But we shall very probably be told that what we have advanced is mere nonsense, since Russia, notwithstanding our little dread of her military and diplomatical power, is at present in a position easily to effect the submission of the whole of the Ottoman and Persian dominions, and that then its supremacy over all the European states will soon be realized. To these specious suggestions we could answer by saying that, although we admit that the Russians by cunning and diplomatic intrigues may continue to dictate some partial measures to the Grand Seignior and to the Persian Schah, it would be very difficult and almost impossible for them to conquer entirely the Turks and the Persians. However, for the sake of showing that the arguments of the Russian alarmists are not so impregnable as they think, we will grant that Russia in course of time, nay, within a few years from the present day, either by conquest or by any other means, will become the absolute mistress both of Turkey and Persia. What then? Will any man of sound sense, acquainted with the internal state and with the finances of the Russian empire, be so silly as to be lieve that Russia could then attain to universal supremacy? But we

will go still further by allowing to Russia the conquest of Norway and Denmark, thus giving her the command of the Dardanelles and the Sound. Even then, we are convinced, that Russia would not be better situated nor stronger than it is at present, while England and France alone are enjoying the blessings of liberal institutions, and making great progress towards general civilization, industry, and commerce. In fact, the English and French navy, backed by the wealth of their nations, would very soon put an end to the universal supremacy of the Russian Czar, without even attempting either to foment the insurrection of the numerous dissatisfied and oppressed Russian provinces, or to attack her frontiers by land.

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As for Russia ever being able to exercise its absolute brutal supremacy over the whole west and south of Europe, we boldly say, it is utterly impossible; nay, we assert also with confidence, that were the Russian autocrat to lose by some means or other the existing friendly interested alliance and support of his powerful neighbours, the despots of Austria and Prussia, his northern European dominions would be soon reduced to the size which they possessed when Catherine II. succeeded to her mysteriously murdered husband, and very probably to a smaller size. Besides we think that if Russia

alone were in course of time to undertake a war of conquest either against Austria, or against Prussia, its armies would find it a very difficult task to obtain any substantial advantage over either of them, if they would not be completely beaten; and every sensible man, who has any knowledge of the Austrian and Prussian military resources, organization, and discipline, and of their facility of being able to concentrate on a given point within a short period of time large corps of troops, will easily be of our opinion.

With regard to the fear entertained by some that Russia when once possessed of Turkey and Persia will certainly invade and conquer the Anglo-Indian dominions, we must say that those who gravely listen to such rumours are either out of their senses or know very little of the obstacles which lie between Persia and Hindostan; obstacles which the Russians could never overcome unless an extraordinary change takes place both in their financial and military resources, because we have already demonstrated how precarious has always been their situation whenever they have been engaged in a long war. To conquer Hindostan through Persia, the Russians must necessarily employ numerous military forces, which would be compelled to march during at least twelve months through the barbarous and poor tribes of Afghanistan, across deserted and sterile lands, and over high mountains where there is not the smallest hope of finding the means of providing for the wants of a great invading army, which after all its sufferings would at its arrival on the frontiers of Hindostan find a strong and well-disciplined Anglo-Indian army prepared to annihilate the weary and famishing invaders. Away then with those dreaming alarmists to whom alone Russia owes her present supposed greatness, and her future universal supremacy.

We conclude by remarking with Machiavelli, that the real power of an empire does not consist either in its territorial extent or in the number of its inhabitants, but on its wealth, civilization, and commerce; and, above all, on the compactness of its resources, and homogeneity of its inhabitants. Instead, therefore, of our having any real apprehension from the past aggrandisement and encroachments of the Russian empire, we foresee in consequence of them the seeds of the future dissolution of the Muscovite despotism, which, we affirm with gratitude and pleasure, cannnot continue as it is, so long as civilization is rapidly progressing throughout Europe and on the American continent.

A TRUE STORY.

FROM reason and observation we are led to infer that every creature has its share of joy, and is no less certain than his fellow of undergoing his allotted portion of sorrow. Such at least is the universal opinion, and it cannot be denied that in hours of the most placid ease or extatic enjoyment, we are not unfrequently awakened from our dream of happiness to the recollection of misfortunes which belong to human nature, and I believe that the cloud which then overshadows our spirit derives as much of its darkness from our sympathy with the woes of others, as from that more selfish feeling which would lead us to pay exclusive regard to our own destiny in the checquered mazes of life.

I believe that I may say of those who have themselves felt the miseries known to others by mere description, that their dispositions are softened by misfortune, and that they are rendered more compassionate by the sense of suffering which they have themselves endured. To use the metaphor of an eastern poet, "the sandal tree sheds its perfume on the axe that wounds it." To these I dedicate my tale.

The story I am about to relate is one which aroused in my own bosom feelings of the deepest pity and commiseration, and although its catalogue of miseries is not relieved by any pleasurable incidents, as we most of us derive a melancholy gratification from hearing of the griefs of our fellow-men, I am not aware that any excuse is needed for the unvarying gloom in which its details are shrouded.

In one of those beautiful towns which dot the southern coast of our island, I made some stay in the course of a tour through the western counties of England. It was here that I saw the heroine of my story at one of the annual balls which attract all the fair denizens of the neighbourhood. Adela Mowbray was then in her eighteenth year, her stature was of that middle height which exquisite art has chosen for its beau ideal of feminine beauty, her dark blue eyes were fringed with long and silken eye-lashes, her glossy hair, which vied in blackness with the plumage of the raven, fell in thickly clustered ringlets upon her shoulders; the polished forehead, the Grecian mouth, bordered as it was with lips of the purest vermillion, added to the exquisite symmetry which was displayed in the formation of her limbs, were such that having once looked upon their beauty it was not without difficulty that the eyes were withdrawn from their gazing. But as she was the most lovely of the many beautiful forms which graced that assembly, so also it was easy to perceive that she was the least happy. Her manner was not without cheerfulness, but it appeared to be the result of a painful effort, and the hectic spot that flushed her pale cheek seemed to tell that an inward melancholy, "passing show," had taken possession of her heart, and that as the soul was crushed by the weight of sorrow, so the body was soon to follow in the race of destruction. Her appearance, in good sooth, did not belie her situation, for death had already laid his icy hand upon her. There was something so uncommon and interesting in the pensive gaiety, if I may use such an expression, of this angelic creature, that

I made such enquiries concerning her as were in my power, and one of those good-natured gossipping old ladies, to whom the affairs of every one else are more important than their own, furnished me with the outlines of her history.

Sir Robert Mowbray was the last male representative of a long line of noble ancestors, and the immense estates which by inheritance and bequest had centred in him were the magnificent appanage of this his only daughter. He was the proudest scion of a proud stock, and although his haughtiness was never shown in overbearing conduct to his inferiors, it was not the less deeply seated in his bosom. The rector of one of the parishes belonging to Sir Robert, and in which he usually resided, was his most intimate, perhaps his only intimate, friend. The connection had begun during their residence at college, and these ties, as they had not been broken by years of separation, were therefore drawn more closely together; and the similarity of their circumstances, each of them having been early deprived of the beloved partners of their fortunes, added not a little to the strength of their friendship. Mr. Clifford, such was his name, had a son and only daughter, of nearly the same age as Adela, in whose society she passed the greater part of her time. They were brought up together, and received their instructions from the same masters; in fact, they were hardly ever separated. This intimacy between the two young ladies was of course the means of bringing William Clifford very frequently into the presence of Adela. As he was by no means destitute of personal advantages, and was endued with an uncommon share of intellect, which he well knew how to render available in conversation, it is not surprising that his fascinating manners should have made a deep impression on the mind of his young friend; and the attentions which he paid her were the more calculated to rivet her attachment that the retired habits of her father prevented her from frequently meeting with the same assiduous respect from others which pervaded the conduct of her admirer, and the friendship in which their intimacy had commenced was shortly superseded by the more dangerous bonds of love. He too, with the unthinking rashness of youth, had yielded to the impulse of passion, and forgetting the distance which fortune had set between him and the adored of his heart, thought only of how he might draw her affec tions more closely around him, and, perhaps, indulging a species of selfishness the most excusable, if that vice ever admits of apology, regarded only his present enjoyment and the possible fulfilment of his aspiring hopes to the neglect of her future happiness and his own peace of mind. The presence of his sister, though it was a cover for their frequent meetings, was yet a restraint upon their conduct, and might have prevented the evils which I have to relate. But death, who with an unsparing hand crops the spring blossom as well as the ripe fruit, summoned her to an early tomb, and the affections of Adela which before had been divided between the brother and sister, were now centred in one object. Their meetings were not now less frequent than formerly, but they were not so public. They were forced to snatch those hours by stealth in which they communed together, and the secrecy they were obliged to observe, the danger