now at peace with the Porte; our navy will be laid up, and we shall not need you to lead forth our fleet till it pleases the saints to punish us with a new war. Katherine gives you leave, therefore, to retire from her court; the air of France will be favourable for your health, and your principles will no longer alarm your sensitive countrymen in my service. Accept this signet-ring as a mark of my admiration of your bravery. Your pay as an admiral will be regularly remitted. One word more, Chevalier; write to Katherine of Russia, and write in verse, in which I hear you excel. We may soon be blest with a war, and Admiral Jones may yet bear the Black Eagle into the harbour of Constantinople. Farewell." She retired, leaving Paul and Prince Romanzow together. "Has Prince Romanzow any commands for the civilized part of Europe ?" inquired Paul with calm bitterness. "I depart now."-" None," replied the Russian warrior, "which Admiral Paul Jones could with propriety execute. You go to France ?""Yes, Prince, I go to the land where men are masters at least of the civilities of speech, where no courtier will be permitted to rob an officer of themerit of his own actions, in order that some prince of the private chamber may seem a hero."-The Prince smiled and answered, "One parting word; I love your valour, but I think marvellously light of your prudence. If France be your destination, you will find the Bourbon on a tottering throne; the fierce democratic multitude will want leaders of a fiery and unscrupulous nature, and Chevalier Paul Jones may thrive. Goes the Turk, I mean Lord Dalveen, with you?" They were now in front of the Imperial lodge, and the wild forest, powdered with hoar-frost, lay around them, steeped in bright moonlight. "Prince,” said Paul, throwing his cloak about him, and laying his hand on his horse's mane, "I leave you in Lord Dalveen a spirit as bold, as intractable, and as intriguing as your own; one who has a heart that dreads no danger,—has a hand that can quell your bravest, and a tongue which has prevailed wherever woman with her beauty and her vanity breathes. Farewell to Russia."He sprang into his saddle, and with Macgubb, and several attendants whom the courtesy of the Empress spared him, sought out the bank of the Dnieper. The Russian veteran looked after him, and muttered, "Go, thou weak-vain-brave man,-thou weapon with which the wily and the wise win their victories. Go, thou knight-errant of liberty, and fight for slaves,-go sigh for the gilt gingerbread with which kings and queens feed the fools who crowd their courts." He smiled in scorn, and retired. The vessel in which Paul and his faithful companion Macgubb embarked for France had to touch at no intermediate country; and as there was a general peace among the nations, the mariners held on their way without dread of other enemies than the tem pest, the sunken rock, and the quicksand. A tempest, however, found them; the sailors dropt on their knees, and each pressed a wooden crucifix to his bosom; while the captain, whose mind and education had removed him above the influence of superstition, strengthened his fortitude with brandy. The vessel bounded forward on her career; her sails were rent to ribbons, and her masts shivered like loch-reeds. Paul seemed indifferent from what quarter of the sky the tempest came; and Macgubb had some hope that Chance, who had now fairly taken the management of the vessel into her own hands, would indulge him with at least a passing glance at the Mull of Galloway. The storm lasted long, and the vessel was driven far from her course. At last the wind dropt at once, the clouds rolled rapidly away, the setting sun shone brightly out, and the agitated ocean alone, rolling its huge waves in multitudes and throwing its foam upon the loftiest cliffs, continued in Macgubb's eye an image of the storm. The sailors rose from their knees, and named gratefully the name of their patron-saint; the captain resumed his courage, resigned the brandy-cup, and set his vessel in order to meet the serene evening, with all the alacrity of a man who braves calmly the vicissitudes of the ocean. The stormy shroud was swept from sea and land, and the sun glanced on the green hill-tops within three cable-length of the ship. Macgubb stood on the deck and gazed,—the crimson of joy was visible in his iron-brown visage. "Be gracious unto us!" he exclaimed, "but this is a grand vision! That land on the left looks like the Ross of Kirkcudbright, and that isle looks like the Isle of Man. I maun have passed the Mull in the tempest; and now I think I did feel a pang of gladness shoot through me as we came driving endlang in the mirk. God be near my wits, but it's my ain dear native place! O for an hour of the blessed Mull! O for ae minute of Criffel tap!-Paul, man, wherefore break ye'not out into voluntary song? I have heard ye praise, in gude rhyme, the cheek of a quean who looked mair grim and auld than the tower of Kirkcudbright." Paul leaned over the vessel's side, put his hand over his eyes, and seemed too absorbed in thought to heed even the stormy rapture of his companion. "One hour, one evening hour only," he muttered," among the homely unsophisticated peasantry of my native land, that I may learn how their hearts are towards me! If I stand condemned in their speech, Scotland and I must separate for ever." The ship cast anchor in a small cove, a boat was lowered, and Paul, in the cos tume of a Russian admiral, with his naval cloak thrown around him, set his foot once more on the coast of his native country. He came to two fishermen drawing their nets; he stood beside them for a moment. "Four clean fish and a prickled skate, a noble haul, Jamie, lad," said the elder of the two; "maybe his honour there," looking at Paul, "will be a customer,—he'll belang to a country where folk have a tender conscience and a strong stomach for fish on Fridays." "Him!" said the younger, ❝ he'll never do a kind turn in his life, else he shames likeness,-saving that he's mair thin and sorrowful, he's as like Jock Paul, our country's curse, as a fluke's like a flounder. I wonder on what far-away tree the traitor's hung; no that I care a salmon-scale about the matter, only the folk of Wigtonshire say he's hung in plain hemp, and the folk of Kirkcudbright vow that he's disposed of on a iron gibbet. I say gibbet, because he's of our county, and should be honoured." Paul passed onward, and overtook an old man with a basket of ballads and tales. "A new ballad, your honour," cried the mendicant; "a braw new ballad, written on the battle of Bunker's Hill by Hughie Magget of Minnilaw, the best poet in the Stewartry. Or would your honour prefer a sang made by the schoolmaster of Minnigaff, about pirate Paul Jones ;—it begins,— 'Ye have heard of John Paul Jones; 99 It tells of his dubious parentage and evil deeds,how he herried our houses and burnt our towns." Paul threw down a piece of gold, took the ballads |