanteau that was buckled on 
his horse; precisely two hours before 


the triiimplial car of General Suwarrow 
entered Warsaw, Sobieski left it ; and as 
he rode along the streets, he bedewed 
its stones with his tears. They were the 
first that he had shed, during the long 
series of his misfortunes ; and they now 
flowed so fast from his eyes he could 
hardly discern his way out of the city. 

At the great gate his horse stopped. 

" Poor Saladine !" said Thaddeus, 
stroking his neck, " are you so sorry at 
leaving Warsaw, that like your unhappy 
master you linger to take a last look !" 

His tears redoubled ; and the warder, 
as he closed the gate after him, implored 
permission to kiss the hand of the noble 
Count Sobieski ere he should turn his 
back on Poland never to return. Thad- 
deus looked kindly round, and shaking 
hands with the honest man, after saying 
a few friendly words to him, rode on with 
a loitering pace till he reached that part 
of the river which divides Masovia from 
the Prussian dominions. 


Here he flung himself off his horse ^ 
and standing for a moment on the hill 
that rises near the bridge, retraced with 
his almost blinded eyes the long and 
desolated lands throiigli which he had 
passed; then involuntarily dropping on 
his knees, he plucked a tuft of grass, 
and pressing it to his lips, exclaimed, 
" Farewell, Poland ! Farewell all my 
earthly happiness !" 

Almost stifled by emotion, he put this 
poor relict of his country into his bosom ; 
and remounting his horse, crossed the 

As one, who flying from any particu^ 
lar object, thinks to lose himself and his 
sorrows, when it lessens to his view, 
Sobieski pursued the remainder of his 
journey with a speed which soon brought 
him to Dantzic. 

Here he remained a few days, and 
during that interval the firmness of his 
mind was restored. He felt a calm aris- 
ing from the conviction, that his affiic'. 

VOL. I. L 


tions had gained their summit ; and that, 
however heavy they were, Heaven had 
laid them on him as a trial of faith and 
virtue. Under this belief he ceased to 
weep ; but he never was seen to smile. 

Having entered into an agreement 
with the master of a vessel to carry him 
across the sea, he found the strength of 
his finances would barely defray the 
charges of the voyage. Considering 
this circumstance, he saw the impossi- 
bility of taking his horse to England. 

The first time this idea presented it- 
self, it almost overset his determined re- 
signation. Tears would have started 
into his eyes, had he not by force with- 
held them. 

** To part from my faithful Saladine,'^ 
said he to himself, *'that has borne me 
since I first could use a sword ; that has 
carried me through so many dangers; 
and has come with me, even into exile ; 
it is painful, it is ungrateful !" He was 
4n the stable when this thought assailed 


him ; and as the reflections followed 
each other, he again turned to the stall ; 
** But, my poor fellow, I will not barter 
your services for gold. I will seek for 
some master who may be kind to you, 
in pity to my misfortunes." 

He re-entered the hotel where he 
lodged, and calling a waiter, enquired 
who occupied the fine mansion and park 
on the east of the town. The man re- 
plied, *'Mr. Hopetown, an eminent Bri- 
tish merchant, who has been settled at 
Dantzic above forty years." 

** I am glad he is a Briton!'' was 
the sentiment which succeeded this in- 
formation, in the Count's mind. He 
immediately took his resolution, but 
hardly had prepared to put into exe- 
cution, when he received a summons 
from the captain to be on board in half 
an hour, as the wind was set fair. 

Thaddeus, rather disconcerted by this 
hasty call, with a depressed heart wrote 
the following letter: — 
L S 


" To John Hopetown, Esq. 


" A Polish officer, who has sacrificed 
every thing but his honour to the last in- 
terests of his country, now addresses you. 

" You are a Briton ; and of whom can 
a victim to the cause of freedom with less 
debasement solicit an obligation ? 

" I cannot afford support to the horse 
which has carried me through the battles 
of this fatal war, I disdain to sell him ; 
and, therefore, I implore you, by the 
respect that you pay to the memory of 
your ancestors ; who struggled for, and 
retained that liberty, in defence of which 
we are thus reduced ! I implore you, to 
give him an asylum in your park, and to 
protect him from injurious usage. 

«* Perform this benevolent action. Sir, 
and you shall ever be remembered with 
gratitude, by an unfortunate 


" DantziCi 
''November, 1794»" 


The Count having sealed and directed 
this letter, went to the hotel-yard, and 
ordered that his horse might be brought 
out A few days of rest had restored him 
to his former mettle; and he appeared 
from the stable, prancing, and pawing 
the earth, as he used to do when Thad- 
deus was to mount him for the field. 

The groom was striving in vain to re- 
strain the spirit of the horse, when the 
Count took hold of his bridle. The 
noble animal knew his master, and be- 
came gentle as a lamb. After stroking 
him two or three times, with a bursting 
heart he returned the reins to the man's 
hand, and at the same time gave him 
the letter. 

** There," said he, " take that note, and 
the horse, directly, to the house of Mr. 
Hopetown. Leave them ; for the letter 
requires no answer.'* 

This last pang mastered, he walked 
out of the yard towards the quay. The 
wind continuing fair, he entered the ship, 
and within an hour set sail for England* 



SoBiESKi passed the greater part of each- 
day, and the whole of every night, on the 
deck of the vessel. He was too much 
absorbed in himself to receive any amuse- 
ment from the passengers ; who observ- 
ing his melancholy, thought to dispel it 
by their company and conversation. 

When any of these people came upon: 
deck, he walked to the head of the ship, 
took his seat upon the cable which bound 
the anchor to the forecastle ; and while 
their fears rendered him safe from their 
well-meant persecution, he gained some 
respite from vexation, though none from 

The ship having passed through the 
Baltic, and entered on the British sea, 
the passengers running from side to side 
of the vessel pointed out to Thaddeus 


the distant shore of England lying like a 
hazy ridge along the horizon. The happy 
people, whilst they strained their eyes 
through glasses, desired him to observe 
different spots on the hardly perceptible 
line, which they called Flamborough 
Head, and the hills of Yorkshire. His 
heart turned sick at these objects of 
pleasure, for not one of them raised a 
corresponding feeling in his breast. Eng- 
land could be nothing to him ; if any 
thing, it would prove a desart, which con- 
tained no one object for his regrets or 

The image of Pembroke Somerset rose 
in his mind, like the dim recollection of 
one who has been a long time dead. 
Whilst they were together at Villanow, 
they loved each other warmly j and when 
they parted, they promised to correspond. 
One day, in pursuit of the enemy, Thad- 
deus was so unlucky as to lose the 
pocket-book which contained his friend's 
address 5 but yet, uneasy at his silence, 
L 4 


he ventured two letters to him, directed 
merely to Sir Robert Somerset's, Eng- 
land. To these he received no answer ; 
and the Palatine evinced so much dis- 
pleasure at Pembroke's neglect and in- 
gratitude, that he would not suffer him 
to be mentioned in his presence ; and 
indeed Thaddeus, from disappointment 
and regret, felt no inclination to trans- 
gress the command. 

When the Count remembered these 
things, he found little comfort in re- 
collecting the name of that young Eng- 
lishman: and now that he was visiting 
England as a poor exile, with indignation 
and grief he gave up the wish with the 
hope of meeting Mr. Somerset. Sensible 
that Somerset had not acted as became the 
man to whom he could apply in his dis- 
tress ; he resolved, unfriended as he was, 
to wipe him at once from his memory. 
With a bitter sigh he turned his back on 
the land to which he was going, and 
fixed his eyes on the tract of sea which 


divided him from all that ever had given 
him delight. 

" Father of Heaven !'* murmured he, 
in a suppressed voice, "what have I 
done to deserve this misery ? Why have 
I been, at one stroke, deprived of all 
that rendered existence estimable ? Two 
months ago, I had a mother, a more than 
father, to love and cherish me ; I had a 
country, that looked up to them and to 
me, with veneration and confidence j 
now, I am bereft of all j I have neither 
father, mother, nor country, but am 
going to a land of strangers." 

Such impatient adjurations were never 
wrung from Sobieski by the anguish of 
sudden torture, without his ingenuous 
and pious mind reproachmg itself for 
repining. His soul was soft as a woman's ; 
but it knew neither effeminacy nor de- 
spair. Whilst his heart bled, his coun- 
tenance retained its serenity. Whilst 
affliction crushed him to the earth, and 
nature paid a few hard wrung drops to 
L 5 


her expected dissolution, he contemned 
his tears, and raised his fixed and con- 
fiding eye to that power which poured 
down its tempests on his head. Thad- 
deus felt as a man, but received conso- 
lation as a Christian. 

When the ship arrived at the mouth of 
the Thames, the eagerness of the passen- 
gers increased to such an excess, that 
they would not stand still, nor be silent 
a moment; and when the vessel, under 
full sail, passed Sheerness, and the dome 
of St. Paul's appeared before them, their 
exclamations were loud and incessant. 
" My home ! my parents ! my wife ! my 
friends!" were the burthen of every 

Thaddeus found his irritable spirits 
again disturbed ; and rising from his seat 
he retired unobserved by the people, who 
were too happy to attend to any thing 
which did not agree with their own trans- 
ports. The cabin was as deserted as him- 
self. Feeling that there is no solitude 


like that of the heart, when it looks 
around and sees in the vast concourse of 
human beings, not one to whom it can 
pour forth its sorrows ; and in return re- 
ceive the answering sigh of sympathy ; 
he threw himself on one of the lockers, 
and with difficulty restrained the tears 
from gushing from his eyes. He held 
his hand over them, while he contemned 
himself for a weakness so unbecoming 
his character. 

He despised himself: but let not others 
despise him. It is difficult for those who 
are in prosperity ; who lie morning and 
evening in the lap of indulgence j to con- 
ceive the misery of being thrown out into 
a bleak and merciless world : it is im- 
possible for the happy man, surrounded 
by luxury and gay companions, to figure 
to himself the reflections of a fellow- 
creature, who, having been fostered in the 
bosom of affection and elegance, is cast 
at once from society, bereft of home, of 
comfort, of ^^ every stay^ save innocetice and 
L 6 


Heaven,^ ^ None but the wretched can 
imagine what the wretched endure, from 
actual distress; from apprehended mis- 
fortune ; from outraged feelings ; and 
ten thousand nameless sensibilities to in- 
jury, which only the unfortunate can 
conceive, dread, and experience. 

Such were the anticipating fears of the 
Count. Books, and report, led him to 
respect the English : Pembroke Somer- 
set, at one time, would have taught him 
to love them : but the nearer he ad- 
vanced towards the shore, the remem- 
brance that it was from this country his 
father came, made him doubt the hu- 
manity of a people, of which his own 
parent and forgetful friend were such 
detestable specimens. 

The noise redoubled above his head ; 
and in a few minutes afterwards, one of 
the sailors came rumbling down the 

" Will it please Your Honour,'' said he, 
" to get up ? That be my chest, and I 


want my clothes to clean myself before 
I go on shore ; mother, I know, be wait- 
ing me at Blackwall." 

Thaddeus rose, and seeing that quiet 
was not to be found any where, again 
ascended to the deck. 

On coming up the hatchway, he saw 
that the ship was moored in the midst of 
a large city ; and was surrounded by 
myriads of vessels, from every quarter of 
the globe. Sobieski leaned over the 
railing, and in silence looked down on 
the other passengers, who were bearing 
off in boats, and shaking hands with the 
people who came to receive them. 

" It is near dark. Sir,'' said the captain j 
" mayhap you would like to go on shore ? 
There is a boat just come round, and 
the tide won't serve much longer ; and 
as your friends don't seem to be coming 
for you, you are welcome to a place in it 
with me." 

The Count thanked him ; and after de- 
fraying the expenses of the voyage, and 


giving money amongst the seamen, he 
desired that his portmanteau might be 
put into the wherry. The honest fellows, 
in gratitude to the bounty of their pas- 
senger, struggled who should obey his 
commands ; when the captain, angry 
at being detained, snatched away the 
baggage, and flinging it into the boat, 
leaped in after it, and was followed by 

The taciturnity of the sailor, and the 
deep melancholy of his guest, did not 
break silence, until they reached the 

" Go, Ben, fetch the gentleman a 

The Count bowed to the captain, who 
gave the order; and in a few minutes 
the boy returned, saying there was one 
in waiting. He took up the portmanteau, 
and Thaddeus followed him to the Tower- 
Gate, where the carriage stood. Ben 
threw in the baggage : the Count put his 
foot on the step. 


" Where must the man drive to ?" 

Thaddeus drew it back again. 

** Yes, Sir/' continued the lad ; " where 
is Your Honour's home ?" 

" In my grave," was the response his 
aching heart made to this question. He 
hesitated before he spoke. ** An hotel," 
said he, flinging himself on the seat, and 
throwing some silver into the sailor's 

« What hotel, Sir ?" asked the coach- 

" Any." 

The man closed the door, mounted his 
box, and drove off. 

It was now near seven o'clock, of a 
dark December evening. The lamps 
were lighted ; and it being Saturday 
night, the streets were crowded with 
people. Thaddeus looked at them as he 
was driven along : " Happy creatures !" 
thought he, ** you have each a home to 
go to ; you have each expecting friends 
to welcome youj every one of you knows 


some being in the world, who will smile 
when you enter ; whilst I, unhappy man ! 
am shut out from every social comfort. 
Wretched, wretched Sobieski ! where are 
now all thy highly prized treasures ; thy 
boasted glory; and those beloved friends 
who rendered that glory most precious to 
thee ? Alas ! all are withdrawn ; vanished 
like a dream of enchantment ; from which 
I have indeed awakened, to a frightful 

His reflections were broken by the 
stopping of the carriage. The man 
opened the door. 

" Sir, I have brought you to the Hum- 
mums, Covent Garden : it has as good 
accommodations as any in town. My 
fare is five shillings." 

Thaddeus gave the demand ; and fol- 
lowed him, and his baggage, into the 
coffee-room. At the entrance of a man 
of his figure, several waiters presented 
themselves, begging to know his com- 


" I want a chamber." 

He was ushered into a very handsome 
dining-room, where one of them laid down 
the portmanteau, and then bowing low, 
enquired whether he had dined. 

The waiter having received his orders, 
(for the Count saw that it was necessary 
to call for something,) hastened into the 
kitchen to communicate them to the 

" Upon my soul, Betty," cried he, 
" you must do your best to-night, for 
the chicken is for the finest looking fel- 
low you ever set eyes on. By heaven, I 
believe him to be some Russian noble- 
man ; perhaps the great Suwarrow him- 

" A prince you mean, Jenkins !" said 
a pretty girl, who entered at that mo- 
ment: *' since I was born I never see'd 
any English lord walk up and down a 
room with such an air ; he looks like a 
king. For my pai't, I should not wonder 
if he was one of them there emigrant 


kings ; for they say there is a power of 
them now wandering about the world." 

" You talk like a fool, Sally,'* cried 
the sapient waiter. " Don't you see that 
his dress is military ? Look at his black 
cap, with its long bag and great feather, 
and the monstrous sabre at his side ; 
look at them, and then if you can, say I 
am mistaken in pronouncing that he is 
some great Russian commander, — most 
likely come over as ambassador !" 

" But he came in a hackney coach,'* 
cried a little dirty boy in the corner. 
" As I was running up stairs with Colonel 
Leeson's shoes, I see'd the coachman 
bring in his portmanteau." 

" Well, Jack-a-napes, what of that ?" 
cried Jenkins : " Is a nobleman always 
to carry his equipage about him, like a 
snail with its shell on its back ? To be 
sure, this foreign lord, or prince, is 
only come to stay here, till his own 
house is fit for him. I will be civil to 


" And so will I, Jenkins,'* rejoined 
Sally, smiling ; "for I never see'd such 
handsome blue eyes in my born days ; 
and they turned so sweet on me, and he 
spoke so kindly when he bade me stir 
the fire ; and when he sat down by it, 
and throw' d off his great fur cloak, he 
showed a glittering star ; and a figure 
so noble, that indeed, cook, I do verily 
believe he is, as Jenkins says, an en- 
throned king !" 

" You and Jenkins be a pair of fools,'* 
cried the cook, who, without noticing 
their description, had been sulkily bast- 
ing the fowl : " I will be sworn he'a 
just such another king, as that palaver- 
ing rogue was a French duke, who got 
my master's watch, and pawned it 1 As 
for you, Sally, you had better beware of 
hunting after foreign men-folk : it's not 
seemly for a young woman, and you may 
chance to rue it." 

The moralizing cook had now brought 
the whole kitchen on her shoulders^ 


The men abused her for a surly old 
maid ; and the women tittered, whilst 
they seconded her censure, by cutting 
sly jokes on the blushing face of poor 
Sally, who stood almost crying, by the 
side of her champion Jenkins. 

Whilst this hubbub was going forward 
below stairs, its unconscious subject was, 
as Sally had described, sitting in a chair 
close to the fire, with his feet on the 
fender, his arms folded, and his eyes 
bent on the flames. He mused j but his 
ideas followed each other in such quick 
and confused succession, that it hardly 
could be said he thought of any thing. 

The entrance of dinner roused him 
from his reverie. It was carried in by 
at least half a dozen waiters. The 
Count had been so accustomed to a nu- 
merous suite of attendants, he did not 
observe the parcelling out of his tem- 
perate meal ; one bringing in the fowl, 
another the bread, his neighbour the so- 
litary plate ; and the rest in like order : 


SO solicitous were the male listeners in 
the kitchen, to see this wonderful Rus- 

Thaddeus partook but lightly of the 
refreshment. Being already fatigued in 
body, and dizzy with the motion of the 
vessel, as soon as the cloth was with- 
drawn he ordered a night-candle, and 
desired to be shown to his chamber. 

Jenkins, whom the sight of the em- 
broidered star, confirmed in his decision 
that the foreigner must be a person of 
consequence, with increased agility 
whipped up the portmanteau, and led 
the way to the sleeping-rooms. Here, 
curiosity put on a new form ; the women- 
servants, determined to have their wishes 
gratified as well as the men, had ar- 
ranged themselves on each side of the 
passage through which the Count must 
pass. At so strange an appearance, 
Thaddeus drew back ; but supposing 
that it might be a custom of the coun- 
try, he proceeded through this fair bevy ; 


and bowed as he walked ak)ng, to the 
low curtsies, which they continued to 
make until he entered his apartment and 
closed the door. 

The unhappy are ever restless : they 
hope in every change of situation to ob- 
tain some alteration in their feelings. 
Thaddeus was too miserable awake, not 
to view with eagerness, the bed on 
which he trusted that for a few hours at 
least, he might lose his consciousness of 
suffering, with its remembrance. 



When he awoke in the morning, his 
head ached, and he felt as un refreshed 
as when he had lain down ; he undrew 
the curtain, and saw from the strength 
of the Hght, it must be mid-day. He 
got up ; and having dressed himself, de- 
scended to the sitting-room 5 where he 
found a good fire, and the breakfast al- 
ready placed. He rang the bell ; and 
walked to the window, to observe the 
appearance of the morning. A heavy 
snow had fallen during the night; and 
the sun, ascended to its meridian^ shone 
through the thick atmosphere, like a ball 
of fire. All seemed comfortless v/ithout; 
and turning back to the warm hearth, 
which was blazing at the other end of the 


room, he was reseating himself when 
Jenkins brought in the tea-urn. 

«' I hope, my Lord,'* said the waiter, 
<« that Your Lordship slept well last 
night ?" 

" Perfectly, I thank you," replied the 
Count, unmindful that the man addressed 
him according to his rank ; ** when you 
come to remove these things, bring me 
my bill." 

Jenkins bowed and withdrew ; congra- 
tulating himself on his dexterity in hav- 
ing saluted the stranger with his title. 

During the absence of the waiter, 
Thaddeus thought it time to examine 
the state of his purse : he well recol- 
lected how he had paid at Dantzic ; and 
from the style in which he was served 
here, he did not doubt but that to defray 
what he had contracted, would nearly ex- 
haust his all. He emptied the contents 
of his pocket, into his hand ; a guinea, 
and some silver, was all that he possessed. 
A flush of terror suffused itself over his 


face ; h^ had never known the want of 
money before, and he trembled now, 
lest the charge should exceed his means 
of payment. 

Jenkins entered with the bill. On the 
Count's examining it, he was pleased to 
to find it amounted to no more than the 
only piece of gold his purse contained. 
He laid it upon the tea-board, and put- 
ting half-a-crown into the hand of Jen- 
kins, who appeared waiting for some- 
thing, ^wrapped his cloak round him, and 
was walking out of the room. 

" I suppose, my Lord," cried Jenkins, 
pocketing the money with a smirk, and 
bowing with the things in his hands, 
" we are to have the honour of seeing 
Your Lordship again, as you leave your 
portmanteau behind you ?" 

Thaddeus hesitated a few seconds, 
then again moving towards the door, 
said, " I will send for it." 

" By what name, my Lord ?" 

" The Count Sobieski." 

VOL. I. M 


Jenkins immediately set down the tea- 
board, and hurrying after Thaddeus 
along the passage and through the 
coffee-room; darted before him, and 
opening the door for him to go out, ex- 
claimed loud enough for every body to 
hear, " Depend upon it. Count Sobi- 
eski, I will take care of Your Lordship^s 

Thaddeus, rather displeased at his 
noisy officiousness, only bent his head, 
and proceeded into the street. 

The air was piercing cold ; and on his 
looking around, he perceived by the dis- 
position of the square in which he was, 
that it must be a market-place. The 
booths and stands were covered with 
snow ; whilst parts of the pavement were 
rendered nearly impassable by heaps of 
black ice which the market-people of the 
preceding day had shovelled up out of 
their way. He now recollected that it 
was Sunday, and consequently the im- 


probability of finding any lodgings on 
that day. 

He stood under the piazzas for two or 
three minutes, bewildered on the plan he 
should adopt ; to return to the hotel for 
any purpose but to sleep, in the present 
state of his finances, would be impos- 
sible : he therefore gave himself up, in- 
clement as the season was, to walk the 
streets until night. He might then go 
back to the Hummums to his bed-cham- 
ber ; but he resolved to quit it in the 
morning, for a residence more suitable 
to the reduction of his fortunes. 

The wind blew a keen north-east, ac- 
companied with a violent shower of sleet 
and rain ; yet such was the abstraction of 
his mind, that he hardly observed its bit- 
terness, but walked on, careless whither 
his feet led him, until he stopped oppo- 
site to St. Martin's church. 

" God is my only friend,'* said he to 
liimself ; *' and in his house, I shall surely 
find shelter !" 

M 2 


He turned up the steps, and was en- 
tering the porch, when he met the con- 
gregation thronging out of it. 

"Is the service over?" he enquired 
of a decent old woman, who was passing 
him down the stairs. The woman started 
at this question, asked her in English by 
a person whose dress was so completely 
foreign. He repeated it; and smiling 
and curtseying, she replied — 

" Yes, Sir ; and I am sorry for it. Lord 
bless your handsome face, though you be 
a stranger gentleman, it does one's heart 
good to see you so devoutly given !" 

Thaddeus blushed at this personal 
compliment, though it came from the 
lips of a wrinkled old woman ; and beg- 
ging permission to assist her down the 
stairs, he asked when service would be- 
gin again. 

«« At three o'clock, Sir, and may 
Heaven bless the mother who bore so 
pious a son !" 

As the poor woman spoke, she raised 


her eyes with a melancholy resignation. 
The Count touched with her words and 
manner, almost unconsciously to himself, 
continued by her side as she hobbled 
down the street. 

His eyes were fixed on the ground, 
until, as he walked forward, somebody 
pressing against him, made him look 
round. He saw that his aged companion 
had just knocked at the door of a mean- 
looking house ; and that his new ac- 
quaintance and himself were surrounded 
by nearly a dozen people, besides boys, 
who through curiosity had followed them 
from the church porch. 

<< Ah ! sweet Sir," cried she ; " these 
folks are staring at so fine a gentleman 
taking notice of age and poverty.'* 

Thaddeus was uneasy at the inquisi- 
tive gaze of the bye-standers ; and his 
companion observing the fluctuations of 
his countenance, added, as the door was 
opened by a little girl ; 

*« Will Your Honour walk in out of 
M 3 


the rain, and warm yourself by my poor 

He hesitated a moment ; then, ac- 
cepting her invitation, bent his head to 
get under the humble door-way ; and 
following through a neatly-sanded pas- 
sage, entered a small but clean kichen. 
A little boy, who was sitting on a stool 
near the fire, uttered a scream at the 
sight of a stranger ; and running up to 
his grandmother, rolled himself in her 
cloak, crying out ; 

" Mammy, mammy, take away that 
black man !" 

" Be quiet, William ; it is a gentleman, 
and no black man. I am so ashamed. 
Sir ; but he is only three years old." 

** I should apologise to you," returned 
the Count, smiling, <* for introducing a 
person so hideous as to frighten your 

By the time he finished speaking, the 
good dame had pacified the screaming 
child y who stood trembling, and looking 


askance, at the tremendous black gentle- 
man stroking the head of his pretty sister. 

" Come here, my dear !'' said Thad- 
deus, seating himself by the iire, and 
stretching out his hand to the child. It 
instantly buried its head in its grand- 
mother's apron. 

" William ! William !" cried his sister, 
pulling him by the arm, «« the gentleman 
will not hurt you." 

The boy again lifted up his head. 
Thaddeus threw back his long sable 
cloak, and taking offhis cap, whose hearse- 
like plumes, he thought, might have 
terrified the child, he laid it on the 
ground ; and again stretching forth his 
arms, called the boy to approach him. 
Little William now looked stedfastly in 
his face, and then on the cap, which he 
had laid beside him ; and then, whilst he 
grasped his grandmother's apron with 
one hand, he held out the other, half 
assured, towards the Count. Thaddeus 
took it, and pressing it softly, pulled 
31 4 


him gently to him, and placing him 
on his knee, " My little fellow,'* said 
he, kissing him, *' you are not frightened 
now ?'' 

*' No," said the child ; " I see you are 
not the ugly black man, who takes away 
naughty boys. The ugly black man has a 
black face, and snakes on his head ; but 
these are pretty curls !*' added he, laugh- 
ing, and putting his little fingers through 
the thick auburn hair, which hung in 
neglected masses over the forehead of the 

** I am ashamed Your Honour should 
sit in a kitchen," rejoined the old lady 5 
** but I have not a fire in any other 

" Yes," said her grand-daughter, who 
was about twelve years old, " grand- 
mother has a nice first floor up stairs; 
but because we have no lodgers, there be 
no fire there." 

" Be silent, Nanny Robson," said the 
dame : ** your pertness teases the gentle- 


** O, not at all/' cried Thaddeus ; '* I 
ought to thank her, for she informs me 
you have lodgings to let ; will you allow 
me to engage them ?" 

" You, Sir," cried Mrs. Robson, thun- 
derstruck, "for what purpose? Surely 
so noble a gentleman would not live in 
such a place as this." 

*< I would, Mrs. Robson : I know not 
where I could live with more comfort; 
and where comfort is, my good madam, 
what signifies the costliness or plainness 
of the dwelling ?" 

" Well, Sir, if you be indeed serious ; 
but I cannot think you so : you are cer- 
tainly making a joke of me, for my 
boldness in asking you into my poor 

<« Upon my honour, I am not, Mrs. 
Robson. I would gladly be your lodger, 
if you will admit me ; and to convince 
you that I am in earnest, my portmanteau 
shall this moment be brought here." 

*< Well, Sir," resumed she, " I shall be 
honoured in having you in my house ; 
M 5 


but I have no room for any one^ but 
yourself, not even for a servant." 

" I have no servant." 

" Then I will wait on him, grandmo- 
ther," cried the little Nanny ; " do let 
the gentleman have them, I am sure he 
looks honest." 

The old woman coloured at this last ob- 
servation of the child, and proceeded. 

" Then, Sir, if you should not disdain 
the rooms when you see them, I shall be 
too happy in having so good a gentleman 
under my roof. Pardon my boldness. 
Sir ; but may I ask ? I think by your 
dress, you are a foreigner ?" 

" I am," replied Thaddeus, the ra- 
diance which played over his features 
contracting into a gloom ; " if you have 
no objection to take a stranger within 
your doors, from this hour I shall con- 
sider your house as my home ?" 

" As Your Honour pleases," said Mrs. 
Robson ; ** my terms are half a-guinea a 
week ; and I will attend on you, as 


though you were my own son ! for I can- 
not forget, excellent young gentleman, 
the way in which we first met." 

" Then I will leave you for the pre- 
sent," returned he, rising, and putting 
down the little William ; who had been 
amusing himself with examining the sil- 
ver points of the star of St. Stanislaus, 
which the Count wore on his breast : 
" In the mean while," said he, *' my 
pretty friend," stooping to the child, 
" let this bit of silver," was just mount- 
ing to his tongue, as he put his hand into 
his pocket to take out half-a-crown ; but 
he recollected that his necessities would 
no longer admit of such gifts ; and draw- 
ing his hand back, with a deep and bitter 
sigh, he touched the boy's cheek with 
his lips, and added, '' let this kiss remind 
you of your new friend." 

This was the first time the generous 

spirit of Sobieski had been restrained ; 

and he suffered a pang, for the poignancy 

of which he could not account. His had 

M 6 


been a life accustomed to acts of munifi- 
cence. His grandfather's palace, was 
the asylum of the unhappy ; his grand- 
father's purse, a treasury for the unfor- 
tunate. The soul of Thaddeus did not 
degenerate from his noble relative : his 
generosity, begun in inclination, was 
nurtured by reflection, and strengthened 
with a daily exercise, which rendered it 
a habit of his nature. Want never ap- 
peared before him, without exciting a 
sympathetic emotion in his heart, which 
never rested until he had administered 
every comfort in the power of wealth to 
bestow. His compassion and his purse 
were the substance and shadow of each 
other. The poor of his country thronged 
from every part of the kingdom, to re- 
ceive pity and reUef at his hands. With 
these houseless wanderers, he peopled 
the new villages, his grandfather had 
erected in the midst of lands, which in 
former times were the haunts of wild 
beasts. Thaddeus participated in the hap- 


piness of his grateful tenants ; and many 
were the old men, whose eyes he had closed 
in thankfulness and peace. These honest 
peasants, even in their dying moments, 
wished to give up that life in his arms, 
which he had rescued from misery. He 
visited their cottage ; he smoothed their 
pillow ; he joined in their prayers : and 
when their last sigh came to his ear, he 
raised the weeping family from the dust ; 
and cheered them with pious exhort- 
ations, and his kindest assurances of pro- 
tection. How often has the Countess 
clasped her godlike son to her breast, 
when after a scene like this, he had re- 
turned home, the tears of the dying man 
and his children yet wet upon his hand ! 
how often has she strained him to her 
heart, whilst floods of rapture have 
poured from her own eyes ! Heir to the 
first fortune in Poland, he scarcely knew 
the means by which he bestowed all 
these benefits ; and with a soul as boun- 
teous to others, as Heaven had been 


munificent to him, wherever he moved, 
he shed smiles and gifts around him. 
How frequently has he said to the Pala- 
tine, when his carriage- wheels were chased 
bythe thankful multitude; "O, my father! 
how can I ever be sufficiently grateful 
to God, for the happiness he hath allotted 
to me, in making me the dispenser of so 
many blessings ! The gratitude of these 
people overpowers and humbles me in 
my own eyes ; what have I done to be 
so eminently favoured of Heaven ? I 
tremble, when I ask myself the ques- 
tion." — *'You may tremble, my dear 
boy," replied his grandfather, " for in- 
deed the trial is a severe one: prosperity, 
like adversity, is an ordeal of conduct. 
Two roads are before the rich man; 
vanity or virtue : You have chosen the 
latter, and the best : and may Heaven 
ever hold you in it ! May Heaven ever 
keep your heart generous and pure ! Go 
on, my dear Thaddeus, as you have com- 
menced ; and you will find, that your 


Creator hath bestowed wealth upon you, 
not for what you have done, but as the 
means of evincing how well you would 
prove yourself His faithful steward." 

This "was the fortune of Thaddeus ; and 
now, he who had scattered thousands 
without counting them, drew back his 
hand with something like horror at his 
own injustice;pwhen he was going to give 
away one little piece of silver — which he 
might want in a day or two, to defray 
some indispensable debt. 

«< Mrs. Robson," said he, as he replaced 
his cap upon his head, ** I shall return 
before it is dark." 

'' Very well, Sir ;" and opening the 
door, he went out into the lane. 

Ignorant of the town, and thanking 
Providence for having prepared him an 
asylum, he directed his course towards 
Charing Cross. He looked about him 
with deepened sadness ; the wet and 
plash y state of the streets gave to every 
object so comfortless an appearance he 


could scarcely believe himself to be in 
that London, of which he had read with 
so much delight. Where were the mag- 
nificent buildings, he expected to see in 
the emporium of the world ? Where that 
cleanliness ; and those tokens of great- 
ness and splendour, which had been the 
admiration and boast of travellers ? He 
could no where discover thelti ; all seemed 
parts of a dark, gloomy, mean-looking 

Hardly heeding whither he went, he 
approached the Horse-Guards ; a view of 
the Park, as it appears through the wide 
porch, promised him less unpleasantness 
than the dirty pavement, and he turned 
in, taking his way along the Bird- Cage 

The trees, stripped of their leaves, stood 
naked, and dripping with melted snow. 
The season was in unison with the Count's 
fate. He was taking the bitter wind for 
his repast ; and quenching his thirst with 
the rain that fell on his pale and feverish 


lip : he felt the cutting blast enter his 
breast ; and shutting his eye-lids, to 
repel the tears which were rising from 
his heart, he walked faster ; but in spite 
of himselfi their drops mingled with the 
wet that trickled from his cap upon his 
face. One melancholy thought intro- 
duced another, until his agitated soul 
lived over again, in memory, every cala- 
mity which had reduced him from hap- 
piness to misery. Two or three heavy 
convulsive sighs followed these reflec- 
tions; and quickening his pace, he walked 
once or twice quite round the Park. The 
rain ceased. Hardly observing the peo- 
ple who passed, he threw himself down 
upon one of the chairs ; and sat in a 
musing posture, with his eyes fixed on 
the opposite tree. 

A sound of voices approaching, roused 
him ; turning his eyes, he saw the speak- 
ers were two young men, and by their 
dress, he judged they must belong to the 


regiment of the centinel who was patrol- 
Hng at the end of the Mall. 

'^ By Heavens, Berrington," cried 
one, " it is the best shaped boot I ever 
beheld ! I have a good mind to ask him, 
whether it be English make!" 

" And if it be," replied the other with 
a sneer, " you must ask him who made 
his legs ; that you may send yours to be 

" Who the devil can see my legs through 
that boot ?" 

" Oh, if to hide them be your reason, 
pray ask him immediately." 

*« And so I will, for I think the boot 
damned handsome." 

At these words, he was making to- 
wards Sobieski with two or three long 
strides, when his companion pulled him 

" Surely, Harwold, you will not act 
so ridiculously ? He appears to be a fo- 
reigner of rank : and he may take offence, 
and knock you down." 


" Curse him and his rank too ; he is 
some paltry emigrant, I wan-ant ; and 
may the devil fly away with my legs, if I 
don't ask him who made his boots !'' 

As he spoke, he would have dragged 
his companion along with him, but Ber- 
rington broke from his arm ; and the 
fool, who now thought himself dared to 
it, strode up close to the chair, and bowed 
to Thaddeus, who (hardly crediting that 
he could be the subject of this dialogue) 
returned the salutation with a cold bend 
of his head. 

Harwold looked a little confounded .at 
this haughty demeanour ; and once in 
his life blushing at his own insolence, he 
roared out, as in defiance of shame : 

** Pray, Sir, where did you get your 

" Where I got my sword, Sir,'* replied 
Thaddeus, calmly : and, rising from his 
seat, he darted his eyes disdainfully on 
the coxcomb, and walked slowly down 
the Mall. Surprised and shocked at 


such' behaviour in a British officer, as 
he moved away, he distinctly heard Ber- 
rington laughing aloud, and ridiculing 
the astonishment, and set-down air, of 
h^'s impudent associate. 

This incident did not so much ruffle 
the temper of Thaddeus, as it amazed 
and perplexed him. 

" Is this a specimen,'' thought he, 
** of a nation which on the Continent is 
venerated for courage, manliness, and 
generosity ? Well, I find I have much to 
learn. I must go through the ills of 
life, to estimate myself thoroughly ; and 
I must study mankind in themselves, 
and not in their history, to have a true 
knowledge of what they are.'* 

This strange rencontre was of service 
to him, by diverting his mind from the 
intense contemplation of his situation ; 
and as the dusk drew on, he turned his 
steps towards the Hummums. 

On entering the coffee-room he was 
met by the obsequious Jenkins ; who 


being told by Thaddeus, that he wanted 
his baggage, and a carriage, went for 
the things himself, and sent a boy for a 

A man drest in black was standing 
by the chimney, and seemed to be eye- 
ing Thaddeus, as he walked up and 
down, with great attention. Just as he 
had taken another turn, and drew near 
him, the stranger accosted him rather 

** Pray, Sir, are there any news stirring 
abroad ? you seem. Sir, to be come from 

*« None, that I know of; Sir." 

" Bless me, that's strange. I thought, 
Sir, you came from abroad, Sir ; from the 
Continent, from Poland, Sir ? at least the 
waiter said so. Sir." 

Thaddeus coloured : " The waiter. 
Sir ?" 

*« I mean, Sir," continued the gentle- 
man, visibly confused at the dilemma 
into which he had brought himself. 


" the waiter said that you were a Count, 
Sir ; a Polish Count ; indeed the Count 
Sobieski ! Hence I concluded that you 
are from Poland. If I have offended, I 
beg pardon, Sir ; but in these times we 
are anxious for every intelligence." 

Thaddeus made no other reply, than 
a slight inclination of his head ; and 
w^alking forward, to see whether the 
coach were arrived, he thought, — what- 
ever travellers had related of the Eng- 
lish, they were the most impertinent 
people in the world. 

The stranger would not be contented 
with what he had already said, but 
plucking up new courage, pursued the 
Count to the glass-door through which 
he was looking, and resumed. 

" I believe. Sir, I am not wrong ? you 
are the Count Sobieski ; and I have the 
honour to be now speaking with the 
bravest champion of Polish liberty !" 

Thaddeus again bowed ; " I thank you. 
Sir, for the compliment you intend me ; 


but I cannot take it to myself; all the 
men of Poland, old and young, nobles 
and peasants, were her champions, 
equally sincere, equally brave." 

Nothing could silence the inquisitive 
stranger : the coach drew up, but he 
went on. 

''Then I hope, that many of these 
patriots, besides Your Excellency, have 
taken care to bring away their wealth 
from a land which is now abandoned to 
destruction ?" 

For a moment Thaddeus forgot him- 
self in his country j and all her rights, 
and all her sufferings, rose in his counte- 

*' No, Sir! Not one of those men; 
and least of all, would I have drawn 
one vital drop from her heart! I left in 
her bosom all that was dear to me ; 
all that I possessed ; and not until I saw 
the chains brought before my eyes, that 
were to lay her in irons, did I turn my 


back on calamities, I could no longer 
avert or alleviate." 

The ardour of his manner, and the 
elevation of voice, had drawn the atten- 
tion of every person in the room upon 
him, when Jenkins entered with his bag- 
gage. The door being opened, Sobi- 
eski got into the coach, and gladly has- 
tened from a conversation which had 
awakened all his griefs. 

" Ah, poor enthusiast !" exclaimed 
his inquisitor, as the carriage drove off: 
" It is a pity that so fine a young man 
should have made so ill a use of his 
buth, and other advantages !" 

" He appears to me," observed an 
old clergyman, who sat in an adjoining- 
box, " to have made the best possible 
use of his natural advantages ; and had 
I a son, I would rather hear him utter 
such a sentiment as that with which he 
quitted the room, than see him master 
of millions." 


" May be so," cried the questioner, 
with a disdainful glance, " * different minds 
incline to different objects /' His, has de- 
cided for ' the W07iderful, the wild ;' and 
a pretty end he has made of his choice I" 

** Why to be sure," observed another 
spectator, " young people should be 
brought up with reasonable ideas of right 
and wrong, and prudence : neverthe- 
less, I should not like a son of mine, to 
run harum scarum, through my property, 
and his own life ; and vet one cannot 
help, when one hears such a brave 
speech, as that from yon Frenchman, 
just gone out, — I say, one cannot help 
thinking it very fine." 

" True, true," cried the inquisitor, 
** you are right, Sir ; very fine, indeed, 
but too fine to wear ; it would soon leave 
us naked, as it has done him ; for it 
seems by his own confession, he is penny- 
less ; and I know, a twelvemonth ago, 
he was a master of a fortune which, how- 
ever incalculable, he has managed with 
all his talents to see the end of." 

VOL. I. N 


" Then he is in distress!" exclaimed 
he clergyman, " and you know him : 
What is his name ?" 

The man coloured at this unexpected 
inference ; and glad the company had 
not attended to the part of the dialogue 
in which the name of Sobieski was men- 
tioned, — he stammered some indistinct 
words ; took up his hat ; and looking at 
his watch, begged pardon for having an 
appointment; — and hurried out of the 
room without speaking farther ; although 
the good clergyman, whose name was 
Blackmore, hastened after him, request- 
ing to know where the young foreigner 

" Who is that coxcomb ?" cried the 
disconcerted doctor, as he returned from 
his unavailing application. 

" I don't know, Sir," replied the 
waiter : " I never saw him in this house 
before last night, when he came in late 
to sleep ; and this morning he was in the 
coffee-room at breakfast, just as that fo- 


reign gentleman walked througli ; and 
Jenkins, bawling his name out very loud, 
as soon as he was gone, this here gentle- 
man asked him, who that Count was. I 
heard Jenkins say some Russian name ; 
and tell him, he came last night, and 
likely would come back again ; and so, 
that there gentleman has been loitering 
about all day till now when the foreign 
gentleman coming in, he spoke to him." 

" And don't you know any thing 
further of this foreigner ?'' 

" No, Sir ; I forget what he is called ; 
— but I see Jenkins going across the 
street ; shall I run after him and ask 
him ?" 

" You are very obliging,'* returned 
the old man ; " but does Jenkins know 
where the stranger lives ?** 

" No, Sir ; I am sure he don't.'* 

" I am sorry for it," sighed the kind 
questioner : " then your enquiry would 
be of no use ; his name will not do, with- 
out his direction. — Poor fellow ! He has 

N 2 


been unfortunate, and I might have be- 
friended him." 

" Yes, to be sure, Doctor,'' cried the 
first speaker, who now rose to accompany 
him out : " it is our duty to befriend the 
unfortunate ; but charity begins at home ; 
and as all's for the best, perhaps it is 
lucky we did not hear any more about 
this young fellow. We might have in- 
volved ourselves in a vast deal of unne- 
cessary trouble ; and you know people 
from outlandish parts have no claims 
upon us." 

** Certainly," replied the Doctor, 
<* none in the world, excepting those 
which no human creature can dispute ; 
the claims of nature. All mankind are 
born heirs of suffering ; and as joint in- 
heritors, if we do not wipe away each 
other's tears, it will prove but a comfort- 
less portion." 

** Ah ! Doctor," cried his companion, 
as they separated at the end of Charles- 
street, " you have always the best of 


the argument : you have logic and Aris- 
to tie at your finger ends." 

** No, my friend ; my arguments are 
purely Christian. Nature is my logic, 
and the Bible my teacher." 

** Ah, there you have me again. You 
parsons are as bad as the lawyers ; when 
once you get a poor sinner amongst you, 
he finds it as hard to get out of the church 
as out of the chancery. However, have 
it your own way ; charity is your trade, 
and I won't be in a hurry to dispute the 
monopoly. Good day. If I stay much 
longer, you'll make me believe that black 
is white." 

Dr. Blackmore shook him by the hand, 
and wishing him a good evening, re- 
turned home, pitying the worldliness of 
his friend's mind ; and musing on the 
interesting stranger, whom he admired, 
and compassionated with a lively sorrow, 
for he believed him to be virtuous, un- 
happy, and unfortunate. Had he known 
that the object of his solicitude was the 
N 3 


illustrious subject of many a former eu- 
logium from himself, how encreased 
would have been his regret ; — that he 
had seen the Count Sobieski ; that he had 
seen him in distress ; and that he had 
suffered him to pass from the reach of 
his services ! 



1 HE Count Sobieski was cordially re- 
ceived by his worthy landlady ; indeed 
he never stood in more need of kindness. 
A slow fever, which had been gradually 
creeping over him since he quitted Po- 
land, settled on his nerves ; and reduced 
him to such weakness, that he pos- 
sessed neither strengtli nor spirits to stir 

Mrs. Robson was greatly distressed at 
the illness of her guest : her own son, 
the father of the orphans she protected, 
had died of a consumption ; and any ap- 
pearance of that cruel disorder, was a 
certain call upon her compassion. 

Thaddeus gave himself up to her 
management : he had no money for 
N 4 


medical assistance ; and, to please her, 
he took what little medicines she pre- 
pared. According to her advice, he re- 
mained for several days shut up in his 
chamber, with a large lire, and the shut- 
ters closed, to exclude the smallest por- 
tion of that air, which the good woman 
thought had already stricken him with 

But all would not do ; her patient be- 
came worse and worse. Frightened at 
the symptoms, Mrs. Robson begged leave 
to send for the apothecary who had at- 
tended her deceased son. In this in- 
stance only, she found the Count obsti- 
nate : no arguments, nor even her tears, 
could move him. When she stood weep- 
ing, and holding his burning hand, his 
answer was constantly the same. 

** My excellent Mrs. Robson, do not 
grieve on my account ; I am not in the 
danger you think ; I shall do very well 
with your assistance." 

" No, no j I see death in your eyes. 


Can I feel this hand, and see that hectic 
cheek, without beholding your grave, as 
it were, opening before me ?" 

She was not much mistaken ; for dur- 
ing the night after this debate Thaddeus 
grew so delirious, that no longer able to 
subdue her terrors, she sent for the apo- 
thecary to come instantly to her house. 

" O ! Doctor," cried she, as he as- 
cended the stairs, " I have the best 
young gentleman ever the sun shone on, 
dying in that room ! He would not let 
me send for you ; and now he is raving 
like a mad creature.'' 

Mr. Vincent entered the Count's hum- 
ble apartment, and undrew the curtains 
of the bed. Exhausted by delirium, 
Thaddeus had sunk senseless on the 
pillow. At this sight, supposing him 
dead, Mrs. Robson uttered a shriek, 
which was echoed by the cries of the 
little William, who stood near his grand- 

** Hush, my good woman," said the 
N 5 


doctor, " the gentleman is not dead ; 
leave the room till you have recovered 
yourself, and I will engage that you 
shall see him alive when you return." 

Considering his words as oracles, she 
quitted the room with her grandson. 

On entering the chamber, Mr. Vin- 
cent had felt that the hot and stifling 
state of the room must augment the 
fever of his patient ; and, before he at- 
tempted to disturb him from the tempo- 
rary rest of insensibility, he opened the 
window-shutters, unclosed the room-door 
wide enough to admit the air from the 
adjoining apartment, and pulling the 
heavy clothes from the Count's bosom, 
raised his head on his arm, and poured 
some drops into his mouth. Sobieski 
opened his eyes, and uttered a few inco- 
herent words : but he did not rave, he 
only wandered ; and appeared to know 
that he did so ; for he several times 
stopped in the midst of some confused 


speech, and laying his hand on his fore- 
head, strove to recollect himself. 

Mrs. Robson soon after entered the 
room, and poured out her thanks to the 
apothecary, whom she revered as almost 
a worker of miracles. 

<* I must bleed him, Mrs. Robson," 
continued he ; " and for that purpose 
shall go home for my assistant and lan- 
cets ; but, in the meanwhile, I charge 
you to let every thing remain in the 
state I have left it. The heat alone 
would have given a fever to a man in 

When the apothecary returned he saw 
that his commands had been strictly 
obeyed ; and finding that the change of 
atmosphere had wrought some alteration 
in his patient, he took his arm without 
any difficulty, and bled him. At the 
end of the operation Thaddeus again 

" Poor gentleman !" cried Mr. Vin- 
cent, binding up the arm : ** look here, 
N 6 


Tom," pointing to the scars on the 
Count's shoulder and breast ; ** see what 
terrible cuts have been here ! This has 
not been playing at soldiers! Who is 
your lodger, Mrs. Robson ?" 

" His name is Constantine, Mr. Vin- 
cent. But, for Heaven's sake, recover 
him from that swoon." 

Mr. Vincent poured more drops into 
his mouth ; and a minute afterwards, he 
opened his eyes, divested of their fever- 
ish glare, but still dull and heavy. He 
spoke to Mrs. Robson by her name ; 
which gave her such delight, that she 
caught his hand to her lips, and burst 
into tears. The action was so instanta- 
neous and violent, that it made him feel 
the stiffness of his arm ; and, casting his 
eyes towards the surgeons, he conjec- 
tured what had been his state, and what 
the consequence. 

** Come, Mrs. Robson," said the apo- 
thecary, " you must not disturb the gen- 
tleman. How do you find yourself, Sir ?" 


As the deed could not be recalled, 
Thaddeus thanked the doctor for the 
service he had received ; and said a few 
kind and grateful words to his good 

Mr. Vincent was glad to see so promis- 
ing an issue to his proceedings, and 
soon after retired with his assistant and 
Mrs. Robson, to give further directions. 

On entering the kitchen, she threw 
herself into a chair, and broke into a 
paroxysm of lamentations. 

<< My good woman, what is all this 
about ?" enquired the Doctor. " Is not 
my patient better ?" 

" Yes," cried she, drying her eyes ; 
*' but the whole scene puts me so in 
mind of the last moments of my poor 
misguided son, that the very sight of it 
goes through my heart like a knife. 
Oh ! had my boy been as good as that 
dear gentleman, had he been as well 
prepared to die, I think I would scarcely 


have grieved ! Yet Heaven spare Mr. 
Constantine. Will he Hve ?" 

" I hope so, Mrs. Robson ; his fever 
is high ; but he is young, and with ex- 
treme care we may preserve him." 

" The Lord grant it !" cried she, 
*« for he is the best gentleman I ever 
beheld. He has been above a week with 
me ; and till this night, in which he lost 
his senses, though hardly able to breathe 
or see, he has read out of books which 
he brought with him ; and good books 
too : for it was but yesterday morning 
that I saw the dear soul sitting by the 
fire with a book on the table, which he 
had been studying for an hour : as I was 
dusting about, I saw him lay his head 
down on it, and put his hand to his 
temples. ' Alas ! Sir,' said I, * you tease 
your brains with these books of learning, 
when you ought to be taking rest.' — 
' No, Mrs. Robson,' returned he, with 
a sweet smile, ' it is this book which 
affords me rest — I may amuse myself 


with Others ; but this alone contains per- 
feet beauty, perfect wisdom, and perfect 
peace. It is the only infallible soother 
of human sorrows.' He closed it, and 
put it on the chimney-piece ; and when 
I looked at it afterwards, I found it was 
the Scriptures. — Can you wonder that I 
should love so excellent a gentleman?'* 

" You have given a strange account 
of him," replied Vincent : " I hope he 
is not a methodist ; if so, I shall despair 
of his cure, and think his delirium had 
another cause besides fever." 

** A methodist ! No, Sir : he is a Chris- 
tian; and as good a reasonable sweet- 
tempered gentleman, as ever came into 
a house. Alas ! I believe he is more like 
a papist ; though they say papists don't 
read the Bible, but worship images." 

" Why, what reason have you to sup- 
pose that ? He's an Englishman, is he 

** No, he is an emigrant." 

**An emigrant ! O, ho!" cried Vincent, 


with a discontented and contemptuous 
raise of his eye-brows ; what, a poor 
Frenchman ! Good Lord, how this town 
is overrun with these fellows !" 

" No, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Rob- 
son, much hurt at this affront to her 
lodger, whom she really loved, " whatever 
he be, he is not poor^ for he has a power 
of fine things : he has got a watch all 
over diamonds, and diamond rings, and 
diamond pictures without number. So, 
Doctor, you need not fear you are at- 
tending him for charity j no, I would sell 
my gown first." 

" Nay, don't be offended, Mrs. Rob- 
son ! I meant no offence," returned he, 
much mollified by this explanation ; 
" but really, when we see the bread that 
should feed our children, and our own 
poor, eaten up by a parcel of lazy French 
drones, who cover our land and destroy 
its produce like a swarm of filthy locusts, 
we should be fools not to murmur. But, 
Mr. — y Mr. — , what did you call him, 


Mrs. Robson ? is a different sort of a 

** Mr. Constantine/' replied she, " and 
indeed he is ; and no doubt, when you 
recover him, he wdll pay you as though 
he were in his own country." 

This last assertion banished all remain- 
ing suspicion from the apothecary ; and, 
after giving the good w^oman what orders 
he thought requisite, he returned home, 
promising to call in the evening. 

Mrs. Robson went up stairs to the 
Count's chamber, with other sentiments 
towards her sapient doctor than those 
with which she came down. She well 
recollected the substance of his dis- 
course ; and she gathered from it, that 
however clever he might be in his pro- 
fession, he was a hard-hearted man, who 
would rather see a fellow-creature perish, 
than administer relief to him without a 

But here Mrs. Robson was mistaken. 
She did him justice in esteeming his me- 


dical abilities, which were great : he had 
made medicine the study of his Hfe ; and, 
not allowing any other occupation to dis- 
turb his attention, he became master of 
that science, but remained ignorant of 
every other with which it had no con- 
nection. He was the father of a family j 
and, in the usual acceptation of the term, 
a very good sort of a man ; he preferred 
his country to every other, because it was 
his country : he loved his wife and his 
children : he was kind to the poor, to 
whom he gave his advice gratis, and let- 
ters to the Dispensary for drugs; and 
when he had any broken victuals to spare, 
he desired that it might be divided 
amongst them ; but he seldom caught 
his maid obeying this part of his com- 
mands, without reprimanding her for her 
extravagance in giving away what ought 
to be eaten in the kitchen : — "in these 
times it was a shame to waste a crumb ; 
and the careless hussey would come to 


want, for thinking so lightly of other 
people's property." 

Thus, like many in the world, he was 
a loyal citizen by habit, an affectionate 
father from nature, and a man of charity, 
because he now and then felt pity, and 
now and then heard it preached from the 
pulpit. He was exhorted to be pious, 
and to pour wine and oil into the wounds 
of his neighbour ; but it never once 
struck him, that piety extended farther 
than going to church, mumbling his 
prayers, and forgetting the sermon, 
through most of which he generally 
slept : and his commentaries on the 
Good Samaritan were not more exten- 
sive ; for it was so difficult to make him 
comprehend who was his neighbour, that 
the object of the argument might have 
been sick, dead, and buried before he 
could be persuaded that he had any 
claims on his care. Indeed, his " cha- 
rity began at home ;'' and it was so fond 
of its residence, that it ** stopped there." 


To have been born on the other side of 
tlie British Channel, spread an ocean 
between the poor foreigner and Mr. Vin- 
cent's purse, which the swiftest wings of 
charity could never cross. *' He saw no 
reason," he said, " for feeding the na- 
tural enemies of our country. Would 
any man be mad enough to take the 
meat from his children's mouths, and 
throw it to a swarm of wolves just landed 
on the coast ?" These wolves were his 
favourite metaphors, when he spoke of 
the unhappy French, or of any other 
pennyless foreigners that came in his 

After this explanation, it will appear 
paradoxical to mention an inconsistency 
in the mind of Mr. Vincent, which never 
permitted him to discover the above 
Cainish mark of outlawry, upon the 
wealthy stranger of whatever country. 
In fact, it was with him as with many : 
riches were a splendid and thick robe 
that concealed all blemishes j take it 


away, and probably the poor stripped 
wretch would be treated worse than a 

That his new patient possessed some 
property, was sufficient to ensure the re- 
spect and medical skill of Mr. Vincent ; 
and when he entered his own house, he 
told his wife he had found " a very good 
job at Mrs. Robson's, in the illness of 
her lodger." 

When the Count Sobieski quitted the 
Hummums on the evening in which he 
brought away his baggage, he was so dis- 
concerted by the impertinence of the man 
who accosted him there, that he deter- 
mined not to expose himself to a similar 
insult by retaining a title which might 
subject him to the curiosity of the insolent 
and insensible ; and, therefore, when Mrs. 
Robson asked him how she should address 
him, as he was averse to assume a feigned 
name, he merely said Mr, Constantine, 

Under that unobtrusive character, he 
hoped in time to accommodate his ^qqU 


iiigs to the change of fortune which Pro- 
vidence had allotted to him. He must 
forget his nobility, his pride, and his sen- 
sibility; he must earn his subsistence. 
But by what means ? He was ignorant of 
business ; and he knew not how to turn 
his accomplishments to account. — Such 
were his meditations, until illness and 
delirium deprived him of them and of 
reason together. 

At the expiration of a week, in which 
Mr, Vincent attended his patient very 
regularly, Sobieski was able to remove 
into the front room ; but uneasiness 
about the debts he had so unintentionally 
incurred, retarded his recovery ; and 
made his hours pass away in cheerless 
meditation on the means of repaying the 
good widow, and of satisfying the avidity 
of the apothecary. Pecuniary obligation 
was a load to which he was unaccustomed ; 
and once or twice the wish almost escaped 
his heart, that he had died. 


Whenever he was left to think, such 
were his reflections. Mrs. Robson dis- 
covered that he appeared more feverish 
and had worse nights after being much 
alone during the day, and therefore con- 
trived, though she was obliged to be in 
her little shop, to leave either Nanny to 
attend his wants, or little WiUiam to 
amuse him. 

This child, by its uncommon quick- 
ness, and artless manner, gained upon the 
Count, who was ever alive to helplessness 
and innocence. Children and animals 
had always found a friend and protector 
in him. From the ^^ majestic war-horse, 
with his neck clothed in thunder ," to 
" the poor beetle that we tread upon ;" 
every creature of creation, met an ad- 
vocate of mercy in his breast: and as 
human nature is prone to love what it 
has been kind to, Thaddeus never saw 
either children, dogs, or even that poor 
.slandered and abused animal, the cat, 


without showing them some spontaneous 
act of attention. 

Whatever of his affection he could spare 
from memory, the Count lavished upon 
the little William. He hardly ever left 
his side, where he sat on a stool, prattling 
about any thing that came into his head ; 
or, seated on his knee, followed with his 
eyes and playful fingers the hand of 
Thaddeus, as he sketched a horse or a 
soldier for his pretty companion. 



JDY these means Thaddeus slowly ac- 
quired sufficient strength to allow hun to 
quit his dressing-gown, and prepare for 
a walk. 

A hard frost succeeded to the chilling 
damps of November ; and looking out of 
tlie window, he longed, almost eagerly, 
again to inhale the fresh air. After some 
tender altercations with Mrs. Robson, 
who feared to trust him even down stairs, 
he at length conquered ; and taking the 
little William in his hand, folded his 
pelisse round him, and promising to 
venture no farther than the King's Mews, 
was suffered to go out. 

As he expected, he found the keen 
breeze act like a charm on his debilitated 
frame ; and with braced nerves and ex- 
hilarated spirits he walked twice up and 
down the place, whilst his companion 

VOL. I, o 


played before him, throwing stones and 
running to pick them up. At this mo- 
ment one of the King's carriages, pur- 
sued by a concourse of people, suddenly 
drove in at the Charing-cross gate. 
The frightened child screamed and fell. 
Thaddeus darted forward, and seizing 
the heads of the horses, which were 
within a yard of the boy, stopped them ; 
meanwhile, the mob gathering about, 
one of them raised William, who con- 
tinued his cries. The Count now let 
go the reins, and for a few minutes tried 
to pacify his little charge ; but finding 
that his alarm and shrieks were not to 
be quelled, and that his own figure, 
from its singularity of dress, (his high 
cap and feathers adding to his height,) 
drew on him the whole attention of the 
people, he took the trembling child in 
his arms, and walking through the 
Mews, was followed by some of the bye- 
standers to the very door of Mrs. Rob- 
son's shop. 


Seeing the people, and her grandson 
sobbing on the breast of her guest, she 
ran out, and hastily asked what had 
happened. Thaddeus simply answered, 
the child had been frightened. But 
when they entered the house, and he 
had thrown himself exhausted on a seat, 
William, as he stood by his knee, told 
his grandmother, that if Mr. Constantine 
had not stopped the horses, he must have 
been run over. The Count was now 
obliged to relate the whole story; which 
ended with the blessings of the poor 
woman, for his goodness in risking his 
own life for the preservation of her dar- 
ling child. 

Thaddeus in vain assured her the ac* 
tion deserved no thanks. 

" Well," cried she, " it is like your- 
self, Mr. Constantine : you think all your 
good deeds nothing ; and yet any little 
odd thing that I can do out of pure love 
to serve you, you cry up to the skies. 
However, we won't fall out ; I say, Hea- 
o ^ 


ven bless you, and that is enough ! — 
Has your walk refreshed you? But I need 
not ask ; you have got a fine colour." 

" Yes," returned he, rising and taking 
off his cap and cloak, ** it has put me 
in a glow, and made me quite another 
creature." As he finished speaking, he 
dropped the things from the hand that 
held them, and staggered back a few 
paces against the wall. 

**Good Lord! what is the matter?" 
cried Mrs. Robson, looking in his face, 
which was now as pale as death ; « what 
is the matter ?" 

"Nothing, nothing," returned he, re- 
covering himselfj and gathering up the 
cloak he had let fall, " don't mind me, 
Mrs. Robson ; nothing :" and he was 
leaving the kitchen, but she followed 
him, terrified at his look and manner. 

" Pray, Mr. Constantine !" 

"Nay, my dear madam," said he, lead- 
ing her back, "I am not well; I believe 
my walk has overcome me. Let me be 


a few minutes alone, till I have recovered 
myself. It will oblige me." 

•* Well, Sir, as you please !" and 
then, laying her withered hand fearfully 
upon his arm, "forgive me, dear Sir,'* 
said she, " if my attentions are trouble- 
some. Indeed, I fear, that sometimes 
great love appears like great imperti- 
nence ; I would always be serving you, 
and therefore I often forget the wide 
difference between Your Honour's station 
and mine." 

The Count could only press her hand 
gratefully, and with an emotion that 
made him hurry up stairs. When in his 
own room, he shut the door, and cast a 
wild and inquisitive gaze around the 
apartment ; then throwing himself into 
a chair, he struck his head with his hand, 
and exclaimed, ** It is gone ! What will 
become of me? Of this poor woman, 
whose substance I have consumed?" 

It was true, the watch, by the sale of 
which he had calculated to defray the 
o 3 


charges of his illness, was indeed lost. 
A villain, in the crowd, having perceived 
the sparkling of the chain, had taken it 
unobserved from his side; and he knew 
nothing of his loss, until feeling for his 
watch to see the hour, he discovered his 

The shock went like a stroke of elec- 
tricity through his frame; but it was not 
until the last glimmering of hope was ex- 
tinguished, on examining his room where 
he thought he might have left it, that he 
saw the full horror of his situation. 

He sat for some minutes, absorbed, and 
almost afraid to think. It was not his 
own, but the necessities of the poor 
woman, who had, perhaps, incurred 
debts on herself to afford him comforts, 
which bore so hard upon him. At last, 
rising from his seat, he exclaimed, 

" I must determine on something. 
Since this is gone, I must seek what else 
I have to part with, for 1 cannot long 
bear my present feelings." 


He opened the drawer which contained 
his few valuables. 

With a trembling hand he took them out 
one by one. There were several trinkets 
which had been given to him by his mo- 
ther ; and a pair of inlaid pistols, which 
his grandfather put into his belt on the 
morning of the dreadful tenth of October ; 
his miniature lay beneath them : the mild 
eyes of the Palatine seemed beaming with 
affection upon his grandson : Thaddeus 
snatched it up, kissed it fervently, and 
then laid it back into the drawer, whilst 
he hid his face with his hands. 

When he recovered himself, he replaced 
the pistols, believing that it would be sa- 
crilege to part with them. Without al- 
lowing himself time to think, he put a 
gold pencil-case and a pair of brilliant 
sleeve-buttons into his waistcoat-pocket. 

He descended the stairs with a soft 

step, and passing the kitchen-door un- 

perceived by his landlady, crossed through 

a little court j and then anxiously look- 

o 4 


ing from right to left, to find any place 
in which he might probably dispose of 
the trinkets, he took his way up Castle- 
street, and along Leicester-square. 

When he turned up the first street to 
his right, he was impeded by two persons 
who stood in his path, the one selling, 
the other buying a hat. The thought 
immediately struck Thaddeus of asking 
one of these men (who appeared to be 
a Jew and a vender of clothes) to pur- 
chase his pelisse. By parting with a 
thing to which he annexed no more value 
than the warmth it afforded him, he 
should possibly spare himself the pain, 
for this time at least, of sacrificing those 
gifts of his mother which had been be- 
stowed upon him in happier days, and 
hallowed by her caresses. 

He did not permit himself to hesitate, 
but desired the Jew to follow him into a 
neighbouring court. The man obeyed ; 
and having no ideas independent of his 
trade, asked the Count what he wanted 
to buy ? 


" Nothing : I want to sell this pe- 
lisse,'* returned he, opening it. The 
Jew, without any ceremony, inspected 
the covering and the fur. 

" Aye, I see it is black cloth, lined 
with sable; but who would buy it of me? 
It is embroidered, and nobody wears 
such things here." 

** Then I am answered," replied Thad- 

"Stop, Sir," cried the Jew, pursuing 
him ; ** what will you take for it ?" 

" What would you give me ?" 

** Let me see. It is very long and wide. 
At the utmost I cannot offer you more 
than five guineas." 

A few months ago, it had cost the 
Count a hundred ; but glad to get any 
money, however small, he readily closed 
with the man's price y and, taking off the 
cloak, gave it to him, and put the guineas 
into his pocket. 

He had not walked much farther, be- 
fore the piercing cold of the evening, 
o 5 


and a shower of snow, which began to 
fall, made him feel the effects of his loss ; 
however that did not annoy him ; he had 
been too heavily assailed by the pityless 
rigours of misfortune, to regard the 
pelting of the elements. Whilst the 
wind blew in his face, and the sleet fall- 
ing on his dress, lodged in its embroi- 
dered lappels, he went forward, calcu- 
lating whether it were likely that this 
money, with the few shillings he yet pos- 
sessed, would be sufficient to discharge 
what he owed. Unused as he had been 
to all kinds of expenditure which re- 
quired attention, he supposed from what 
he had already seen of a commerce with 
the world, that the sum he had received 
from the Jew was not above half what he 
wanted; and with a beating heart he 
walked towards, one of those shops, 
which Mrs. Robson had described, when 
speaking of the irregularities of her son, 
who had nearly reduced her to beggary,. 
The candles were lit. And, as he ho- 


vered about the door, he distinctly saw 
the master through the glass, assorting 
some parcels on the counter. He was a 
gentleman-like man ; and the Count's 
feelings took quite a different turn from 
those with which he had accosted the 
Jew J who, being a low sordid wretch, 
looked upon the people with whom he 
trafficked as pieces of wood. Thaddeus 
felt little repugnance at bargaining with 
him : but the sight of a respectable per- 
son, before whom he was to present him- 
self as a man in poverty, as one who in a 
manner appealed to charity, all at once 
overcame the resolution of Sobieski, and 
he debated whether or not he should re- 
turn. Mrs. Robson, and her probable 
distresses, rose before him j and, fearful 
of trusting his pride any farther, he pulled 
his cap over his face, and entered the 

The man bowed very civilly on his eii- 
trance, and requested to be honoured 
with his commands. Thaddeus felt his 
o 6 


face glow; but indignant at his own 
weakness, he laid the gold case on the 
counter, and said, in a voice which, not- 
withstanding his emotion, he compelled 
to be without appearance of confusion, 
"I want to part with this.'* 

Astonished at the dignity of his air, 
and the nobility of his dress, for the star 
did not escape the shopkeeper's eye, he 
looked at him for a moment, holding the 
case in his hand. Hurt by the steadiness 
of his gaze, the Count rather haughtily 
repeated what he had said. The man 
hesitated no longer. He had been ac- 
customed to similar requests from the 
emigrant French noblesse : but there was 
a loftiness, and an air of authority in the 
countenance and mien of this person, 
which surprised and awed him ; and with 
a respect which even the application 
could not counteract, he opened the case, 
and inquired of Thaddeus, what was the 
price he affixed to it. 

'< I leave that to you," replied he. 


" The gold is solid," returned the 
man, " but it is very thin ; I cannot give 
more than three guineas. Though the 
workmanship is tine, it is not in the 
fashion of England, and will be of no 
benefit to me till it is melted. 

" You may have it," said Thaddeus, 
hardly able to articulate, as he saw the 
gift of his mother pass into a stranger's 

The man directly paid him down the 
money, and the Count with a bursting 
heart darted out of the shop. 

Mrs. Robson was shutting up the win- 
dows of her little parlour, when he hastily 
passed her, and glided up the stairs. 
Hardly believing her senses, she hastened 
after him, and just got into the room as 
he drank off a glass of water. 

** Good Lord, Sir," cried she; 
** where has Your Honour been? I 
thought you were all the while in the 
house, and I would not come near, 
though I was very uneasy ; and there 


has been poor William crying himself 
blind, because you desired to be left 

Thaddeus was unprepared to make an 
answer. He was in hopes to have gotten 
in as he had stolen out, undiscovered ; 
for he determined not to agitate her good 
mind, by the history of his loss. He would 
not allow her to know any thing of his 
embarrassments, from a sentiment of jus- 
tice, as well as from that pride, which all 
his sufferings and philosophy could not 
wholly subdue. 

" I have been taking a walk, Mrs. 

" Dear heart! I thought when you 
staggered back, and looked so ill, after 
you brought in William, you had over- 
walked yourself!'* 

" No; I fancy my fears had a little 
discomposed me j and I hoped that more 
air might do me good ; I tried it, and it 
has : but I am grieved for having alarmed 


This ambiguous speech satisfied his 
kind landlady ; and, fatigued by a bodily 
exertion, which, in the present feeble 
state of his frame, nothing less than the 
perturbation of his mind could have car- 
ried him through, Thaddeus went di- 
rectly to bed ; where tired nature soon 
found temporary repose in a profound 



1\ext morning, Sobieski found himself 
rather better than worse by the exertions 
of the preceding day. When Nanny ap- 
peared as usual with his breakfast, and 
little William, (who always sat on his 
knee, and shared his bread and butter,) 
he desired her to request her grand- 
mother to send to Mr. Vincent with his 
compliments, and to tell him, he was so 
well at present as to decline any farther 
medical aid, and therefore wished to 
have his bill. 

Mrs. Robson, who could not forget the 
behaviour of the apothecary, undertook 
to deliver the message herself, happy in 
the triumphs she should enjoy over the 
littleness of Mr. Vincent's suspicions. 

After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, 


she re-appeared in the Count's rooms 
with the apothecary's assistant ; who, 
with many thanks, received the sum total 
of his accompt, which amounted to three 
guineas for ten days' attendance. 

The man having withdrawn, Thaddeus 
told Mrs. Robson, he should next defray 
the smallest part of the vast debt, he 
must ever owe to her parental care. 

" O, bless your Honour ; it goes to my 
heart to take a farthing of you ! but 
•these poor children," cried she, laying a 
hand on each, and her eyes glistening ; 
" they look up to me as their all here j 
and my quarter-day was yesterday, else, 
dear Sir, I should scorn to be like Doctor 
Vincent, and take your money the moment 
you offer it." 

« My good madam," returned Sobieski, 
giving her a chair, "I am sensible of 
your kindness : but it is your just due j 
and the payment of it can never lessen 
my gratitude for the friendship which you 
have shown to me, a poor stranger," 


" Then, there, Sir," said she, look- 
ing almost as ashamed as if she were 
robbing him, when she laid it on the 
table ; " there is my bill. I have regu^ 
larly set down every thing. Nanny will 
bring it to me." And quite disconcerted, 
the good woman hurried out of the 

Thaddeus looked after her with admir- 
ation and reverence. 

" There goes," thought he, " in that 
lowly and feeble frame, as generous and 
noble a spirit as ever animated the breast 
of a princess ! — Here, Nanny," said he, 
glancing his eye over the paper, «« there 
is the gold, with my thanks ; and tell 
your grandmother I am astonished at her 

This affair over, the Count was re- 
lieved of a grievous load 5 and turning 
the remaining money in his hand, how 
he might replenish the little stock before 
it were expended, next occupied his 
attention. Notwithstanding the pawn* 


broker's civil treatment, he recoiled at 
again presenting himself at his shop. Be- 
sides, should he dispose of all that he pos- 
sessed, it would not be of sufficient value 
to subsist him for a month. He must think 
of some source within himself that was 
not likely to be so soon exhausted. To 
be reduced a second time to the misery 
which he had endured yesterday, from 
suspense and wretchedness, appeared too 
dreadful to be hazarded, and he ran 
over in his memory the different merits 
of his several accomplishments. 

He could not make any use of his mu- 
sical talents, for at public exhibitions of 
himself, his soul revolted ; and as to his 
literary acquirements, his youth, and be- 
ing a foreigner, precluded all hopes on 
that head. At length he found that his 
sole dependence must rest on his talents 
for painting. Of this art he had always 
been remarkably fond ; and his taste 
easily perceived that there were many 
drawings exhibited for sale, much in^ 


ferior to those which he had executed for 
mere amusement. 

He decided at once ; and purchasing, 
by the means of Nanny, pencils and In- 
dian ink, he set to work. 

When he had finished half-a-dozen 
drawings, and was considering how he 
might find the street in which he had 
seen the print-shops, the recollection oc- 
curred to him of the impression his ap- 
pearance had made on the pawnbroker. 
He perceived the wide difference between 
his apparel and the fashion of England ; 
and seeing with what security from im- 
pertinence he might walk about, could 
he so far cast off the relics of his former 
rank as to change his dress, he got up 
with an intention to go out and purchase 
a surtout coat and hat, for that purpose; 
but catching an accidental view of his 
figure and the star of St. Stanislaus, as 
he passed the glass to the door, he no 
longer wondered at the curiosity which 
such an appendage, united with poverty^ 


had attracted. Rather than again sub- 
ject himself to a similar situation, he 
summoned his young messenger ; and, 
by her assistance, furnished himself with 
an English hat and coat, whilst, with his 
penknife, he cut away the embroidery of 
the order, from the cloth to which it was 

Thus accoutred with his hat flapped 
over his face, and his great coat wrapped 
round him, he put his drawings into his 
bosom, and about eight o'clock walked 
out on his disagreeable errand. After 
some wearying search, he at last found 
Great Newport-street, the place he 
wanted ; but as he advanced, his hopes 
died away, and his fears and reluctance 

He stopped at the door of the nearest 
print-shop. All that he had suffered at 
the pawnbroker's re-assailed him with 
redoubled violence. What he presented 
there possessed a fixed value, and was at 
once to be taken or refused ; but now he 


was going to offer things of mere taste, 
and he might meet not only with a denial, 
but affronting remarks. 

He walked to the threshold of the door, 
then as hastily withdrew, and hurried two 
or three paces down the street. 

«* Weak, contemptible that I am!" said 
he to himself, as he again turned round, 
" where is all my reason and rectitude of 
principle, that I would rather endure the 
misery of dependence and self-reproach, 
than dare the attempt to seek support 
from the fruits of my own industry ?" 

He quickened his step, and started into 
the shop, almost fearful of his former 
irresolution. He threw his drawings in- 
stantly upon the counter. 

" Sir, you purchase drawings. I have 
these to sell. Will they suit you ?'* 

The man took them up without deign- 
ing to look at the person who accosted 
him, and turning them over in his hand, 
" One, two, three, hum ! there is half-a- 
dozen. What do you expect for them?'* 


"I am not acquainted with the prices 
of these things." 

The printseller, hearing this, thought, 
by managing well, to get them for what 
he liked, and throwing them over with an 
air of contempt, resumed, 

" And pray, where may the views be 
taken ?" 

" They are recollections of scenes in 

" Ah," replied the man, "mere drugs] 
I wish, honest friend, you could have 
brought subjects not quite so threadbare, 
and a little better executed ; they are 
but poor things ! But every dauber, now- 
a-days, sets up for a fine artist ; and 
thinks tjoe are to ^ay him for idleness and 

Insulted by this speech, and, above all, 
by the manner of the printseller, Thad- 
deus was snatching up the drawings to 
leave the shop without a word, when the 
man observing his design, and afraid to 


lose them, laid his hand on the heap, ex- 

** Let me tell you, young man, it does 
not become a person in your situation to 
be so huffy to their employers. I will 
give you a guinea for the six, and you 
may think yourself well paid." 

Without further hesitation, whilst the 
Count was striving to subdue the choler 
w^hich urged him to knock him down, 
tlie man laid the gold on the counter, 
and was slipping the drawings into a 
drawer ; but Thaddeus snatching them 
out again, suddenly rolled them up, and 
walked out of the shop as he said : 

" Not all the money, of all your tribe, 
would tempt an honest man to pollute 
himself by exchanging a second word 
with one so contemptible." 

Irritated at this unfeeling treatment, 
he returned home too much provoked to 
think of the consequences which might 
Ibllow a similar disappointment. 


Having become used to the fluctu- 
ations of his looks and behaviour, the 
widow ceased altogether to tease him 
with enquiries she saw he was loth to 
answer. She now allowed him to walk in 
and out without a remark ; and silently 
contemplated his pale and melancholy 
countenance, when, after a ramble of 
the greatest part of the day, he returned 
home exhausted and dispirited. 

William was always the first to welcome 
his friend at the threshold, by running to 
him, taking hold of his coat, and asking 
to go with him up stairs. The Count 
usually gratified him ; and brightened 
many dull hours, with his innocent 

This child was literally his only earthly 
comfort ; for he saw that in him, he 
could still excite those emotions of hap- 
piness which had once afforded him his 
sweetest joy. William ever greeted him 
with smiles ; and when he entered the 
kitchen, sprang to his bosom, as if that 

VOL. I. p 


were the seat of peace, as it was of 
virtue. But, alas ! fate seemed averse to 
lend any thing long to the unhappy 
Thaddeus, which might render his deso^ 
late state more tolerable. 

Just risen from the bed of sickness, he 
required the hand of some tender nurse 
to restore his wasted vigour, instead of 
being reduced to the hard vigils of 
poverty and want. His recent disap* 
pointment, added to a cold which he 
caught, increased his fever and debility ; 
yet he adhered to the determination, not 
to appropriate to his own subsistence, 
the few valuables he had assigned as a 
deposit for the charges of his rent* 
During a fortnight he never tasted any 
thing better than bread and water ; but 
this hermit's fare was accompanied by 
the thought, that if it ended in death, 
his sufferings would then be over ; and 
the widow amply remunerated by what 
little of his property remained. 

In this state of body and mind he re* 


ceived a most painful shock, when one 
evening returning from a walk of many 
hours, in the place of his little favourite, 
he met Mrs. Robson in tears at the door. 
She told him William had been sickening 
all the day, and was now so delirious, that 
neither she nor his sister could hold him 

Thaddeus went to the side of the child's 
bed, where he lay gasping on the pillow, 
held down by the crying Nanny. The 
Count touched his cheek. 

" Poor child," exclaimed he, " he is in 
a high fever. Have you sent for Mr, 
Vincent ?" 

" O, no J I had not the heart to leave 

" Then I will go directly," returned 
Thaddeus ; *' there is not a moment to 
be lost." 

The poor woman thanked him. Hasten- 
ing through the streets with an eagerness 
which nearly overset several of the foot- 
passengers, he arrived at Lincoln's Inn 
p 2 


Fields J and in less than five minutes 
after he had quitted Mrs. Robson's door, 
he returned with the apothecary. 

On Mr. Vincent's examining the pulse 
and countenance of his little patient, he 
declared the symptoms to be the small- 
pox, which some casualty had repelled. 

In a paroxysm of distress, Mrs. Robson 
recollected that a girl had been brought 
into her shop three days ago, just re* 
covered from that frightful malady. 

Thaddeus tried to subdue the fears of 
the grandmother ; and at last succeeded 
in persuading her to go to bed, whilst h€5. 
and Nanny would watch by the pillow of 
the invalid. 

Towards morning the disorder broke 
out in tlie child's face, and he recovered 
his recollection. The moment he fixed 
his eyes on the Count, who was leaning 
over him, he stretched out his little arms 
and begged to lie on his breast. Thad- 
deus refused him gently, fearing that by 
any change of position, he might catch 


cold, and so again retard what had now 
so fortunately appeared ; but the poor 
child thought the denial unkind, and 
began to weep so violently, that his 
anxious friend believed it better to gra- 
tify him than hazard the irritation of his 
fever by agitation and crying. 

Thaddeus took him out of bed, and, 
rolling him in one of the blankets, laid 
him in his bosom, and drawing his dress- 
ing gown, to shield his little face from 
the fire, held him in that situation asleep 
&r nearly two hours. 

When Mrs. Robson came down stairs 
at six o*clock in the morning, she kissed 
the hand of the Count as he sustained 
her grandson in his arms; and, almost 
speechless with gratitude to him, and so- 
licitude for the child, waited the arrival 
of the apothecary. 

On his second visit, he said a few words 
to her of comfort ; but whispered to the 
Count, as he was feeling William's pulse, 
P 3 


that nothing short of the strictest care 
could save the boy, the infection he had 
received having been of the most malig- 
nant kind. 

These words fell like an unrepealable 
sentence on the heart of Thaddeus. 
Looking on the discoloured features of 
the patient infant, he fancied that he al- 
ready beheld his clay-cold face, and its 
little limb stretched in death. The idea 
was bitterness to him ; and pressing the 
boy to his breast, he resolved that no at* 
tention should be wanting on his part, to 
preserve him from the grave. And he 
kept his- promise. 

From that hour until the day in which 
the poor babe expired in his arms, he 
never laid him out of them for ten mi- 
nutes together : and when he did breathe 
his last sigh, and raised up his little eyes, 
Thaddeus met their dying glance with a 
pang, which he thought his soul had long 
lost the power to feel. His heart seemed 
to stop ; and covering the motionless face 


of the dead child with his hand, he made 
a sign to Nanny to leave the room. 

The girl, who from respect had been 
accustomed to obey his slightest nod, 
went to her grandmother in the shop. 

The instant the girl quitted the room, 
with mingled awe and grief the Count 
lifted the Httle corpse from his knee; 
and without allowing himself to cast 
another glance on the face of the poor 
infant now released from suffering, he 
put it on the bed, and throwing the 
sheet over it, sunk into a chair and burst 
into tears. 

The entrance of Mrs. Robson in some 
measure restored him ; for the moment 
she perceived her guest with his handker- 
chief over his eyes, she judged what had 
happened, and with a piercing scream 
flew forward to the bed, where pulling 
down the covering, she uttered another 
shriek, and must have fallen on the floor 
had not Thaddeus and little Nanny, who 
p 4 


ran in at her cries, caught her in their 
arms and bore her to a chair. 

Her soul was too much agitated to 
allow her to continue long in a state of 
insensibility ; and when she recovered, 
she would again have approached the 
deceased child, but the Count withheld 
her, and, trying by every means in his 
power to soothe her, so far succeeded as 
to melt her agonies into tears. 

Whilst she concealed her venerable 
head in the bosom of her grand-daughter, 
he once more lifted the remains of the 
little William j and thinking it best, for the 
tranquillity of the unhappy grandmother, 
to take him out of her sight, carried him 
up stairs and laid him on his own bed. 

By tlie time he returned to the humble 
parlour, one of the female neighbours 
having heard an unusual outcry, and sus- 
pecting the cause, kindly stepped in to 
offer her consolation and services. Mrs. 
Robson could only reply by sobs, which 
were answered by the loud weeping of 


poor Nanny, who lay with her head 
against the table. ^ 

When the Count came down he 
thanked the good woman for her bene- 
volent intentions, and took her up stairs 
into his apartments. Pointing to the 
open door of the bed-room, '« There^ 
Madam," said he, " you will find the 
remains of my dear little friend. I beg 
you will direct every thing for his inter- 
ment, as you think will give satisfaction 
to Mi's. Robson. I would spare that ex- 
cellent woman every pang in my power." 

All was done according to his desire j 
and Mrs. Watts, the charitable neighbour, 
excited by a good disposition and rever- 
ence for " the extraordinary young gen- 
tleman who lodged with her friend," 
performed her task with kindness and 

<* O ! Sir," cried Mrs. Robson, weep- 
ing afresh as she entered the Count's 
room, " O ! Sir, how shall I ever repay 
all your goodness ? and Mrs. Watts ? She 
F 5 


has acted like a sister to me. But in- 
deed, indeed, I am yet the most miser- 
able woman that lives. I have lost my 
dearest child, and must strip his poor 
sister and myself to bury him. That 
cruel Dr. Vincent, though he might have 
imagined my distress, sent his accompt 
late last night, saying he wanted to make 
up a large bill, and he wished I would let 
him have all or part of the payment. 
Heaven knows, I have not a farthing in 
the house ; but I will send poor little 
Nanny to pawn my silver spoons ; for, 
alas ! I have no other means of satisfying 
the cruel man." 

" Rapacious wretch !" cried Thad- 
deus, rising indignantly from his chair, 
and for a moment forgetting how inca- 
pable he was to afford relief: " you shall 
not be indebted one instant to his mercy. 
I will pay him." 

The words had passed his lips : he 
could not retract, though conviction im- 
mediately followed, that he had not the 


means ; and he would not have retracted 
even should he be necessitated to part 
with every thing he most valued. 

Mrs. Robson was overwhelmed by this 
generous promise, which indeed saved 
her from ruin. Had her little plate been 
pledged, it could not have covered one 
half of Mr. Vincent's demaud, who, to 
do him justice, did not mean to cause 
any distress. But having been so readily 
paid by Thaddeus for his own illness, 
and observing his great care and affec* 
tion for the deceased child, he did not 
doubt, that rather than allow Mrs. Rob- 
son a minute's uneasiness, her lodger 
would defray his bill. So far he calcu- 
lated right ; but he had not sufficient 
sagacity to foresee, that in getting his 
money this way, he should lose the future 
business of Mrs. Robson and her friend. 

The child was to be buried on the mor- 
row ; the expenses of which event, Thad- 
deus saw he must discharge also ; — and 
he had engaged to pay Mr. Vincent that 
p 6 


night. He had not a shilling in his purse. 
Over and over, he contemplated the im- 
practicability of answering these debts 5 
yet he could not for an instant repent 
of what he had undertaken : he thought 
he was amply recompensed for bearing 
so heavy a load, in knowing that he had 
taken it off the worn- down heart of an- 



feiNCE the Count's unmannerly treatment 
at the printseller's, he had not sufficiently 
conquered his pride, to attempt an appli- 
cation to another. Therefore, he had no 
prospect of collecting the money he had 
pledged himself to Mrs. Robson to pay, 
but by selling some more of his valuables 
to the pawnbroker. 

For this purpose he took his sabre, his 
pistols, and the fated brilhants he had 
brought back on a similar errand. — He 
drew them from their deposit with less 
reluctance than before. They were now 
going to be devoted to gratitude and 
benevolence ; an act which he knew his 
parents, were they alive, would warmly 
approve ; and here he allowed the end 
to sanctify the means. 

About half after six in the evening, he 


prepared himself for his task. Whether 
it be congenial with melancholy to seek 
the gloom, or whether the Count found 
himself less observed under the shades 
of night, is not evident ; but since his 
exile, he preferred the dusk to any other 
part of the day. 

Before he went out, he asked Mrs, 
Robson for Mr. Vincent's bill. Sinking 
with obligation and shame, she put it in- 
to his hand, and he left the house. When 
he approached a lighted lamp, he opened 
the paper to see the amount ; and find- 
ing it was almost two pounds, he has- 
tened forwards to the pawnbroker's. 

The man was in the shop alone. Thad- 
deus thought himself fortunate ; and, 
after subduing a few qualms, entered 
the door. The moment he laid his 
sword and pistols on the counter, 
and declared his wish, the man, even 
through the disguise of a large coat and 
slouched hat, recollected him. — This 
honest money-lender carried sentiments 


in his breast above his occupation. He 
did not commiserate all who presented 
themselves before him, because many ex- 
hibited, too evidently, the excesses which 
brought them to his shop. — But there 
was something in the figure and manner 
of the Count Sobieski, whick struck him 
at first sight ; and by continuing to pos- 
sess his thoughts, excited such an inter- 
est in his mind, as to produce pleasure 
when he discerned the noble foreigner 
in the person before him. 

Mr. Burket (for so this money-lender 
was called) asked him what he demanded 
for the arms. 

" Perhaps more than you would give. 
But I have something else here," laying 
down the diamonds 5 "I want eight 

Mr. Burket looked at them, and then 
at their owner, hesitated, and then spoke. 

" I beg your pardon. Sir ; I hope I 
shall not offend you, but these things 
appear to have a value independent of 


their price — they are inlaid with crests 
and cyphers." 

The blood flushed over the cheeks of 
the Count. He had forgotten this cir- 
cum stance ; — unable to answer, he 
waited to hear what the man would say 

" I repeat, Sir, I mean not to offend, 
but you appear a stranger to these trans- 
actions. I only wish to suggest, that, in 
case you should ever like to repossess 
these things, had you not better pledge 

" How ?'* asked Thaddeus, irresolutely, 
and not knowing what to think of the 
man's manner. 

At that instant some other people 
came into the shop ; and Mr. Burket, 
gathering up the diamonds and the arms 
in his hands, said, " If you do not object, 
Sir, we will settle this business in my 
back parlour ?" 

The delicacy of this behaviour pene- 
trated the mind of Thaddeus ; and, 


without demurring, he followed him into 
a room. As Mr. Burket offered his guest 
a chair, the Count took off his hat, and 
laid it on the table. Burket contem- 
plated the saddened dignity of his coun- 
tenance, with renewed interest and re- 
spect ; and, entreating him to be seated, 
resumed the conversation. 

" I see, Sir, you do not understand 
the meaning of pledging, or pawning, 
for it is one and the same thing ; but I 
will explain it in two words. If you 
leave these things with me, I will give 
you a paper in acknowledgment, and 
lend on them the guineas you request ; 
which, when you return to me with a 
stated interest, you shall have your de- 
posit in exchange." 

Sobieski received this offer with plea- 
sure and thanks. He had entertained 
no idea of any thing more being meant 
by the trade of a pawnbroker, than a 
man who bought what others wished to 


" Then, Sir," continued Burket, open- 
ing an escrutoire, " I will give you 
the money, and write the paper I spoke 

As he put his hand to a drawer, he 
heard voices in an adjoining passage; 
and instantly shutting the desk, caught 
up the things on the table, threw them 
behind a curtain, and hastily taking the 
Count by the hand, " My dear Sir," 
cried he, *' do oblige me, and step into 
that closet! you will find a chair. A 
person is coming, whom I will dispatch 
in a few seconds." 

Thaddeus, rather surprised at such 
hurry, did as he was desired j and the 
door was closed on him just as the par- 
lour door opened. Being aware from 
such concealment that the visitor came 
on secret business, he found his situation 
not a little awkward. Seated behind a 
curtained window, which the lights in 
the room made transparent, he could not 


avoid seeing, as well as hearing, every 
thing that passed. 

" My dear Mr. Burket,'* cried an ele- 
gant young creature, who ran into the 
apartment, " positively without your as- 
sistance I shall be undone." 

" Any thing in my power. Madam,'* 
returned Mr. Burket, with a distant, re- 
spectful voice : " will Your Ladyship sit 
down ?** 

" Yes ; give me a chair : I am half 
dead with distraction. Mr. Burket, I 
must have another hundred upon those 

" Indeed, My Lady, it is not in my 
power ; you have already had twelve 
hundred ; and, upon my honour, that is a 
hundred and fifty more than I ought to 
have given." 

<* Pugh, who minds the honour of a 
pawnbroker !" cried the lady, laughing : 
<* you know very well you live by cheat* 


" Well, Ma'am," returned he, with a 
good-natured smile, " as Your Ladyship 

" Then I please that you let me have 
another hundred. Why, man, you know 
you lent Mrs. Hinchinbroke two thousand 
upon a case of diamonds not a quarter so 
many as mine." 

" But consider. Madam, Mrs. Hinch- 
inbroke's were of the best water." 

** Positively, Mr. Burnet," exclaimed 
Her Ladyship, purposely miscalling his 
name, " not better than mine ! The King 
of Sardinia gave them to Sir Charles 
when he knighted him. I know mine 
are the best, and I must have another 
hundred. Upon my soul, my servants have 
not had a guinea of board wages these 
four months, and they tell me they are 
starving. Come, make haste, Mr. Bur- 
net, you cannot expect me to stay here 
all night ; give me the money." 

*« Indeed, My Lady, I cannot." 

" Heavens, what a brute of a man you 


are ! There," cried she, taking a string 
of pearls from her neck and throwing it 
on the table, ** lend me some of your 
trumpery out of your shop, for I am go- 
ing immediately from hence to take up 
the Misses Dundas to the play ; and so 
give me the hundred on that, and let me 

** This is not worth a hundred.'* 
" What a teasing man you are !'* cried 
Her Ladyship angrily. " Well, let me 
have the money now, and I will send 
you the bracelets which belong to the 
necklace to-morrow.'' 

" Upon those conditions I will give 
Your Ladyship another hundred." 

" O, do ; you are the veriest miser I 
ever met with. You are worse than 
Shylock, or, — Good Lord ! what is 
this," exclaimed she, interrupting her- 
self, and taking up the draft he had laid 
before her ; "and have you the conscience 
to think, Mr. Pawnbroker, that I will 
offer this at your banker's? that I will 


expose myself so far ? No, no ; take it 
back, and give me gold. Come, dis- 
patch ! else I cannot go to the play. 
Look, there is my purse," added she^ 
showing it, " make haste and fill it." 

After satisfying her demands, Mn 
Burket handed Her Ladyship out the 
way she came in, which was by a private 
passage ; and, having seated her in her 
carriage, made his bow. 

Meanwhile the Count Sobieski, wrap- 
ped in astonishment at the profligacy 
which the scene he had witnessed im- 
plied, remained in concealment until the 
pawnbroker returned and opened the 

" Sir," said he, colouring, ** you have 
undesignedly, on your part, been privy 
to a very delicate affair ; but my credit, 
Sir, and your honour " 

" Shall both be sacred," replied the 
Count, anxious to relieve the poor man 
from his perplexity, and forbearing to 
express surprise : — but Burket per- 


ceived it in his look ; and before he pro- 
ceeded to fulfil his engagement with him, 
stepped half way to the escrutoire, and 

" You appear amazed, Sir> at what you 
have seen. And, if I am not mistaken, 
you are from abroad?'* 

** Indeed I am amazed,'* replied So- 
bieski ; " and I am from a country, where 
the slightest suspicion of a transaction 
such as this, would brand the woman 
with infamy." 

'' And so it ought," answered Burket : 
" though by that assertion I speak against 
my own interest; for it is by such as 
Lady Villiers we make our money. Now, 
Sir," continued he, drawing nearer to 
the table, *' perhaps, after what you have 
just beheld, you will not hesitate to credit 
what I am going to tell you. I have now 
in my hands, the jewels of one duchess, 
of three countesses, and of women of 
fashion without number. When these 
ladies have an ill run at playi they apply 


to me ill their exigencies ; they bring 
their diamonds here, and, as their occa- 
sions require, on this deposit I lend them 
money ; for which they make me a hand- 
some present when the jewels are re- 

** Gracious Heaven 1'* exclaimed Thad- 
deus, " what a degrading system of de- 
ceit must govern the lives of these 
women !" 

" It is very lamentable," returned 
Burket, " but so it is. And they con- 
tinue to manage matters very cleverly. 
By giving me their note or word of ho- 
nour, (for if these ladies are not honour- 
able with me, I know by what hints to 
keep them in order,) I allow them to 
have the jewels out for the birth-days, 
and receive them again when their exhi- 
bition is over. As a compensation for 
these little indulgencies, I expect con- 
siderable additions to the present at the 

Thaddeus could hardly believe such a 


liistory of those women, whom travellers 
mentioned as not only the most lovely, 
but the most amiable creatures in the 

*« Surely, Mr. Burkef cried he, "these 
women must despise each other, and be- 
come contemptible even to our sex.*' 

** O, no,'' rejoined the pawnbroker, 
" they seldom trust each other in these 
aflairs. All my fair customers are not so 
silly as that pretty little lady who just 
now left us. She and another woman of 
quality, have made each other confidants 
in this business. And Lord have mercy 
upon me when they come together ! 
They are as ravenous of my money as if 
it had no other use but to supply them. 
As to their husbands, brothers, and 
fathers, they are usually the last people 
who suspect or hear of these matters : 
their applications, when they run out, 
are made to Jews and professed usurers, 
a race completely out of our line.'* 

VOL. I. Q 


" But are all English women of quality 
of this disgraceful stamp ?" 

" No, Heaven forbid !'* cried Burket : 
** if these female spendthrifts were not 
held in awe by the dread of superior 
characters, we could have no dependence 
on their promises. O, no ; there are 
ladies about the court, whose virtues are 
as eminent as their rank : women, whose 
actions might all be performed in mid- 
day, before the world 5 and them, I never 
see within my doors.' ' 

" Well, Mr. Burket," rejoined Thad- 
deus, smiling, " I am glad to hear that. 
Yet I cannot forget the unexpected view 
of the so famous British fair, which this 
night has offered to my eyes. It is 
strange \" 

** It is very bad, indeed, Sir," returned 
the man, giving him the money and the 
paper he had been preparing ; " but if 
you should have occasion to call again 
upon me, perhaps you may be astonished 
still farther." 


The Count bowed ; and, thanking him 
for his kindness, wished him a good 
evening, and left the shop. 

It was about seven o'clock when Thad- 
deus arrived at the apothecary's. Mr. 
Vincent was from home. To say the 
truth, he had purposely gone out of the 
way. For though he did not hesitate to 
commit a shabby action, he wanted cou- 
rage to face its consequence ; and to 
avoid the probable remonstrances of Mrs. 
Robson, he commissioned his assistant to 
receive the amount of the bill. Without 
making an observation, the Count paid 
the man ; and was returning homeward 
along Duke-Street and the Piazzas of 
Drury-Lane Theatre, when the crowd 
pressing round the doors constrained him 
to stop. 

After two or three ineffectual attempts 
to get through the bustle, he retreated 
a little behind the mob at the moment 
when a chariot drew up, and a gentleman 
stepping out with two ladies, darted with 
Q 2 


them into the house. One glance was 
sufficient for Sobieski, who recognized 
his friend Pembroke Somerset, in high 
dress, gay, and laughing. The heart of 
Thaddeus sprang to him at the sight ; 
and forgetting his neglect, and his own 
misfortunes, he ejaculated, 

" Somerset !" 

Trembling with eagerness and pleasure, 
he pressed through the crowd, and en- 
tered the'^ passage at the instant a green 
door within shut upon his friend. 

His disappointment was dreadful. To 
be so near Somerset, and to lose him, 
was more than he could sustain. His 
bounding heart recoiled ; and the chill 
of despair running through his veins, 
turned him faint. Leaning against the 
door, he took his hat off to give himself 
air. He scarcely had stood a minute in 
this situation revolving whether he 
should follow his friend into the house, 
or wait until he came out again, when a 
gentleman begged him to make way for 


a party of ladies that were entering. 
Thaddeus moved on one side ; but the 
opening of the green door casting a 
strong light both on his face and the 
group behind, his eyes and those of the 
impertinent inquisitor of the Hummums 
met each other. 

Whether the man were conscious that 
he deserved chastisement for his former 
insolence, and dreaded to meet it now, 
cannot be explained ; but he turned pale, 
and shuffled by Thaddeus, as if he were 
fearful to trust himself within reach of 
his grasp. For the Count, he was too 
deeply interested in his own pursuit, to 
waste one surmise upon him. 

He continued to muse on the sight of 
Pembroke Somerset, which had conjured 
up ten thousand fond and distressing re- 
collections ; and with impatient anxiety, 
determining to watch till the perform- 
ance was over, he thought of enquiring 
his friend's address of the servants ; but 


on looking round for that purpose, he 
perceived the chariot had driven away. 

Thus foiled, he returned to his post 
near the green door ; which was opened 
at intervals, by footmen, passing and re- 
passing. Seeing the chamber within was 
a lobby, in which it would be less likely 
he should miss his object, than if he 
stood without, he entered with the next 
person that approached ; and finding 
seats along the sides, sat down on the 
one nearest to the stairs. 

His first idea was to proceed into the 
play-house. But he considered the little 
chance of discovering any particular in- 
dividual in so vast a building, as not 
equal to the expense he must incur. 
Besides, from the dress of the gentlemen 
who entered the box-door, he was sensi- 
ble his great coat and hat were not ad- 

Having remained above an hour with 
his eyes invariably fixed on the stairs, he 
observed that same curious person who 


had passed almost directly after his friend, 
come down the steps and walk out of the 
door. In two minutes he was returning 
with a smirking countenance, when his 
eyes accidentally falling on the Count, 
(wlio sat with his arms folded, and almost 
hidden by the shadow of the wall,) he 
faltered in his walk ; and stretching out 
his neck towards him, the gay grin left 
his features -, and exclaiming in an 
impatient voice, " Confound him !" he 
hastened once more into the house. 

This rencontre with his Hummums ac- 
quaintance, affected Thaddeus as slightly 
as the former; and, without annexing 
even a thought to his figure as it flitted 
by him, he remained watching in the 
passage until half after eleven. At that 
hour, the doors were thrown open, and 
the company began to pour forth. 

The Count's hopes were again on his 
lips and in his eyes. With the first 
party who came down the steps, he rose ; 
and planting himself close to the bottom 
stair drew his hat over his face, and 


narrowly examined each group as it 
descended. Every set that approached, 
made his heart palpitate : how often did 
it rise and fall, during the long succes- 
sion which continued moving for near 
half an hour ! 

By twelve, the house was cleared. He 
saw the middle door locked ; and motion- 
less with disappointment, did not attempt 
to stir, until the man who held the keys 
told him to go, as he was about to fasten 
the other doors. 

This roused Thaddeus ; and as he was 
preparing to obey, he asked the man, if 
there were any other passage from the 

" Yes," cried he, " there is one into 

" Then, by that I have lost him !" was 
the reply which he made to himself. And 
returning homewards, he arrived there a 
few minutes after twelve. 



Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 
New- Street- Square. 


Los Angeles 
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 


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