and attentats against the state. His writings may have been seditious, and in that case he was responsible to the ordinary tribunals. But how publications in a newspaper, condemnatory of the proceedings of the government, but without the slightest instigation to acts of violence, and without even the pretence that the writer had any actual participation in the atrocious attempt at assassination, can connect him with the explosion, and unite him in the punishment, passes my comprehension to discover. I regret the result the more, as I am sincerely anxious for the preservation of the existing state of things in France, with such modifications and meliorations as the community ought to expect, and as a prudent government should grant. As to resisting the march of opinion, it would be as wise to attempt to stop the current of Niagara upon the brink of its face. And well is it for the general good, that there is this life-improving principle in human societies. But in these older countries of the world, where the population is redundant and the compression great, where there is much misery and excessive poverty, and where there are wild imaginations to broach the most terrible theories, and desperate men to execute them, changes, to be salutary, though they should be gradual, should yet be progressive, not yielded when too latewhen the fountains of the great deep are broken up, and the deluge is approaching to submerge the moral world.

The Court of Peers, in its arrêt, proceeds as follows:

The Court of Peers having seen the accusation against the persons named, &c. Having heard the witnesses for and against the prosecution.

Having heard the réquisitoire of the king's procureur general, which requisitoire is thus conceived.

(Here follows this act, which names the accused, states their crimes, and invokes upon them, severally, the punishment which they have incurred.)

Having heard the accused, by their avocats, (naming them in succession, parties and counsel.)

Having called upon the accused agreeably to article 13th of the code of criminal instruction.

Seeing that it results from the proceedings, that an attentat was committed, &c. Seeing that Quenisset is convicted of having committed the attentat, &c.

Seeing that Jean Baptiste Colombier, &c., &c., are convicted of having rendered themselves accomplices, &c., &c.

Seeing that it does not result from the proceedings, that the charges against Launois are sufficiently proved.

In what concerns the complot; Seeing that a complot was concerted to destroy the government, &c.

Seeing that this complot was concerted in secret associations, where members were bound together by oaths, &c., and directed by chiefs, &c.

Seeing that by article 60 of the penal code those are accomplices of a crime who, by artifices or machinations, provoke any one to commit it, or who give instructions

to this effect, or who aid the author in his projects.

Seeing that the 1st article of the law of May 17, 1819, has comprehended in the class of crimes, which render those guilty of them accomplices, every provocation by writings whether written or printed, and distributed and followed by an act.

Seeing that this disposition makes part of the penal code, according to the said law, which orders that the preceding provisions of articles 102, &c., shall be abrogated and replaced by this provision.

Seeing that the law of Oct. 8, 1830, has not touched this subject.

Seeing that the law of Sept. 9, 1835, has defined as attentats against the safety of the state, all publications containing provocation to the commission of crimes, foreseen by articles 86 and 87 of the penal code, &c.

Seeing that the crimes of attentat and complot, of which the court has retained jurisdiction by its arrét of November 16, present the characters of connection, foreseen by article 227 of the code of criminal instruction.

Seeing that François Quenisset dit Papant, &c., &c., are convicted of having participated in the said complot, in aiding or assisting, with knowledge, the authors of the crime in its commission, &c., or of having provoked to it by machinations, &c., or by writings, &c., and particularly Dupoty by the publication of an article in the journal, The Friend of the People, of the 12th of Sept. last, commencing by these words, "Monsieur le Maréchal Gerard," and terminating by these, "This is what we consider necessary to recall to them;" which publications have been followed by

In what touches

Auguste, Marie, Prioul, &c. Seeing

that there does not result from the proceedings any sufficient proof that they have rendered themselves guilty, either as principals or accessories, of the crimes of complot or attentat.

Declares Auguste, Marie, Prioul, &c., acquitted of the accusation preferred against them. Orders that the said, &c., be immediately set at liberty, if detained

for no other cause.

Declares Quenisset guilty of the crime of attentat against the lives of their R. H. the Dukes of Orleans, of Nemours, and of d'Aumale, members of the royal family. Declares Jean Baptiste Colombier, &c., guilty, as accessories, of the said attentat; crime foreseen by articles 86, &c., of the penal code, thus conceived. (Here follow four articles of the code bearing upon this subject.)

Declares Quenisset, &c., &c., guilty of the crime of complot against the safety of the state, crime foreseen by articles 87, &c., of the penal code, thus conceived. (Here follow various articles relating to the crime.)

Seeing that punishments ought to be graduated agreeably to the nature and the gravity of the participation of each of the criminals in the crimes committed.

Seeing the articles 7, &c., of the penal code, thus conceived. (Here follow a number of articles prescribing various punishments.)

Condemns Quenisset, &c., &c., to the punishment of death.

Condemns Auguste, Petit, &c., &c., to deportation, (and others to imprisonment for longer or shorter terms.)

Orders conformably to the 87th article of the penal code, that Antoine Boggio, &c., &c., shall, after the expiration of their punishment, be all their lives under the surveillance of the high police.

Condemns Quenisset and all the rest to the expenses, jointly, &c.

Orders that the present arrêt shall be diligently executed by the Procureur du Roi, printed and published whenever necessary, and that it be notified to the condemned by the clerk of the court, (Greffier.) Done and deliberated at Paris, Thursday, 23 December, 1841, in the Chamber of Council, where sit-(Here follow the signatures of all the Peers.)

And so ends the first act of this sad drama.

But I must shift the scene from grave to gay, and conclude with telling the story which first attracted my attention to this subject, but which I had almost lost sight of, led away by various collateral topics that presented themselves from time to time. This judi

cial anecdote is at once characteristic of the French courts and of Corsican manners. It is altogether dramatic. Few parts upon the stage were ever better performed, than was the part of Rigaldi. He is the true Italian, pious and revengeful. Obeying with filial reverence the injunctions of his father, and coming from Corsica to Paris to resent an indignity which that father, now dead, had received half a century before. And no doubt, after paying his fine, having finished his pilgrimage, he seeks his native country, to live the pride of his friends, and the very beauideal of filial piety.

Rigaldi is a Corsican, whose dark complexion, ferocious eyes, and immense black whiskers, give a most sinister aspect to his appearance. He declares himself, however, to be one of the mildest of men, in fact a perfect lamb; but he is accused of having tweaked the nose of a peaceable inhabitant of the Marais. M. Bonjeu, the unfortunate man whose nose was thus maltreated, has entered a complaint against the Corsican.

"Can you imagine," gentlemen, said he to the judges, "such an unheard-of thing? I never in all the days of my life had the honor of seeing this gentleman, and here, at our very first rencontre, he gave me a blow on the nose. It is too humiliating."

know

Rigaldi.-Nor I either, I do not still more, is that I have come all the you, but what will astonish you way to Paris to see you.

Bonjeu.-What, to pull my nose?
Rigaldi. Yes, signor.
Bonjeu.-Right in the street?
Rigaldi.-Yes, signor.
Bonjeu.-Without
known me?

ever

having

your way-but you are quite mistaken. The face stops before you, looks at you between two eyes, asks you, are you M. Bonjeu ?—Yes, I am.-You had a father of the same name?-Yes, to be sure. Your father went in 1786 to Ajaccio? Yes, as a Parisian tailorThen you are really the son of the M. Bonjeu, who lived in Ajaccio?—Yes, yes, yes, to be sure I am, what do you want of me?-Not much, raise up your head a little. What for?-Raise it up. There that'll do-smack !-and at the same moment my nose was flattened down by a hand blow. I screamed out, and the passers-by all collected in a crowd around me, asking what had happened. What in the world is the matter? Nothing, replies the face, only Monsieur has received a slight tweak of the nose. This is all very agreeable certainly.

Rigaldi.-Yes, yes, my lord, this is the true story; and now as I am quite satisfied, I shall soon return to Cor

sica.

The President.-But why did you insult a stranger in this way?

"to my

Rigaldi.—I will tell you all about it. One day last month being at Ajaccio examining the papers of my father, I found a little note sealed and addressed, "Al figlio mio ". son." "The 16th of April, 1786, I was tweaked on the nose by my master, M. Bonjeu, a tailor from Paris, to whom I was apprenticed. M. Bonjeu left Ajac cio before I could return it to him. My son, you know what this means." The next morning I embarked for Marseilles. I took the post for Paris-went immediately to the prefecture-where, after making all possible researches, I was told that M. Bonjeu was dead, but that he had a son living. I then looked for him, found him, and gave him back the tweak I owed him, and now I am going home.

M. Bonjeu was almost speechless with indignation and wrath.

The court, not accustomed to the manners of Corsica, condemned Rigaldi, as the price of his revenge, to 25 francs amende, and to pay the costs. L. C.

ONE of the most remarkable and beautiful characters of history is that of the young Countess Plater of Poland. Descended from an ancient and honorable family, possessed of rank, charms, wealth, intelligence, at an age when the female heart is most open to the blandishments of society, and surrounded by all that could gratify the vanity or social ambition of an ardent mind, she yet voluntarily subjected herself to the hardships of war and dangers of death, in the prosecution of a lofty and disinterested purpose,-in the defence of the liberties of her country and the rights of man.

Such a character cannot but excite a curious interest. That one so young should have been so bold-that a female exposed to so many fascinating influences should have courted a life of hardship and suffering-that a noble

lady, gifted with the finest qualities of the intellect and the noblest graces of the heart, should adopt the apparel of man, join the ranks of a rough and rugged soldiery, and through the vicissitudes of a disastrous contest, bear herself with the energy of a veteran warrior-animating the downcast by her cheerful courage, and sustaining the hopes of a nation when its hardiest defenders had quailed-is a phenomenon that the world does not often witness, and which our love for the heroic compels us to dwell upon with equal wonder and delight. We follow with the eagerness of a tender sympathy her novel, brilliant, and perilous career.

Emily Plater was born at Wilna, on' the 13th of November, 1806. Her mother, the Countess Anna De Mohl, a young heiress of rare accomplishments and fine character, on account of

some unfortunate differences, found herself obliged to separate from her husband in 1815. She went to reside with an elderly relative, Madame Lieberg, a woman who devoted a large fortune to projects of judicious benevolence, in the province of Livonia. Respected by her family, of which she was the head, the oracle of her neighbors, who saw in her the benefactress of the district, a mother to her tenantry whose children she educated, she enjoyed an almost universal esteem. In her society, and cherished by her tenderness, the Countess gave her whole attention and time to the instruction of her daughter, who had now become her only solace. All the circumstances of the place and position of the girl, conspired to the peculiar formation of mind which her character and career afterwards exhibited. The domain of Madame Lieberg lay in the midst of a picturesque and majestic region. Her stately mansion combined the solemn architecture of the middle ages with the more graceful adornments of a modern palace. It was situated on the brow of a hill, near the banks of the beautiful Dzwina, commanding on one side a lively pros pect of meadows and streams, and on the other the sombre shades of a vast forest of black fir-trees. But the effect of the contrast was rather mournful than pleasing.

In this retreat, Emily received her earliest impressions of nature and humanity. The quiet and monotonous life of the castle, with the admonitions of its pious and affectionate inmates, increased her disposition to thoughtfulness, while the antique aspect of the buildings and scenery formed her to habits of masculine and noble energy. From her first years, she had manifested few of the tastes of the young. The usual playthings of children were thrown aside for the higher pleasures that were to be found in books, and in silent meditations under the open sky or in the depths of the forest. Her favorite study was history-and above all other histories that of her native land-in the words of enthusiastic patriotism of her biographer, "the free, the faithful, the generous Poland: that Poland so proud of its freedom, and which was already civilized when the rest of Europe was scarcely removed from a state of barbarism; which was free, when all

other nations were enslaved; the firm barrier against the encroachments of Islamism, and which was always brave, and prepared to succor the oppressed, even without hope of reward; a country which fell at last a victim to the ingratitude of its neighbors, of which the one owed to her its existence, and the other its preservation-a country, in fine, which, even in its fall, has forced from the rest of the world the mingled feelings of admiration and regret.' She loved to linger over the narratives which told her of the long-sufferings of Poland, and of the devotion and heroism of her sons and daughters. The bloody record of the massacres of Praga filled her with a detestation of the oppressors of her race; and the same pages told her how much had been done, and dared, and suffered, by the virtuous, the tender, and the brave, who had perished in the battles of freedom. There she read how the ancient Sarmatian women accompanied their husbands on horseback to the chase or the fight. How the young and gentle Princess Henwige, anxious for the happiness of her people, and impatient of the Hungarian yoke, placed herself at the head of an army and drove her enemies away. How Alexandra, the accomplished daughter of Stephen Czarniecki, when he left his peaceful home to go against the Swedes, bitterly wept that her tender age would not allow her to share the glory and danger of her father. How the mother of Henry II., duke of Breslau, putting a sabre into his hands, to be wielded against the Tartars, added such words as these:

My son, if you wish that I should not disown you, fly to the defence of our dear country." How the virtuous Sobieska welcomed the return of her sons from a foreign country with these:

"I see you again with unspeakable joy; but I would disown you as my children, had you imitated the base cowardice of those who deserted the field of battle at Pilawce." How the resolute Chrianowska saved Trembowla, which her unworthy husband would have surrendered to the besieging Turks. How the Princess Radziwill was always found by the side of her brother, the Prince Charles, in the thickest of the fight. How the Countess of Kamieniec, when her nephew Stanislas, after the infamous treason of Sargowica, wrote her a congratulatory

letter, overwhelmed him with indig nant rebukes of his ignominy and shame. How the Duchess of Wurtemberg separated from her husband be cause he served with the enemies of Poland, and could even afterwards disown her own son for the same cause; and how hundreds of noble women had aided to sustain the noble struggle of Kosciusko for national independence. So many examples of woman's patriotic devotedness and lofty heroism might well kindle the enthusiasm of her woman's heart.

But that which made the deepest impression upon her was the singular history of Joan of Arc, the inspired virgin of Domremi, who for a time rescued France from the tyranny of English arms. She dwelt on the analogy between France, under the English oppression, and Poland groaning under the Russian yoke. She made the life of that unfortunate but immortal heroine a subject of constant study. She procured all the books that related to her career; her chamber was hung round with plates representing its prominent incidents; and a similar fame became the object of her wishes by day and of her dreams by night. She strived to emulate the exercises by which her prototype had been prepared for her exalted mission. Her ordinary amusements consisted in riding on horseback, shooting at a mark, and every other feat that had a tendency to inure her to the dangers of travel and the rigors of the seasons. In the saloon, she was sad, for the heartless etiquette and cold formalities of society were irksome to her; but mounted on a favorite steed, coursing the fields, braving the tempests, and facing dangers, the sprightliness and energy of her character returned, and her spirit seemed to rise as her perils and difficulties increased.

An event in 1821 gave an additional ardor to her patriotism. A beloved cousin had taken part in the patriotic associations of the students of Wilna, and was condemned by the Emperor of Russia to serve as a private in the Russian armies. The ignominy and pain which this disgraceful act of tyranny brought upon the family, added a still deeper resentment to the aversion with which she had been taught to regard the despotism of Alexander. Her conduct, as described by her

VOL. IX.-NO. XLIX.

4

biographer, under circumstances in which most women are said to betray weakness, serves to show the lofty spirit that actuated all her deportment. The commanding general of the engineer corps of the Russian army, then stationed at Dünabourg, near the residence of Madame Lieberg, being a visitor in her family, was smitten with the charms of Emily. He was a favorite, who stood high in the confidence of the Emperor, and fondly imagined that the heart of the maiden would be struck by his high pretensions and accomplishments. One day, being alone with her, he resolved to avail himself of the opportunity to urge his suit. Advancing as if to throw himself at her feet, he said, "Mademoiselle, I come to offer you my hand." He waited a while for an answer, when he again exclaimed, "I am come to offer you my hand."

"Sir, I refuse it," was the laconic reply.

"But think of my rank, and the favor I enjoy with the Emperor."

“I am fully aware of the honor you intend to bestow upon me-but❞— Well-but"

The husband should be always older than the wife."

"It is exactly what I think myself. Perhaps your heart""Is perfectly free."

"You can never find a better choice."

"I do not deny it."

"Then nothing is in the way"

"I am a daughter of Poland." And with this, the conference ended. In the year 1829 her love of activity and thirst of knowledge induced her to accompany her mother on a visit to Cracow and Warsaw. The objects she met with on the journey, the thousand scenes that recalled the great events of Polish history, the statues, the pictures, and the buildings associated with the names of patriots and martyrs, but above all the traditions which she took pains to hear from the lips of the honest peasantry whom she