hap, politely invited him to pass the Christmas eve with them, an invitation which he gratefully accepted.

He was received by a beautiful young lady whose modest behaviour and graceful deportment, were rendered still more attractive by a shade of melancholy that was spread over her countenance and which, although evidently not natural, seemed however to denounce some deeply rooted sorrow. Soon afterwards the master and the mistress of the house made their appearance. He was a stately man, of commanding exterior. Although rather advanced in years, his face showing a continual struggle with some great grief bordering on despair, which he obviously wished to conceal. His lady was a portly matron of simple but graceful manners, her face expressing sadness and resignation. He was welcomed kindly and invited to join them at the evening banquet, which is the only meal taken on that day in those parts.

The loud joy which reigned in the village strangely contrasted with the sort of solemn silence that pervaded the mansion. Many were the conjectures which the guest made as to the cause of that family's mournful behaviour.

At the banquet they were joined by the priest of the village.

The banquet was served in a most sumptuous way and it could be easily seen, that the owners of the house had their share of the good things of this world. Still there was a complete absence of gaiety, and a want of cheerfulness, and even the conversation occasionally languished.

After the cloth had been removed, the host rose and proposed her Gracious Majesty the Empress of all the Russias Catherine the second. The toast was responded to with silent reverence. The health of the guest was then proposed, and in succession that of all present. When the last toast had been drunk and the host resumed his seat, it was to be seen that the performance of that domestic duty had cost him an un common effort. The hostess looked at him imploringly and when meeting his glance, said with a tremvoice: "will you not drink the health of the absent."

The young lady had folded her hands as if in silent appeal, an old servitor who stood behind her was trying to repress his fast dropping tears. The host himself was evidently labouring under the strongest emotion, making powerful efforts to regain his equanimity.

After a short silence, he exclaimed. "No. He who brought shame and dishonour upon our name shall no more be mentioned under this roof. May God pardon him, I never will. I shall efface his

name.

"Father, father," cried the young lady throwing herself at his feet, say not so. The ways of providence are inscrutable. God often chastises those most he loves best. Only yesterday I dreamt that I was falling into an abyss when an angel from heaven, suddenly snatched me from certain death. He was clad in a snow white garment; when I looked in his face, I recognised him whom you wanted to curse. Father! I am sure he will return to us white in his innocence as the angels robe."

The mother sobbed audibly, and led the father away wringing his hands. The young lady addressing the guest, with tears still in her eyes, said:

"Excuse, Count, an unhappy family, our good friend, the pastor, will keep you company and try to enliven the evening.

When alone with the clergyman the Count naturally asked him, what was the cause of the unhappiness of that amiable family. He heard the following interesting story, which the reader will find in the subjoined memoirs of the hero himself.

CHAPTER I.

THE SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS.

My father, Andrew Petrowitsch Grinew, had served in his youth under Fieldmarshal Count Münnich, and left the service in 17** with the rank of a firstclass major. Since that time he lived upon his estate in the Government of Simbirsk, where, soon after his arrival he had married the daughter of a neighbouring nobleman, Miss Andotja Joooo.-My brothers and sisters had all died young; of ten children I was the only surviving. Through the kindness of Prince Boo, a colonel in the guards, and a near relative of ours, I was inscribed as sergeant on the rolls of his regiment, called Semenowskoi, and considered upon leave till my education was finished. Education in those ! days did not resemble that of the present time. At the age of five years I was confided to the care of the huntsman Saweljitsch, upon whom this honour had been conferred on account of his sobriety. Under his directions I was at the age of twelve, able to read and write the Russian language, and had acquired a pretty good knowledge of horseflesh, greyhounds and other

A

hunting dogs. About this time my father took a Frenchman, Monsieur Beauprez, for my instruction into the house, whom he had ordered from his agent in Moscow, together with his annual stock of wine and Florence oil. Saweljitsch was very dissatisfied with this innovation.

"The child," he grumbled, " is washed, combed, and well fed, thank God,-what need was there of taking a Musjou; as if they had not servants enough of their own."

Beauprez had been hair-dresser in France, enlisted afterwards as soldier in Prussia, and at last came to Russia to become a teacher, without even understanding the meaning of the word. He was a goodnatured youth, but careless and loose in manners and morals. His chief foible was too great a penchant for the fair sex. He often received for the demonstrations of his tenderness such hard cuffs, that he felt them for a whole week. He was besides no enemy of the bottle, as he expressed himself. But as in our house wine was only served at dinner, and then in small glasses, and the tutor was moreover often forgotten, our friend Beauprez soon got used to Russian liquors, which he finally even preferred to the wines of his country, being, as he said, more stomachic. We soon began to understand each other, and although his agreement obliged him to teach me French, German, and "all sciences in general," he preferred to learn a little Russian from me, and to leave me to follow my own inclinations. Thus we lived on the best possible terms, and I did not wish at all for