he like), as a genuine bit of CAVIARE
from those Northern parts:--

MANUSCRIPT CIRCULATING IN RUSSIAN SOCIETY. Galitzin, much grieved about
Choczim, could not sleep; and, wandering about in his tent, overheard,
one night, a common soldier recounting his dream to the sentry outside
the door.

"A curious dream," said the soldier: "I dreamt I was in a battle; that
I got my head cut off; that I died; and, of course, went to Heaven.
I knocked at the door: Peter came with a bunch of Keys; and made such
rattling that he awoke God; who started up in haste, asking, 'What is
the matter?' 'Why,' says Peter, 'there is a great War on earth between
the Russians and the Turks.' 'And who commands my Russians?' said the
Supreme Being. 'Count Munnich,' answered Peter. 'Very well; I may go
to sleep again!'--But this was not the end of my dream," continued
the soldier; "I fell asleep and dreamt again, the very same as before,
except that the War was not Count Munnich's, but the one we are now in.
Accordingly, when God asked, 'Who commands my Russians?' Peter answered,
'Prince Galitzin.' 'Galitzin? Then get me my boots!' said the [Russian]
Supreme Being." [W. Richardson (then at Petersburg, Tutor to Excellency
Cathcart's Children; afterwards Professor at Glasgow, and a man of
Some reputation in his old age), _Anecdotes of the Russian Empire, in a
Series of Letters written a few years ago from St. Petersburg_ (London,
1784), p. 110: date of this Letter is "17th October, 1769."]

Chapter IV.--PARTITION OF POLAND.

These Polish phenomena were beginning to awaken a good deal of
attention, not all of it pleasant, on the part of Friedrich. From the
first he had, as usual, been a most clear-eyed observer of everything;
and found the business, as appears, not of tragical nature, but of
expensive-farcical, capable to shake the diaphragm rather than touch the
heart of a reflective on-looker. He has a considerable Poem on it,--WAR
OF THE CONFEDERATES by title (in the old style of the PALLADION,
imitating an unattainable JEANNE D'ARC),--considerable Poem, now
forming itself at leisure in his thoughts, ["LA GUERRE DES CONFEDERES
[_OEuvres,_ xiv. 183 et seq.], finished in November, 1771."] which
decidedly takes that turn; and laughs quite loud at the rabid
fanaticisms, blusterous inanities and imbecilities of these noisy
unfortunate neighbors:--old unpleasant style of the PALLADION and
PUCELLE; but much better worth reading; having a great deal