has been universally read throughout all the nations of Europe with an interest equal to, or, perhaps, beyond any work of its kind. To the English reader "The Exile's Daughter" is now presented for the first time, and our fair friends, we are sure, will feel pleased at our enabling them to compare Count Maistre's real history with Madame Cottin's mixture of truth and fiction. Sentimental tourists look in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh for every place that may be supposed to have been visited by Jeannie Deans. With many traits of moral likeness to the noble and excellent Jeannie, we cannot see why Prascovia Lopouloff, the Exile's daughter, should attract less interest.

"The real heroine," says Madame Cottin, "is far superior to mine;" and, indeed, if her story does not offer the ordinary scenes of a novel-pursuits of personal gratification -contrasts of love without success, and marriage, without love-oppressed virtue and triumphant wickedness-it cannot but endear her memory-to every pious heart, and to every son or daughter who feels capable of sacrificing all on earth, for the happiness of a parent. Besides, such is the abundance of works in which human nature is either calumniated, or raised to the fantastical level of angelic purity, and in which passions, rather than feelings, are pourtrayed, that a picture of simple virtue, common goodness of heart, and general benevolence, borrowed as nearly as possible, from real life may be deemed a valuable addition to works of sacred philosophy and practical morality.

Prascovia used to say, that "her journey was not so painful as some imagined, while they hearkened with more eager attention to the few sufferings she had endured, than to the innumerable proofs of hospitality and benevolence with which she had been favored. Kindness, confidence, long endurance, and self-devotion-inclinations which we should be apt to generalize by the name of love-will ever be more promoted by being frequently exhibited with their captivating graces, whether in true or imaginary stories, than through any delineation of the contrary dispositions, however calculated it might be to show their deformities, and incompatability with real happiness.

For the sake of Prascovia's parents, or of any of her admirers who might have gained her heart, we could have wished

that she had not determined to close her days in a convent. Religion was certainly her strongest inducement to retire from the world; but an enthusiastic love of virtue might partly have contributed to it. "Parents are never guilty in the eyes of their children," replied she to one, who indiscreetly inquired about the crime of her father; and she added, "besides my father is innocent. Whether she still entertained this belief, at the time she took the veil, is uncertain. Had she become assured of the contrary, her high sense of moral purity might have rendered it painful to. her to have constantly before her eyes, the fallen, the debased, and, at best, repentant father.

THE EXILE'S daughter.

The pious fortitude and courage of a poor girl, who, towards the end of the reign of the Emperor Paul, wandered from Siberia to St. Petersburg to obtain the liberty of her exiled parents, attracted sufficient public attention, to induce a celebrated authoress to transform her into the heroine of a novel. But those who knew her personally, are apt to regret, that adventures and ideas of a romantic nature had been ascribed to a generous but sober-minded girl, who never felt any other passion than the most exalted fondness for her parents, and who derived from that exclusive feeling, the first impulse for attempting a most adventurous undertaking, and the strength to carry it into execution.

The simple and unadorned narrative of her toils is, perhaps, not fitted to produce the breathless interest, which we feel sometimes for imaginary vicissitudes, and for beings of unreal existence; but we believe that her story, though possessing only the merit of truth, will be read by many with some pleasure.

Her name was Prascovia Lopouloff. Her father belonged to a noble family of Ukrania, was born in Hungria, whither accidental circumstances conducted his parents, and served for some time in the black hussars. Early in life he went to Russia, married, and engaged in the military service of that country, which was in fact his own. He made several campaigns against the Turks, and was at the storming of Ismail and Otchakoff, where his gallant conduct won him the esteem

of his regiment, The cause of his exile to Siberia is not known, his trial, and the re-examination of it in latter times, having remained a secret. Some persons pretended to know that he had been accused of insubordination by his commanding officer, who was unfriendly to him. Whatever may have been the cause of it, he had been in Siberia fourteen years, when his daughter undertook her journey to St. Petersburg. The place of his banishment was Ischim, a village on the frontiers of the government of Tobolsk: he lived there with his wife and daughter, upon the small allowance of ten kopecks a day, which is paid to the prisoners who are not condemned to hard labor.

*

Young Prascovia contributed by her industry to the subsistence of her parents. She lent her services to the laundresses of the village, or made herself useful, at harvest time, in the fields, and worked as hard as her strength permitted. Rye, eggs, and vegetables, were the reward of her exertions. She was a child when she arrived in Siberia, and having never known a more comfortable life, she gave herself up most cheerfully to continual labor, though it often exceeded her physical strength. Her delicate hands seemed destined for different occupations. Her mother, whose whole time was occupied in the management of her poor household, seemed to bear patiently her deplorable situation: but her father, who had been from his youth accustomed to the active life of a soldier, had never learnt to resign himself to his fate, and often yielded to a despondency and despair, which no misfortune, however great, can excuse. Although he endeavoured to conceal from Prascovia the grief which preyed upon his mind, she had been too often, either by accident or through her attention to all that concerned him, a secret witness of his dejection, not to reflect on the cruel situation of her parents, long before they imagined that she was aware of their sufferings.

The Governor of Siberia had never replied to the supplications which Lopouloff had addressed to him from time to time: an officer, however, having passed with despatches through Ischim, and having promised him, not only to deliver

Ischim is a miserable town on the stream of its own name. 1 could get no attention paid me, either as to lodging or food; and though the rain fell in torrents, I and my Cossacks were obliged to pass the night in the market place."-Captain Cochrane's Narrative of a Pedestrian Journey through Russia.

to the governor his letters, but to second his requests, the unfortunate exile entertained for awhile some hopes of liberty or relief. But the few travellers and messengers that arrived from Tobolsk, added only disappointments to actual and increased sufferings.

"the

It was in one of these distressing moments that Prascovia, on her return from her labors in the fields, found her mother bathed in tears, and was alarmed by the mortal paleness and the bewildered looks of her father. "There, you see," exclaimed he, when she entered this abode of sorrow, object of my greatest grief: this is the child whom Provividence has given me in its wrath, to increase my sufferings by hers, to make me witness of her gradual decay, when wasted by incessant toil, so that the name of father, which is a blessing to all others, is to me the strongest proof of heaven's malediction." Poor Prascovia, frightened to death, clung to his knees, and, with the assistance of her mother and by their united entreaties, Lopouloff recovered gradually his self-possession: but this scene had made a strong impression upon her mind. Her parents had, for the first time, openly spoken in her presence of their hopeless situation, and for the first time she had been permitted to sympathise in their sorShe was then only fifteen years of age, and at that time the idea of endeavouring to obtain her father's pardon entered. into her mind; or, according to her own account, one day when she had been praying, "it crossed her like lightning, and caused in her an unspeakable emotion." She was persuaded that it was an inspiration of Providence, and this belief supported her under the most trying circumstances.

TOWS.

The hope of pardon and of liberty had never before cheered her heart. It filled her now with delight. She threw herself again on her knees and prayed with fervor; but her imagination was so disquieted, that she knew not exactly what she should implore from the Divine mercy, all the ordinary train of her ideas being lost, in the nameless joy she experienced. Soon, however, the resolution of going to St. Petersburg, with the purpose of throwing herself at the emperor's feet, to obtain her father's liberty, grew more and more distinct in her mind, and became the prevailing subject of her thoughts.

She had long since resorted to a favorite place, on the skirts of a neighbouring wood, where she loved to pray; but now

she visited it oftener than ever. Occupied exclusively with her great project, she implored heaven with all the ardor of her soul, to favor, to protect it, and to give her sufficient fortitude and means to accomplish it. She was, therefore, often somewhat negligent in her usual occupations, and was often upbraided by her parents for it. For a long time she did not dare to disclose to them the enterprize she meditated. Her courage failed her, whenever she attempted an explanation, in which she could discern little probability of success. But when she became convinced that she had sufficiently matured her design, she fixed a day when she should disclose it to her parents, and firmly resolved to overcome, on that occasion, her natural timidity.

On the day fixed, Prascovia went, early in the morning, to the forest, to implore from heaven that courage and eloquence which she deemed necessary to convince her parents. She returned home afterwards, with no other uncertainty, but to which of her parents she was about to reveal her project. The first she should meet was to be her confidant: she rather hoped to meet her mother, on whose indulgence she trusted the most. But when she approached the house, she saw her father seated on a bench before the door, smoking his pipe. She addressed him with great courage, explained, in part, her views, and solicited, with all the eloquence which she could command, permission to depart for the metropolis. When she had concluded, her father, who had not interrupted her speech, took her hand with great gravity, and entering with her into the room, where his wife was preparing dinner, he exclaimed,— My wife, good news! we have a powerful protector! Prascovia is on her way to St. Petersburg, and is good enough to promise to intercede in our behalf with the emperor!" Lopouloff repeated, in a tone of irony, his whole conversation with his daughter. "She would do better," said her mother, "to mind her business, instead of dreaming of such follies." The poor girl had mustered courage against the anger of her parents, but she was unprepared to see her hopes brought to the test of ridicule and irony. She wept bitterly. The gay humour which her father had indulged for a moment gave way to his usual austerity; but, while he reproved her for weeping, her mother caught her to her bosom, smiled, and, reaching a towel, said to her, in a coaxing tone,