formed
an intimate friendship. Their house, being in a fashionable quarter of
the city and patriotically hospitable, was the frequent resort of many
of their countrymen. I unconsciously acquired a knowledge and admiration
for their form of government, and some revolutionary opinions in regard
to my own.

Had I been guided by policy, I should have kept the latter a secret, but
on returning home, at the expiration of my school days, I imprudently
gave expression to them in connection with some of the political
movements of the Russian Government--and secured its suspicion at once,
which, like the virus of some fatal disease, once in the system, would
lose its vitality only with my destruction.

While at school, I had become attached to a young and lovely Polish
orphan, whose father had been killed at the battle of Grochow when she
was an infant in her mother's arms. My love for my friend, and sympathy
for her oppressed people, finally drew me into serious trouble and
caused my exile from my native land.

I married at the age of twenty the son of my father's dearest friend.
Alexis and I were truly attached to each other, and when I gave to my
infant the name of my father and witnessed his pride and delight, I
thought to my cup of earthly happiness, not one more drop could be
added.

A desire to feel the cheering air of a milder climate induced me to pay
my Polish friend a visit. During my sojourn with her occurred the
anniversary of the tragedy of Grochow, when, according to custom, all
who had lost friends in the two dreadful battles that had been fought
there, met to offer prayers for their souls. At her request, I
accompanied my friend to witness the ceremonies. To me, a silent and
sympathizing spectator, they were impressive and solemn in the extreme.
Not less than thirty thousand people were there, weeping and praying on
ground hallowed by patriot blood. After the prayers were said, the voice
of the multitude rose in a mournful and pathetic chant. It was rudely
broken by the appearance of the Russian soldiers.

A scene ensued which memory refuses to forget, and justice forbids me to
deny. I saw my friend, with the song of sorrow still trembling on her
innocent lips, fall bleeding, dying from the bayonet thrust of a Russian
soldier. I clasped the lifeless body in my arms, and in my grief and
excitement, poured forth upbraidings against the government of my
country which it would never forgive nor condone. I was