had thrown at a distance from the intrigues of the city and the poison of a court, is little susceptible of treason: such a heart can little suppose that any one would endeavour to deceive, it. Osakoi was struck with the openness of the Russian, and that openness induced him to unbosom himself with the same frankness. "You. may have noticed my surprise," said he, "on seeing myself in the midst of such an assembly. Satisfied with my lot, I was contented with my humble cottage; a stranger to ambition, I neither looked for nor desired any thing beyond it. A person endeavoured to call forth the tears of filial affection in my eyes; he told me, that I ought to revenge the blood of my father; and, in order to revenge it, I ought to murder my sove, reign. But have I known that father? am I certain that he was innocent? and in this doubt, am I to spill the blood of my master? I freely confess that this proposition is repugnant to my nature. For who am I to judge my em peror? What right or what authority has Heaven given me to punish him? The proposition froze the blood in my veins, but the fear of death sealed my lips, as the words expired on them. Since you have opened your heart, read what passes in mine. I detest the crime, and particularly a crime of so black a dye. A secret voice cries within me, Love and respect your sove

reign! Pity my youth. I commit myself to your counfel; snatch me from those barbarians, who singled me out as the executioner of their master and of mine! for if it is decreed, that I should either perish, or that I should attempt the life of the Czar, I prefer to die innocent."

"You shall not perish, my son," cried the Russian; "it is the Czar himself that speaks to you, and who will not fail to reward the noble frankness of your sentiments."

It was undoubtedly the monarch himself, who, under the disguise of a slave, had heard part of the plot in the inn, which led him to mix in the assembly in which his fate was to be determined. He had marked the timidity and confusion of Osakoi in the answers which he gave in that meeting, and promised in his mind to save him, if he did not find him absolutely culpable.

Those who may be led at first view to look on this as a romance, should recollect, that the life of Peter the Great was filled with events of this kind.

This prince, born to be the creator of his country, and who wished to see every thing with his own eyes, used often to disguise, and introduce himself into those public assemblies, in which drunkenness and debauch rendered the tongue incapable of concealing a secret; and it was by this conduct, dangerous as it was, that he discovered

discovered upwards of twenty plots which had been formed against his life; so that the people, who at once feared and respected him, used to say in their merry meetings, Come, let us be honest; the Emperor hears us.

Having loaded Osakoi with thanks and caresses, he desired him to join his companion in the inn, and that he might say in excuse for his delay; that he was unacquainted with the streets of Moscow.

The slave was satisfied with the excuse, and, at the appointed time the next night, Osakoi went to the meeting. It was there agreed on, that the palace should be set on fire, and that in the confusion, whilst part of them should be engaged in pillage, the rest, led on by Osakoi, should join the conspirators in the castle, who would advance towards the apartments of the Emperor, who, in the moment of his appearance, was to be assassinated. They then began to administer the oath, by which they were to bind themselves to each other, when the imperial guards rushed in like a thunderbolt. They were arrested, conveyed to prison, and executed the next day. Osakoi was amply rewarded by the Emperor, and lived many years afterward in the sunshine of his favour.

LETTER

LETTER FROM WILLIAM LAUDER TO DOCTOR

BIRCH;

In which he states his Reasons for interpolating the Authors which MILTON had studied.

E Mus. Brit. Bibl. Birch, 4312.

REVEREND SIR,

ON Wednesday morning last I had the honour to wait on his Grace the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, in order to receive his Lordship's answer to a letter I had left for his Lordship the day before; his Grace was pleased to forgive my offence, receive me into favour, to continue his allowance to publish Professor Ramsay's Sacred Poems under the patronage of his illustrious and venerable name, and even to promise to use his interest with others to promote the undertaking, so as to redound to my advantage. I wish all the rest of my illustrious and honourable patrons may follow his Grace's laudable and amiable example, and treat me with equal placability and mercy, as it is the property of great minds to be merciful, of which all men some time or other stand in need. For where is the man, I say, who does not at some time or other deviate from his duty? And God

forbid that one offence, not of a capital kind, should be deemed sufficient to devote a man to destruction, whose life was formerly virtuous and innocent, for which I am content to appeal not only to the testimony of friends and acquaintance, but even to that of my most inveterate enemies, numbers of whom I still have the miffortune to grapple with.

I called for you at your house some time ago, but had the mortification to be told, you were resolved not to see me, but I might communicate what I had to say by a letter, which I confess shocked me as much as any thing I ever met with in my lifetime.

I informed you what friendly and honourable mention I had made of you to my Lord Chancellor, when I had the honour to wait upon him; you was conscious with what respect I treated you in my Essay, and the Rev. Dr. Cuming can inform you how favourably I mentioned you to him. So that all these testimonies of respect, on my part, merited, I thought, other kind of usage at your hand. In short, I fancied I was entitled to a fair hearing, face to face, when I could have told you, that you was the cause, the innocent cause I mean,

offence,

of my more than any man alive. I mean your Appendix to Milton's Life, where you relate an unpa ralleled scene of villany, as acted by Milton

against