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the services of the offending actress on the occasion. Sumarokoff did not venture to take any step against his Excellency the Governor; but when the heroine advanced in full Muscovite costume on the stage, the indignant poet rushed forward from behind the scenes, seized her reluctantly by the collar and waist, and tossed her furiously from the boards. He then went home, and indited two querulous and sublime epistles to the Empress. Catherine, in the midst of her gigantic schemes of conquest and improvement, had the patience to sit down and address the following good-humoured and sensible exhortation to the disordered bard.

"Monsieur Sumarokoff, j'ai été fort étonnée de votre lettre du 28 Janvier, et encore plus de celie du premier Février. Toutes deux contiennent, à ce qu'il me semble, des plaintes contre la Belmontia qui pourtant n'a fait que suivre les ordres du comte Soltikoff. Le feld-maréchal a désiré de voir représenter votre tragédie; cela vous fait honneur. Il était convenable de vous conformer au désir de la

première personne en autorité à Moscou; mais si elle a jugé à propos d'ordonner que cette pièce fût représentée, il fallait exécuter sa volonté sans contestation. Je crois que vous savez mieux que personne combien de respect méritent des hommes qui ont servi avec gloire, et dont la tête est couverte de cheveux blancs; c'est pourquoi je vous conseille d'éviter de pareilles disputes à l'avenir. Par ce moyen vous conserverez la tranquillité d'âme qui est nécessaire pour vos ouvrages, et il me sera toujours plus agréable de voir les passions représentées dans vos drames que de les lire dans vos lettres. "Au surplus, je suis votre affectionnée.

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Signé CATHERINE.' "Je conseille," adds M. Grimm, "à tout ministre chargé du département des lettres de cachet, d'enregistrer ce formulaire à son greffe, et à tout hasard de n'en jamais délivrer d'autres aux poetes et à tont ce qui a droit d'être du genre irritable, c'est-à-dire enfant et fou par état. Après cette lettre qui mérite peut-être autant l'immortalité que les monumens de la sagesse et de la gloire du règne actuel de la Russie, je meurs de peur de m'affermir dans la pensée hérétique que l'esprit ne gâte jamais rien, même sur le trône.'

But it is at last necessary to close these entertaining volumes,-though we have not been able to furnish our readers with any thing like a fair specimen of their various and

miscellaneous contents. Whoever wishes to see the economist wittily abused-to read a full and picturesque account of the tragical rejoicings that filled Paris with mourning at the marriage of the late King-to learn how Paul Jones was a writer of pastorals and love songs-or how they made carriages of leather, and evaporated diamonds in 1772-to_trace the debut of Madame de Staël as an author at the age of twelve, in the year !-to understand M. Grimm's notions on suicide and happiness-to know in what the unique charm of Madlle. Thevenin consisted-and in what manner the dispute between the patrons of the French and the Italian music was conducted-will do well to peruse the five thick volumes, in which these, and innumerable other matters of equal importance are discussed, with the talent and vivacity with which the reader must have been struck, in the least of the foregoing extracts.

We add but one trivial remark, which is forced upon us, indeed, at almost every page of this correspondence. The profession of literature must be much wholesomer in France than in any other country:-for though the volumes before us may be regarded as a great literary obituary, and record the deaths, we suppose, of more than an hundred persons of some note in the world of letters, we scarcely meet with an individual who is less than seventy or eighty years of age-and no very small proportion actually last till near ninety or an hundred-although the greater part of them seem neither to have lodged so high, nor lived so low, as their more active and abstemious brethren in other cities. M. Grimm observes that, by a remarkable fatality, Europe was deprived, in the course of little more than six months, of the splendid and commanding talents of Rousseau, Voltaire, Haller, Linnæus, Heidegger, Lord Chatham, and Le Kain-a constellation of genius, he adds, that when it set to us, must have carried a dazzling light into the domains of the King of Terrors, and excited no small alarm in his ministersif they bear any resemblance to the ministers of other sovereigns.

(January, 1810.)

Memoirs of the Life and Writings of VICTOR ALFIERI. Written by Himself. 2 vols. 8vo. pp. 614. London: 1810.

THIS book contains the delineation of an extraordinary and not very engaging character; and an imperfect sketch of the rise and progress of a great poetical genius. It is deserving of notice in both capacities-but chiefly in the first; as there probably never was an instance in which the works of an author were more likely to be influenced by his personal peculiarities. Pride and enthusiasm-irrepressible vehemence and ambition -and an arrogant, fastidious, and somewhat narrow system of taste and opinions, were the

pre

great leading features in the mind of Alfieri. Strengthened, and in some degree produced, by a loose and injudicious education, those traits were still further developed by the mature and protracted indulgences of a very dissipated youth; and when, at last, they admitted of an application to study, imparted their own character of impetuosity to those more meritorious exertions;-converted a taste into a passion; and left him, for a great part of his life, under the influence of a true and irresistible inspiration. Every thing in

him, indeed, appears to have been passion and are by no means well written; and that they ungoverned impulse; and, while he was will form no exception to the general obserraised above the common level of his degene-vation, that almost all Italian prose is feeble rate countrymen by a stern and self-willed and deficient in precision. There is somehaughtiness, that might have become an an- thing, indeed, quite remarkable in the wordicient Roman, he was chiefly distinguished ness of most of the modern writers in this from other erect spirits by the vehemence language,—the very copiousness and smoothwhich formed the basis of his character, and ness of which seems to form an apology for by the uncontrolled dominion which he al- the want of force or exactness-and to hide, lowed to his various and successive propensi- with its sweet and uniform flow, both from ties. So constantly and entirely, indeed, was the writer and the reader, that penury of he under the influence of these domineering thought, and looseness of reasoning, which attachments, that his whole life and character are so easily detected when it is rendered into might be summed up by describing him as a harsher dialect. Unsatisfactory, however, the victim, successively, of a passion for as they are in many particulars, it is still imhorses-a passion for travelling-a passion for possible to peruse the memoirs of such a man literature and a passion for what he called as Alfieri without interest and gratification. independence. The traits of ardour and originality that are disclosed through all the reserve and gravity of the style, beget a continual expectation and curiosity; and even those parts of the story which seem to belong rather to his youth, rank, and education, than to his genius or peculiar character, acquire a degree of importance, from considering how far those very circumstances may have assisted the formation, and obstructed the development of that character and genius; and in what respects its peculiarities may be referred to the obstacles it had to encounter, in misguidance, passion, and prejudice.

The memoirs of such a life, and the confessions of such a man, seem to hold out a promise of no common interest and amusement. Yet, though they are here presented to us with considerable fulness and apparent fidelity, we cannot say that we have been much amused or interested by the perusal. There is a proud coldness in the narrative, which neither invites sympathy, nor kindles the imagination. The author seems to disdain giving himself en spectacle to his readers; and chronicles his various acts of extravagance and fits of passion, with a sober and languid gravity, to which we can recollect no parallel. In this review of the events and feelings of a life of adventure and agitation, he is never once betrayed into the genuine language of emotion; but dwells on the scenes of his childhood without tenderness, and on the struggles and tumults of his riper years without any sort of animation. We look in vain through the whole narrative for one gleam of that magical eloquence by which Rousseau transports us into the scenes he describes, and into the heart which responded to those scenes,-or even for a trait of that social garrulity which has enabled Marmontel and Cumberland to give a grace to obsolete anecdote, and to people the whole space around them with living pictures of the beings among whom they existed. There is not one character attempted, from beginning to end of this biography;-which is neither lively, in short, nor eloquent-neither playful, impassioned, nor sarcastic. Neither is it a mere unassuming outline of the author's history and publications, like the short notices of Hume or Smith. It is, on the contrary, a pretty copious and minute narrative of all his feelings and adventures; and contains, as we should suppose, a tolerably accurate enumeration of his migrations, prejudices, and antipathies. It is not that he does not condescend to talk about trifling things, but that he will not talk about them in a lively or interesting manner; and systematically declines investing any part of his statement with those picturesque details, and that warm colouring, by which alone the story of an individual can often excite much interest among strangers. Though we have not been able to see the original of these Memoirs, we will venture to add, that they

Alfieri was born at Asti, in Piedmont, of noble and rich, but illiterate parents, in January 1749. The history of his childhood, which fills five chapters, contains nothing very remarkable. The earliest thing he remembers, is being fed with sweetmeats by an old uncle with square-toed shoes. He was educated at home by a good-natured, stupid priest; and having no brother of his own age, was without any friend or companion for the greater part of his childhood. When about seven years old, he falls in love with the smooth faces of some male novices in a neighbouring church; and is obliged to walk about with a green net on his hair, as a punishment for fibbing. To the agony which he endured from this infliction, he ascribes his scrupulous adherence to truth through the rest of his life;

all this notwithstanding, he is tempted to steal a fan from an old lady in the family. and grows silent, melancholy, and reserved

at last, when about ten years of age, he is sent to the academy at Turin.

This migration adds but little to the interest of the narrative, or the improvement of the writer. The academy was a great, ill-regu lated establishment; in one quarter of which the pages of the court, and foreigners of distinction, were indulged in every sort of dissipation-while the younger pupils were stowed into filthy cells, ill fed, and worse educated. There he learned a little Latin, and tried, in vain, to acquire the elements of mathematics: for, after the painful application of several months, he was never able to comprehend the fourth proposition of Euclid; and found, he says, all his life after, that he had "a completely anti-geometrical head." From the bad diet, and preposterously early hours of

the academy, he soon fell into wretched to Asti, and were all bedaubed with rouge-the health, and, growing more melancholy and use of which was then exclusively confined to the solitary than ever, became covered over with French. I have frequently mentioned this circumsores and ulcers. Even in this situation, account for such an absurd and ridiculous practice, stance several years afterwards, not being able to however, a little glimmering of literary ambi-which is wholly at variance with nature; for when tion became visible. He procured a copy of men. to disguise the effects of sickness, or other Ariosto from a voracious schoolfellow, by giv- calamities, besmear themselves with this detestable ing up to him his share of the chickens which rouge, they carefully conceal it; well knowing formed their Sunday regale; and read Metas-that, when discovered, it only excites the laughter tasio and Gil Blas with great ardour and de- figures left a deep and lasting impression on my or pity of the beholders. These painted French light. The inflammability of his imagination, mind, and inspired me with a certain feeling of dishowever, was more strikingly manifested in gust towards the females of this nation. the effects of the first opera to which he was admitted, when he was only about twelve years of age.

ever,

that the French had been beaten by sea and land; recalling to mind the first ideas of my infancy, during which I was told that the French had frequently been in possession of Asti; and that during the last time, they had suffered themselves to be taken prisoners to the number of six or seven thousand, without resistance, after conducting themselves, while they remained in possession of the place, with the greatest insolence and tyranny ;-all these different circumstances, being associated with the idea of the ridiculous dancing-master! tended more and more to rivet in my mind an aversion to the French nation."-pp. 83--86.

"From my geographical studies resulted another cause of antipathy to that nation. Having seen on the chart the great difference in extent and population between England or Prussia and France; and "This varied and enchanting music," he ob-hearing, every time news arrived from the armies, serves, sunk deep into my soul, and made the most astonishing impression on my imagination;-it agi. tated the inmost recesses of my heart to such a degree, that for several weeks I experienced the most profound melancholy, which was not, how. wholly unattended with pleasure. I became tired and disgusted with my studies, while at the same time the most wild and whimsical ideas took such possession of my mind, as would have led me to portray them in the most impassioned verses, had I not been wholly unacquainted with the true nature of my own feelings. It was the first time music had produced such a powerful effect on my mind. I had never experienced any thing similar, and it long remained engraven on my memory. When I recollect the feelings excited by the representation of the grand operas, at which I was present during several carnivals, and compare them with those which I now experience, on returning from the performance of a piece I have not witnessed for some time, I am fully convinced that nothing acts so powerfully on my mind as all species of music, and particularly the sound of female voices, and of contro-alto. Nothing excites more various or terrific sensations in my mind. Thus the plots of the greatest number of my tra edies were either formed while listening to music, or a few hours afterwards."-p. 71-73.

With this tragic and Italian passion for Music, he had a sovereign contempt and abhorrence for Dancing. His own account of the origin of this antipathy, and of the first rise of those national prejudices, which he never afterwards made any effort to overcome, is among the most striking and characteristic passages in the earlier part of the story.

At the early age of fourteen, Alfieri was put in possession of a considerable part of his fortune; and launched immediately into every sort of fashionable folly and extravagance. His passion for horses, from which he was never entirely emancipated, now took entire possession of his soul; and his days were spent in galloping up and down the environs of Turin, in company chiefly with the young English who were resident in that capital. From this society, and these exercises, he soon derived such improvement, that in a short time he became by far the most skilful jockey, farrier, and coachman, that modern Italy could boast of producing.

For ten or twelve years after this period, the life of Alfieri presents a most humiliating, but instructive picture of idleness, dissipation, and ennui. It is the finest and most flattering illustration of Miss Edgeworth's admirable tale of Lord Glenthorn; and, indeed, rather outgoes, than falls short of that high-coloured "To the natural hatred I had to dancing, was and apparently exaggerated representation.— joined an invincible antipathy towards my master Such, indeed, is the coincidence between the -a Frenchman newly arrived from Paris. He traits of the fictitious and the real character, possessed a certain air of polite assurance, which, that if these Memoirs had been published when joined to his ridiculous motions and absurd dis- Miss Edgeworth's story was written, it would course, greatly increased the innate aversion I felt have been impossible not to suppose that she towards this frivolous art. So unconquerable was this aversion, that, after leaving school, I could had derived from them every thing that is striknever be prevailed on to join in any dance what-ing and extraordinary in her narrative. For ever. The very name of this amusement still makes me shudder, and laugh at the same time a circumstance by no means unusual with me.

attribute, also, in a great measure, to this dancingmaster the unfavourable, and perhaps erroneous, opinion I have formed of the French people! who, nevertheless, it must be confessed, possess many agreeable and estimable qualities. But it is difficult to weaken or efface impressions received in early youth. Two other causes also contributed to render me from my infancy disgusted with the French character. The first was the impression made on my mind by the sight of the ladies who accompanied the Duchess of Parma in her journey

Con

two or three years, Alfieri contented himself
with running, restless and discontented, over
the different states and cities of Italy; almost
ignorant of its language, and utterly indiffer-
ent both to its literature and its arts.
sumed, at every moment of inaction, with the
most oppressive discontent and unhappiness,
he had no relief but in the velocity of his
movements and the rapidity of his transitions.
Disappointed with every thing, and believing
himself incapable of application or reflection.
he passed his days in a perpetual fever of

impatience and dissipation;-apparently pursuing enjoyment with an eagerness which was in reality inspired by the vain hope of escaping from misery. There is much general truth, as well as peculiar character, in the following simple confession.

"In spite, however, of this constant whirl of dissipation, my being master of my own actions; notwithstanding I had plenty of money, was in the heyday of youth, and possessed a prepossessing figure; I yet felt every where satiety, ennui, and disgust. My greatest pleasure consisted in attending the opera buffa, though the gay and lively music left a deep and melancholy impression in my mind. A thousand gloomy and mournful ideas assailed my imagination, in which I delighted to indulge by wandering alone on the shores near the Chiaja and Portici."-Vol. i. p. 128.

When he gets to Venice, things are, if possible, still worse, though like other hypochondriacs, he is disposed to lay the blame on the winds and the weather. The tumult of the carnival kept him alive, it seems, for a few days.

"But no sooner was the novelty over, than my habitual melancholy and ennui returned. I passed several days together in complete solitude, never leaving the house nor stirring from the window, whence I made signs to a young lady who lodged opposite, and with whom I occasionally exchanged a few words. During the rest of the day, which hung very heavy on my hands, I passed my time either in sleeping or in dreaming, I knew not which, and frequently in weeping without any apparent motive. I had lost my tranquillity, and I was unable even to divine what had deprived me of it. A few years afterwards, on investigating the cause of this occurrence, I discovered that it proceeded from a malady which attacked me every spring, sometimes in April, and sometimes in June: its duration was longer or shorter, and its violence very different, according as my mind was occupied.

against a rock, I could behold the sea and sky
without interruption. In the contemplation of these
objects, embellished by the rays of the setting sun,
Vol. i. pp. 150, 151.
I passed my time dreaining of future delights."-

In a very short time, however, these reveries became intolerable; and he very nearly killed himself and his horses in rushing, with incredible velocity, to Paris. This is his own account of the impression which was made upon him by his first sight of this brilliant metropolis.

"It was on a cold, cloudy, and rainy morning, between the 15th and 20th of August, that I entered Paris, by the wretched suburb of St. Marceau. Accustomed to the clear and serene sky of Italy and Provence, I felt much surprised at the this season. thick fog which enveloped the city, especially at more disagreeable feelings than on entering the Never in my life did I experience damp and dirty suburb of St. Germain, where I was to take up my lodging. What inconsiderate haste, what mad folly had led me into this sink of filth and nastiness! On entering the inn, I felt myself thoroughly undeceived; and I should certainly have set off again immediately, had not shame and fatigue withheld me. My illusions were still further dissipated when I began to ramble through Paris. The mean and wretched buildings; the contemptible ostentation displayed in a few houses dignified with the pompous appellation of hotels and palaces; the filthiness of the Gothic churches; the truly vandal-like construction of the public theatres at that time, besides innumerable other disagreeable objects, of which not the least disgusting to me was the plastered countenances of many very ugly women, far outweighed in my mind the beauty and elegance of the public walks and gardens, the infinite variety of fine carriages, the lofty façade of the Louvre, as well as the number of spectacles and entertainments of every kind."-Vol. i. pp. 153, 154.

"I likewise experienced that my intellectual There, then, as was naturally to be exfaculties resembled a barometer, and that I pos- pected, he again found himself tormented sessed more or less talent for composition, in pro-by the demon of melancholy;" and, after portion to the weight of the atmosphere. During the prevalence of the solstitial and equinoctial winds, trying in vain the boasted stimulant of play, was always remarkably stupid, and uniformly he speedily grew wearied of the place and evinced less penetration in the evening than the all its amusements, and resolved to set off, morning. I likewise perceived that the force of without delay, for England. To England, my imagination, the ardour of enthusiasm, and ca- accordingly, he goes, at midwinter; and with pability of invention, were possessed by me in a such a characteristic and compassionable crahigher degree in the middle of winter, or in the middle of summer, than during the intermediate ving for all sorts of powerful sensations, that periods. This materiality, which I believe to be "he rejoiced exceedingly at the extreme cold, common to all men of a delicate nervous system, which actually froze the wine and bread in his has greatly contributed to lessen the pride with carriage during a part of the journey." Prewhich the good I have done might have inspired pared, as he was, for disappointment, by the me, in like manner as it has tended to diminish the shame I might have felt for the errors I have continual extravagance of his expectation, committed, particularly in my own art."-Vol. i. Alfieri was delighted with England. "The pp. 140-142. roads, the inns, the horses, and, above all, the incessant bustle in the suburbs, as well as in the capital, all conspired to fill my mind with delight." He passed a part of the winter in good society, in London; but soon "becoming disgusted with assemblies and routs, determined no longer to play the lord in the drawing-room, but the coachman at the gate!" and accordingly contrived to get through three laborious months, by being "five or -"after the performance was over, it was my six hours every morning on horseback, and regular practice to bathe every evening in the sea. being seated on the coachbox for two or three I was induced to indulge myself in this luxury, in hours every evening, whatever was the state consequence of finding a very agreeable spot, on a tongue of land lying to the right of the harbour, of the weather."" Even these great and where, seated on the sand, with my back leaning meritorious exertions, however, could not

In his nineteenth year, he extends his travels to France, and stops a few weeks at Marseilles, where he passed his evenings exactly as Lord Glenthorn is represented to have done his at his Irish castle. To help away the hours, he went every night to the play, although his Italian ears were disgusted with the poverty of the recitation; and,

long keep down his inveterate malady, nor | off to Vienna. The state of his mind, both quell the evil spirit that possessed him; and as to idleness and politics, is strikingly reprehe was driven to make a hasty tour through sented in the following short passage. the west of England, which appears to have afforded him very considerable relief.

The country then so much enchanted me that I determined to settle in it; not that I was much attached to any individual, but because I was delighted with the scenery, the simple manners of the inhabitants, the modesty and beauty of the women, and, above all. with the enjoyment of political liberty, all which made me overlook its mutable climate, the melancholy almost inseparable from it, and the exorbitant price of all the necessaries of life."-Vol. i. pp. 162, 163.

Scarcely, however, was this bold resolution of settling adopted, when the author is again "seized with the mania of travelling" and skims over to Holland in the beginning of summer. And here he is still more effectually diverted than ever, by falling in love with a young married lady at the Hague, who was obliging enough to return his affection. Circumstances, however, at last compel the fair one to rejoin her husband in Switzerland; and the impetuous Italian is affected with such violent despair, that he makes a desperate attempt on his life, by taking off the bandages after being let blood; and returns sullenly to Italy, without stopping to look at any thing, or uttering a single word to his servant during the whole course of the journey.

pro

"I might easily, during my stay at Vienna, have been introduced to the celebrated poet Metastasio, at whose house our minister, the old and respectable Count Canale, passed his evenings in a select company of men of letters, whose chief amusement tin, and Italian classics. Having taken an affecconsisted in reading portions from the Greek, Lation for me, he wished, out of pity to my idleness, to conduct me thither. But I declined accompanying him, either from my usual awkwardness, or from the contempt which the constant habit of reading French works had given me for Italian ductions. Hence I concluded, that this assemblage of men of letters, with their classics, could be only Metastasio, in the gardens of Schoenbrunn. perform a dismal company of pedants. Besides, I had seen the customary genuflexion to Maria Theresa in such a servile and adulatory manner, that I, who had my head stuffed with Plutarch, and who exaggerated every thing I conceived, could not think of binding myself, either by the ties of familiarity or friendship, with a poet who had sold himself to a despotism which I so cordially detested." Vol. i. pp. 182, 183.

From Vienna he flew to Prussia, which, he says, looked all like one great guardhouse; and where he could not repress "the horror sion and despotism assuming the mask of and indignation he felt at beholding oppresvirtue." From Prussia he passed on to Denmark; where his health was seriously affected by the profligacy in which he indulged; and where the only amusement he could rel ish, consisted in driving a sledge with inconceivable velocity over the snow." In this way he wandered on through Sweden and Finland to Russia; and experienced, as usual, a miserable disappointment on arriving at St. Petersburg.

Alas! no sooner had I reached this Asiatic as

This violent fit of depression, however, and the seclusion by which it was followed, led him, for the first time, to look into his books; and the perusal of the Lives of Plutarch seems to have made such an impression on his ardent and susceptible spirit, that a passion for liberty and independence now took the lead of every other in his soul, and he became for life an emulator of the ancient republicans. He read semblage of wooden huts, than Rome, Genoa, Vethe story of Timoleon, Brutus, &c., he assures could not refrain from laughing. What I afternice, and Florence rose to my recollection; and I us, with floods of tears, and agonies of admi-wards saw of this country tended still more strongly ration. "I was like one beside himself; and shed tears of mingled grief and rage at having been born at Piedmont; and at a period, and under a government, where it was impossible to conceive or execute any great design.” The same sentiment, indeed, seems to have haunted him for the greater part of his life; and is expressed in many passages of these Memoirs besides the following.

"Having lived two or three years almost wholly among the English; having heard their power and riches everywhere celebrated; having contemplated their great political influence, and on the other hand viewing Italy wholly degraded from her rank as a nation, and the Italians divided, weak, and enslaved, I was ashamed of being an Italian, and wished not to possess any thing in common with this nation."Vol. i. p. 121.

"I was naturally attached to a domestic life; but after having visited England at nineteen, and read Plutarch with the greatest interest at twenty years of age, I experienced the most insufferable repugnance at marrying and having my children born at Turin."-Vol. i. p. 175.

The time, however, was not yet come when study was to ballast and anchor this agitated spirit. Plutarch was soon thrown aside; and the patriot and his horses gallop

to confirm my first impression, that it merited not to be seen. Every thing, except their beards and their horses, disgusted me so much, that, during six weeks I remained among these savages, I determined not to become acquainted with any one; nor even to see the two or three youths with whom I had associated at Turin, and who were descended from the first families of the country. I took no measure to be presented to the celebrated Autocratrix Catherine II.; nor did I even behold the countenance of a sovereign who in our days has outstripped fame. On investigating, at a future period, the reason of such extraordinary conduct, I became convinced that it proceeded from a certain intolerance of character, and a hatred to every species of tyranny, and which in this particular instance attached itself to a person suspected of the most horrible crime-the murder of a defenceless husband."-Vol. i. pp. 194, 195.

This rage for liberty continued to possess him in his return through Prussia, and really seems to have reached its acmé when it dictated the following most preposterous pas sage, which, we cannot help suspecting, is indebted for part of its absurdity to the translator.

"I visited Zorndorff, a spot rendered famous by the sanguinary battle fought between the Russians and Prussians, where thousands of men on both

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