with the heart-rending idea, that it was all over with our country, having before our eyes the melancholy picture of the recent atrocities perpetrated at Praga, the proscription of our relatives and friends, and the confiscation of our estates—overwhelmed by all these melancholy thoughts, we now advanced on our way in mournful silence. Titow and his people, who had shewn us hitherto some outward marks of civility, assumed all at once an air of authority and reserve, either in consequence of having just received new instructions, or what is more likely, because they did not see any one superior to themselves. The character of our head-superintendent was a mixture of ignorance, presumption, and cruelty; it was said that he was brave before the enemy,—it maybe so; but certainly he was more mendacious and thievish than brave. His companions were Captain Ostafi Ostaficz Udom, a knave, but who had better manners than the others; Zmiewski, a stupid nonsensical drunkard; Mitrowski, a down-right good fellow; finally, the young Lieutenant Karpen,
