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‘ THE ~VICAE:S__Q_VERNESTS. CHAPTER VII. “Life has rising ills."-â€"Dyer.- 'Papa. papa," says Miss Peyton. im- patiently, without eliciting any re- spouse. It is half-past ten, and breakfast is on the table! So are two little white pigeons. who have flown in through the open window, and are sitting. one on Ciarissa's shoulder, the other on the edge of the table. picking crumbs out of her plate. The sun is streaming hotly in. the breath of flowers floating faintly in his train. A bowl of roses. half opened and filled with the dew of early morning, lies near Ciarissa’s plate. Upon the window-sill. outside, another little pigeon, brown-tinged and timid. stands peeping shyly in, envying his bolder brothers, and longing for the pretty coaxing voice of his mistress that shall make him brave to enter. But toâ€"day the welcome summons does not come. Miss Peyton has an open let- ter in her hand, the contents of which have plainly disturbed and interested her to an unusual degree; so that the little bird, whose pretty brown plumage; is being transformed by the sun into richest bronze, grows each moment more dejected. Not for him the crumbs and the "flesh-pots of Egypt." "Oneâ€"twoâ€" If you don't an- swer me before I say three, papa, I shall do something desperate," she says, again. raising her voice a little. . But still papa. takes no head. At this moment, poor man. he is deep in Mr. Forster's Irish Distress Bill, is deaf to all surroundings. Clarissa loses patience. Taking up a teaspoon, she makes a sharp “assault -and battery ” upon an uncffending tea.- cup, thereby creating 3. din compared to which the noise of tomtoms would be sweetest music. George Peyton is not proof against this tattoo. He looks up irritably, and for a moment withdraws his mind from Mr. Forster's Bill. "My dear Clarissa,” he says. very just- ly incensed, “what is it? What on earth is the matter with you? My dear. whatever it is. do stop that un- pleasant noise: it. plays the very mis- chief with one's nerves.” “It is only a teaspoon," begins Miss Peyton, delighted with her success. "And a cup. I think," says Mr. Pey- ton. "Separately they are unoffending, together they can annoy. If you will put that spoon out of your hand, my dear, you will make me much happier." "It was only when I was actually hoarse, from trying to attract your at- tention. that I resorted to violent mea- sures," says Clarissa, severely. “ I beg your pardon," returns be, sub- missively. “Now listen to my letter," says Clarâ€" issa. “I want your advice. It is such a dear letter, and such a-sad one; and -â€"and something must be done at once." “I quite agree with you," murmurs her father. dreamily. Once again his mind is losing itself in the folds of the fragrant “Times.” " Mannerton. " Tuesday, September 24 " My Dear Clarissa,â€" “ So long a time has elapsed since last I saw or heard of you that I half~ fear as you read this, it will puzzle you to remember the writer. Am I quite for- gotten! I hope not; as I want you to 0 me a great service. This reason for wishing myself still in your memory sounds selfisli.-â€"almost rude; but. what. can I do.’ Must I not speak the truth? And indeed I am in sore trouble. I am friendlcss. all but homeless, and utter- ly alone in the world. But, as I am quite determined to fight my own way, I have decided on going out. a gover- ness. and I want. you.- dear, dear CiSsy, to get somebody to try me. somebody who would not be too hard upon 'me. just at. first. until I had accustomed myself to the life and to the children's wuvs. You may say I can paint very wcll, and, though not a brilliant pianist. I have a nod voice. how, at so ool, you used to say you liked to hear me sing when the dav was dy- ing is I can speak‘French and German. but I know nothing of Italian or Latin. and [was never very much, at arithâ€" metic. or that. I think I could get on. after a littlc training; under all events I know i must try. as life here is not enduriible. “ Oh. Cissy. if time has changed you. if yoit have grown cold and careless. as all the rest- of this cruel world. what shall I do? But I will not believe that even a hundred years could make you unkind or unfeeling. Do you think you will be very long answering this? Every hour I shall be listening for the post: write to me then. as soon as you can. I am very unhappy here with Aunt Elizabeth. who does not. care for me. " I am. dear Clarissa, " Your affectionate friend. "Georgie Broughtou. "PSâ€"If you could get me pretty children. [should be so glad: but of course it must not make any difference.) and I dare say ugly ones are just as nice. When one gets used to them. I am drcsdfully afraid of boys; but; per- Imps there may be a few found some- where amenable to reason. and at least one or two who do not. object to knees in their knickerbockers. Do you re- member the gardener's babies at Bros-f eels. and how fond thev were of me? Dear Cissy. write soon." This is the letter. with all its pathetic little confidenoes. its "do you .retnem~ bars 3" and "have you forgottciis‘i’" and its toneâ€"half mud and half beseech- thst has touche Miss Peytonso deeply. [for month tumbles. there are fears in her voice and eyes. as she finishes the last word and turns her face to her, father. Something she sees in that vague but; kindly man checks her en~ u for a moment: a thought but to. «cases her brain and fl! tlon in her sternest tones. i Have you been listening!" the tag. (Do you recollect ‘ ' . ‘ i . d' cefui if‘ m“ I “59": on marsh" with her words. flies through the open Win- ‘fListening, my dear? Of course I have. Yes, certainly. with all my might." returns he, with unusual and therefore doubtful alacrity. As amato ter of fact. I don't think much would be said about his “distinguished answer- ing" were he to be examined in the letter just read: but all the more for this reason does he assume an! air of surprise at Clarissa's question. and cov- ers himself with an expression of in- 'ured innocence. Unfortunately for im. however, Miss Peyton is a person not to be done. “ No. you have not." she says, severe but calm. "You have not heard asm- gle syllable. Your mind was full of that miserable paper all the time. and I am positive you were putting together some silly speech that you imagine would electrify those absurd men in the House of Commons." . "I don't think it was a very Sllly speech, my dear Clarissa." remonst-rates Mr. Peyton, feebly. “Ob. then you do acknowledge you were miles away in thought.” says Clarissa. triumphant, if disgusted. "th dear girl. how you do misjudge me!" protests poor Mr. Peyton. at his wits’ end. “I assure you, I was all atâ€" tention to that very excellent letter from beginning to end.” “\Vere you i” returns she, sweetly. ,“Then. of course, you can tell me what lwas the last. word." She has placed her elbows on the table. and has let her pretty face sink into the palms of her hands, and is now regarding her father with a smile, half mocking. half malicious. " The last word! 0h, nonsense, my dear Cis! who ever remembered the last word of anything, unless it happen- ed to be “The Burial of Sir John Moore,’ or ‘Beautiful Star,’ or something that way? But I know your letter was all about a young woman who has got her- self into a mess and wants to come 'to you now as maid or laundress. But there is always danger in that sort of thing. you know, and you mightn't like it afterward; andâ€"â€"" b “ Oh, what an engrossing speech that t imaginary one of yours must have been!" says Clarissa. with a little distracted shake of her head. "I knew you were in the room, didn't I? No, no, no, you are altogether wrong: this is no letter from _maid or laundress. but from Georgie Broughton. (You must remem- ber_lier name, I have so often mention- ed_it to you.) She is the dearest little thing in the worldâ€"quite that. and more. And she writes to tell me she is miserably poor, and wants to go out as a governess." “ Poor girl! Of all sources, the last." ' “Yespisn't it wretched? But, you see, she is bound to do something, and wearing out one's heart in a dingy school-room seems to be the only course left open toe. pretty girl like Georgie." " Try Mrs. Redmond, then. She is looking out for a. governess for the children; and your friend might drop in there without further trouble." “Oh. papa, but all those children! and Mrs. Redmond herself, too, so fret- ful and so ii‘ritable,â€"so utterly impos- Sible in every way. Her very 'How d'ye do?’ would frighten Georgie to death.” “People don't die of chills of that description; and your poor little friend can scarcely expect to find everything coulcur de rose. Besides, ‘all those children' you s eak of just resolve themselves into wo, as the boys are at school, and Cissy calls herself grown up. I should think Cissy would be, in fact, a great comfort to her. and would ble) tamenable to her, and gentleâ€"and a I" At this. Miss Peyton laughs a little, and bites her lip. 'fAmcnable," she says, slowly. "Do you know, I am afaid my Georgie is even younger than Cissy ‘3 " “ Y hunger l " “ \\ ell, she will certainly look young- er; she has such a little, fresh. baby- ish rosebud of a face. Do you think" â€"anx10usly-â€"‘-‘that 'ivould matter much ? " " it doesn't sound promising; but, if she is a good girl, one might forgive the great crime of being young and fresh. Dear me, it is very awkward. If. she had been a nice, sensibler ugly. middle-aged person, now, all would have gone well; but, after all, poor child, of' course she can't help her appearance." ."ho. she' certainly cannot." says Clarissa. With a sigh, heartfelt pity in her tone. “ And her eyes are the very color_of forget-meâ€"nots,â€"quite the irfiti'iest I ever saw. It is really too _“ liedniondphimselfa would make no difficulty about it. . Heprefers to have young people about him. and was al- ways, you know. ratherâ€"â€"rather mel- ancholy when iii Miss Prood's society, who was really a most estimable'woâ€" man. and one whose moral character one could not fail to admire.’ when one forgot her nose, and herâ€"â€"” “ Temper? " " Well, yes, she was rather excitable. But, aslfl- was saying, Redmond and your friend would probably pull very well: and then there's the curate. Why," brilliantly.â€"“ she might; marry the curate! " "Mud-lasting?'15:in Clarissa. with animation, brightening visibly. “ \Viiy, really. so she might. Such a Igood- t is lOuklllg man, too. and clever. a day or two ago Since somebody ‘ on} ' r zsaid to me. ‘ He has the very sort‘of unhappy re- ! face they make bishops of nowadays.‘ " , “ “hat a very disinterested girl you are!” says her father, with a smile, faint but amused: “ without a moâ€" .mcnt's hesitation you surrender every I hope of making this embryo bishop your town. Can devotion further go '2 \\'ell. take my advice; and as your heart is set upon this thing. go down to tit-i 'vicarage toâ€"day ' tell Mrs. Redmond l have secured a governess for her; i?» not discuss the subject.â€"simplv date i the fact; and I think you will find her . gdeeply grateful. in that you have put 1 an end to her difficulties. without comâ€" lling her brain to bear upon the mat- t er. ' V ” Machiavelli was a poor creature, gwhen compared with you." savs Miss il’eyton. saucily. "\Vhat plots and ;plans swell out of your bus brain! I gshall go to the vicarage to- y, as you Eadvise, and be as sweet as honey to ers. Redmond. and win my cause against all obstacles. But first."â€" l turning With. a soft movement to caress gthe snowy pigeon that rests upon her 3.;hciiulder-J' iitle home friends must he 6‘ .1. The bird. as though comprehending :dow to the balcony outside. ,.to nestle . among its more timid companions: ‘whdst Clarissa, a creature scarcely less fair than the , on w A little later, having dressed erself, gshe‘ starfijuiion er‘ra‘n'mfszready to take the vwaragefiy atomic:â€" =3" CHAPTER VIII. " 'Tis leve, love. love. that makes the world go round." ' The hot September sun beats fiercely on her as she walks along; the day is full of la_nguor and sweet peace. The summer is almost done. and is dying. rich in beauty, and warm with the ripe- ness of strength perfected. From out the thickets. little birds that three months agone scarce knew the ower of breath, now warble soft me odies that thrill the air with joy. Clarissa, glad. and full of purpose, feels her heart at one with these tiny. heaven taught musicians. as she follows the path beneath the leafy trees that leads to the Vicarage. As she deserts the tinted wood. and gains the road that runs by the old mill, she finds herself face to face With Horace Branscombe, coming toward her in a somewhat~ laggard fashion. His brow is darkened by a frown: his whole expression is moody and oppress- ed With discontent. As he sees Clarissa, his featuresâ€"as though compelled by a powerful Willâ€" undergo a complete change, and he smiles, and comes forward with out- stretched hand to greet her. "Horace! you here again, and _so soon?" she says, quickly. ' Surprise lends haste to her tongue. She has believed him in London; and now to see him thus unexpectedly, and without the usual friendly warning conveyed by letter, causes her not only pleasure, but a vague uneasiness. f' Does it seem ‘ so soon ’ to you? " re- plies he in a carefully inspired tone. " To me the last two months have ap- peared almost a year. so heavily have dragged the days spent away from Pull- ingham." It is a. very stereotyped little senâ€" tence. old and world-worn, and smackâ€" ing faintly of insincerity; but. when a. woman loves a. man she rarely mea- sures his words. " I seem rude," says Clarissa with a. soft: smile. “But you will understand me. And you know you told me you did not intend to return before Christâ€" mas." "Yes. I know.” He is silent for a little while, and then. rousing himself, as though by an effort, says, slowly,â€" " Did you miss me?” "I always miss you." returns she. simply: you know that." She flushes warmly, and lets her long lashes fall leisurely. until at. length they hide from view the sweet confession of her eyes. There is a pause that embraces a full minute, and then she speaks again. " You have not yet told me the reason of your return," she says, gently. " I wearied of town." replies he. f'A strange acknowledgment for one like me. but true. For once,I honestly pined for the countryâ€"insipid as I have always deemed itâ€"and craved un- ceasingly for something fresh. new, in- nocent, something unused to gas, and the glare and unholy glitter of a city." He speaks bitterlyâ€"almost passion- atelyâ€"and as thou h for the moment he has altogether 'orgotten the exist- ence of his companion. An instant later, however, he recovers himself._ " I felt I should be happier, more fit- ted to cope with my work, if I could get even one glimpse of you! " "Are you not happy“, then?" asks she, gently, her heart beating fast, her color growing and lessening rapidly. ' “Happy? No. Can a man be happy while a perpetual doubt distracts him? Can he know even the meaning of the word Peace. whilst devoured with a fear that he shall never possess the one great good he desires?” ‘ _ Again, his thoughts appear to wander; and some passion, not born of the pres- ent moment, but borrowed from some other hour, fills his tone. "Yes," says Clarissa. nervously, ques- tioningly, feeling poor in words, now that the great crisis of her life has come. "So I am here," he goes on. softly, -" to‘solve my doubt, to gain at least a rest from the gnawing suspense that. for so [on I have endured. Need I tell you t at I .love youfâ€"trliat" (he pauses, and a faint. contraction of the features, that dies almost as it is born, disfigures his face for a second)â€"â€" “that you are the, one woman in all the world upon whom I have set my heart?" . i. There is silence. For, Clarissa, an intense joy holds her mute; the very intensity of her happiness checks the flowyof speech. He too, seems lost in thought. Presently, however, he breaks the silence. and this time‘ya faint anxâ€" iety, may be discerniblefin his voice, though"‘his face iscalnr’an‘d composed, r as usual. ".You do not speak. Clarissa. I have told you of my love, and.you are silent. I now ask if you can love me? At least, give me an answer. Dearest,"â€" glancing at her averted face. and seeing the shyblush that adds another charm to its beauty,â€""iell me the truth." “ I can; I do love yo l" says Clarissa, sweetly, and with per ect trust. She slips her hand into his. Raising his hat, he lifts the slender fingers to his lips. and kisses them; and, then, to- getherâ€"still hand in handâ€"they walk along. speechless, tent. The road is dusty; and 'a few drops of rain fall, like mild blessings, into its parched furrows. The roadside flowers, drooping and languid, fling itheir rich perfume. with lavish gener- iosity, upon the motionless air. Some sheep, in a farooff meadow, mournfully. and answer back the echo that: mocks their lament. " You have made me ha ipier than I ever hoped to be; but you ve not yet. mid you will marry me." The Words come from Horace, but. sound curiously far away, the very stillness and. sadness of the evening rendering them more dis- tant. Clarissa, glancing at him, can see he is as white as Death. ‘. " How pale he is!" she-thinks. and then makes herself happy in the belief this matter. and that his love for her is infinite. "Yes. I shall marry you." she as s. with tender seriousness. To her. t its romise is a Solemn bond, that nothing but death or falsehood can cancel. ll H “Oh, Horace. I cannot answer that question so readily. There aresomany things. Papa must be told; and James Scrape; and you must tell Dorian and your uncle." , " All that would hardly take half an hour." “ Perhaps: but there are other rea- =sons for delay, more than I can tell iyou just now. And, besides. it is all so new, so strange." She smiles, as yet seemingly con~. ‘bleat I that he is terribly In earnest aboutv follows him, to fling though she would willineg have added the Words "'sosweet:”*and a littlevha y. far-away look _umin_es her eyes. impatient?" " Impatient! " returns he. a touch of vehemenoe in his tone. " Of course I am impatient. The sconer it is all 30!: over the better." He checks him- . :elf, draws his breath somewhat quick- ‘ ly. and goes on in a calmer fashion: \‘i hat sort of a lover should I be. if creeps into and i- "\\ by are you so I showed no_anxiety to claim you as soon as ssiblei You should be the last to bame me for undue haste in \Vhen shall it. be, thenâ€" In one month? two! three?” He speaks again, almost‘excitedly. "Oh. no, no." gently, but shrinking from him a little. " That would be im- possxble. \l'hy. thinklâ€"it is only this moment you have told me you love me, and now you would have me name our wedding-day ! " “Not. exactly that. But tell me. some definite time, near at hand. to which I can be looking forward. Everything rests with you now, re- member that." His last words convey an_ unconscuius warning, but Clarissa neither heeds nor understands it. “ Pa 9. will miss me. so terribly," she says, eamiiy; “it seems selfish. al- most as though I were wilfully desert- this matter. mg him. I_ should, at. least, like an- ot er Christmas at home with him. And see,"-turniiig to him with gentle earnestnessâ€"~“ are we not quite happy as we now are, loving and trusting in each other 3‘ \Vhy, then. should we not continue this another year? ou are Silent. Her- ace? You do not answer! Are you angry With me?" She lays her hand lightly on his arm. “No; not an ry." the ground; an he takes no notice of the tender pressure on his arm. “ But a year is a ong time to wait! So many things may happen in twelve months; and deeds once done, forever leave their mark." "Do not speak like that, it is as though you would foretell evil." says Clarissa, a. faint feeling of superstitious horror making her nervous; Branscombe, raising his head, regards her curiously. "\Vhy should there be evil to fore- telli." he says. slowly. “ And yet, Clarissa. Iwould ask you always to re- member this hour, and the fact that His eyes are on it was you, not I. who wished the post- ponement of our marriage. If it must be as you say, it will be better to keep our engagement as quiet as possible; perfectly secret will indeed be best." "Tes; if you wish it. That will please me, too. Only papa need know of it, andâ€"â€".Iames Scrope." . 1' And why Sir James 9 " with a scrut~ inizmg gaze. " \Vhy ? ”--with some surprise. “Well, I supposediecause papa and I never‘ do anything important without telling him of it. He is quite our oldest friend. gYe should hardly get on now without im." “th sq old, either. I hope, by and by, you Will be able to manage without Sir James as a 'fatlier~confessor." "By and by I shall have you," says Clarissa, sweetly. with a smile and a. soft blush. ' " True l. I wonder if you will find that sufficient? I doubt; I’m half such a good fellow, Clarissa, as you believe me." In which he comes nearer the truth than ever he came before. " You are good enough for me," says Clarissa, With fond conviction. " Will you come With me as far as the vicar- age? .I must go there toâ€"day, and 'the walk is such a pretty one, and,"â€"with a little happy laugh.â€"-â€"“now you are quite my own property, I think I should_like to make use of you. Look] there is Ruth Annersley standing at her gate. Good-morning. Ruth! \Vhat acharming day, is it not? after all yesterday’s rain?" - Ruthâ€"who. the moment before, had made a faint movement as though she would Willineg have stepped behind the huge rose bush nearest to her and so have escaped observation -â€" comes slowly forward. She is pale; but the intense heat of the day makes itself felt by all, and has deprived even Miss Pey- ton’s checks of some of their usual warmth. She accepts Clarissa/s profâ€" fered hand, and smiles a faint welcome. But. when Horace would, too. have shak- len hands With her. she declines to see his meaning, and. bo‘wing slightly, turns aSide to listen to his conipanion’s words. (To be Continued.) -â€"â€"‘-â€"-+â€"___ IT IS A PRINCESS. l’ The Royal Baby Born to the Russian Emp- eror is a Daughter and Her Name Is Dian. ' v ' A; despatch from Vienna says that a ' telegram received there from St. Peters- ‘burg announces that the Czarina twas lsafely accouched of a daughter at 10 o'clock on Friday evening. ' 1 Other despatches from St. Peters- :burg confirm the report of the birth of a daughter from the Czarina. ? A despat‘ch from St. Petersbui’g says: A bulletin that has just been issued states that the condition of the Czarina and her daughter is entirely satisfact- ory. At the religious services held ac- after the birth, the infant was named Olga. I â€"â€"... I FORTY-EIGHT DROWNED. ‘ .._..._ ‘Deplorable Calnmlty to . Launch. A despatch from London sayszâ€"The Admiralty have received information that a steam launch belonging to the British Cruiser Edgar was lost near Na- asaki on November 13, and it is be- ieved that all of the 4'6 persons in the boat were drowned. Later despatches state that the missing steam. launch has been found. No details accompany this statement, however, and it is not yet known whether the crew of the boat. was saved or not. I Dire Distress in Newfoundland. The St. John’s, .\'fld., Herald prints a series of letters from correspondents along the south and west coast to the effect that dire distress prevails among the poorest class of people residing there, especially those receiving pauper relief. The retrenchment policy ofthn. Government necessitated the cutting off of half the pauper grants, and. the fish- eries being poor. in'iny find tits-insures in wretched Circumstances. The car. "rulm Slenni respondents predict starvation in num» cram; instances iinicss'proinpt help is supplied by the authorities. {iresent happiness for. RUSSIAN ransacarions.“ ~ _ 4%.. flow Russia, the Champion of Armenia. [Toes nei- Own Subjects. Russia has posed as one of the three powers anxious to bring about a better state of things in Armenia. The trou- ble in Turkey has mainly arisen through the irregular payment of functionaries and the police. and the consequent dis- organization and semiâ€"anarchy. Count Kelley. who. as an Austrian official governs Bosniaâ€"now in a flourishing conditionâ€"offitiilly reports that be adâ€" ministers the Turkish laws (which he states are really good) with some slight alterations. ,This proves that it is the bad administration of the law in Tur~ key which is the great trouble. Al~ though the Christians have been the greatest sufferers. yet the Moslems. who amount to two-thirds of the popu- lation, have also been victims. But. in regard to‘persecution. Russia is. as great a sinner as Turkey; espec- cially considering that although the pay of her officials is inadequate. yet it is punctually forthcoming; and it. has a vastly larger proportion of well-educat- ed office-bearers. Its state religion is that of the Orthodox Greek Church,but the. Dissenters number many millions. and they have bad. and still have, a hard time. Besides this, the Catholics, who number nine millions, have much to complain ofâ€"especially attempts at. FORCIBLE CONVERSION. The treatment of the Russian Jews, who number four millions. has beenâ€"though in different waysâ€"as bad or worse than that of the Armenians: but European public opinion has brought about an amelioration. Count Tolstoi, the well-known Rus- sian writer, an author of world-Wide fame, has, with rare moral courage. written to the London Times (October 23) with an account of the. dreadful per- secution of a small off-shoot from the Greek Church, known as the Dukhoâ€" bortsy, who number only a few thou- sands. Their doctrines comprise some- thing of the Quaker land Plymouth Brethren beliefs, combined With some of the tenets of the Unitarians. They are opposed to warâ€"even to . bearing arms; to taking oaths, and to litigation. Tolstoi describes them as industrious, honest, sober, and well-conductedâ€" practically far above the level of the Russian peasantry. Ten of them re- fused to serve in the army. and _were consequently sentenced to serve in a disciplinary battalion, a sort, of earthly purgatory. A large number of the el- ders were also imprisoned. ~ll‘he Gov- ernor of the Caucasus then ordered all of the sect to assemble at. a given spot. but, apparently anticipating gross out.- rages, they did not come, whereupon the Cossacks were let loose upon them and quartered in their houses. being allow- ed to DO AS THEY PLEASED. Numbers were severely floggedand wo- men were outraged, and all their effects were either stolen or destroyed. Ulti- mately 464 families were driven penni- less from their homes to starve. Tol- stoi’s detailed account is harrowuig. and it is safe to assert that there is no other Russian with sufficient. moral courage to expose such tyranny, but he holds such a high literary position that angry officials must be careful what they do. Doubtless the Emperor is personally un- aware of these and numbers of other horrors. but now that it. has been brought; to his notice (for he sees the Titties)there will be a change for the better. He who publicly exposes offi- cial tyranny in Russia is liable to be sent to Siberia without any ceremony, and Jimbablyany other person would be sent there, and the Czar would not be allowed to know the truth. 'ljolstoi's partial lifting of the veil is a [me big-- ample of the use of a high literary posi~ tion for a beneficeni: purpose, and llllS action must certainly be reckoned. as greatly to his credit in any attempt to properly estimate his character. RUSSIA’S SPLENDID OLD LIBRARY. Some Facts of Interest About This Collec- tion of Books. ’ The University of St. Peterlsburghas the largest and best oriental faculty in Europe; its professors lecture in Arabic, Persian ,‘Turkish. Tartar. Ar- menian. Georgian. Mongolian. and many others. Particular facilities are. always given to students of oriental languages to pursue their studies, and many of them have been sent to China, Japan. Persia. and elsewhere at: the expense of the Russian Govcrimient. For iii- stance, Prof. \Vassleifjf, the veteran orientalist and professor of Chinese. was sent to China. These are some of the peaceful means by which the luf- perial library has been added to, but war and revolution have also contribut- ed their quota. Gen. Suvarof. with his lnotio. ” Forward and strike." has btwn just as great. a benefactor iti his way to this great institution as the wealthy Czara and merchant princes. The sack of \k’arsaw, in which 9,090 Poles were slain, made him master of that town and master of the valuable Zaiuski lib- rary. llut the benefit which the Rus- sians reaped from the French revolti- ' tion is, perhaps the most. noteworthy of all. Count Dubrovski, :i l ibfio, h l , mas attached to the Russian Embassy in Paris when the great upheaval took place. During this time museunisaud [palaces were piliagetl by the 'ragllng opulacc and collections and libraries Burnt and scattered to the winds; hundreds of manuscripts and books were ruthlessly destroyed. Some.me- ever, escaped the hands of the destroy- er, and were sold by the government of the day to small shopkee Jet's, from whom Dubrovski bought. tiem for a Isong. Thus Russia has income the cus- Sicilian of unique treasures. Among the (letters which were thus actitiired are : 1., Henry i l several written by Henry \' l to VIII., Richelieu, and Catherine Medicis. . The earliest printed book in Russia, which is in keeping there. is a history 'of the apostles. with the date 1.361 on its. title page. As regards the public ‘library building there is not much to be said; it is not :i very lllljxfji:!l§f build- ; ing. nor is it so \sci'. adiptezl to library ‘ requirements as other large libraries. 3 \.