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TUBE Film ®F THE EAMiL t VOLUME 11. Idcrtcfo — The Orphans’ Voyage Home. The men could hardly keep the deck, 50 bitter was the night; Keen north-east winds sang thro’ the shrouds, The deck was frosty white ; While overhead the glistening stars Put forth their points of light. * On deck, behind a hale of goods, Two orphans crouch and, to sleep. Cut ’twas so cold the youngest boy In vain tried not to weep : Thry were so poor they had no right .Near cubin doors to creep. The cider round the younger wrapt Ilis little ragged cloak, To shield him from the freezing sleet, And surf that o’er them broke ; Then drew him closer to his side, And softly to him spoke: The night will not be long”—he said, *• And if the col 1 winds blow, We shall the sooner reach our home, And see the p**at-fire glow ; Cut now the stars are beau tiful— Ob,do not tremble so! Come oh'ser !—sleep—forget the frost — Think of the morning red — Our father and our mother soon Will take us to their bed ; And in their warm arms we shall sleep.” He knew not they were dead. For them no father to the ship 51 tall with the morning c< me; For them no mother’s loving arms Are spread to take them home: Meanwhile the cabin passengers In dreams ol pleasure roam. At length the orphans sank to sleep Alton the freezing deck ; Close hmidled side to side—each arm Clasp’d round the other’s neck. With heads bent down, they diearn'd the earth Was fading to a speck. The steerage passengers have all Been taken down below, And round the stove they warm their limbs Into a drowsy glow; And soon within their berths forget The icy wind and snow. Now morning dawns: the land in sight, Smiles beam on every fajc ! The pale arid qualmy passengers Begin the deck to pace, Seeking along the sun-lit cliff* Some well-known spot to trace. Only the orphans do not stir, Os all this bustling train: They reach’d their home this starry night! They will not stir again ! The winter’s breath proved kind to them, And ended all their pain. But in their deep and freezing sleep Clasp’d rigid to each oilier. In dreams they cried, “ The bright morn breaks, H ime ! home ! is here, my brother ! The Angel Death has been our friend— We come ! de tr Father! Mother !'* jMrrtcii Cnlt. THE SERF OF FOBEREZE. The materials for the following tale were furnished to the writer while travelling last year near the spot on which the events it narrates took place. Jt is intended to con vey a notion of some of the phases of Polish, or rather Russian serfdom (tor, as truly explained by one ot the characters in a succeeding page, it is Uussian,) and ot the catastro phes it has occasioned, not only in Catherine's time, but occasionally at the present. The Polish nobles —themselves in slavery —earnestly desire the emancipation ot their serfs, which Russian domination for bids. The small town of Pobereze stands at ihe toot of a stony moun tain, watered by numerous springs in the district of Podolia, in Poland. It consists of a mass ot miserable cabins, with a Catholic chapel and two Greek churches in the midst, the latter distinguished by their gild ed. towers. On one side ot the Market-place stands the only inn, and on the opposite side are several shops, from whose doors and win dows look out several dirtily dressed Jews. At a little distance, on a hill covered with vines ant] fruit-trees, stands the Palace, which docs not, perhaps, exactly merit such an ap pellation, but who would dare to call otherwise the dwelling of the lord of the domain ? On the morning when our tale opens, there had issued from this palace the common enough com mand to the superintendent of the estate, to furnish the roaster with a couple of strong boys, tor service in the stables, and a young girl, to be employed in the wardrobe. Ac Stontfit tii iCittrfltnr?, J?rinirt cnii SW, tjjt |?fltis nf Cftnjitrinirf, jPtllnnisljiji, jOtinsßnnj mill d^tnfrul cordingly, a number of the best looking \ T oung peasants of Olgogrod assembled in the broad avenue lead ing to the palace. Some were ac companied by iheir sorrowful and weeping parents, in all of whose hearts, however, rose the faint and whispered hope, ‘Perhaps it will not he my child they will choose!’ Being brought into the courtyard of the palace, the Count Rosynski, with the several members of his family, had come out to pass in re view his growing subjects. He was a small and insignificant-looking man, about fifty years of age, with deep-set eyes and over-hanging brows. His wife, who was m arly of the same age, was immensely stout, with a vulgar face and a loud disagreeable voice. She made herself ridiculous in endeavouring to imitate the manners and bearing of the aristocracy, into whose sphere she and her husband were deter mined to force themselves in spite of the humbleness of their origin. The fatherof the ‘Right Honourable’ Count Roszynski was a valet, who, having been a great favourite with his master, amassed sufficient mo ney to enable his son, who inherited it, to purchase the extensive estate of Olgogrod, and with it the sole proprietorship of IGOO human be ings. Over them he had complete c ontrol; and, when maddened by oppression, if they dared resent, woe unto them ! They could be thrust into a noisome dungeon, and chained by one hand from the light of day for years, until their very ex istence was forgotten by all except the jailor who brought daily their pitcher of water and morsel of dry bread. Some of the old peasants say that Sava, father of the young peasant girl, who stands by the side of an old woman, at the head of her com panions in the court-yard, is immur ed in one of these subterranean jails. Sava was always about the Count, who, it was said, had brought him from some distant land, with his lit tle motherless child. Sava placed her under the care of an old man and woman, who had the charge of the bees in a forest near the palace, where became occasionally to visit her. But once, six long months passed, and he did not come ! In vain Anielkawept, in vain she cried, ‘Where is my father?’ No father appeared. At last it was said that Sava had been sent to a long dis tance with a large sum of money, and had been killed by robbers. In the ninth year of one’s life the most poignant grief is quickly effaced, and after six months Anielka ceas ed to grieve. The old people were verv kind to her, and loved her as if she were their own child. That Anielka might be chosen to serve in the palace never entered their head, for who would be so barba rous as to take the child away from an old woman of seventy and her aged husband ? To-day was the first time :n her life that she had been so far from home. She looked curiously on all she saw’, —particularly on a young lady about her own age, beautifully dressed, and a youth of eighteen, who had apparently just returned from a ride on horseback, as he held a whip in his hand, whilst walking up and down examining the boys who were placed in a row before him. He chose two amongst them, and the boys were led away to the stables. ‘And I choose this young girl,’ said Constantia Roszvnski, indica ting Anielka ; ‘she is the prettiest of them all. Ido not like ugly faces about me.’ When Constantia returned to the drawing-room, she gave orders fur Anielka to be taken to her apart ments, and placed under the tute lage of Mademoiselle Dufour, a French maid, recently arrived from the first milliner’s shop in Odessa. Poor girl! when they separated her from her adopted mother, and began leading her towards the palace, she rushed with a shriek of agon v from them, and grasped her old protec tress tightly in her arms! They were torn violently assunder, and the Count Roszvnski quietly asked, “ Is it her daughter, or grand-daughter.” “ Neither, my lord, —only an adopted child.” 4 * But who will lead the old wo man home, as she is blind ?” SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1850. “ 1 will, my lord,” replied one of his servants, bowing to the ground : “ I will let her walk bv the side of my horse, arid when she is in her cabin, she will have her old hus band, they must take care of each other.” So saying, he moved a wav with the rest of the peasants and domes tics. But the poor old woman had to be dragged along by two men; for in the midst of her shrieks and tears she had fallen to the ground, almost without life. And Anielka? They did not al low her to weep long. She had now to sit all day in the corner of a room to sew. She was expected to do every thing well from the first; and if she did not, she was kept without food or cruelly punished. Morning and evening she had to help Aid lie. Dufour to dress and un dress her mistress. But Conslan tia, although she looked with hau teur on every body beneath her, and expected to be slavishly obeyed was tolerably kind to the poor or phan. Her true torment began, when, on leaving her young lady’s room, she had to assist Mdlle. Du four. Notwithstanding that she tried sincerely to do her best, she was never able to satisfy her, or to draw irom her aught but harsh re proaches. Thus two months passed. One day Mdlle. Dufour went very early toeonfession, and Anielka was seized with an eager longing to gaze once more in pence and freedom on the beautiful blue sky and green trees, as she used to do when the first ravs of the rising sun streamed in at the window of the little forest cabin. She ran into the garden.— Enchanted by the sight of so many beautiful flowers, she went farther and farther along the smooth and winding walks, till she entered the forest. She who had been so long away from her beloved trees,roamed where they were thickest. Here she gazed boldly around. She sees no one ! She is alone ! A lit tle farther on she meets with a rivu let which flows through the forest. He re she remembers that she has not yet prayed. She kneels down, and with hands clasped and eyes up turned she begins to sing in a sweet voice the Hymn to the Virgin. As she went on she sang louder and with increased fervour. Her breast heaved with emotion, her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy ; but when the hymn was finished, she lowered her head, tears began to fall over her cheeks, until at last she sobbed aloud. She might have remained long in this condition had not someone come behind her say ing, “Do not cry my poor girl; it is better to sing than to weep.” The intruder raised her head, wiped her eyes with his handkerchief, and kissed her on the forehead. It was the Count’s son Leon ! “ You must not cry, ” he contin ued be calm, and when the fili pony (pedlars) come, buy yourself a pretty handkerchief.” He then gave her a rouble and walked away. Anielka, after concealing the coin in her corset, ran quickly back to the palace. Mdlle. Dufour had not yet returned, and Anielka seated herself in her accustomed corner. She often took out the rouble to gaze fondly upon it. and set to work to make a fi;tie purse, which, having fastened to a ribbon, she hung round her neck. She did not dream of spending it, for it would have deeply grieved her to part with the gilt ot the only person in the whole house who had looked kindly on her. From this time Anielka remained always in her young mistress’s room; she was better dressed, and Mdlle. Dufour ceased to persecute her. To what did sheowe thissudden change? Perhaps to a remonstrance lrom Leon. Constantia ordered Anielka to sit beside her whilst taking her lessons from her music-masters, and on her going to the drawing-room, she was left m her apartments alone. Being thus more kindly treated, Anielka lost by degrees her timidity; and when her young mistress, whilst occupied over some embroidery, would tell her to sing, she did so boldly and with a steady voice. A greater favour awaited her. Con stat] ti a, when unoccupied, began teaching Anielka to read in Polish; and Mdlle. Dufour thought it politic to follow the example of her mistress and began to teach her French. Meanwhile, anew kind of torment commenced. Having easily learnt the two languages, Anielka acquir ed an irresistible passion for reading. Books had for her the charm of the forbidden fruit, for site could only read by stealth at night, or when her mistress went visiting in the neigh bourhood. The kindness hitherto shown her, fora time, began to re lax. Leon had set off on a tour, accompanied by his old tutor, and a bosom friend as young, as gay, and as thoughtless as himself. So passed the two years of Leon’s absence. When he returned Aniel ka was seventeen, and had become tail and handsome. No one who had not seen her during this time, would have recognised her. Os this number was Leon. In the midst of perpetual and change, it was not possible he could have remem bered a poor peasant girl; but in Anielka’s memory he had remained as a superior being, as her benefac tor, as the only one who had spoken kindly to her, when poor, neglected, forlorn ! When in some French ro mance she met with a young man of twenty, of a noble character and handsome appearance,she bestowed on hi in the name of Leon. The recolloction of the kiss he had given her ever brought a burning blush to her cheek, and made her sigh deeply. One day Leon came to his sister’s room. Anielka was there, seated in a corner at work. Leon himself had considerably changed ; from a boy he had grown into a man. “I sup pose Constantin,” he said, “you have been told what a good boy 1 am, and with what docility I shall submit myself to the matrimonial yoke, which the Count and Coun tess have provided for me?” and he began whistling and danced some o o steps of the Mazurka. “ Perhaps you will be refused, ” said Constantin coldly. “Refused! Oh, no. The old Princebas already given his consent, and as for his daughter, she is des perately in love with me. Look at these moustachios, could anything be more irresistible ?” and be glanced in the glass and twirled them round his fingers; then continuing in a graver tone, he said, “To tell the sober truth, 1 cannot say that I re ciprocate. My intended is not at all to triy taste. She is nearly thirty, and so thin tlTat whenever 1 look at her, 1 am reminded of mv old tutor’s anatomical sketches. But, thanks to her Parisian dress-maker, she makes up a tolerably good figure, and looks well in a Cachemere. Os all things, you know, I wished for a wife with an imposing appear ance, and I don’t care about love. I find it’s not fashionable, and only exists in the exalted imagination of poets.” “Surely people are in love with one another sometimes,” said the sister. “Sometimes,” repeated Anielka, inaudibly. The dialogue had pain fullv affected her, and she knew not why. Her heart beat quickly, and her face was flushed, and made her look more lovely than ever. “Perhaps. Os course we pro fess to adore every pretty woman,” Leon added abruptly. “ But my dear sister, what a charming ladies’ maid you have !” He approached the corner where Anielka sat, and bent on her a coarse familiar smile. Anielka, allhough a serf was dis pleased,and returned it with aglance full of dignity. But when her eyes rested on the youth’s handsome face a feeling, which had been gradually and silently growing in her young and inexperienced heart, predomi nated over her pride and displea sure. She wished ardently to re call herself to Leon’s memory, and half unconsciously raised her hand to the little purse which ahvays hung round her neck. She took from it the rouble lie had given her. “See!” shouted Leon, “what a droll girl; how proud she is of her riches! Why, girl, you are a wo man of fortune, mistress of a whole rouble!” ‘ I hope she came by it honestly,’ said the old Countess, who at this moment entered. At this insinuation, shame and in dignation kept Anielka., for a time, silent. She replaced the money quickly in its purse, with the bitter thought that the few happy mo ments which had been so iodelliblv stamped upon her memory, had been utterly forgot ton by Leon. — To clear herself she at “last stam mered out, seeing they all looked at her inquiringly, ‘Do you not re member, M. Leon, that } T ou gave me this coin two years ago in the garden V ‘How odd!’ exclaimed Leon, laughing, ‘do you expect me to re member all the pretty girls to whom l have given money if But 1 sup pose you are right, or you would not have treasured up this unfortu nate rouble as if it were a holy relic. You should not be a miser, child; money is made to be spent.’ ‘ Pray, put an end to these jokes,’ said Constantia impatiently ; ‘1 like this girl, and 1 will not have her teased. She understands mv ways better than any one, and often puts me in good humour with her beau tiful voice.’ ‘Sing something forme, pretty damsel,’ said Leon, 4 and I will give you another rouble, anew and shi ning one.’ , Sing instantly,’ said Constantia imperiously. At this command Anielka could no longer stifle her grief; she cov ered her face with her hand and wept violently. ‘Why do you cry?’ asked her mistress impatiently; ‘I cannot bear it; I desire you to do as you are bid.’ It might have been from the con stant habit of slavish obedience, or a strong feeling of pride, but Aniel ka instantly ceased weeping. There was a moment’s pause, during which the old Countess went grum bling out of the room. Anielka chose the Hymn to the Virgin she had warbled in the garden, and as she sung she prayeddervently ; she prayed for peace, for deliverance from the acute emotions which had been aroused within her. Her ear nestness gave an intensity of ex pression to the melody, which affec ted her listeners. They were silent l for some moments after its conclu sion. Leon walked up and down with his arms folded on his breast. Was it agitated with pity for the ac complished young slave ? or by any other tender emotion ? What fol lowed will show. ‘My and ear Constantia.* he said suddenly stoppin * before his sister and kissing her hand, ‘ will you do me a favor?’ Constantia looked enquiring in her brother’s face without speaking. * Give me this girl V 1 Impossible!’ ‘I am quite in earnest,’ continued Leon, ‘ l wish to offer her to my future wife. In the Prince her fath er’s private chapel they are much in want of a solo soprano.’ *1 shall not give her to you,* said Constantia. ‘Not as a free gift, but in exchange. I will give you instead, a charming young negro —so black. The wo men in St Petersburg and in Paris, raved about him, but I was inexo rable; I half refused him to my princess.’ ‘No, no,’ replied Constantia ; ‘I shall be lonely without this girl 1 am so used to her.’ ‘Nonsense ! you can get peasant girls by the dozen ; but a black page, with teeth whiter than ivory, and purer than pearls ; a perfect origi nal in his wav ; you surely cannot withstand. You will kill half the province with envy. A negro ser vant is the most fashionable thing going, and yours will be the first imported into the province.’ This argument was irresistible. ‘Well,’ replied Constantia, ‘when do you think of taking her?* “Immediately; to-day at five o’clock,’ said Leon ; and he went merrily out of the room. This then was the result of his cogitation —of Anielka’s Hymn to the Virgin. Constantia ordered Anielka to pre pare herself for the journey, with as little emotion as it she had ex changed away a lap-dog, or parted w ith a parrot. She obeyed in silence. Her heart was full. ‘She went into the gard en that she might relieve herself by weeping unseen. With one hand supporting her burning bead, and the other pressed tightly against her heart, V> stifle her sobs, she wander- ed on mechanically till she found herself by the side of the river. She felt quickly for her purse, intending to throw the rouble into the water, but as quickly thrust it back again for she could not bear to part with the treasure. She felt us if without it she would be still more an orphan. Weeping bi.lerly, she leaned against the tree which had once before wit nessed her tears. By degrees the stormy passion within her gave place to calm re flection. This day she was to go awav; she was to dwell beneath another roof, to serve another mis tress. Humiliation ! ulwayshnmilia tion! But at least it would bo some change in her life. As she thought of this, she returned hastily to the palace that she might not, on the last day of her servitude, incur the anger of her young mistress. Scarcely was Anielka attired in her prettiest dress, when Constantia came to her with a little box, from which she took several gay-coloured ribbons, and decked her in them herself, that the serf might do her credit in ihe new family. And when Anielka, bending down to her feet, thanked her, Constantia, with marvellous condescension, kissed her on her forehead. Even Leon cast an admiring glance upon her. His servant soon after came to conduct her to the carriage, and showing her where to seat herself, they rolled oft’quickly towards Ra da pol. For the first time in her life Ani elka rode in a carriage. Her head turned quite giddy, she could not look at the trees and fields as they flew past her; but by degrees she became more accustomed to it, and the fresh air enlivening her spirits, she performed the rest of the jour ney in a tolerably happy state of mind. At last they arrived in ihe spacious court-yard before the Pal ace of Radapol, the dwelling one of a rich and powerful Polish family, now partly in ruin. It was evident even to Anielka, that the marriage was one for money on the one side, and for rank on other. Among other renovations at the castle, occasioned by the approach ing marriage, t he owner of it, Prince Pelazia, had obtained singers for the chapel, and had engaged Signor Justiniani, an Italian, as chapel master. Immediately on Leon’s arrival, Anielka was presented to him. lie made her sing a scale, and pronounced her voice to be ex cellent. Anielka found that, in Radapol, she was treated with a little more consideration than at Olgogrod, al though she had often to submit to the caprices of her new mistress, and she found less time to read. But to console herself, she gave all her attention to singing, which she practised several hours a day. Her naturally great capacity, under the guidance of the Italian, began to develope itself steadily. Besides sacred, he taught her operatic mu sic. On one occasion Anielka sung an aria in so impassioned and mast erly a style, that the enraptured Justiniani chipped his hands lot joy, skipped about the room, and not finding words enough to praise her, exclaimed several times, ‘P/ima Donna ! Prima Donna!’ But the lessons were interrupted. The Princess’s wedding-day was fixed upon, after which event she and I.eon were to go to Florence, and Anielka was to accompany them. Alas ! feelings which gave her poignant misery still clung to her. She despised herself for her weakness; hut she loved Leon. The sentiment was too deeply implant ed in her bosom to be eradicated ; too strong to be resisted. It was the first love of a young and guile less heart, and had grown in silence anddespair. Anielka was most anxious lo know something of her adopted pa rents. Once, after the old prince had heard her singing, he asked her with great kindness about her home. She replied, that she was an and had been taken by force from those who had so kindly supplied the place of parents. Her apparent attachment to the old bee-keeper and his wife so pleased the prince, that he said, ‘You are a good child, Anielka, and to-morrow I will send you to visit them. You shaJLI taks them some presents.’ NUMBER 26.