Above the winter torrents did it stand,
Upon a craggy bank; an orchard slope
Arose behind, and joyous was the scene
In early summer, when those antic trees
Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax
Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green.
But save the flax-field and that orchard slope,
All else was desolate, and now it wore

One sober hue; the narrow vale which wound
Among the hills, was grey with rocks, that peer'd
Above its shallow soil; the mountain side
Was loose with stones bestrewn, which oftentimes
Clattered adown the steep, beneath the foot
Of straggling goat dislodged; or tower'd with crags,
One day when winter's work hath loosen'd them,
To thunder down. All things assorted well
With that grey mountain hue; the low stone lines,
Which scarcely seem'd to be the work of man,
The dwelling rudely rear'd with stones unhewn,
The stubble flax, the crooked apple-trees
Grey with their fleecy moss and misseltoe,
The white-bark'd birch now leafless, and the ash
Whose knotted roots were like the rifted rock,
Through which they forced their way. Adown the vale,
Broken by stones and o'er a stony bed,
Roll'd the loud mountain-stream.

When Madoc came,

A little child was sporting by the brook,
Floating the fallen leaves, that he might see them
Whirl in the eddy now and now be driven
Down the descent, now on the smoother stream
Sail onward far away. But when he heard

The horse's tramp, he raised his head and watch'd
The Prince, who now dismounted and drew nigh.
The little boy still fix'd his eyes on him,

His bright blue eyes; the wind just moved the curls
That cluster'd round his brow; and so he stood,
His rosy cheeks still lifted up to gaze

In innocent wonder. Madoc took his hand,
And now had ask'd his name, and if he dwelt
There in the hut, when from that cottage-door
A woman came, who, seeing Madoc stopt,
With such a fear,.. for she had cause for fear,..
As when a bird returning to her nest,
Turns to a tree beside, if she behold
Some prying boy too near the dear retreat.
Howbeit advancing soon she now approach'd
The approaching Prince, and timidly enquired,
If on his wayfare he had lost the track,
That thither he had strayed. Not so, replied
The gentle Prince; but having known this place,
And its old habitants, I came once more
To see the lonely hut among the hills.
Hath it been long your dwelling?

Her friendly proffer, and toward the hut
They went, and in his arms he took the boy.
Who is his father? said the Prince, but wish'd
The word unutter'd; for thereat her cheek
Was flush'd with sudden heat and manifest pain;
And she replied, He perish'd in the war.

They enter'd now her home; she spread the board, And set before her guest soft curds, and cheese Of curd-like whiteness, with no foreign die Adulterate, and what fruits the orchard gave, And that old British beverage which the bees Had toil'd to purvey all the summer long. Three years, said Madoc, have gone by, since here I found a timely welcome, overworn

With toil and sorrow and sickness:.. three long years! "Twas when the battle had been waged hard by, Upon the plain of Arvon.

She grew pale,

Suddenly pale; and seeing that he mark'd The change, she told him, with a feeble voice, That was the fatal fight which widow'd her.

O Christ, cried Madoc, 'tis a grief to think How many a gallant Briton died that day, In that accursed strife! I trod the field When all was over, . . I beheld them heap'd... Ay, like ripe corn within the reaper's reach, Strewn round the bloody spot where Hoel lay; Brave as he was, himself cut down at last, Oppress'd by numbers, gash'd with wounds, yet still Clenching in his dead hand the broken sword!.. But you are moved,.. you weep at what I tell. Forgive me, that renewing my own grief,

I should have waken'd yours! Did you then know
Prince Hoel?

She replied, Oh no! my lot
Was humble, and my loss a humble one;
Yet was it all to me! They say, quoth she,...
And, as she spake, she struggled to bring forth
With painful voice the interrupted words, ...
They say Prince Hoel's body was not found;
But you who saw him dead perchance can tell
Where he was laid, and by what friendly hand.

Even where he fell, said Madoc, is his grave; For he who buried him was one whose faith Reck'd not of boughten prayers, nor passing bell. There is a hawthorn grows beside the place, A solitary tree, nipt by the winds, That it doth seem a fitting monument

For one untimely slain. . . But wherefore dwell we On this ungrateful theme?

He took a harp Which stood beside, and passing o'er its chords Made music. At the touch the child drew nigh, Pleased by the sound, and leant on Madoc's knee, And bade him play again: So Madoc play'd, For he had skill in minstrelsy, and raised His voice, and sung Prince Hoel's lay of love.1

and my choicest faculty is to muse on superior female excellence, when she with diffidence utters the becoming sentiment; and my choicest participation is to become united with the maid, and to share mutual confidence as to thoughts and fortune. I chuse the bright hue of the spreading wave, thou who art the most discreet in thy country, with thy pure Welsh

I have harness'd thee, my Steed of shining grey, And thou shalt bear me to the dear white walls.

speech, chosen by me art thou; what am I with thee? how! dost thou refrain from speaking? ah! thy silence even is fair! I have chosen a maid, so that with me there should be no hesitation; it is right to choose the choicest fair one; choose, fair maid!

2.

"I love the white glittering walls on the side of the bank, clothed in fresh verdancy, where bashfulness loves to observe the modest sea-mew's course; it would be my delight, though I have met with no great return of love in my much-desired visit on the sleek white steed, to behold my sister of flippant smile; to talk of love since it has come to my lot; to restore my ease of mind, and to renew her slighted troth with the nymph as fair as the hue of the shore-beating wave.

From her country, who is bright as the coldly-drifted snow upon the lofty hill, a censure has come to us, that I should be so treated with disdain in the Hall of Ogyrvan. Playful, from her promise was new-born expectation; she is gone with my soul away: I am made wretched!.. Am I not become for love like Garwy Hir to the fair one of whom I am debarred in the Hall of Ogyrvan !

3.

"I love the castle of proud workmanship in the Cyvylci, where my own assuming form is wont to intrude: the high of renown, in full bustle, seek admittance there, and by it speaks the mad resounding wave.

"It is the chosen place of a luminary of splendid qualities and fair; glorions her rising from the verge of the torrent, and the fair one shines upon the now progressive year in the wild of Arvon, in the Snowdonian hills.

"The tent does not attract; the glossy silk is not looked on by her I love, with passing tenderness: if her conquest could be wrought by the muse's aid, ere the night that comes, I should next to her be found.

4.

"I have harnessed thee to-day, my steed of shining grey; I will traverse on thee the fair region of Cynlas; and I will hold a hard dispute before death shall cut me off in obstructing sleep, and thus obstructing health; and on me it has been a sign, no longer being the honoured youth, the complexion is like the pale blue waves.

Oppressed with longing is my memory in society; regret for her by whom I am hated; whilst I confer on the maid the honoured eulogy; she, to prosper pain, deigns not to return the consolation of the slightest grace.

"Broken is my heart! my portion is regret, caused by the form of a slender lady, with a girdle of ruddy gold; my treatment is not deserved, she is not this day where my appointed place was fixed. Son of the God of Heaven! if before a promise of forbearance she goes away, woe to me that I am not slain.

5.

"When the ravens rejoice, when blood is hastening, when the gore runs bubbling, when the war doth rage, when the houses redden in Ruzlan, when the red hall is burning, when we glow with wrath; the ruddy flame it blazes up to heaven; our abode affords no shelter; and plainly is the bright conflagration seen from the white walls upon the shore of Menai.

"They perished on the third day of May, three hundred ships of a fleet roving the ocean; and ten hundred times the number the sword would put to flight, leaving not a single

beard on Menai.

6.

"Five evening tides were celebrated when France was saved, when barbarian chiefs were made to fly, when there

I love the white walls by the verdant bank, That glitter in the sun, where Bashfulness

was pressure round the steel-clad bodies; should a weapon yet be brandished round the beard, a public triumph would my wrath procure, scouring the bounds of Loegyr, and on her habitation hurling ruin; there should be the hand of the hastening host upon the cross, the keen edge slaughtering, the blade reeking with blood, the blood hue over the abject throng, a blood veil hiding its place of falling, and a plain of blood, and a cheek suffused with gore.

7.

"I love the time of summer; then the gladly-exulting steed of the warrior prances before a gallant chief; the wave is crowned with foam; the limb of the active more quickly moves; the apple tree has arrayed itself in another livery; bordered with white is my shield on my shoulder, prepared for violence. I have loved, with ardency of desire, the object

which I have not obtained.

"Ceridwen, fair and tall, of slowly languid gait, her complexion vies with the warm dawn in the evening hour, of a splendid delicate form, beautifully mild and white-hued presence; in stepping over a rush nearly falling seems the little tiny fair one; gentle in her air, she appears but scarcely older than a tenth year infant. Young, shapely, and full of grace

fulness, it were a congenial virtue that she should freely give; but the youthful female does more embarrass good fortune by a smile, than an expression from her lips checks imperti

nence.

"A worshipping pilgrim, she will send me to the celestial presence; how long shall I worship thee? stop and think of thine office! If I am unskilful through the dotage of love, Jesus, the well-informed, will not rebuke me.

8.

"Fair foam-crowned wave, spraying over the sacred tomb of Ruvon the brave, the chief of princes, behold this day I love the utmost hate of England, a flat and unergetic land, with a race involved in every wile. I love the spot that gave me the much-desired gift of mead, where the seas extend a tedious conflict. I love the society and thick inhabitants therein, and which, obedient to its lord, directs its view to peace. I love its sea-coast and its mountains, its city bordering on its forest, its fair landscape, its dales, its water, and its vales, its white sea-mews, and its beauteous women. I love its warriors and its well-trained steeds, its woods, its strong-holds, and its social domicile. I love its fields clothed with tender trefoil, where I had the glory of a mighty triumph. I love its cultivated regions, the prerogative of heroism, and its far-extended wild, and its sports of the chase, which, Son of God! have been great and wonderful: how sleek the melodious deer, and in what plenty found! I achieved by the push of a spear an excellent deed between the chief of Powys and happy Gwynez, and upon the pale-hued element of ever-struggling motion may I accomplish a liberation from exile. I will not take breath until my party comes; a dream declares it, and God wills it to be so, fair foam-crowned wave spraying over the grave.

"Fair foam-crowned wave, impetuous in thy course, like in colour to the hoar when it accumulates; I love the sea-coast in Meirionyz, where I have had a white arm for a pillow. I love the nightingale upon the privet-brake in Cymmer Denzur, a celebrated vale. Lord of heaven and earth, the glory of the blest, though so far it is from Ceri to Caerliwelyz, I mounted the yellow steed, and from Maelienyz reached the land of Reged between the night and day. Before I am in the grave, may I enjoy a new blessing from the land of Tegyngyl of fairest aspect! Since I am a love-wight, one inured to wander, may God direct my fate, fair foam-crowned wave of impetuous course!

"I will implore the Divine Supreme, the wonderful in sub

Watches the silver sea-mew sail along.

I love that glittering dwelling, where we hear
The ever-sounding billows; for there dwells
The shapely Maiden, fair as the sea-spray,
Her cheek as lovely as the apple flower,

Or summer evening's glow. I pine for her;
In crowded halls my spirit is with her;
Through the long sleepless night I think on her;
And happiness is gone, and health is lost,
And fled the flush of youth, and I am pale
As the pale ocean on a sunless morn.
I pine away for her, yet pity her,

That she should spurn so true a love as mine.

He ceased, and laid his hand upon the child,... And didst thou like the song? The child replied,.. Oh yes! it is a song my mother loves, And so I love it too. He stoopt and kiss'd The boy, who still was leaning on his knee, Already grown familiar. I should like To take thee with me, quoth the Ocean Lord, Over the seas.

Thou art Prince Madoc, then!... The mother cried, . . . thou art indeed the Prince! That song... that look... and at his feet she fell, Crying... Oh take him, Madoc! save the child! Thy brother Hoel's orphan !

Long it was

Ere that in either agitated heart
The tumult could subside. One while the Prince
Gazed on the child, tracing intently there
His brother's lines; and now he caught him up,
And kiss'd his cheek, and gazed again till all
Was dim and dizzy,.. then blest God, and vow'd
That he should never need a father's love.

At length when copious tears had now relieved Her burthen'd heart, and many a broken speech In tears had died away, O Prince, she cried, Long hath it been my dearest prayer to heaven, That I might see thee once, and to thy love Commit this friendless boy! For many a time, In phrase so fond did Hoel tell thy worth, That it hath waken'd misery in me To think I could not as a sister claim Thy love! and therefore was it that till now Thou knew'st me not; for I entreated him That he would never let thy virtuous eye Look on my guilt, and make me feel my shame.

jugating to his will, as king, to create an excelling muse for a song of praise to the women, such as Merzin sung, who have claimed my bardic lore so long, who are so tardy in dispensing grace. The most eminent in all the west I name, from the gates of Chester to the port of Ysgewin: The first is the nymph who will be the subject of universal praise, Gwenliant, whose complexion is like the summer's day. The second is another of high state, far from my embrace, adorned with golden necklace, fair Gweirvyl, from whom nor token nor confidence have I obtained, nor has any of my race; though I might be slain by two-edged blades, she whose foster brother was a king, should be my theme. And next for the handsome Gwladys, the young and modest virgin, the idol of the multitude, I utter the secret sigh; I will worship her with the yellow blossoms of the furze. Soon may I see my vigour rouse to combat, and in my hand my blade,

Madoc, I did not dare to see thee then,
Thou wilt not scorn me now,. . for I have now
Forgiven myself; and, while I here perform'd
A mother's duty in this solitude,
Have felt myself forgiven.

With that she clasp'd

His hand, and bent her face on it and wept.
Anon collecting she pursued,.. My name
Is Llaian by the chance of war I fell
Into his power, when all my family

Had been cut off, all in one hour of blood.

He saved me from the ruffian's hand, he sooth'd
With tenderest care my sorrow... You can tell
How gentle he could be, and how his eyes,
So full of life and kindliness, could win

| All hearts to love him. Madoc, I was young;
I had no living friend; . . and when I gave
This infant to his arms, when with such joy
He view'd it o'er and o'er again, and press'd
A father's kiss upon its cheek, and turn'd
To me, and made me feel more deeply yet
A mother's deep delight,.. oh! I was proud
To think my child in after years should say,
Prince Hoel was his father!

Thus I dwelt

In the white dwelling by the verdant bank,..
Though not without my melancholy hours,
Happy. The joy it was when I beheld
His steed of shining grey come hastening on,
Across the yellow sand!.. Alas, ere long,
King Owen died. I need not tell thee, Madoc,
With what a deadly and forefeeling fear

I heard how Hoel seized his father's throne,
Nor with what ominous woe I welcomed him,
In that last little miserable hour
Ambition gave to love. I think his heart,
Brave as it was, misgave him. When I spake
Of David and my fears, he smiled upon me;
But 'twas a smile that came not from the heart,..
A most ill-boding smile!.. O Madoc! Madoc !
You know not with what misery I saw
His parting steps, .. with what a dreadful hope
I watch'd for tidings!.. And at length it came,..
Came like a thunderbolt!.. I sought the field!
O Madoc, there were many widows there,
But none with grief like mine! I look'd around;
I dragg'd aside the bodies of the dead,
To search for him, in vain; . . and then a hope
Seized me, which it was agony to lose!

:

bright Leucu, my companion, laughing, and whose husband laughs not from anxiety. Great anxiety oppresses me, makes me sad; and longing, alas ! is habitual for fair Nest, for her who is like the apple-tree blossom and for Perwewr, the centre of my desire; for Generys the chaste, who grants not a smile for me; may continence not overcome her! for Hunyz, whose fame will last till the day of doom; for Hawis, who claims my choicest eulogy. On a memorable day I had a nymph; I had a second, more be their praise; I had a third and a fourth with prosperity; I had a fifth of those with a skin white and delicate; I had a sixth bright and fair, avoiding not the temptation, above the white walls did she arrest me; I had a seventh, and this was satiety of love; I had eight in recompense for a little of the praise which I sung; but the teeth most opportunely bar the tongue."

Night came. I did not heed the storm of night;
But for the sake of this dear babe, I sought
Shelter in this lone hut: 'twas desolate;

And when my reason had return'd, I thought
That here the child of Hoel might be safe,

Till we could claim thy care. But thou, meantime,
Didst go to roam the Ocean; so I learnt
To bound my wishes here. The carkanet,
The embroider'd girdle, and what other gauds
Were once my vain adornments, soon were changed
For things of profit, goats and bees, and this,
The tuneful solace of my solitude.
Madoc, the harp is as a friend to me;

I sing to it the songs which Hoel loved,
And Hoel's own sweet lays; it comforts me,
And gives me joy in grief.

Often I grieved,

To think the son of Hoel should grow up
In this unworthy state of poverty;

Till Time, who softens all regrets, had worn
That vain regret away, and I became
Humbly resign'd to God's unerring will.
To him I look'd for healing, and he pour'd
His balm into my wounds. I never form'd
A prayer for more, . . and lo! the happiness
Which he hath, of his mercy, sent me now!

XV.

THE EXCOMMUNICATION.

ON Madoc's docile courser Llaian sits,
Holding her joyful boy; the Prince beside
Paces afoot, and like a gentle Squire
Leads her loose bridle; from the saddle-bow
His shield and helmet hang, and with the lance,
Staff like, he stay'd his steps. Before the sun
Had climb'd his southern eminence, they left
The mountain feet; and hard by Bangor now,
Travelling the plain before them they espy
A lordly cavalcade, for so it seem'd,

Of knights, with hawk in hand and hounds in leash,
Squires, pages, serving-men, and armed grooms,
And many a sumpter-beast and laden wain,
Far following in the rear. The bravery

Of glittering bauldricks and of high-plumed crests,
Embroider'd surcoats and emblazon'd shields,
And lances whose long streamers play'd aloft,
Made a rare pageant, as with sound of trump,
Tambour and cittern, proudly they went on;
And ever, at the foot-fall of their steeds,
The tinkling horse-bells, in rude symphony,
Accorded with the joy.

What have we here?
Quoth Madoc then to one who stood beside
The threshold of his osier-woven hut.
'Tis the great Saxon Prelate, he return'd,
Come hither for some end, I wist not what,

1 The three names of this Island; the first, before it was inhabited it was called the Water-guarded Green Spot; after it was inhabited it was called the Honey-Island; and after its subjection to Prydain, the son of Aedd Mawr, he gave it the name of the Isle of Prydafu.- Cambrian Register.

This name was appropriately given to it, for Ynys Pry

The bells of the Cathedral rung abroad
Unusual summons. What is this? exclaim'd
Prince Madoc: let us see!.. Forthwith they went,
He and his host, their way. They found the rites
Begun; the mitred Baldwin, in his hand
Holding a taper, at the altar stood.

Let him be cursed!.. were the words which first
Assail'd their ears,.. living and dead, in limb
And life, in soul and body, be he curst
Here and hereafter! Let him feel the curse
At every moment, and in every act,
By night and day, in waking and in sleep!
We cut him off from Christian fellowship;
Of Christian sacraments we deprive his soul;
Of Christian burial we deprive his corpse;
And when that carrion to the Fiends is left
In unprotected earth, thus let his soul
Be quench'd in hell!

He dash'd upon the floor

His taper down, and all the ministring Priests
Extinguish'd each his light, to consummate
The imprecation.

Whom is it ye curse,

Cried Madoc, with these horrors? They replied, The contumacious Prince of Powys-land,2 Cyveilioc.

What! quoth Madoc, and his eye Grew terrible,.. Who is he that sets his foot In Gwyneth, and with hellish forms like these Dare outrage here Mathraval's noble Lord? We wage no war with women nor with Priests; But if there be a knight amid your train, Who will stand forth, and speak before my face Dishonour of the Prince of Powys-land, Lo here stand I, Prince Madoc, who will make That slanderous wretch cry craven in the dust, And eat his lying words!

Be temperate !

Quoth one of Baldwin's Priests, who, Briton born,
Had known Prince Madoc in his father's court;
It is our charge, throughout this Christian land,
To call upon all Christian men to join
The armies of the Lord, and take the cross;
That so, in battle with the Infidels,
The palm of victory or of martyrdom,

dain signifies the Beautiful Isle.- Cambrian Biography, E. Williams.

2 "Oenum de Cevelioc, quia solus inter Walliæ principes Archipræsuli cum populo suo non occurrerat, excommunicavimus. Oenus iste præ aliis Cambriæ principibus, et linguæ dicacis extiterat, et in terræ suæ moderamine ingenii perspi

cacis."- Giraldus Cambrensis.

A a

Glorious alike, may be their recompense.
This holy badge, whether in godless scorn,
Or for the natural blindness of his heart,
Cyveilioc hath refused; thereby incurring
The pain, which, not of our own impulse, we
Inflict upon his soul, but at the will
Of our most holy Father, from whose word
Lies no appeal on earth.

"Tis well for thee,
Intemperate Prince! said Baldwin, that our blood
Flows with a calmer action than thine own!
Thy brother David hath put on the cross,
To our most pious warfare piously
Pledging his kingly sword. Do thou the like,
And for this better object lay aside
Thine other enterprize, which, lest it rob
Judea of one single Christian arm,
We do condemn as sinful. Follow thou
The banner of the church to Palestine ;
So shalt thou expiate this rash offence,
Against the which we else should fulminate
Our ire, did we not see in charity,
And therefore rather pity than resent,
The rudeness of this barbarous land.

At that,

Scorn tempering wrath, yet anger sharpening scorn,
Madoc replied, Barbarians as we are,
Lord Prelate, we received the law of Christ
Many a long age before your pirate sires
Had left their forest dens; nor are we now
To learn that law from Norman or from Dane,
Saxon, Jute, Angle, or whatever name

Suit best your mongrel race! Ye think, perchance,
That like your own poor woman-hearted King,

1 "Owen Gwyneth was buried at Bangor. When Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, coming to preach the crusade against the Saracens, saw his tomb, he charged the Bishop to remove the body out of the Cathedral, when he could find a fit opportunity so to do; in regard that Archbishop Becket had excommunicated him heretofore, because he had married his first cousin, the daughter of Grono ab Edwyn, and that notwithstanding he had continued to live with her till she died. The Bishop, in obedience to the charge, made a passage from the vault through the south wall of the church under ground, and so secretly shoved the body into the churchyard." Royal Tribes. From the Hengwrt MS. "One of the first things we asked to see was the tomb of Potemkin. All Europe has heard that he was buried in Cherson; and a magnificent sepulchre might naturally be expected for a person so renowned. The reader will imagine our surprise, when, in answer to our inquiries concerning his remains, we were told that no one knew what was become of them.

“Potemkin, the illustrious, the powerful, of all the princes that ever lived the most princely, of all imperial favourites the most favoured, had not a spot which might be called his grave. He, who not only governed all Russia, but even made the haughty Catherine his suppliant, had not the distinction possessed by the humblest of the human race. The particulars respecting the ultimate disposal of his body, as they were communicated to me upon the spot on the most credible testimony, merit cursory detail.

"The corpse soon after his death was brought to Cherson, and placed beneath a dome of the small church belonging to the fortress, opposite to the altar. After the usual ceremony of interment, the vault was covered, merely by restoring to their former situation the planks of wood belonging to the

We too in Gwyneth are to take the yoke
Of Rome upon our necks;.. but you may tell
Your Pope, that when I sail upon the seas,
I shall not strike a topsail for the breath
Of all his maledictions !

Saying thus,

He turn'd away, lest farther speech might call
Farther reply, and kindle farther wrath,
More easy to avoid than to allay.

Therefore he left the church; and soon his mind
To gentler mood was won, by social talk
And the sweet prattle of that blue-eyed boy,
Whom in his arms he fondled.

But when now

Evening had settled, to the door there came
One of the brethren of the Monastery,
Who called Prince Madoc forth. Apart they went,
And in the low suspicious voice of fear,

Though none was nigh, the Monk began. Be calm,
Prince Madoc, while I speak, and patiently

Hear to the end! Thou know'st that, in his life,
Becket did excommunicate thy sire

For his unlawful marriage; but the King,
Feeling no sin in conscience, heeded not
The inefficient censure. Now when Baldwin
Beheld his monument to-day, impell'd,
As we do think, by anger against thee,
He swore that, even as Owen in his deeds
Disown'd the Church when living, even so
The Church disown'd him dead', and that his corpse
No longer should be suffered to pollute
The Sanctuary... Be patient, I beseech,
And hear me out. Gerald at this, who felt
A natural horror, sought,.. as best he knew

floor of the building. Many inhabitants of Cherson, as well as English officers in the Russian service, who resided in the neighbourhood, had seen the coffin: this was extremely ordinary, but the practice of showing it to strangers prevailed for some years after Potemkin's decease. The Empress Catherine either had, or pretended to have, an intention of erecting a superb monument to his memory; whether at Cherson or elsewhere, is unknown. Her sudden death is believed to have prevented the completion of this design.

"The most extraordinary part of the story remains now to be related: the coffin itself has disappeared: instead of any answer to the various inquiries we made concerning it, we were cautioned to be silent. No one,' said a countryman of ours, living in the place, dares to mention the name of Potemkin.' At length we received intelligence that the verger could satisfy our curiosity, if we would venture to ask him.

"We soon found the means of encouraging a little communication on his part; and were then told, that the body, by the Emperor Paul's command, had been taken up, and thrown into the ditch of the fortress. These orders were implicitly obeyed. A hole was dug in the fosse, into which his remains were thrown, with as little ceremony as if they were those of a dead dog; but this procedure taking place during the night, very few were informed of the disposal of the body. An eye-witness of the fact assured me that the coffin no longer existed in the vault where it was originally placed; and the Verger was actually proceeding to point out the place where the body was abandoned, when the Bishop himself, happening to arrive, took away my guide, and with menaces but too likely to be fulfilled, prevented our being more fully informed concerning the obloquy at present involving Potemkin."— Clarke's Travels, vol. i. p. 602.