its tributaries; and one of the marks of their subjection, is the duty of attending the Tzar in his wars.

If we be sensible to reflective awe, when standing over the ruins of some ancient magnificent structure; we cannot, on the same principle, behold the wreck of a once powerful empire passing by, without feeling a respectful veneration for its former greatness. These were my sentiments during the Tartar procession; and their consequent suggestions cost me some sighs, when I thought on what a baseless fabric rest all the glories of this world. The ambition of human nature, that never-dying aspiration of the soul for fame (which is only another shape in which the principle of a ceaseless longing after immortality clothes itself) starts, when suddenly struck with the transitory existence of sublunary advantages. But half an hour's reflection makes one smile at these regrets; and so, instead of occasional thought decking me with the dismal visage of the weeping philosopher, it always sends me out of school under Democritus's colours. If this be not the effect of all thinking, it is but grave trifling: and if philosophy, divine philosophy! find not good in it loses its epithet, and is not worth a rush.

every thing,

But a truce to moralizing, and again to my Kalmucs. I inclose you a sketch of their figures and physiognomy; and I assure you I have not caricatured the latter in the least. The strong line of their eye-bone is far more perpendicular than that of the Chinese. Hence we must suppose, if Tschingis-Khan and the renowned Tamerlane resemble their descendants, that Venus here shewed her old enmity against the warlike Minerva, in the persons of her favourites; and

while the one blessed with the courage of Mars, the other cursed with the aspect of Vulcan. So much for the Tartarian heroes. Being perhaps well tired of their company, they shall make you their bow, with the temporary adieu of your very faithful friend.

St. Petersburgh, April, 1807.

HAVIN
AVING to fulfil my engagements with the Admiralty, after

many

an anxious day, I left Mosco for St. Petersburgh late in February, and arrived here early in March. In that hospitable capital I had passed hours which endeared every stone to my remembrance: and the inhabitants! How shall I cease to speak of them, who were to me as the kindest friends; and of some still more beloved, who blessed me with every heartfelt delight that renders England dear!

I have left Mosco for a short season I hope: but when I return, it will not be to meet all whom I valued there. One, the most venerable of my friends; one, whose doors were ever open to me; whose tenderness cherished me as a parent, is gone! Removed to her heavenly country; there to receive the reward of her virtues; the happiness allotted to the benefactress of the wretched, and the refuge of them who have no home.

A few weeks before I quitted Mosco, died this revered woman. The instant I was apprised of the event, I hastened to her palace. During her severe illness, those whom she honoured with her affection were seldom absent from her couch or anti-chamber. But let death strike

when it will, the blow always surprises the heart of a friend. Hope lingers for those we love, even till the moment life is extinguished. The real sorrow that met my eyes on being led into the saloon where she lay, is more than I can utter; but I felt it all. The room was filled with bishops and priests, and tender relations, chanting the requiem, and praying for the departed soul. The last time I had entered this state apartment it was then decorated for a ball; the walls blazed with myriads of gay lights; the roof resounded with music and the dance; and beauty, smiles, and splendor, beamed around. The venerable and illustrious mistress of the fête, she too was there, and sat amidst the general festivity, enjoying with an amiable complacency the pleasures she diffused. All now was changed! I returned to the same chamber, but, O, my God! under what different feelings, and for what a different purpose! My soul was ten thousand times more wrought upon than if I could have shed torrents of tears. The colour of mourning covered the walls, funeral tapers gleamed from the hands of the priests, and the draperies of a vast pall met my feet: where then was she whose maternal smiles had always greeted my entrance? Bitter, bitter was that moment! It is the survivor's heart that pays the tax of death, not his who dies.

Many around me were weeping heavily but the friend of my soul, the living representative of the departed Saint, stood like a fixed statue of grief. The coffin was blessed by the bishops; the holy water bedewed it, and the shrouded body of the best and most revered of women was deposited in it for ever, at least for that ever which belongs to time, until the day which closes time's existence, and awakens man to the eternity of heaven! The sight of that lifeless form called forth all