cheff, who still ruled the empress, the court, | dissipated habits, and the example of a and the camp, prevented her. He had inter- profligate court, whose most important cepted the letters from Hamburg, and ex- occupation was frivolous amusement, soon pected that Catherine would make the drew him away from his purpose. As preattempt to bring Soltikoff again to St. sumptuous as vain, he selected the grand Petersburg. He now frankly laid before duchess as the object of his special attenher all the dangers such a step would ex- tions, and she received them with very pose her to, and the confirmation it would marked favor. Immediately this virtuous give to the slanderous reports in circu- court was up in arms, and besought the lation. He knew that Catherine was interference of the empress. She had no ambitious, and believed the voice of am- respect for her nephew, no regard for the bition strong enough in her to overpower honor of his wife, and no inclination to be the voice of love. He too was ambitious severe on conduct of which she herself, of of retaining the power he then held in the all her court, set the most vicious examstate; but should the empress die and ple. It was, however, represented to her she had so injured her health by her mode that the ambitious character of Poniatowof life that she was frequently believed to sky was fraught with danger to Russia, and be near her end - Bestucheff's occupation, immediately he received an order to quit according to the natural course of things the country instantly. Catherine appeared in Russia, was gone. But he had resolved to feel this keenly. that Soltikoff should be kept out of the kingdom; that Peter should be disinherited, or compelled to abdicate, the child Paul declared czar, and the grand duchess, regent. He told her what measures he and others, and amongst them Count Panim, had already taken to secure this desirable result. Catherine gave a ready ear and a willing assent to this plot, and to Panim and the band of conspirators who assembled at Bestucheff's country-seat she declared "she would prefer the title of mother, to that of wife, of the czar." But Elizabeth, contrary to expectation, so far recovered as to frustrate yet for several years the aims of Catherine and her partisans. For some time Soltikoff and Catherine kept up a very tender corresponder.ce. By-and-by the affectionate epistles became shorter, fewer, further between, and then there was an end to them. Catherine had learned resignation; also Stanislaus Poniatowsky had appeared on the scene. The young count was remarkably handsome. He had seen more of the world than Solti koff, and was overflowing with vanity and ambition ambition that had no definite object. It was of the true Polish type -a restlessness inspired by vague hopes and aims. He had visited the courts of Germany, England, and France, and had figured with éclat in Parisian society. He now came to St. Petersburg in the suite of the English ambassador, as his private secretary, unofficially attached. His in tention had been to devote himself to diplomacy; but his want of application, his Bestucheff considered Poniatowsky less dangerous than Soltikoff. He had affected to be acting in the interests of the grand duchess by depriving her of her first lover; he now sought her favor by insinuating that he might be able to restore the second. Count Bruhl, first minister of the king of Poland, and Bestucheff's intimate friend, was informed of the favor in which Poniatowsky stood with the grand duchess, and the advantages that might be derived from it, if Bruhl could charge the young count with a mission of some sort, as a plausible excuse for his return. To do this two laws of the Polish constitution must be infringed. But the constitution had before yielded to the necessities of a case, and must do so in this one. In secret courcil Poniatowsky was decora.ed with the order of the White Eagle, and named minister plenipotentiary to the empress. Polish patriots remonstrated. Bruhl remained firm. He even furnished the new minister with a sum of six thousand ducats, which he was to find an opportunity of delicately placing at the disposal of the grand duke and duchess. He knew that they were often reduced to great straits; that notwithstanding the Asiatic splendor affected at St. Petersburg, and the increasing luxury of the court, the public treasury was empty; that the heir to the throne was limited to an allowance quite inconsistent with his rank, while Elizabeth lavished with a reckless hand vast sums on her favorites, and wasted on fantastic entertainments the money that should have been expended on the needs of the State. Empty pomp, political intrigue, and moral depravity were the order of the day at the empress's court, and this state of things it was the hope and expectation of Count Bruhl that Ponia- | invade Prussia and aid Maria Theresa to towsky would be able to turn to the advantage of Poland. He felt sure that the heart of the grand duchess was gained; he had next to gain the confidence of her husband. recover Silesia. The grand duke, intensely aggrieved that troops should be sent to oppose the monarch he so idolized, addressed himself to Bestucheff to induce him to recall the army. But the grand chancellor was no admirer of Frederick. He was, on the contrary, a warm partisan of Austria- for Maria Theresa bribed him largely — and besides, to please the grand duke gave him no sort of satisfac tion. Elizabeth had again been taken suddenly and seriously ill, and as she nevertheless persisted in eating and drinking to excess, her physicians held out little hope of her recovery. Bestucheff therefore reflected that Peter might any day be called to the throne, and as, at all hazards, he was determined to retain his authority, he consented to sacrifice to these self-inter Arrived in Russia, the duties of the Polish minister seemed to consist in sharing Peter's dissipations and playing cavalier servente to Catherine. He pleased the former by speaking German and English with him; by smoking and drinking and abusing the French and their country. He even feigned to admire Frederick II. as extravagantly as did Peter himself. Peter had just given great offence to the Russians by soliciting from Frederick the rank of major in his army, and constantly wearing the Prussian uniform. More than all his follies and irregularities, this step had been offensive to the empress.ested views his own inclination and the Frederick had excited her enmity by his satirical and often-repeated remarks on the life and conduct of both Catherine I. and Elizabeth. Any show of resentment towards Peter was instantly fostered by the creatures who surrounded her, but on this occasion her thoughts turned to the deposed and imprisoned czar, Ivan - now sixteen years of age- and she desired to see him. Accordingly, he was brought from his prison to Schlusselburg, and conveyed thence with great secrecy to the house of Count Schouvaloff in St. Petersburg, where Elizabeth, in man's dress, had a long interview with him, but without making herself known. He is described as "a fine, tall youth, with an interesting countenance, and chestnut hair, which had never been cut, flowing in heavy masses over his shoulders.' He had had no education, but retained a vivid recollection of his parents and all that had befallen him. His voice was low and faint, probably from being unused to sustained conversation his guards not being permitted to talk with him. Elizabeth is said to have been deeply affected, and wept, as she was wont to do probably she felt a momentary pang of remorse; if so, it was too transitory to benefit poor Ivan, who was taken back to Schlusselburg; a change of cell and prison being the only change the awakened sympathy or curiosity of the empress brought him. In 1756 began the famous Seven Years' War, and in the following year Elizabeth joined the league of France, Austria, Sweden, and Saxony against Frederick II. An army of forty thousand men was despatched, under General Apraxin, to honor of his country. An order was despatched to General Apraxin to give up the expedition and return. Apraxin had already defeated Marshal Lehwald, and might have entered Berlin as a conqueror as Frederick, engaged elsewhere, believed he would do when, suddenly, as if beaten and pursued, he withdrew his troops and fled. Bestucheff's enemies were numerous and vigilant. They resolved not to let this opportunity pass of ruining him in the opinion both of the grand duke and the empress. Catherine had said one evening at table, when the subject of conversation had been the skilful and daring riding of some of the Russian ladies, "Il y a peu de femmes aussi hardies que moi. Je suis d'une témérité effrénée." Her eyes were at the time fixed on Poniatowsky. This speech was most malignantly interpreted and repeated to the grand duke. Proofs were also offered him of Poniatowsky's betrayal of his confidence, Catherine's infidelity, and Bestucheff's complicity in their intrigue. Peter heard these charges with consternation. He had hitherto not chosen to see what was patent to every one else the irregularities of Catherine's life. He had always treated her with respect; he now, in gross language, reproached her, lamented his own imprudence and misfortune, and gave orders that Poniatowsky should no more be admitted to Oranienbaum. The empress had again rallied. Peter sought an interview and laid all his griefs before her. She seemed touched by his sorrow, and no doubt shed many tears; but she was fairly roused to indig nation at the perfidy of Bestucheff when his enemies produced the order that had brings you here?" "I am a German tailor," said "there had been some mistake," and Ponia occasioned Apraxin's ignominious return | fro, the man asked, "Who are you, and what and had brought disgrace on the Russian army. He was immediately arrested and brought to trial; was found guilty of lèsemajesté, and condemned to be beheaded. Elizabeth commuted the sentence to perpetual exile. Thus the grand chancellor whose mere word had long been equivalent to law in Russia, and whose political influence was so great that almost every court in Europe, that of England included, endeavored to secure his interest by enor-ously, like a culprit, he affected much surprise, mous bribery, was compelled to renounce his titles and honors, his splendid palaces and incalculable wealth, for a wooden hut, a sheepskin, and the rigorous clime of Siberia. Surely "the changes and chances of life," and the heights and depths of its ups and downs, were far greater in Russia during the imperial rule of the eighteenth century than in any other country in Europe. Those who had helped to hurl Bestucheff from his pedestal were no better than he. They were but his creatures, subordinates who followed the example be set them, for a system of the grossest corruption prevailed from the highest to the lowest officials of the empire. The Russian people, who scarcely dared lift their eyes towards the court, were yet aware of the disorderly lives of their rulers, and the debased character of the men who held office in the State. But the true Russian has been said to be formed by nature to serve and to obey, and so great was still the, influence on the mind of the people of the vigorous rule of their legislator, Peter the First, that, disregarding in Elizabeth the vices of the woman, they venerated her as the daughter of their great czar. Poniatowsky had been recalled at the instance of Elizabeth. To avoid compliance with the order he feigned illness, remained all day in his apartment, and secretly stole out in the evening to meet Catherine. This ruse was soon discovered and made known to the grand duke, who was about to set out for Oranienbaum. He compelled Catherine to accompany bim. Poniatowsky followed, and contrived in various disguises to enter the park and palace, and to find opportunities of seeing her. Peter greatly enjoyed the humiliation of his rival, and told the story with much glee, and in the presence of the grand duchess, to the company at his dinner table. She felt the affront keenly; but her hatred of Peter was so intense that her resentment towards him could scarcely be made deeper than before. Following her example, he had formed a liaison with Romanowna Woranzoff, niece of the grand chancellor who had succeeded Bestucheff. There were three sisters; the eldest, Madame de Buterlin, was one of the most beautiful women in Russia. Romanowna, was not pretty, but her childish whims, caprices, and airs and graces amused Peter, and, what pleased hin still more, they annoyed Catherine. The youngest sister was the celebrated Countess Daschkoff, next to Catherine the most remarkable woman of that day. From enmity towards Romanowna she became one of the chief instruments of Catherine's elevation to the throne. The ill-health, the indolence,, and the reckless life still led by Elizabeth made it evident that she could not possibly last long. Yet fêtes, balls, and masquerades succeeded each other almost nightly. Every evening at eleven she went or was carried to the theatre; the rest of the night she passed at table, and at five in the morning her women carried her to bed. She no longer cared to transact any business of state, and scarcely could the chancellor, after waiting for hours, get her to put her signature to a paper. It amused He was one day waiting her arrival in a re-her to hear the details of Peter's orgies, tired part of the garden, when he was recognized by a servant, who hastened with the information to the grand duke. Peter selected the most robust of the guards in attendance, and charged him to seek Poniatowsky and to bring him bongré, malgré into his presence. Accosting him, as he was sauntering to and and the caprices of "la Pompadour," as she called Romanowna, now become Countess Woranzoff. Yet she was much displeased with her nephew, and his enemies adroitly contrived to reawaken her sympathy and professed love of justice in favor of Ivan. He was now twenty-one, | of her recovery were always dispelled by and still languishing in prison. But Eliza- her persistent demand for spirituous liqbeth had wronged him too deeply to make uors. Such was her eagerness for them, it possible then to do him justice. The empress had not received Catherine since Bestucheff's downfall, though the grand duchess had made attempts to recover her favor. At last Elizabeth sent her word that if she would confess her infidelity to her husband, and throw herself on his and her clemency, she might reckon at least on receiving her pardon. Catherine haughtily and disdainfully rejected these conditions, and requested permission which she knew would not be granted to retire with her son to Germany. that any attempt to keep the stimulating She had reigned twenty years, and during that time [says a writer of the period]* did nothing whatever that justified the revolution that placed the imperial crown of Russia on Peter had already repudiated her son, her head. Her indolent disposition and love and expressed his intention of divorcing of ease placed her in the power of unprincipled the grand duchess as soon as he came to favorites, who abused her confidence and the the throne. Her naHis accession was looked authority she invested them with. forward to, by those who hoped to govern devotion was impiety, and her clemency cruture was thoroughly depraved; her excessive him, with much satisfaction, but with great elty. She put her signature to no sentence of apprehension by the few, the very few, death; but she interfered neither to prevent who had the interests of their country at nor to mitigate the barbarous punishments inheart. But at length Catherine was sum-flicted by the judges and which resulted most moned to the presence of the empress, frequently in lifelong misery or agonizing and was so eloquent on her own behalf death. She deserved rather to vegetate in that she quite subdued Elizabeth's dis- idleness in a convent than to occupy the throne pleasure, and even convinced her that she of one of the most extensive empires in the was a much-injured woman. A night or C. C. J. two afterwards, and while the grand duke still remained at Oranienbaum, the empress commanded a play, at which she appeared with the grand duchess and her son. She invited neither the foreign ministers nor her own courtiers; but as soon as she had taken he seat she desired tha every the soldiers of her guard should lead were brought by her confessor to her bed Elizabeth rallied slightly; but any hopes world. * Mémoires secrètes (Anon.). .From Nature. WHAT IS MORPHOLOGY?* hill of life revert to the studies of our I those of is who have labored up the youth, I think we shall not remember to have heard our teachers speak of the "morphology of animals." I cannot remember when or where I first met with the word; although the idea itself with regard to plants, has been familiar to me for nearly forty years, that is, since the time when I became possessed of Lindley's "Introduction to Botany;" but he used the term "organography." 66 The term morphology was used by Schleiden in his "Principles of Scientific Botany" at least thirty years ago; and I may say in passing that the study of that work was one of the best preparations I received for the work I have undertaken since. A comparison of the mode in which both plants and animals are developed was suggested to me, if not for the first time, yet The first of a course of lectures "On the Mor phology of the Batrachia," delivered at the Royal College of Surgeons, by Prof. W. K. Parker, F.R.S. then with new force, by reading Johann Müller's "Physiology of Man; "especially in the part on generation, and more especially in his statement of, and criticisms upon, Caspar J. Wolff's "Theory of Generation," which was published at Halle in 1759. The very mention of this date is interesting, for this is evidently the time, and this work of Wolff's was surely the work, which suggested to the great, rich mind of Goethe the idea of an underlying unity amid all the diversity of vegetable and animal forms. How fruitful this conception of the simplicity and unity of veg etable and animal patterns has been, I need not tell you; for more than a century it has been yielding precious and ever increasing results. It was natural, therefore, that a division of biology so new and so fascinating, should gain for itself a name and as naturalists had been from time immemorial familiar with the metamorphosis of certain types, the term "morphology," which especially treats of such changes in the individual life-history of a plant or of an animal, was natural, easy, and appropriate. The a priori dreams which made the study of vertebrate morphology appear transcendental, and indeed gave it that title as a cognomen, caused great loss of time and of talent and if Prof. Huxley had done nothing else whatever than dispel the glamor of these dreams, he would have deserved well of his age. His "Croonian Lecture," delivered at the Royal Society about twenty years ago, was as "a trumpet that gives a certain sound;" the dreamers awoke from their dreams, and became the workers, who since that time have wrought with labor and travail night and day. But the science of morphology, which had become an elegant pastime here, had long before Prof. Huxley's time found a noble band of workers in Germany; from that land came the dream; in that land arose the workers; the labors of Rathke, Von Baer, and Reichert were ready to the hand of our biological reformer. After these, who were the chiefs of the band, came others, all men of name and renown; "but they attained not to the first three." My own indebtedness is primarily to Johann Müller, who in his "Physiology of Man," already referred to, gave such an excellent abstract of the labors of the embryologists, his countrymen. I ought not to forget his lamented translator, Dr. Baly; for in the original Müller's work was a scaled book to me, and indeed would be now. The fact that all organic beings pass through various stages, and run a certain round of life, is now becoming generally known. In the midst of the very beginnings of life the unspeakably minute mohads, as the beautiful researches of Dallinger and Drysdale show, pass through several stages in their individual life-history. All the intervening living forms, between the monad and the man, pass through several stages. The "seven ages" attributed by the poet to man are preceded by twice seven stages. In all times the insects showed the wonderful working of the morphological force; the poets noticed these facts and sang of them; the philosophers, also, and reasoned upon them; but it was ever left for us to learn that these facts are not unique, but universal. Nevertheless, "the bee who is small amongst those that fly, and yet her fruit is the chief of sweet things," and that still smaller creature, the wise-hearted ant, architect, soldier, and lawgiver; these, and the other members of the insect class, are metamorphozed openly. So, also, are the amphibia among the vertebrates, for instance, the frog and the newt, whose changes of form are so familiar to us. Still, for the most part, in the vertebrata "these things are done in a corner;" their most important changes of form are hidden from unassisted vision; to search out those secrets is the work of the morphologist. Here, however, I will let "that old man eloquent" Lord Bacon - speak for me; he says that Solomon, who was a great example with him, did " compile a natural history of all verdure, from the cedar upon the mountain to the moss upon the wall (which is but a rudiment between putrefaction and an herb), and also of all things that breathe or move. Nay, the same Solomon, the king, although he excelled in the glory of treasure and magnificent buildings, of shipping and navigation, of service and attendance, of fame and renown, and the like, yet he maketh no claim to any of those glories, but only to the glory of inquisition of truth; for so he saith expressly, The glory of God is to conceal a thing, but the glory of the king is to find it out;' as if, according to the innocent play of children, the Divine Majesty took delight to hide his works, to the end to have them found out; and as if kings could not obtain a greater honor than to be God's playfellows in that game; considering the great commandment of wits and means, whereby nothing needeth to be hidden from them." · |