very meagre foundation of historical knowledge. He had little Feodor for a listener as well as Ivan, and the intelligent questions of the boys drew out the information he loved to impart. Especially graphic was his account of the Swedish defeat at Pultowa, and the horrors of the retreat that followed—horrors that seem to have prefigured those of a yet more awful retribution near at hand, though still wrapped in the mysterious veil of the future.
"File after file the stormy showers benumb,
Freeze every standard sheet, and hush the drum;
Yet ere he sank in nature's last repose,
Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze,
The dying man to Sweden turned his eye,
Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh:
Imperial pride looked sullen on his plight,
And Charles beheld, nor shuddered at the sight."
Then, gradually bringing down the narrative to more recent times, he told of the great Czarina Catherine—of the splendours of her court and the triumphs of her arms—especially of the conquest of Poland, in his partial eyes only a just retribution for the past wrongs, and a glorious achievement of the prowess of holy Russia. At last, though with some reserve, he spoke of the short, sad reign of the Czar Paul. "God sent him for our sins," he said.
This reserve only piqued the curiosity of the boys.
"It is true he wrought much evil," he admitted, in answer to their questions; "but still his heart was good. It was his head that went astray. Oh, my children, there are sorrows in the world darker than you have ever dreamed of! Seems it sad to you to sit as I do now, and see the beautiful light of God's world fading from me day by day? What is that to the desolation, the anguish, when God lays his hand upon the immortal light within and turns it into darkness? The Czar Paul was not himself when he sent half his nobles to Siberia, shut up his own son in prison and threatened his life—ay, even the life of the Empress. His true self fought long against the demon
