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Nijni, where Prascovie had promised to meet them. On the night before their departure, they had taken an affecting farewell of their two friends, and had bid adieu to the rest of their neighbours, when Lopouloff was roused from his bed by a state courier. On opening the packet delivered to him by that officer, he instantly perceived to his great joy that it contained the pardon of the unfortunates, whose release was the only thing wanted to complete his sum of happiness. He instantly repaired to their cabin, and having communicated his errand, was a joyful witness of their happiness. They fell on their knees, and after thanking the Almighty for their deliverance, prayed that every blessing might be showered upon the head of their benefactress, Prascovie.

We now draw the history of the Siberian heroine to a conclusion, and we wish it were in our power, consistently with truth, to do so in that pleasing manner which has been adopted by Madame Cottin. Lopouloff and his wife met their daughter, as appointed, at the convent of Nijni; and after the first emotions of joy had subsided, she informed them that it was her resolution to shew her thankfulness to God for her father's release, by becoming a nun, and residing in the convent during the remainder of her existence. The happiness of the parents was much qualified by this unforeseen intelligence ; but seeing that their daughter's resolve was unalterably fixed, they gave an unwilling consent. They passed eight days together at the convent in an alternation of joy and sorrow. Amidst the solemn rites with which that ceremony is accompanied, Prascovie took the veil, devoting the rest of her days to religious retirement. The slender means which Lopouloff possessed, prevented him from living at Nijni ; and his wife having relations at Vladimir, they repaired thither to end their days in the sweets of liberty. The final parting was indeed sorrowful.

It was the fate of the gentle Prascovie not to live to an old age in the retirement she had chosen. She died on the 8th of December 1809, in a hermitage near the convent.

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Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The short and simple annals of the poor.—GRAY.

M

Y loved, my honoured, much-respected friend !

No mercenary bard his homage pays ;
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end :

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise.
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ;
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ;

What Aiken in a cottage would have been ;
Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ;

The shortening winter-day is near a close ;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh :

The blackening trains of craws to their repose :

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
The expectant wee things, toddlin, stacher through

To meet their dad, wi' Alichterin' noise and glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily,

His clean hearthstane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun' :
Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin

A cannie errand to a neibor town:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame perhaps to shew a braw new gown,

Or deposite her sair-won penny fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet,

And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet;

Each tel the unco's that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view. The mother, wi' her needle and her shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new : The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's and their mistress's command,

The younkers a’ are warned to obey;
And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,

And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play ; 'And oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

And mind your duty, duly, morn and night! Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,

Implore His counsel and assisting might: They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright !'

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ;

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor,

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and Aush her cheek, With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name,

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless rake.

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben :

A strappin' youth; he taks the mother's eye; Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en ;

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But blate and lathefu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave : Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.

O happy love !where love like this is found !

O heartfelt raptures !-bliss beyond compare ! I've pacèd much this weary, mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.'

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,

A wretch !' a villain ! lost to love and truth ! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth !

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board,

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food ; The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood :

The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,

To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck, fell,
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i’ the bell.

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,

They round the ingle form a circle wide ; The sire turns o'er with patriarchal grace

The big ha’-bible, ance his father's pride ; His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,

He wales a portion with judicious care ;
And 'Let us worship GOD!' he says with solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ;

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise,

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name, Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;

The tickled ear no heartfelt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page

How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging irc ;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyrc.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name,

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : How his first followers and servants sped,

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Hcaven's

command.

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