THE YOUNG COMPOSITOR.

ON HOPE AND REFLECTION.

THE anticipation of future events, which we conceive will tend to our happiness, elates the mind with joy and pleasure. We are ani­mated by the lively sallies of imagination, and with anxious smiles cast forward a searching eye, the beneficial effects arising from the de­sired event, appear dressed in the most beauti­ful colours, and give the mind a captivating glow, which prompts the wished embrace. But ah! how often does the long looked for period at length arrive, but only to disappoint the un­happy being, lulled by the giddy flights of a warm imagination, and dreaming of honor, popularity and reward. Led by the fond de­ceiver Hope, the author invokes his solitary muse; with gloomy pleasure he devises plans; alone he seeks the hoary genius of reflection, [Page 29] and gives to the world the [...] of his la­bour. The world with frowns receives the gift; no smile breaks through the sullen gloom, and soon a startling voice, not that of gentle can­dour, blasts the nourished hope of the degraded author. Then from the muses spreading grove he takes his lonely way to where, decaying oaks refuse a cooling shade. No more he silent ponders on Parnassus' flowery banks, but seeks the stagnant pool. Hope first seduced the hap­less Chatterton; on her he placed his confi­dence; but alas? he placed them upon a de­ceiver. At length wearied of her promises, he banished her from his melancoly abode, and sought the arms of death. Hope is one of the plea­sing passions of the human breast; it furnishes the mind with employment, beyond what the present time affords. We receive nearly an equal pleasure in anticipating some future event, as if we realized it. Hope presents to us, futuri­ty, while Imagination decorates it in beautiful robes. Without Hope man would lead a dull and unhappy life. It is her which animates him, and calls forth his faculties to action, she gives him serenity and good humour. Hope, [Page 30] says Addison, is a kind of vital heat in the soul, that cheers and gladdens her when she does not attend to it—it makes pain easy and labour sweet.

How kind and indulgent does Hope lend her smiles on the youthful lover; she conveys him to a beautiful bower, where the rose, the jessa­mine, and the most odoriferous flowers lendtheir sweet perfume; she there presents to his view the object of his affection, and dwells on the future period, when he shall lead her blooming to the altar. When our country calls the soldier to arms, when in sight the hostile armies ap­proach, and martial music sounds the dreadful onset, what is it that keeps alive the courage of the hero, and bids him undauntedly face the cannon's bellowing mouth. It is the gen­tle soother Hope that glows within his bosom. He hopes he shall be one of that happy number which shall survive the conflict; that victory will crown his valour, and that his country will receive him with a wreath of laurels. But it was a hope of a different nature, which swell­ed the bosoms of the sons of Columbia—it was not for glory that they unsheathed the shining [Page 31] sword. It was for their injured rights, it was for liberty. Roused by the groan [...] of their country, their courage rose to fury, which breathed vengeance on the foe, stained with the blood of their unhappy countrymen.

There is another power bestowed upon man, from which he receives a great source of plea­sure. This power, which is reflection, though of a nature widely different, seems to be in some instances, a little similar with Hope. Hope anticipates things which are to come, Reflection calls to mind what is past; the one is the offspring of that creative power the ima­gination, the other of the memory; the one is elated by the expectation of future happiness, the other looks back with a smile of exquisite pleasure, on experienced incidents; the one takes its abode in the chearful breast of youth, the other in the experienced bosom of old age. We may be said to possess double pleasure from the anticipation of the happiness which an ap­proaching event will confer upon us, and also, that we cannot fully enjoy one, without reflect­ing upon it. It is hard to determine from which [Page 32] of these faculties of the mind it is, that we re­ceive the most pleasure. How highly gratifying to the old man, must it be to recollect a well spent life; with what delight can he dwell on his puerile tricks, and youthful employments, when the tinge of health glowed upon his cheek, and when strength nerved his limbs; the ma­ny happy years he has enjoyed, blessed with the smiles of a youthful bride. Reflecting upon past scenes improves our minds, and our know­ledge of human nature; we can recollect the many schemes and plans which were executed to bring about desired events, and accomplish­ed by others to defraud us. Knox, in his Mo­ral Essays, was so conscious of the extreme pleasure, which attends the reflection of the virtuous man, that he has said, To recollect a well spent life, is to anticipate a future state of happiness. Homer, in his Iliad, had shewn himself to possess a complete knowledge of hu­man life, in his character of Nestor; the old man can seldom deliver an oration, in the coun­cil of princes, without informing them of the many noble actions he has atchieved, how he slew giants, tyrants, and base men. It was [Page 33] from this source the venerable hero drew his greatest pleasure, and it was by telling the seats of his youth, that he chose to entertain his friends; who can hear the aged fire thus speak, without feeling for him a veneration and res­pect—

Again, he says, when upbraiding the Greci­ans for their fear, to accept the challenge of Hector.—

As it is from Reflection the old man obtains his principal pleasure, with what respect and attention ought youth to listen to the tales of his youth. If not entertained by them, du­ty ought to command their attention; we can in no instance, more than by doing this, draw upon us the love and affection of the aged; we can in no instance more agreeably indulge their humours, and bestow on their wrinkled coun­tenances, the smile of satisfaction.

ON JUVENILE INSTITUTIONS.

I PROPOSE briefly to enquire into the bene­fits which youth receive from societies established for literary purposes. There are so many insti­tutions, formed from this motive, now existing, that it is an enquiry of some importance; the love of them seems to be prevalent in the breast of every youth. The rational pleasure which we there receive, abstracting every other bene­fit, deserves some attention. One of the most delightful pleasures which we can enjoy, arises from intercourse with our fellow man; while in the presence of lively and agreeable friends, we banish all disagreeable reflections from our minds, which at other times would tend to in­terrupt our repose, and discourse with harmo­ny and pleasure. There are few who can say, that they receive no pleasure from a society of favourite companions, when engaged in some literary dispute; and such who can, are in some measure bereft of the feeling of humani­ty. Such who can, have, through dissipation and vicious pursuit, rubbed off that amiable polish which attracts human nature in the ten­der [Page 40] ties of brotherly love. All will acknow­ledge the pure enjoyments which arise from a virtuous friendship; many can judge of it from delightful experience. It is in such societies as these that they become formed. Young per­sons of the same age, members of the same literary society, and pursuing hand in hand the same object, sympathy will be naturally ex­cited in each bosom, and led to form this vir­tuous sensation. The particular objects which these societies pursue are composition; verbal debates and oratory. To explain the use, and the great necessity of these branches, to render us great and distinguished characters, is need­less, and is not the subject of our investigation.

In favour of societies one of the first argu­ments which strikes us is Emulation, in a large society, where young gentlemen meet for im­provement, and have such a laudable opportu­nity of displaying to their comrades their good sense and judgment, it is impossible that such a motive should not actuate the breast, which is not callous to shame and the love of praise. The situations and rewards which are offered to their view, must stimulate every ef­fort [Page 41] to excel. The Spartans, conscious of the emulation which will always prevail among youth, formed their young warriors into so­cieties, that so, striving who should excel in the military arts, they might be trained up to all the fatigues and hardships of war. It was this that rendered the Spartan bands invincible and spread the terror of their name abroad. But not like them we train ourselves to scenes of human blood; we strive not to gain the laurel from a bruised and bleeding adversary, but we strive to obtain the fragrant myrtle by excelling in literature, and the delight [...] arts of peace. Though youth may be led to practise them­selves in composition, without entering socie­ties; yet I am not acquainted with any other manner in which they are so agreeebly incited to it. Friendship, the love of praise, and desire of improvement, invite them to wan­der in the delightful walks of the muses, where no thorns obstruct the verdant path. The modest youth there brings forth his pro­ductions, to the benevolent ear of friendship, and is not terrified by the expected sneers of a morose critic; but still a fear of disapproba­tion, [Page 42] and a desire of praise, banish careless­ness and neglect, from his compositions and literary exercises. By reading and experience persons may acquire a stock of knowledge; they may retain in their minds, various senti­ments and historical events, which they have read; but they will never become elegant compositors, without much practise. By this they acquire a more regular arrangement of their ideas, and a more free and continued flow of thought and argument. A person can ne­ver compose an essay entirely original, without much practise and investigation; the more he practises, the more his mental faculties become enlarged and refined.

Although a young compositor ought never to cultivate a stile which is laboured and unnatu­ral; he ought not to seek high-sounding words and the many figures of rhetoric to decorate his composition; for these, instead of beauty, introduce obscurity in his meaning, and dis­play a considerable share of pedantry unamia­ble in youth. Many persons, led by a false taste, consider these as elegance; and instead of following the easy and natural path of simpli­city, [Page 43] copy the florid and bombastic stile of Hervey, which is grating to the ear of the true critic. But yet the harsh language of nature ought to be refined. The language in which an idea first presents itself to our minds, the manner in which we clothe our▪ observati­ons in conversation, which arise from the im­pulse of the moment, requires considerable polish; more accuracy, a more smooth flow of our words, and a more particular arrangement of our periods ought to be observed; we ought to adorn our stile with the garb of neatness, but ought not to deck it with too many flowers, which diminish its force, and obscure the beau­ty of its texture. By practice and criticism we are led to seek this beauty of stile, and to shun this gaudy and bombastic display of ex­pressions. When young persons first set out in their pursuit of the Belle Lettres, they are al­most always led astray by this false idea of grandeur, but after some practise, they des­pise a stile so effeminate, and endeavour to cultivate a stile, which then, to their more re­fined taste, appears more perfect. Many ar­guments [Page 44] might be produced in favour of Juve­nile institutions, which arise from the pleasing exercise of extemporary disputation; the truly rational and mental pleasure which youth re­ceive from this improving enjoyment, has of­ten been experienced by many to whom I now address myself. From this source we might trace some of the most weighty arguments in support of our cause. But we shall only ge­nerally observe, that the fluency of speech which is by this means acquired, the readiness and quick succession of ideas, the gracefulness and ease of extemporary delivery, operate great­ly to the advantage of societies: persons, al­though possessed of cultivated understandings, acquainted with the works of the historical and sentimental writers, and although favorite sons of the muses, if they are not accustomed to extemporary disputes, they will appear in certain situations to much disadvantage. What is related concerning Addison, every person is acquainted with, it is a weighty example of what I assert; that profound classic knowledge which he had acquired, that elegance of diction, and that delicacy of wit, which shine so [Page 45] conspicuous in his writings, could not in this instance support him: "He conceived thrice, and brought forth nothing." Thus, this great man, the ornament of British Literature, by not being sufficiently exercised in extemporary disputation, gave occasion to a stroke of wit, which must have hurt the tender feelings of this modest and amiable author; for want of this, men, infinitely his inferiors, appeared with more distinguished lustre. In society, by be­ing often the advocates of a cause, we banish that timidity and bashfulness, which are al­ways attendant on our first attempts at disputa­tion, and which occasion a perturbation of mind, which greatly confuses the speaker.

I need not mention how exceedingly re­quisite fluency of speech, and promptness of thought are to the divine, the lawyer, and the person who is called upon by his countrymen, to represent them in legislature; they at once appear evident, and need no illustration. Some persons have asserted, that youthful institutions, instead of being beneficial, are disadvantageous to youth. Their principal argument, and the one upon which they build their opposition, is, [Page 46] that by extemporary disputations, youth are led into a sophistical manner of reasoning. This I will acknowledge to be an objection of considerable import. Formidable, however, as it may appear, it is feeble, compared with the many benefits arising from society. To invalidate this evil, I would observe, that it depends mostly upon the dispositions of persons, that debates are productive of this harm; and that if youth would only allow the subject some investigation, upon which they are to dispute; if they are not fond of speaking very often, to display their talents, although devoid of argu­ment and substance, and if they will follow the advice of doctor Blair, by always chusing that side of the question, which to them ap­pears right, and the most advantageous—Ju­venile Institutions would not be productive of this only evil, which can be maintained against them.

THOUGHTS ON FRANCE.

IT is very common with some persons to con­ceal their enmity to the rights of man by magnifying and decrying the extravagancies of those who are engaged in contending for them—they are so disingenuous as not to distinguish between a good cause, and the evils which in­variably attend the accomplishment of it—Thus we frequently hear of the licentiousness, the di­vision [Page 61] of sentiment, and the barbarity of the French nation; these are unjustly and pompous­ly displayed on purpose to prejudice a righteous cause. Not to call in question, at present, the truth of many facts which are published, or to insist on our inability at this distance, or the information we have, to judge of them—let me only ask, Ought France to have patiently sub­mitted to her former government? If not, in what way should she have effected a Revolution? Was ever such a thing accomplished without division and bloodshed? Who shall set bounds to a people rising from under oppression, and feeling their own liberty and strength? Either she must have continued under the old tyranny, or, in becoming free, she must experience the distresses of the present day—which of these in the end will contribute most to the happiness of posterity, and to the happiness of mankind? Would we rather that Caesar were living, and be all bondmen, or that Caesar were dead, and live all freemen?

It is a pity that those who so much lament the loss of a few heads in France, do not consider the monstrous cruelties of which kings have been guilty—is not the Bastile a more dread­ful instrument than the Guillotine? How ma­ny [Page 62] have been put to death or condemned to drag out a miserable existence, at the captious hu­mour of a single man? All the blood already spilled, and which may be spilled in France, is only a drop to that which kings have shed—the earth has been stained with the gore, and fattened with the bodies of millions slain, through their injustice and rapine.

What must we think of that heart which seems to feel so much for a few outrages, which a people, insulted, betrayed, and impel­led by an enthusiasm for liberty, commit, and yet seems not to feel for the constant grinding weight of oppression? What of the man, who can turn into ridicule a Sans Culotte, whose constant earnings have always gone to pamper a luxuriant lord? What of the man to whom Liberty and Equality can be terms of reproach? What of the man who has conversed with the Greek and Roman Classics, but has imbibed no share of the Greek and Roman principle? What of the American who can justify the Revolution in his own country, and condemn France struggling in the same glorious cause? All such ought to be branded with the hateful [Page 63] name of Aristocrats; they ought to become th [...] minions of some European despot, until they grow sick of those infernal principles which they dare to advocate.

It is remarkable that Dr. Moore, in his jour­nal, during his residence in France (a work in which, though he studiously endeavors to repre­sent the French in an unfavorable light, yet is obliged often to give them credit) has these words— ‘Should a band of wicked men acquire un­due influence with the people of France, by zealous pretensions to patriotism—or should the expected National Assembly, itself, through folly, ambition, or barbarity, or a combination of all the three, blast the hopes of a free constitution, and ruin the happiness of their country; still the cause for which the Revolution was undertaken, remains the best in which men [...] engage. The folly, ambition and barbarity of individuals, may consign their names to the execration of mankind, but cannot diminish the intrinsic value of freedom.’

Such are the words which truth extorted from [...]man, who appears willing, as far as he dared, [...]o condemn a magnanimous people.

[Page 64] In short, the establishment of a Republican form of government in France is ardently to be wished, is intimately connected with the free­dom of America, and with the happiness of mankind. The war of the combined army is an outrage on human nature, and a war against Heaven.—May the spirit which pervades France, pervade the whole world, and prepare the way for universal righteousness and peace!

Let us for a moment here enquire, what that desperate thing, Equality, is, which so much alarms the minds of many amiable men.

Equality says, all men are equal—that they were born free and independent—that govern­ment shall be representative—that there shall be no king—but rulers, such as meet the appro­bation of the people—these are certainly alarm­ing circumstances!—startle aristocrat! The words, that all men are equal, very much hurt these gentlemen's finer feelings, and upon them they cast many exceedingly satirical observations. By all men being equal, we are to understand, that there must be no nobility—that there must be no criterions, but merit and virtue. It is these alone, that must exalt one man above another; it [Page 65] is by these alone that we are to be led in the choice of our rulers. It does not demand what I have heard a wise gentleman wittily say, "that if we meet our brother in the street, without breeches, we should give him half our own," but that the poor shall not be subservient to the rich, that the industrious clown shall not be obliged to tremble, and how submissive to a haughty and tyrannical lord when he approaches him, but that he shall be equal with all.

THE EFFECTS OF MODERATION, CONSIDERED IN THE LOVE OF PRAISE & POLITICS.

THERE are many useful and pleasing pas­sions implanted in the breast, which, when much indulged, become great blemishes in the character; the animating glow which prompted the mind to great and glorious actions, be­comes demeaned, when it stoops to things dishonourable and degrading. From the want [Page 66] of paying proper attention to the warning voice of moderation, we often render ourselves dis­gustful to our fellow creatures, and involve ourselves in many troubles. The passionate man is violent in all his proceedings; he pur­sues, blindfolded, the delusive phantom in favor of which he is prejudiced, and spurns from him the paternal voice of reason—but the moderate man is possessed of the more tender and softer feelings: with his moderation he connects con­sideration, and walks steady and sure in all his ways—All men, in some measure, are actuated by prejudice, but the moderate man is not guided by the impulse of the moment, but by mature deliberation. Zeal, in a good cause, when not carried beyond the limits of reason, is very much to be admired; but the passionate [...] pursues with equal ardour the good and bad. The love of praise is a necessary and de­lightful passion. It is inherent in human na­ture. Mankind depend upon each other for all their wants, and even for their existence; from social intercourse they receive their most lasting and rational pleasure.

[Page 67] Persons unassisted by their fellow-creatures, would make no progress in any useful im­provement. It is society that calls forth their faculties to action. We see then, that for ve­ry useful ends the love of praise is a passion of the breast, for it is her attractive power which binds men in the ties of humanity and of friendship; no other principle of the soul would be capable of effecting this, if we did not de­light in the good opinion and esteem of each other. Without this, the friendly intercourse between the human race, the tender endear­ments of brotherly love, would shun this miser­able habitation of human nature. No more the sympathetic bosom would glow with affec­tion, and relate its sorrows and joys to the anxious [...] of a friend. No more would pre­vail the plaintive voice of love, and the har­mony of the conjugal state. Shame, which often deters from the commission of disgraceful and wicked actions, would then have no influence over the conduct and inclination. Emulation would cease to exist within the youthful breast. Literature and the cultivation of the arts and [Page 68] and sciences, would vanish from so discordant an habitation, and ignorance wrap the world in gloom and darkness.

If such an awful picture would present itself to us, were not the love of praise a principle of the human breast, to what a variety of good pur­poses must it actuate us, and in how many cases must it appear to be the offspring of virtue—the actions to which it incites are those which all mankind admire.

The dispositions of men are generally inclin­ed to sloth and indulgence—the faculties of the soul would be inactive and dormant, if the de­lightful love of praise did not banish their slumbers, and point to an object which entices them in the pursuit of literature and useful knowledge.—The love of praise reforms our man­ners, and makes us studious to please our fel­low-creatures. It has been the cause of many glorious actions, and has given a spring to many which bear the appearance of eminent virtue.

The warrior, although he feels the animat­ing glow of patriotism, yet there needs some other power to assist and support his drooping [Page 69] courage when under distressed circumstances. The love of praise performs this useful part, she takes the despairing hero by the hand, she soothes his bosom by her melodious voice, she whispers in his ear, the thankfulness, the grati­tude, the exclamations of joy and the salutation of those persons whose lives and property he has defended and protected: all which await him at his return victorious from the bloody plain. She holds out to his view the wreaths of laurels which his country will entwine around his brows. These reflections kindle in his bosom a new ardour. He is now not only animated by the instigations of duty, and the glow of pa­triotism, but also by the just wish to acquire the esteem of his country, and win her praises and her gratitude. He again resumes his waving helmet, and bids defiance to his foes.

The great Germanicus, on the eve before a bloody battle, in silent reflection, wandered over the plain, where, freed from the fatigues of the day, his veteran army reposed in their tents: the noise of the soldiery, the resounding of arms, and the loud blasts of martial music, were hushed in silence. With a pensive melancholy, [Page 70] he reflected on the great and dreadful scene which was shortly to ensue on the succeeding day, the fate of his country, and the many brave men who would shed their precious blood in their country's cause. His great soul was filled with certain sensations, characteristic of the great warrior, and of the feeling heart—while thus in solitude he indulged the feelings of hu­manity, he thought he heard some voices dis­coursing in one of the tents; he approached towards it slowly, and without noise, until he [...] clearly distinguish the subject of their discourse. But! who can describe his sensati­ons, the exquisite glow of his heroic bosom, when he discovered it was himself—that it was the praises of Germanicus which employed the attention of his officers; instead of courting that rest which the fatigues of the day required, they took more delight in speaking the dictates of their admiring bosoms, and celebrating the glory of their beloved commander. The Ro­man chief paused, to indulge his feelings, which expanded with conscious virtue: he heard not the fawning accents of flattery, but the voice of truth, of sincerity, and of justly acquired [Page 71] praise. He returned to his tent, filled with the most delightful sensations. The next day, the voice of praise still vibrating in his ear, and inspiring him with an elevation of soul above mortality, he led on his soldiers, eager for bat­tle, and fearful of no danger, when Germanicus was their chief—The warlike Armenius formed his German bands, and bid defiance to the Ro­man power. The armies engaged; severe was the conflict; but victory at length crowned the Roman with a wreath of laurels. His former praises increased to adoration—his valiant army offered him the empire, but moderation bade him refuse it.

Thus far we have considered the Love of Praise as an incitement only to great and noble deeds. It is equally useful when we descend from its active influence on the mind, and con­sider it in a character who has already acquired it, and who is possessed of the good opinion and esteem of his fellow creatures: In him mankind place their confidence; his influence is extensive, and his fellow men will always exert themselves to serve and oblige the man [Page 72] whom they admire—and when old age creeps upon him, the regard which is manifested for him, the conscious rectitude of his own con­duct, illumine the smile of satisfaction on his once animated but now wrinkled countenance. Reflection casts a soothing view on the time when his laudable exertions extorted from his countrymen the bursts of applause, and silent admiration. Devoid of this principle, as it has now been considered, man wants one of the passions which most distinguishes him from the brutes; without it, he would shun the face of his fellow man, and become a solitary wander­er of the desart. We have now, in its proper light, considered the Love of Praise; the happy effects which Moderation has upon the conduct, when man listens to her instructive voice, nor tresspasses beyond her rules. Amiable as the Love of Praise appears, it may be carried to excess, whence injury will result. We shall now consider, though but very briefly, the ef­fects of the Love of Praise, when pursued be­yond its proper limits. When a man devotes himself wholly to the acquirement of praise, he must bid adieu to all useful studies, except such [Page 73] as particularly answer his purposes—he must bid adieu to that liberty and independence of spirit, without which we can never be great. All virtuous men agree in admiring indepen­dence of spirit, which will follow the dictates of duty, against popular clamour. But he who will pursue the whims and courses of pub­lic opinion to gain praise, will be despised—to throw aside all sense of right, and to act in con­formity to the wishes of party, betrays an ig­noble soul, which is highly degrading. The Love of Praise, in this sense▪ overcomes all the tender and amiable feelings of the soul: the voice of conscience is not heard in the execu­tion of actions, which are conceived to be ne­cessary in the pursuit of its favorite object:—Virtue, the true source of esteem and respect, is banished from its presence, and vice and meanness are its bosom friends. The person actuated by this extravagant thirst, will sacrifice the ties of humanity, and all the tender feelings of the breast. The unruly Love of Praise defeats itself in its own designs; it is unable to con­ceal the motive which gives rise to its many ex­ertions, and when the world perceives a person [Page 74] anxious to acquire its praises, instead of ad­miration, it bestows upon him contempt and reproaches: His great labours, his violent ef­forts to please, only afford mirth and amusement.

Izrael Smyly is extremely desirous of acquiring praise; he is a man endowed with a moderate share of understanding, and is diminitive in his looks and manners; but, possessed of human nature, he casts a smiling eye of approbation upon himself, and thinks that he is important and consequential to his fellow creatures. In­capable of performing any great actions, and not possessed of discernment enough to know what a great action is, he has fallen upon a very accommodating plan, in his pursuit; it is composed of good nature, acquiessence, and meanness. In conversation, he never suffers himself to contradict a person, but approves, and smilingly bows assent to all he says: if he was to assert that blue is yellow, his refinement of manners would not allow him to say, "that he presumed he was mistaken;" but he inclines his head, glistening with grease, and draws his smooth face into a smile, in token of his conge­niality of sentiment—He will bear insult with­out [Page 75] resentment—nay! I believe a person of that race of men denominated the great, might ven­ture so far as to pull the gentleman's nose, with­out meeting with the least retaliation. He seeks out and follows every method, in which he can oblige particular persons, and will run to the other end of the town with the greatest swiftness and satisfaction, to confer the least benefit and favour.

Thus does this poor animal pay all his atten­tion, and worry himself almost to death, in the pursuit of an object which sneers at him, and flies him with uncommon aversion. He gains, it must be granted, the thanks of persons for carrying their portmanteaus, and particularly for becoming a servant without wages. The name of Mr. Smyly is spread abroad, but it is never pronounced unless it be to excite diversion and laughter.

At first view, mankind are led to admire actions which participate of bravery; but when reflection and reason are allowed their proper exercise, they will appear to be crimes which have disgraced human nature, and ought never to be held up for admiration, but for detestation.

[Page 76] Such, if we examine, and are not dazzled by glitter and show, will appear to be the actions of an Alexander and others. Led on by a thirst of fame, which nothing could quench, he em­brued his hands in the blood of thousands of his fellow men! their streaming bodies covered over the plain! their piercing cries, the ruins of cities which he desolated, could not touch his cruel soul! He dropped a tear over the ruins of Thebes, but still he pursued his former blood­shed and ravages.

This butcherer of mankind, after he had con­quered most of the nations then in the known world, who had never in the least instance of­fended him, sat down and wept, that he had no more worlds to conquer.

POLITICS.

NO topic of conversation so much engages the attention of Americans, as Politics.—In disputations which arise from them, there is more warmth and animosity prevailing than upon any other subject whatever. The French politician will make bare his arm, before he will give way one inch to his antagonist—and the disapprover [Page 77] of the French proceedings will exert his vocal powers to the highest pitch, and thunder in the Democrat's ears, the cruelties, the bloodshed, and extravagancies of the Sans Culottes.

How much better would it be to preserve mo­deration, to debate concerning the great events which are passing abroad with reason and mild­ness, the characteristics of wisdon.

The Revolution in France is the source from whence at present arises almost all political dis­putations—and an event it is, truly astonishing—The disapprovers of it must be guided entirely by their prejudices and not by reason—But on the other hand, though a youthful American, a sin­cere friend to the rights of man, and to the freedom of France, I must observe that there are many who bear the name of Democrats, who are extremely far distant from the safe and un­ruffled path of moderation—Every republican, it is true, must feel himself interested in the cause of liberty; he must wish that all his fel­low beings under the dark shadow of oppression, may become enlightened, and experience her celestial charms. These are the effusions of the benevolent bosom. But is he justifiable in [Page 78] some of his proceedings? can he possess the true spirit of brotherly love, when his soul is agitated with the most inveterate hatred against a fellow citizen, because he does not agree with him in sentiment: the person whom he shuns for this fault may be the enlightened and amiable man. That France has been the scene of much cruelty and confusion, every considerate person must allow—But even when these are mention­ed in the hearing of this violent politician—an­ger and animosity burn within his bosom; and he bestows the opprobious name of Aristocrat, upon persons who possess the true spirit of Re­publicanism in a higher degree than himself.—Intimately connected as we are with France, we ought to restrain our passions, and while we ourselves justify the proceedings of France, by saying, that bloodshed is always the natural con­sequence of a great and wonderful revolution, and more so in a nation just rising from under the weight of tyranny; let us also possess mo­deration, and look with an eye of sympathy and sorrow, upon that little soul, who would wish destruction to the rights of man. The person who will go so far as not only to condemn their [Page 79] proceedings, but the sacred cause for which Frenchmen contend, ought rather to draw a tear for the depravity of human nature, than the resentment of the friend of Freedom.

A true Account of the LIFE and WRITINGS of PEGASUS HELICON, THE POET OF THE GARRET, AS RELATED BY JULIUS TELLWELL.

I WRITE to bring forward to public view a truly great man, one who has not met with that encouragement, and been treated with that respect which his dignity and eminent abilities de­serve. But ah! he is not the only author who has met with misfortunes. The mighty Ho­mer, Otway, and Butler, were the children of poverty. If in tracing the life and writings of this son of the Muse, though I write not with the pen of Pathos and elegance, but with the pen of commiseration and truth, I shall excite in the breast of the public, the emotions of ad­miration, [Page 80] and a consciousness of their former neglect, that by these they may become the pa­trons and encouragers of Pegasus Helicon, my whole design will be answered. If my feeble pen is able to accomplish this, my satisfaction and pleasure will be greater than that which attended Virgil and Milton, after they had seen their poems crowned with wreaths of lau­rels. They wrote one may say, to acquire lite­rary fame, I write to excite in the breast the most amiable sensations, and to be of assistance to the distressed. The subjects of their writings were mostly fictitious. Pegasus Helicon de­mands my pen, not as an imaginary but real be­ing. Shakespeare, who has been pronounced immortal, obtained his name by being an ori­ginal writer. Pegasus Helicon is entirely an original writer, and what is more extraordinary, in a period of 178 years after Shakespeare, when many more discoveries had been made. The manner in which I came to be first ac­quainted with Mr. Helicon is this: As I was reading one day a small production, on what subject I do not rightly remember, I per­ceived some lines of poetry, which were an in­vocation [Page 81] to the Muse, written in such a su­blime manner, that they wonderfully excited my admiration—the two first lines I can only re­collect.—

As I was extremely pleased, I was naturally led to enquire who the author of them was. Af­ter much trouble I found that his name was Pegasus Helicon; that the author of the pro­duction in which they were printed, was so captivated by their charms, that he exhibited them to the public with high encomiums. I now knew the name of the man, but I had not yet seen him, my curiosity was now rather more excited than appeased. I long made a fruitless search to discover a person to introduce me to him; at length, lucky chance threw in my way, that friend of his, who quoted his verses; he very politely offered to introduce me to Mr. Helicon—On our way towards the Poet's lodging, my friend informed me of many of his peculiarities; one of which was, that he never shaved, but suffered his beard to take its natural growth.—We had now walked a considerable way, when [Page 82] my friend at last stopped at a tall board house; he pointed to the top of the house, and desired me to follow him. He led me through a winding stairs which brought us to the garret of the house, where I discovered a little room pe­titioned off in the west corner, which he inform­ed me was Mr. Helicon's study. He told me to approach without noise for fear we might disturb his meditation; we advanced on tiptoe to the door, and was just lifting up the latch to en­ter, when we heard a voice within repeat aloud,

My friend now opened the door, and address­ing Mr. Helicon, introduced me to him: He bestowed upon me a gracious smile, and friendly nod, with which I thought myself highly ho­nored. His beard was brown and thin; he had a long gown rapped round him, and the sprig of some tree twined round his head: He was sitting on a three legged stool, with a long pen in his hand, and some loose papers lying before him; there were no chairs in the room, but a long bench, upon which he invited us to sit down: He then threw aside his pen, carefully put up [Page 83] his papers, and, taking the wreath of leaves from his head, addressed it in these extemporary couplets,

We now conversed about the news of the day, in the course of which, I discovered that Mr. Helicon was a good Republican; but he said he did not trouble himself much about things done abroad, being occupied by more important business in his room. I then took the liberty of asking him, if his country called upon her sons to fight her battles, if he would not then seize his musquet, and seek the hostile plain? He smiled, took up his pen, which lay upon the table, and said, Demosthenes and Cicero, with their tongues, were said to have done more good for their country, than ten thousand men could have effected. They fought not themselves, but inspired the heroes with strength, courage, and with enthusiasm, in defence of their coun­tries—so will I with my pen.

I now, having thrown off that embarrassment commonly attendant on persons when first intro­duced [Page 84] to the company of great men, ventured to compliment him concerning his excellent poetry, some of which I mentioned I had seen, and to humbly beg the favor, that he would gratify me with the perusal of one of his latest poems. With pleasing smiles he returned my compliments, and with extreme politeness told me, that it was his wish to gratify all who ho­nored him with their friendship. He then took up one of his papers which lay upon the table, and told me, that the last piece he had finished was blotted and written very badly; he, there­fore, would even read it himself for us. We returned him our thanks in the warmest manner for his great condescension; he then placed his wreath upon his head, and read in plaintive voice as follows:

When this great man had finished, conscious of the merit of his performance, he leisurely placed the paper where it formerly lay, and fixed his lively eye upon us. We in sincere terms admired the excellency of his elegy, and told him, that it would even excite the smile of approbation in the countenance of the most mo­rose critic. He shook his head—no, gentlemen (says he) the world is callous to the beauty of my muse; she has made every effort to please, but yet the cruel public receive the lovely maid with frowns. No person is more neglected, when living, th [...]n an author, but when he is [Page 86] dead, even cities contend for the honor of his birth: thus it was with the divine Homer; thus it will be with Pegasus Helicon. In a few years hence, when I have sought the silent tomb, and the melancholy yew tree hovers over my head, the name of Helicon will be resounded throughout the world's wide theatre—But Heli­con will not return their just applause; unstrung will be his muse, unstrung his gentle lyre. We lamented with him this strange disposition in the world, and enquired if he had no more pieces lately finished. He said he had long been thinking of writing a poem on the Times, and had begun it a little before we came in, but had not yet advanced farther than the second line; the two lines were as follow:

We now changed the conversation, by asking him why he suffered his beard to grow to such a length? Why, gentlemen (says he) my reasons are forcible, and founded on the firm basis of propriety. A beard you will all allow to be a sign of wisdom; a poet then, the greatest of [Page 87] terrestrial beings, ought to possess that which gives an idea of wisdom. A beard adds a grave­ness to the face, strikes an awe into the illiterate crowd, and commands from all veneration and respect. Secondly—A beard was bestowed upon man by nature—ought man, therefore, to de­clare war against nature, by clipping off his beard? Certainly not; it is a crime nearly allied to suicide. Providence says, that we have no right to dispose of that life which he has bestow­ed upon us—Certainly then we have no right to dispose of that beard which he has bestowed upon us, and which is one of the greatest orna­ments of human nature, but ought to allow na­ture to take its course. Nothing is really beau­tiful, but what is natural, and as Providence has formed man with nothing but what is either useful or ornamental. The beard must belong to one of these classes. Therefore, to cut off the beard takes away part of the august form of man▪ and depreciates his beauty. But the ty­rant fashion says the beard shall be cut, O tempora! O [...]. Thirdly and lastly, Horace says every poet ought to encourage a philosophic beard. Besides, all the great men of antiquity possessed [Page 88] long beards, such as Homer the prince of poets, and Socrates who was pronounced the wisest of women. Women have got no beards, why do not women possess beards as well as men? Because nature has implanted the greater wisdom in man, and has placed the beard as a sign of it. It is from these weighty▪ considerations, gentlemen, that I suffer my beard to grow. Swayed by the poet's reasoning, we now perfectly coincided with him in sentiment, and lamented the pre­vailing custom which obliged us to cut our beards. Animated by our applauses, he pro­ceeded farther in his defence of beards, and told us he had written a poem on beards which he would do himself the pleasure of reading to us. He then, from out of a little box which stood by him, took a paper and read as follows:

He thus proceeded to enumerate the many happy effects the possessor of a beard received, and concluded the whole with these two elegant lines,

We paid the tribute of applause to this ele­gant poem, and proceeded to other conversation; we now took the liberty to ask Mr. Helicon why he did not get married—he surveyed us with a smile, and exclaimed with great surprise, Married? Why, gentlemen, am not I a poet, to whom matrimony ought to be an entire stranger? a poet ought to have no wife but the Muse; as well might you ask a man why he does not kiss the mouth of a serpent, as me.—Why don't you get married! Why, gentlemen, a woman in a little while would talk me into a consumption, and a squalling brat would scare the Muse away from my dwelling, so that she never dare again enter it.—And laying aside all this, the fatigues of the connubial state would render me an unfit [Page 90] champion of the Muse. After some other con­versation, I [...] to depart. I was so fortunate as to gain the good opinion of Mr. Helicon; he invited me to visit him often, and to become the friend of a neglected poet. Honored by the friendship of so great a man, I sought every opportunity in my power to enjoy his agreeable and improving conversation. One day when I was in his room long subsequent to this, and we were talking about poetry, which was always Mr. Helicon's favourite topic, I asked him what he thought of the poets of America—why (returned he) America has produced many emi­nent sons of the Muses, of myself I shall decline speaking. The four first poets, in my opinion, are Barlow, Trumbull, Freneau, and Dwight. I shall not, Sir, point out to you their beauties and defections, I only Sir, give you my opinion of them. Barlow's vision of Columbus I esteem one of the first productions of the age. Trum­bull's M'Fingal is a species of poetry so wide­ly different from the vision of Columbus, that they cannot be compared together. I think that he far surpasses Peter Pindar the great wit of Britannia. Freneau's productions are miscellaneous, and discover a poet who [Page 91] writes with the greatest ease, his lines seem to flow without any labour. He seeks not for Me­taphors, nor to give a kind of obscurity to his meaning, but he courts simplicity. Among his many pretty performances, I think his British Prison Ship is one of the most happy. The lines with which he concludes it are these:

Dwight's Conquest of Canaan discovers a genius for poetry; in it are many beautiful, and some that I may call sublime lines; but I think there are some lines which the poet did not un­derstand himself; at least, I could not. He is very fond of making every thing that shines with lustre to ape and mimic day, such as swords, ar­mour, and vestments. But his Conquest of Ca­naan, although a production of much merit, is not his most happy performance.

He then proceeded to speak of some other American poets, and I thought his observations on all were very just and pertinent. In the course of our conversation, at this time. I asked [Page 92] Mr. Helicon how old he was? I am (answered he) about 45 years old, I was born in the year 1749, on the 14th day of May. You may per­ceive by this, that nature never produces any thing remarkable without sufficient signs and causes. The awful thunder does not send its threatening roar, the rains do not descend in li­quid floods, when the sky is beautiful and se­rene, but they are foretold by dark and gloom clouds, which obscure the face of the heavens. Thus, you see that I was not a poet without sufficient causes—Nature, to be sure, formed me for a poet, but she sent also signs proclaiming me at my birth. I was born, you perceive, in the lovely smiling month of May when the waving lawns, the verdant vallies and the fragrant gardens, are clothed in their most beau­tiful dresses, and send forth their most exquisite fragrance. It is in this month, when the poets are so much delighted and captivated by the charms of rural and retired life; it is now they seek the murmuring streams and cooling shades, it is now that the softer passions pervade the bo­soms of the shy and lovely maidens.—In this month, most favourable to poets, I was born. [Page 93] One of the other signs which discovered in me the great poet, was the attachment and the great turn I had for poetry in my young and tender years. During the late war between Britain and America, as I was formed not for war like Virgil and Horace, I remained undis­turbed, cultivating the Muse in a little village far from the din of arms, and the sound of the martial trumpet. After the peace, I returned to New York, where I have ever since devoted myself to poesy, that celestial, heavenly maid, and ever will, until I sink within the arms of death. I now took my leave of the poet for this time—I had not returned, and remained but a few hours at home, before a boy came to my house, and delivered a note directed to me; I opened it and read as follows:

By this note I concluded that something had happened to my friend Helicon; I therefore directed my steps towards his dwelling as fast as my limbs could carry me. When I ar­rived there, the first objects that struck my eyes, were the poet with his wreath of leaves on his head, standing between two constables who had him seized by the collar. As soon as Mr. Heli­con saw me, he began to apologize for his note, and begged that I would make allowances for it, as he was obliged to write and send it by the boy in the space of two or three minutes, as these barbarians would not allow him more time: that he discovered an error in it, and a very material one; it was, that he had put f [...]ng instead of fangs.—The constables then interrupted him, by telling me, that they had orders to come and take the gentleman and conduct him to goal for debt; that he long owed the landlord of the house for boarding and lodging, which [Page 95] he would not pay. I then informed them that I would stand his bail and become answerable for all the debts he had incurred. The consta­bles then, with apologies, took their departure. Mr. Helicon, with bosom overflowing with gra­titude, poured forth his thanks for my kindness in animated and elegant language.

These are the only sketches of the life and manners of Pegasus Helicon I have been able to draw together, that I might place before the public the great and astonishing man they have long neglected. I have declined bringing for­ward many of his works, as he soon intends to publish them, but the few which are here exhi­bited bear wonderful marks of genius. I have now finished my melancholy tale.—Do, O thou propitious genius which hovers over the heads of the virtuous, smile upon my feeble efforts, and bless the poet, whose noble principles and ac­tions are the subjects of my pen.

ON POETRY.

FROM the plain language of instruction, the imagination of man has risen to the lively and flowing music of poetry.

Poetry, among the polite arts, holds a distin­guished rank; it is the language of passion and fancy: At what time it was invented we know not, the Greeks bestowed the honour of it upon Orpheus an ancient bard of theirs. Almost every man of genius, if he was to turn his attention towards poetry might become a poet, but yet as in oratory many of the principal ingredients which constitute a poet, ought to be inherent: It is said concerning Cowley and some others of the principal poets, that they were born in rhimes, which evínces, that a natural genius towards this particular art was inherent in them. When we seek only solid instruction, we refer to the philosophical writer, whose sentiments are con­veyed in the most plain and simple manner of prose, where there is no flowers and delightful scenes, but the worn and rugged paths of science. But when we seek principally amuse­ment [Page 101] blended with instruction, we explore the beautiful walks of the muses, where the senses are more captivating, and where nature promis­cuously rises to our view. Besides amusement, improvement is a principal design of poetry, and indeed when properly conveyed in this man­ner, it is more attractive to the memory of man, as it more fixes his attention, and captivates his imagination. It harmonizes the soul, and ani­mates it more than sentiments produced in any other manner. The breast of sensibility is touched by its pensive strain, and drops the ten­der tear of compassion, for virtue in distress; the pathetic, therefore, when executed in this manner is generally successful. Its musical and winning accents steal upon the heart, and lull it into meditation. Poetry has an effect in heightening the sensibility.—To the poet the garden of nature appears with double charms; none relish like him beautiful and grand pros­pects, and receive them with an equal impres­sion: from them none are equally soothed with him by the soft and trembling strains of poetry. While some flee from the unsocial aspect of soli­tude, the poet delights in her lonely and se­questered [Page 102] seats; he courts her as the parent of reflection, and assistant to his strains, reclined beneath her cooling shade, where nought can disturb his meditation: he listens to the music of the grove, and the distant fall of some running stream.—It is there he receives the inspiration of the Muse; in such retired places, she chuses her abode.

More agreeable to the view of the poet is the tall tree, and the rugged mountain top, than the populous cities, lofty spires, and the most im­proved architecture:—more pleasing the rude hand of Nature, than the polished hand of art:—sweeter to him is the wild note of the tuneful bird, than the organs artificial sound. That the love of rural retreats has possessed the breast of almost every poet, is a truth no one will doubt. It was this that made Pope delight in his seat at Twickenham, whence flowed a stream as smooth and majestic as his song. It was this that led Shenstone to form the Leasowes, where he might call the most beautiful flowers to deck his pensive Pastorals.

But, besides these, which are happy effects of poetry upon the mind, it is charged with often­times [Page 103] raising our natural sensibility to such a pitch as to make life almost a burden to us: the mind ruffled and uneasy by the bustle and tumult of the world, and creative of imaginary trou­bles. This, no doubt, may be sometimes the case; we may find some unhappy examples of it, but we shall also discover that these exam­ples were entire votaries of the Muse, and confined themselves almost wholly to the elegiac stile, the effect of which on the mind, in this respect, is greater than that of any other spe­cies of poetry.—We must observe a very ma­terial difference between the writer and the reader, for it is impossible that an author can transmit to the reader, the emotion which he himself realized, in writing some melancholy strain. Poetry, as an accomplishment, is de­lightful in the female sex: it discovers their re­finement of mind, their delicacy of thought, and liveliness of expression. It would occupy some of their most agreeable hours, and afford amusement for their friends. It must also ren­der them more admired by the other sex, as it adds another charm to the number they possess, their musical notes as coming from one of their [Page 104] sex, would captivate their attention and find the way to the heart.

The female sensibility being naturally more defined than the male, they ought for the reason just mentioned, to shun the gloomy Melpomene and seek the gay, the lively, and descriptive muse; they ought to make their strains corres­pond with themselves, in diffusing joy and live­liness around them.

ON DESCRIPTIVE POETRY.

AMONG the divisions under which poetry is arranged, there is none which appears to me more amusing and instructive than the descriptive.—It draws all its scenes and reflections from nature; writings of all kinds which describe Nature, work more than others upon the imagination, and fix the attention; and indeed, there is no kind of poetry more worthy the attention of the poet, than the descriptive.—He here has a wide field for the full exercise of his muse, the country with all her charms is open to his view. The painter with his pencil presents us with some beautiful [Page 105] prospect, but the poet speaks to us in a still more moving and more pleasing, by descrip­tion. He points to us the variegated landscape and all the beauties of nature, he carries us over the verdant vallies, to the refreshing coolness of a spreading grove, and leads us by the side of murmuring streams; like a friend and compa­nion he converses with us, and from the pros­pects, draws pleasing and improving reflections. The reader almost fancies himself in the situ­ation which the poet represents, and his breast is lulled into the pensive meditation, which the survey of a beautiful landscape really bestows. Thompson among the descriptive poets holds a distinguished rank; no author could ever have chosen a more beautiful and pleasing subject than the Seasons, and no author, I make bold to say, within the same compass, could have done the subject more justice; he abounds with the beautiful and pathetic, and carries us through all the delightful scenes in nature; that person who can read this author without being greatly entertained, I should doubt his taste and sen­sibility. Who is not touched with his elegance of expression and delicacy of sentiment, when he presents his Musidora to our view, though per­haps [Page 106] some will condemn him for his want of delicacy in the subject.

The following is a quotation from him, of the descriptive kind which I believe all must admire—

Almost every person is delighted with the prospects of Nature. The sublimity of the heavens, the towering mountain, the unfathom­able and wide extended ocean, the blooming gardens, and level vallies, inspire the mind with elevation, and contemplative reflection. To en­joy these is the peculiar property of the imagi­nation. None need attempt to soar in the sweet strains of descriptive poetry, without pos­sessing in luxuriance this celestial gift. There have been some authors who have condemned and satirized descriptive poetry, and have com­pared it to a mingled dish of sauces. This comparison must appear to all to be exceedingly curious and unjust. To inculcate sentiment and morality in the mind, is the most laudable and important task both of the poet and prose writer. But can the mind dwell with equal delight on the page of the sentimentalist and mo­ralist, as on that of glowing nature? Can the imagination, particularly that of youth, be equal­ly warned and expanded? The breast, languid [Page 108] and wearied, instead of seeking Pope's Essay on Man and on Criticism, will prefer his Windsor Forest, and his epistle from Eloisa to Abelard.

If we attend to some of the principal poets, we will discover that it is from productions of the descriptive kind, that they have derived the most fame. Some of Milton's most admired sentences are descriptive of nature, his L'Allegro and Il Penseroso are both of the descriptive class. Thompson, although he has written many other excellent poems, and one of the best tragedies in the English language, obtains almost all his fame from his Seasons. Pope, who made tha [...] curious comparison of sauces, and who has cast upon it many satirical reflections, little knew that it was from his masterly descriptions, he chiefly acquired his immortal name. The cele­brated Warton in his Essay on Pope, gives it as as his opinion, that it is from these three per­formances Pope has acquired principally his re­putation, his Windsor Forest, Rape of the Lock, and his Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard; and all these dwell chiefly on description. The fol­lowing extract from Pope's Eloisa to Abelard, is in my humble opinion, some of the most beau­tiful [Page 109] and smooth poetry in the English lan­guage; I could never read it without emotion, it is particularly calculated to soothe the dejected bosom. Devoid of sensibility and of the least portion of poetic taste is that breast upon which it makes no impression; but my praise only de­grades it, it is part of the description of a con­vent:

[Page 110] I might still more enforce my assertion by the names of many other distinguished poets, and might particularly bring forward the elegant author of the Deserted Village. But I trust I have produced sufficient examples. Enraptured by the strains of nature, the youthful poet gene­rally first exercises his wild and incorrect muse in the field of description. The delightful ob­jects of the country, the simplicity of a shepherd's life, allure his wandering imagination. He is fond of describing morning and evening walks, the appearance of the fields at the setting of the sun; the murmuring and wandering streams; the music of the feathered throng, and the soft whispering of the spreading grove. In a juvenile poem we can always discover what the accurate Pope asserts—

Unskilled in the poetic language of the muses, the destitute novice applies the word which first offers itself and suits his idea of elegance.

ON ELEGIAC POETRY.

ALL persons possessed of refined tastes are susceptible of the charms of poetry. Some men have indeed affected to despise it; but perhaps the fable of the fox and the grapes may be in some measure applicable to them. The exam­ples are numerous, that men who have shone as statesmen and eminent literary characters, have not had certain qualifications inherent in them, necessary to the attainment of this sublime art. Perhaps there is no species of poetry of which the mind is more susceptible than elegy. There is none perhaps which meets with more agreeable reception from all classes of men. Its objects are to excite the softer passions, to represent to us the distress of virtue, and the many misfor­tunes to which human nature is liable. Connec­ted with its principle design to infuse into us pity and sorrow, it conveys sentiments which experience partly dictates, and which are im­proving and striking. In many instances, elegy is calculated to excite a rougher feeling than sympathy, and to kindle in the mind indignation against some unfeeling wretch, who is introduced [Page 112] in the poem as a perpetrator of the most inhu­man cruelties. When elegy causes these sen­sations, it must operate in forming the mind to virtue, and in cultivating the amiable and ten­der feelings.

To answer these purposes elegy has chosen a strain remarkably sweet, smooth, and pensive to the ear, the very sound is the plaintive voice of sorrow—

I intend here (presuming it will not be unen­tertaining or useless) to extract some verses from five of the most distinguished writers of elegy in the English language.

Shenstone's genius led him to delight in Elegy; in this species of poetry he particularly excels; possessed of sensibility disagreeably refined, he exquisitely felt what he wrote, and he transmits to the reader, in some degree, the same impres­sion. He is remarkable, in many verses, for his beautiful simplicity. In his Elegy, on the [Page 113] untimely death of a certain learned acquaintance, are these verses—

[Page 114] In that justly admired Elegy of Shenstone's, where he describes the sorrow of an ingenuous mind, on the melancholy event of a licentious amour—when Henry relates the speech of Jessy, what bosom can be insensible to the gen­tle emotion of pity?

I had almost resolved not to mention any par­ticular beauty in these extracts, but cannot re­frain here from observing the feeling and pathetic manner in which the poet describes the amiable sensibility and virtuous poverty of his deceased learned acquaintance, in these two lines—

In the second extract, and second verse, he nicely distinguishes between the grief of a fa­ther, and the delicacy and shameful anguish of a mother—

In the succeeding verses, with elegant sim­plicity he describes the sorrowful reflections of Jessy—Every object, once delightful to her, seems to talk of truth and innocence—The flowers reproach her with her shame, and forbid her to approach them—

The celebrated Gray has obtained more fame in the literary world, by the production of one Elegy, than by all his other works, although a celebrated critic has pronounced his Odes to be the most elegant poetry of that particular species in the English language—A striking proof of the agreeable impression which Elegy makes upon the mind of the generality of men. The name of Gray will never be forgotten, as the author of the Elegy in a Country Church Yard—It was the death of an old and intimate friend which impressed upon the mind of Gray a gloom and melancholy, [...] gave [...] [Page 117] site and inimitable performance—to every line of it we may apply this line of Bea [...]ie— He thought as a sage [...] but he felt as a man.

Although, in my opinion, Shenstone excels Gray in the simplicity of his Elegy, yet Gray carries with him a more solemn grandeur—The one sooner excites the tear of sympathy, while the other more expands the imagination, and gives the mind the more elevated thought.

Mason and Gray whom congeniality of dispo­sition had connected in the strongest and dear­est ties, seem to partake equally of the poetic spirit. So delightful is the contemplation of friendship in theory, that human nature is greatly prepossessed in favour of that person who is the happy possessor of it. The friendship which subsisted between [...] and Pelopidas, those godlike Th [...]bans, has no doubt [Page 119] increased, in our opinion, their other virtues, and the friendship of Gray and Mason, has in the amiable and tender bosom enhanced their poetic talents. While we endeavour to strew a laurel over the tomb of the harmonious Gray, the memory of his celebrated friend will always oc­cur. Mason's elegies on the death of Lady Coventry, and on the departure of a young no­bleman are his most elegant performances of this kind. I shall extract a few verses from each of these.

There have been some critics who have en­deavoured to deprive Mason and Gray of some of their poetic laurels; but without success. The understandings and the breasts of the true lovers of poetry, have ever bestowed the highest approbation on their feeling Muse: the morose critic and envious rival may snarl and bark, but a certain criterion inherent in the poetic bosom will always pay the tribute of applause. Gray has found many defenders to vindicate the injur­ed cause of his Muse. When the plaintive bard paid his last debt of nature, he left behind his beloved Mason to pour in solitude his strain, and to be the champion of his friend. Mr. [Page 122] Temple in his life of this poet pronounces him to be the most learned man in England, and that without having made the least application, and without the expectation of such an event, he was appointed professor of history in Oxford College. Nor did Temple write with the en­thusiasm of friendship, for among the nume­rous virtues of Gray, he relates his blemishes and faults.

The next poet I shall mention is Mickle, the elegiac champion of the beautiful and un­fortunate Mary Queen of Scots. There ap­pears to me a great similarity between the strain of Mason and Mickle. How far my opinion is just, the reader can judge. I shall content myself with taking an extract from his Pollio, an elegy written in the wood near R— Castle.

[Page 124] It is remarkable that the amiable and more tender feelings of soul, particularly a dispo­sition for friendship, distinguish the celebrated writers of elegy, more than the other ranks of poets. These four whom I have mentioned are eminent examples of it. Mickle, in these verses I have just quoted, with all the tender glow of friendship, and the smoothness and harmony of the poet, strikes his plaintive lyre, in honour of his deceased Pollio ^*. He makes the groves and the lawns, the places where they had formerly roamed together, the partakers of his sorrow.

The last Elegiac writer I shall mention, is Mr. Merry, or Della Crusca, the delightful correspondent of Anna Matilda. He breathes in many lines the pure strain of poetry; as doth also his fair admirer Matilda. In no place do I as much feel the pathos of his pen, as where he breaks out into the sorrowful music of elegy. The following three verses, describing the fal­len soldier, I shall only extract from him—

ON HISTORY. THE PROPER STUDY OF MANKIND IS MAN—Pope.

THERE is no subject more interesting to mankind, and from which they receive greater improvement and pleasure, than from a survey of the transactions which have happened in the world—Inquiries after the events which have taken place among our predecessors and fore-fathers, are natural to the human mind. They seem to be connected with us and relative to our own state. The miseries which have befell great and good men, although upwards of one thousand years ago, excite in our breasts the tender emotion of distress, and we rejoice when Fortune smiles propitious on their laudable exertions. Our bosoms glow with hatred and disgust towards those tyrants, who have inflicted the most shocking cruelties on their unhappy subjects. We feel our indignation roused for the ingratitude which cities have shewn towards their Generals, who have led their armies to con­quest and victory; and we shed the tears of sorrow over the ruins of a once populous city, [Page 149] which war has levelled to the ground. It is a cause of joy that the most useful study is at the same time the most entertaining; that history, when it delights us greatly increases our know­ledge. When we are perusing a book of the dryest and most abstruse kind, if the thought oc­curs that we are enlarging our mental faculties, we receive pleasure; but it is an enjoyment of a much higher kind than this, which is derived from history. When viewing its engaging pages, we want not the reflection of improve­ment, to keep awake our attention; for keep this away entirely, the animating language of history, the curious events and the delightful scenes with which it abounds, will still capti­vate the mind. Human nature is presented to our view. Every person is concerned in the events which happen to each other. If a friend relate to us some remarkable occurrences which have happened in the world, or the manners of a distant country; pleasure glows upon our countenances, we feel interested and lend the attentive ear. Of a nature similar to this is the pleasure which we receive from history. The transactions, the manners, and the lives of [Page 150] a people, and of individuals, are there related in the elegant language of the historian. The impressions which history makes upon the minds of those persons, susceptible to the ami­able and finer feelings, tend to refine the man­ners, and to promote the cause of virtue. When we admire exalted and noble sentiments in persons, and see their excellence, we feel a desire to possess them, and our bosoms expe­rience the sensations of emulation and appro­bation.

The many objects which history holds up for our imitation, is one of its principal ad­vantages. When the life of an amiable man is presented to us, we feel deeply interested in his welfare, our feelings flow congenial, and receive impressions corresponding to the various circumstances and afflictions through which he passes. In mourning for him when under a distressed situation, we mourn for virtue.

When we admire any character, and as we are naturally led to imitate it; if we are una­ble to obtain all the excellencies which consti­tute it, we may yet much profit ourselves by our laudable attempts. The accomplished and [Page 151] virtuous Scipio placed Cyrus as a model; as a warrior, as a statesman, and as a man, and in all these he equalled, if not excelled him. It was by holding to his view that Prince's virtue, that he in the bloom of youth performed that act of continence for which he has been greatly celebrated. Does the bosom of the soldier pant to emulate heroic virtue? Does he wish to perform valorous actions in his country's cause? Let him turn over the pages of the Grecian and Roman history—There the deeds of warriors will swell his military breast, and command wonder and admiration—the deeds of patriots, whose thundering arms enthusiasm nerved in their country's defence. In silent astonishment, he will pause at the names of a Themistocles, Leonidas, and Epaminondas; a Camillus, Cincinnatus, Regulus, and Brutus. Does the more peaceful patriot delight to serve his country in the Cabinet? Let him view the Grecian and Roman statesman when the go­vernments were in their primitive situations.

Does the youthful breast glow with a desire to possess the swaying powers of oratory; to ap­pear as an eloquent champion in his country's [Page 152] interests? As an incitement let him behold the orator of Greece, whose voice like lightning fired the bosoms of the Athenians with an in­vincible ardour in their country's cause; and the Roman orator, whose more soft and melodious accents, almost imperceptible stole upon the mind, and swayed the gentle and milder pas­sions. Let him imitate these, if a Philip leads on his troops to destroy the freedom of his country; and if a Cataline lifts his traiterous head.

As the mind is naturally led to imitate an ob­ject which it admires, consequently it will be naturally led to avoid one which it detests. Hence the many perverse characters, and some which are degrading to human nature drawn in history, will operate nearly as beneficially as great and good ones ^*. In history our political [Page 153] knowledge is increased, when we trace the dif­ferent forms of government, their peculiar maxims and laws, the duties of the various exe­cutive powers; the privileges and manners of the people; the manner in which governments took their rise, and the degeneracy and parti­cular evils which occasioned their downfal. By seeing these, we can reap instruction, and guard against the evils which arise in govern­ments. From the histories of all nations we obtain this precept, that governments esta­blished, though on the most wise and Republi­can principles, generally degenerate into ty­ranny. The art to render ourselves agreeable to our fellow-creatures in social intercourse, to bestow upon them satisfaction and pleasure, and to excite in their minds an esteem and regard for us, which is necessary in society, is one of the most pleasing and desirable qualifications we [Page 154] can obtain. The variety of events and of cha­racters in history, will always furnish us with some examples illustrative of the sentiment we have advanced; which will not only please our company, but enforce the assertion. The cause that renders a traveller pleasing and esteemed in conversation, arises not from his superior un­derstanding, but from the great number of cu­rious and entertaining incidents, which he re­tains in his memory and introduces in season­able and applicable opportunities. The reader of history obtains his knowledge at a much easier and cheaper rate than the traveller; he experiences not the many inconveniencies to which the other is liable; the vessel bears him not, on the ruffled bosom of the ocean to some distant country, far from his relations and friends. The many evils to which men are subjected to in this world for want of foresight; the guile and deceit of mankind render the knowledge of human nature of the greatest im­portance; without it the smiles of the deceiv­ing villain would be named sincerity, and the mask of hypocrisy, friendship and love. Be­side the evils arising from a want of the know­ledge [Page 155] of human nature, being a great incite­ment to our exertions in the pursuit of it: it is a study exceedingly curious and pleasing—It makes us acquainted with ourselves from which alone we can form an idea considerably accu­rate of the human mind at large. What is more delightful to the intelligent and enquir­ing mind, than to contemplate on the various passions which have actuated the soul; the great lengths which certain impulses have hur­ried human beings beyond the limits of mode­ration and reason.

What more astonishing? than the sublime works of the Deity, who made and created all things, and by whose power they still retain their various movements and existence. The means to obtain an object of so much impor­tance as the knowledge of human nature, must be held by every person in the greatest es­timation. There are only two ways, expe­rience and history. The one of which is clus­tered with thorns and briers and painful to the lacerated traveller; but the other a delightful path ornamented with verdure and flowers, where the cooling shadow of the surrounding [Page 156] trees protect us from the parching heat of the sun.

In history the many schemes which are con­trived to decoy persons, the characteristics of a designing villain, the fawning and friendly de­meanor of the flatterer, teach us to be aware, and to keep an eye of suspicion upon many persons. Without the assistance of history, the young student, just proceeding from his study into the deceitful world, would fall into many snares and evils: for the disposition and pas­sions of human nature are not so widely diffe­rent, that the designs and arts which were prac­tised in the Greek and Roman nations are no similar with those in the present age. I shall not now proceed farther to relate [...] many and great advantages derived from history. I have endeavoured to give a brief sketch of some of the principal ones. Considering the pleasure and great importance of this branch of litera­ture, it is surprising that there are in many youth entirely unacquainted with it.

When the names of ancient heroes and statesmen are mentioned in their hearing, they are at a loss and make an aukward appearance. [Page 157] The ignorance of history in some youth pro­ceeds not from their want of reading, but from the manner in which they read. When they take up a history, they attend wholly to the amusement which it affords them, and not to the improvement. Hence they skim it over so quick and superficially, that in a short time it becomes entirely erased from their minds. The advice which authors have recommended to us when reading history, is, to pay a parti­cular attention, to reflect for a considerable time on some scene which has raised our feel­ings, for without this, when we proceed to other events we cannot receive a deep and lasting impression from it.

The author which I much admire for his simplicity of stile, and all the other qualifica­tions of a historian, is Rollin. By reading his volumes alone we can acquire a comprehensive knowledge of ancient history. In no part of his volumes have I ever sound him languid and unentertaining; after having described some things that are striking, he often draws from them pleasing and improving reflections. Plutarch's Lives, although they come under [Page 158] the title of biography, I may here very proper­ly recommend as part of the history of the country in which they lived, are involved in the lives of his august characters. Gillies and Goldsmith's histories of Greece are both very improving, but Gillies gives a more compre­hensive view of manners, customs and liter­ature. Gibbon is a splendid historian, and often decoys the mind more to the stile than the substance. Hume excells in the history of England—Robertson, who has lately paid the debt of Nature, in my opinion, is one of the most elegant historians in the English language; his Charles the fifth and history of America are the best arguments I can offer.

The introduction to Universal History writ­ten by the learned and celebrated orator Bossuet, ought to be the favorite companion of every youth. In a very small compass he gives a general idea of all the principal events which have passed in the world. He accurately dis­tinguishes the periods and situation of occur­rences, which presents his readers when peru­sing extensive histories, from falling into certain errors, from confusion, and from placing events [Page 159] in their improper places. Voltaire has be­stowed much praise upon this performance, than which none has ever obtained greater; he says—"The Universal History of Mr. Bossuet is a work that will transmit the author to Im­mortality."

A late author has written the history of Rome, France, and Spain. The history of France, of these, I have only read, it appears to me to bear the marks of a masterly hand; I would recommend it with his other two performances to the attention of my fellow youth.

I have not recommended all these authors from my own weak judgment only, but from the approbation of many distinguished characters in literature.

HISTORY OF ELVIRA.

COLONEL Armenius had long been an of­ficer in the army; his breast had long felt the noble glow of patriotism, and long had he sought the battles of his country—while he was engaged in the discord and tumults of a camp, his family were retired in a country seat of his some miles distant from London, mourning his absence. At last growing too aged for the fa­tigues [Page 172] of the war, he returned home with his hoary head encircled with the wreaths of laurel which his valor had won, to enjoy domestic happiness in the bosom of his family; he brought with him a gentleman of the name of Mr. Tollard, who had long with him sup­ported the dangers of war, and whose breasts were united together by the indissoluble ties of friendship. When Mr. Armenius arrived at home, how great was his surprise and emotion to find that a beloved wife was snatched from him by the arms of death—the stroke he deeply felt; he now, in the contemplation of Elvira, an only daughter, derived his greatest happiness.

Sarina, the beautiful seat of Colonel Arme­nius, was situated on a rising eminence, be­neath which flowed a spacious water: nature and art both combined to render it truly de­lightful. Here the romantic mind could in­dulge its imaginary pleasures; it might retire with its roving fancy to some sequestered spot, where nought is found to disturb its medita­tion. Here the spreading tree afforded a cool retreat, covered with thick and verdant foliage; the murmur of the running stream excited to [Page 173] reflection, and to a certain degree of pensive­ness, which lulled the mind to soft repose. Here also the temperate and philosophic fo [...]d an abode suitable to all their wishes. This was the place where Elvira had spent many happy years, and where a mother and a governess in­culcated in her tender mind the principles of virtue, and gave her all the instruction and ac­complishments which distinguish the improved female.—Mr. Tollard, according to the Colo­nel's invitation, took here his residence, and contributed much to the sociability and happi­ness of the place. He was sensible, mild, open and generous; his person much resembled Armenius's, but his face did not so much cha­racterize the soldier, being more mild and pla­cid: he was of a noble and respectable family, the possessor of a large fortune, and had no near relation living except a sister, who soon pur­posed to spend some time at Sarina, and to be­come the companion of Elvira. The gay Adeline (which was her name) had hitherto re­sided at London, with an old aunt: she had often visited Elvira at Sarina, and was a lively, handsome girl, nearly of the same age with El­vira. [Page 174] The return of Mr. Armenius had now spread abroad, and many came to pay their congratulations: among the number was a Mr. Harmer, a distant relation of the Colonel's, who introduced to him an only son whom he had brought with him. This young gentle­man, who claims a share in our tale, was re­markable for external beauty: he was about nineteen years of age, tall, and beautifully shaped: his face corresponded with his person; his fine blue eye sparkled vivacity and enticed the beholder; but alas! why have we to say, that his beauty, like that of a Paris, covered a deceitful, cruel, and treacherous heart? he was dissipated and debauched. This adds strength to an observation made by experience, that re­markable beauty is seldom accompanied with virtue. The top is lifted from the polished and plated coffin, and lo! a loathsome corpse ap­pears. He concealed the blackness of his heart from his friends by dissimulation; but not­withstanding he had been detected in many no­torious and villainous acts, yet his beauty, join­ed with an engaging address, made him the ob­ject of admiration. Let the observation [Page 175] made concerning beauty, not tend to injure, in any degree, the character of our heroine, who, I have before said, was remarkable for beauty, for there are exceptions from every general rule; and not only this, but I make distinctions between beauties; and that which Elvira pos­sessed experience could draw no such remark from. Elvira's did not so much consist in the beauty and symmetry of the features, as in a cer­tain divine expression which animated her se­rene countenance. A Cleopatra's beauty is the rich and beautiful tulip, which erects its orna­mented head, and excites the admiration of every beholder, far and near. Elvira's, the mo­dest blushing rose, whose beauties the near ob­server, and one acquainted with its excellence only perceives. Such was young Charles Har­mer, a dangerous visitor at Sarina, especially when an enchanting creature like Elvira dwel­led there, who knew no guile and no deceit. When this young gentleman was introduced by the Colonel to his daughter, no wonder that the salutation of such a person should tinge her face with a blush, and that such a person should prepossess her in his favour. This prepossession [Page 176] was augmented when she listened to his lively conversation, and when she observed that he now paid to her the most of his attention. He addressed her with mild and gentle accents; congratulated her on the arrival of her father, and mourned with her the loss of a mother. El­vira returned suitable and modest answers, and surprized him with an understanding equal to her beauty. The hours had passed unperceiv­ed by Sarina's inhabitants, engaged in sweet in­tercourse; and evening was drawing a veil over the face of the sun, when young Charles proposed a walk, which was accepted by Elvira. When they were retiring the Colonel cast a pleasing smile on his lovely daughter, which Elvira returned while the rose suffused itself over her face.

They now directed their steps towards the water's side; and while they enjoyed each others conversation, the calmness and beauty of the scene contributed to augment their plea­sure. Young Harmer, in the language of ad­miration expressed the beauty of the evening, and of the place. Says he, the evening is the emblem of calmness and serenity; all that in the [Page 177] day contributed to disturb meditation, is hushed in quietness and repose. It is now that gloomy sorrow leaves her discontented mansion, and walks abroad to survey the beauties of Nature, the temporary soother of her woes. He then, in expressing the beauty of the place, observed, that it was only suitable for such inhabitants, and sufficient to sooth the Colonel's former suf­ferings. The city was the seat of Elvira's en­quiries, and she was informed in every parti­cular. When she enquired concerning the as­semblies, O! says he, they are indeed truly de­lightful; there is no such sociability and cheer­fulness in any place: and what a delightful and useful accomplishment dancing is! it banishes all gloomy ideas from the mind, and gives ac­tivity and sprightliness to the body. Elvira on­ly replied, that she was glad to see so powerful an advocate espouse the cause of an amusement she was very fond of. He then told her that the last assembly he visited, he was very much struck with the beauty of a young lady, whose hand he had the favour of to walk a minuet; and that when on the floor her beauty attracted the attention of the whole company, and much, [Page 178] that of his own: that when he had handed her to a seat he was greatly entertained with her agreeable and lively conversation. She asked him if he had any acquaintance with Miss El­vira Armenius; and when he answered in the ne­gative, she related a great many pretty things con­cerning her. Upon enquiry, he found her to be a Miss Adeline Tollard, the expected heiress of a great fortune. Elvira, pleased with this rela­tion, returned, that Miss Adeline was her inti­mate friend, and that she could not sufficiently thank her for propagating reports concerning her supposed excellence; but that she would not attempt her excellencies, as they were too well established, and needed no eulogium. The insinuating Harmer, smiling, said, that Miss Adeline, among her many virtues, must have mingled confidence and self-conceit to attempt Miss Elvira's; but that friendship had engaged her in the cause, although unequal to the arduous task. Elvira, blushing, told him to remember that friendship never puts vice in the scales to preponderate with virtue, and is therefore in­capable to draw any true or just character.

They now approached a little hill which gradually arose from the water, whose verdant [Page 179] top seemed to invite an agreeable seat. When they had ascended it, what was Harmer's sur­prise, when he observed the beauty and regula­rity of the grass, the spreading foilage of the trees which surrounded it, and the different flowers exhaling the most agreeable odour.—The common hill was suddenly and unexpectedly changed into an Helicon or Parnassus. Surely (cries he) nature never, entirely of herself, formed this delightful spot, but art must also have lent her assistance.—Elvira, smiling, told him, that it was a selected place of her's, sacred to reflection and contemplation; that she often in the evening resorted hither, to pay her vow [...] to those venerable gods. Here (says she) I have often passed many an agreeable hour with my dear Adeline, whose company made every thing assume a new charm. Then friendship directed our discourses, and we never thought or dreamt of sorrow. Sometimes Adeline would here tune her lute, and the echo would resound to the charming melody. O then the evening seemed too much in haste to interrupt our joys—

Here also, I have often sent invocations to the muses, but alas! without effect. O! cries Harmer, could the muse ever reject such a sui­tor, or refuse a visit to such a place? No, says Elvira; she disdains not the place; but it is the humble and obscure mind; for she at­tends the enlightened and intelligent even in a wretched garret. Let it then be my duty, when females, like Calista, sing in gentle lays, to listen and improve, until I catch the note. Harmer replied; this, Miss Elvira, is only the report of an individual, whom modesty hinders from speaking the contrary; but where is a second to confirm it? I am certain none can be found, and therefore you must pardon me if I stand unconvinced.

They descended the hill and approached the house, as the shades of evening were quickly de­clining.—When Elvira retired to her chamber, and was left alone to her meditation, the capti­vating [Page 181] Harmer employed the most of her thoughts: they represented him as beautiful and agreeable, and a youth of almost every perfec­tion; as polite, but especially so to herself. In short, she felt something which she could not express, and which her youthful mind had ne­ver felt before: what this was, experience best can tell, and inexperience shuns the dangerous task.—Elvira no less commanded the attention of young Harmer: she inspired him with more reverence and honourable intentions than any female he had seen: she impressed on his mind a great idea of her understanding and beauty, and made him consider her as a prize well worth obtaining, and that too much pains could not be taken in answering this end. As he was to return home with his father next morn­ing, he was already planning the time of his re­turn. These were their pleasing meditations, until sleep dispersed conscious ideas, and pre­sented illusive ones; until the anticipating and reflecting mind sunk in repose: for pleasure cannot, like sorrow, entirely banish her in­fluence.

[Page 182] The next morning after breakfast the horses were prepared for their departure. At ta­king leave, the Colonel pressed them often to visit their friends at Sarina. Young Harmer, following the example of his father, approached Elvira, and imprinted a kiss on her cherry lips; she blushing wished them a pleasant journey: they then mounted their horses and rode off. Elvira pursued them with her eyes until out of sight, and then retired into the house, secretly re­gretting the departure of young Harmer: but short was her regret, for Harmer soon return­ed, and continued frequently his visits at Sari­na: he became the open suitor of Elvira, and affection imperceptibly stole on her heart, while ignorant of the real character of her treacherous lover.

When guarded by the most accurate hypocri­sy, how could an unsuspicious female penetrate into the real character of a lover, especially when that hypocrisy is connected with beauty, and manners the most refined and engaging? But yet often truth prevails and shews the dangerous haunts of vice, and gives the virtuous mind a chance to flee from this dangerous companion.

[Page 183] But to return—the months had now flown away in speedy succession on the wings of plea­sure, and Adeline Tollard had not arrived ac­cording to expectation; the warm breast of friendship must therefore feel anxious, and ne­cessarily enquire the cause—Elvira therefore dis­patched a letter enquiring this, and informing her, that she now mourned for her long absent friend, and that, expecting her, she had im­proved their little seat, which would send forth its blossoms in vain: that she had a great many things to tell and ask her. Soon after she re­ceived the following answer:—

Elvira showed this letter to her father, and observed, while he was reading it, various emo­tions present themselves in his face. After he had done she ventured to enquire the cause of them—'O my Elvira! (says he) it is joy on account of the preservation of this amiable youth; young Dormer next to my daughter, and equal­ly with Tollard, shares my affections—from him is banished all looseness of morals, and in him center very many amiable qualities: but perhaps your father's friendship and gratitude towards him, may pass over his foibles.' El­vira interrupted him, exclaiming, 'What gra­titude is it my father mentions?' 'Gratitude for the preservation of my life—He bore a captain's commission in the same regiment which I com­manded, and had next to myself the love and esteem of the soldiers. There was in the same regiment an officer, whose name was Freeman, [Page 187] who was second in command, and whose breast was the receptacle of the greatest treachery and dishonour; This officer, ever since I had been promoted before him, harboured in his breast the greatest jealousy against me, and thought if he could possibly get rid of me, he would suc­ceed me in command. After having planned all the means malevolence could invent all to no purpose, his horrid soul did not stop at the de­testable crime of attempting my life: he there­fore singled out three soldiers, and promised them great rewards if they would perpetrate this shocking act; but they, too fond of their commander, spurned at the thought, and threatened to inform me of the whole affair; he, however, by large bribes, obtained their silence.

Being also stopped here in his design, and his anger heightened by continual disappointments, he behaved to me in the most insolent manner, and spread reports abroad, injurious to my re­putation. Unable to bear such behaviour, I de­manded satisfaction, and desired him to meet me in a plain some distance from the encamp­ment, without seconds, and that he might chose his own weapons—He s [...]t me answer, [Page 188] that he would be there according to appoint­ment, and that he thought (although uncommon) swords would be the most proper, as no report might be heard. Although he sent me this an­swer, his coward soul was struck with fear, to meet the man whom he had basely injured, and thought now or never he must free himself of such an enemy, to establish his ambitious views, and to keep himself from dishonour: he there­fore, by much cost and pains, obtained at length three men of a different troop to way­lay me in the evening. Accordingly, in the evening when I was returning from a walk, I was surprised to see these men rise from an am­bush with drawn swords—I defended myself to the utmost of my abilities, but would have fal­len a victim, had not the amiable Dormer acci­dentally directed there his steps, to rescue his wounded commander. As soon as he perceived me struggling with these assassins, he darted like lightning upon them, and one instantly fell a sacrifice to his unbounded fury; the remaining two fled, and the dying assassin confessed that he was hired by Freeman, and begged forgiveness.

[Page 189] When I returned to the camp, I saw asto­nishment, guilt, and cowardice pictured on the wretched Freeman's visage. Dormer wished to publish the action to the camp, but I prevented him, and told him the point of honour between Freeman and me; and that he need not fear on my account, as I was pretty expert at the sword. Freeman being now unable to extricate himself, must either lose altogether the character of a soldier, or meet me: suffice it to say that he did, and that treachery received its dismal re­ward from the arm of injured innocence. As soon as Freeman fell, Dormer came from a place in which he was concealed, for the affec­tionate youth feared that the perfidious wretch might plan some other plot, and wished to be near to lend the assistance of his valorous arm—and we heard the dying Freeman confess all his treachery. Not only in this, but in many other instances, has Dormer been the most af­fectionate of friends. Happy is the time now approaching, when I shall press to my bosom this my young and amiable friend: but O hap­pier still if the charming Adeline prophecies right.

[Page 190] Every day the inhabitants of Sarina looked for the arrival of Dormer, but he disappointed all their expectations. The colonel feared he had forgotten his old commander, or that some­thing extraordinary had happened. Elvira, in the company of Harmer, felt no way anxious for his arrival, and was blind to the description of her friend and father: but Harmer dreaded his coming, not only on Elvira's account, but for reasons yet unknown. One evening when they were all sitting before the door, a young man on horseback appeared: when he approach­ed nearer, they discerned by his dress that he was an officer; as soon as he had come up he threw himself from his horse and enquired for Mr. Armenius; the colonel immediately arose, and they were instantly in each other's arms. After this warm embrace was over, Dormer was introduced to the other two; they all then retired into the house: the colonel fixed his eyes on his young friend, and addressed him in the warm language which friendship dictates; he observed a gloomy melancholy cloud his manly features, and that his former vivacity and sprightliness were flown; and by Miss Adeline's [Page 191] letter this change must have commenced since she wrote it—'Ah! (says the colonel) have I no more an interest in your heart, that the presence of an old friend who has so long been absent from you, cannot command dejection from your features?—O! (replied Harmer) never shall my love and affection for my Armenius cease; equally with a father he shares my affec­tions, but pardon the sorrow of an aching heart—Long ago, as soon as I heard of your existence, I should have flew into your arms; but that an only and amiable sister has fled from home, and gone we know not where; I have been detained in making search for her, but all to no purpose; and I must soon return to renew them, for never shall I cease until I have found her.'—The face of young Harmer during this relation un­derwent several changes unperceived by the company, and he next day planned some ex­cuse for his return home. Dormer soon after returned home, having promised to write to the colonel, and left behind two sympathising breasts.

Adeline Tollard soon after arrived at Sarina, where Friendship stood with open arms to receive her: she informed her brother of the [Page 192] recovery of her aunt; and she and Elvira unbur­dened to each other the secrets of their bosoms. Elvira acknowledged that Harmer stood first in her affections, but that she could not deny Dor­mer had many engaging and insinuating charms, and that she felt for him the endearing tie of gratitude, for preserving the life of a fa­ther. She then related the story which had been told her.

They often resorted in the evening to their little seat, and there passed the time in the most pleasant and improving manner. One evening when they rambled there they observed the grass to be pressed as if some person had been sitting there: this a little excited their surprise, but it was greatly augmented when they found a paper in which was written the following elegy:

When they had read this, "Ah!" says Elvi­ra, "while this has been to us the seat of joy, it has been to another the seat of woe; while it has received our mirth and laughter, it has ano­ther's tears and sighs: the sorrowful Isabella complains for a friend—she shall not long want one—she shall have two. Let us also, my dear Adeline, repair hither: she to mourn her misery, we to endeavour to alleviate it." When they returned home, the Colonel put in their hands a letter he had received from Dormer. When reading it, they had come to a certain [Page 195] part, they both shewed gestures of the greatest astonishment. The Colonel immediately en­quired into the cause, but they turned it off, that it was regret that Dormer had not yet found his sister. Let us leave it to the reader's penetration, by placing before him his short letter.

They now found the name of Dormer's sister to be the same with this unknown maid; "per­haps," said they, "she may be the same per­sonage."—They were now already impatient [Page 196] for the return of the evening; and as soon as it appeared, they directed their steps towards the little hill. When they had come to the foot of it, they walked softly up it, for fear of alarm­ing the stranger, if she was already there. When they had reached the top, the first object that struck their eyes was the beautiful Isabella, sitting with her back reclined against a tree, with hands clasped and eyes directed towards Heaven; her beautiful hair hung loose about her neck; her pale and snowy visage, and tears which slowly flowed, bespoke the fair daughter of affliction: The name of Harmer had just died on her lips, when she cast down her lan­guishing eyes and beheld her two fair visitants: she started and uttered a cry; but soon after re­covering herself, she said in wild accents, "What chance has directed here two beautiful young ladies? flee from the seat of misery and ignominy." "Pardon," says Elvira interrupt­ing her, "this intrusion; we last evening found out that here an unknown maid mourned her misery, "without an ear to hear, or eye to pi­ty." We have come to endeavour to soothe af­fliction's aching breast, and to open two bosoms, [Page 197] where Isabella may pour her grief; but yet, if our presence is painful—sensibility shuns giving pain." Elvira then showed her the verses they had found. Isabella replied, "That unhappy paper too well informs you of my situation; I am unable to refuse such amiable offers of friendship: I have fled from the house of a fa­ther, deceived by a treacherous, but alas! too captivating villain. Pardon me for not men­tioning names; notwithstanding I know well your secrecy." Elvira heard the name which died on Isabella's lips when she first per­ceived them: her untried fortitude was unable to bear the severe trial; thus to see the unhappy situation of an amiable female, and to find that Harmer, the man whom she adored, had been the cause of it; she would have fallen had not her friend supported her. Isabella saw her agi­tation, and knew that something else beside distress on her account must be the cause. When Elvira recovered sufficiently, she confessed to Isabella the whole affair concerning herself and Harmer, and that she would now endeavour to banish him from her affections, and to receive (more agreeably to her father's inclinations) the [Page 198] amiable Dormer. The name, inadvertently expressed, had such an effect upon Isabella, that it immediately discovered her to be the lost sister. The letter which her brother had writ­ten was then related to her, and she was made acquainted with all that Elvira knew concerning the family. When they parted they agreed often to meet on the little hill.

When Elvira and Adeline returned home, the first person they saw was Harmer, who had just come: he arose with his usual engaging air to salute them, but was coldly received. Before he could have an opportunity to enquire the cause, the young ladies retired to their chamber, where Elvira passed a restless night. The next morning Harmer endeavoured to find Elvira alone: he at last obtained his wish, and addres­sing her in his usual mild and enticing accent, said, "My amiable Elvira, I hope I have not in any manner injured you; if I have, do not so severely punish a slight fault." Elvira re­plied, "Perhaps, Sir, you have not injured me, but I wish to have no connection with perfidy; I have once, I own, had a partiality for you, but this I now banish from my breast: as my s [...]itor, [Page 199] I beg no longer to have the favour of your vi­sits. In vain may you entreat the cause of this; in vain may you implore my forgiveness, nei­ther shall at present be granted." Harmer having found all fruitless, immediately mounted his horse and rode off.—When Elvira and Ade­line returned again to the hill, they found Isa­bella more composed than usual. Elvira related to her what had lately happened. "Ah!" ex­claimed Isabella, "you told Harmer too much; he will easily suspect you have seen me; I must stay here no longer." Just as she spoke these words, Harmer sprung from a bush where he had been concealed, and prostrated himself be­fore the terrified Isabella, and in accents o [...] the greatest distress said, "My Isabella, I know it is vain, but yet I beseech you to bestow your forgiveness upon one of the most guilty, but now most penitent of men: the amiable Elvira has brought me to my senses: O that she would lend her persuasive eloquence to make me retain them: I have most basely injured you; I now strive to repair it in the best manner I am able: I came here without the least thought of meet­ing [Page 200] with yea; I came to enquire of Elvira where you were concealed, as I suspected she had some knowledge of you, when she upbraid­ed me with perfidy." Isabella, almost drown­ed in tears, sobbing, said, "rise, Harmer, I see you are sincere; I forgive you, but I shall never be your wife, unless you fall before my father and brother, acknowledge your crimes, and implore their forgiveness." "Ah!" my Isabella, "is that all? that I should volun­tarily have done: I now go to fulfil it." He then tore himself away, telling them he should return to inform them of his success the fifth evening from this. The evening at length ar­rived; the three young ladies had long been on the hill expecting Harmer's coming. He at length arrived, as the shades of evening were quickly declining; his hair all dishevelled, and his face expressive of fatigue; and approaching Isabella hastily said, "You are mine; it is granted; come, haste home this very evening to dry your weeping father's tears." He then led her down, the hill, at the foot of which was a chaise, and after having bid Elvira and Adeline [...] affectionate farewell, rode off. When the [Page 201] two friends returned home, they informed the Colonel of the whole affair. Upon hearing of it, his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and he at last exclaimed, "Now, my Elvira, this is one of the happiest minutes of my life; no young man is before Dormer in your esteem." She, blushing answered, "She could not deny it, and that if he conducted himself in a proper man­ner she could have no objection against him." Need we add, that he did conduct himself in such a manner, as to win the affections of Elvira, and to bestow upon her the name of Dormer, as well as that of a mother.

AUGUSTUS AND AURELIA. A FRAGMENT.

AUGUSTUS had just entered his 19th year, when, by the death of a father he came to the possession of a large and independent fortune; he had one year before completed his education. He was not remarkable for regularity of beau­ty and fairness of complexion, but for a manly appearance and winning demeanor. Al­though he possessed some foibles which are al­ways [Page 202] attendant on mortality, yet his many shining qualities far preponderated. His was not like to the authority of a British noble whom his tenants almost worshipped. He ac­knowledged the plain and industrious farmer his equal, and to them his house and heart were open; for he dwelled in the beautiful and fer­tile regions of America, where liberty and equality spread their extensive domain; where the language of the inhabitants is, "We will be free." A refined sensibility which he possessed made him seek for the distressed, and to delight to soothe the breast of affliction by his affability and charity. He now resided at his country seat with an only sister and his family domes­tics, beloved by all who knew him. His seat was large and beautifully situated; his youth­ful mind was not yet inclined to domestic af­fairs, he therefore intrusted them to an old and faithful steward who had long been attached to the house. His time he commonly employed in the improvement of his mind, and in the company of some select friends. He delighted often to wander from home, to behold the beau­tiful scenes with which the country abounds.

[Page 203] As Augustus and his sister Louisa were re­turning from a rural excursion, they were much delighted with the beauty and situation of a little cot which stood on their property; they would have advanced unto it, but the even­ing being far spent prevented them.

Some time after as Augustus was walking out unaccompanied in the evening, he directed his steps towards this cot which he formerly so much admired, and when he had come up to it he leaned on the fence with which it was in­closed; he cast his eyes around, and beheld with admiration and pleasure the neatness of the house, as well as the improvements which sur­rounded it; but a still more beautiful object attracted his attention, he beheld a beautiful young female gracefully reclined beneath a tree; her side face was turned towards him, and he indulged himself with the pleasing feeling that he feasted not at the expence of de­licacy. He observed by her pale countenance, on which he could perceive that the rose for­merly bloomed, that some secret uneasiness sat heavy on her heart; she was stroaking the neck [Page 204] of a little dog which fawned at her feet: she was cloathed in the simple weeds of rusticity, but even at her first appearance the idea arose in Augustus's mind, that so much beauty could not be born in so low a sphere. Augustus silently retired behind some trees for fear that this beautiful stranger should perceive him. He had not been long there before she arose, cast her expressive black eyes around, and walked towards the door of the cot, calling her little dog, in a voice which equalled the sweetest music. Her graceful movement and elegantly propor­tioned person did not then escape the transport­ed attention of Augustus. From her appearance he judged her to be about sixteen years of age. After she had disappeared, Augustus rose from his place of concealment, and directed his steps to­wards home reflecting on the beauty of this fair cottager, and planning some scheme to become acquainted with her. His imagination from such an outside appearance, already painted the amia­ble and cultivated mind, while his suspicion that she was not the daughter of the possessor of the cot, was greatly increased. When he returned home, his first enquiry was for his old steward; he enquired of him who it was that lived in the [Page 205] cot; but all that the steward could inform him, was, that a Mr. Ambern, a clever honest man had been there for the space of a year. To his question whether he had any daughters, was an­swered, he had never perceived any children there but a little son. These answers, al­though they did not satisfy Augustus, confirmed him that the young female was not the farmer's daughter. While his curiosity was greatly excited to discover who she was, his feelings were now much more interested; his heart al­ready beat with sympathy for the distress which he thought he discovered, in this beautiful un­known. When he had related these circum­stances and suspicions to his sister Louisa, her curiosity was immediately excited, and she was already planning some scheme to become acquainted with her situation, but [...]ers was sympathy for imagined distress, unaccom­panied with the feeling which afflicted beauty imparted to the tender breast of Augustus, and which none of a different sex could feel. Au­gustus resolved by some mean or another to get acquainted with the possessor of the cot, in or­der to draw from him some particulars relative [Page 206] to the affair, and to [...]ender his visiting at the cot proper. He therefore dispatched a servant next morning with a letter, inviting him to his house in the evening, the servant returned with an answer, that Mr. Ambern would do himself the honour of waiting on him, and when asked by Augustus who he had seen, O, cries he, besides the man and his wife, I saw a most beautiful young lady, who appeared about the age of Miss Louisa, sitting in the corner with her eyes swimming in tears, and a beautiful picture tied by a ribbon hung from her neck, I think it must surely be that of some lover. This simple speech of the servant made such an impression on the mind of Augustus, as convinced him that his breast was in this instance susceptible to the charms of beauty, as well as to the feelings of sympathy and sorrow. In short, let it be sufficient to say, that the charms of this lovely maid had smitten the susceptible breast of Augustus. When the evening arrived, and Augustus was alone in his chamber, a rap was heard at the door, and a servant directly led in Mr. Ambern. Augus­tus arose to receive him, and after he had wel­comed him to his house, they sat down sociably [Page 207] together. Although his manners were not what is commonly termed graceful, they were simple and easy, free from all affectation. Au­gustus was informed by him, that he had been an officer in the American army; that he had been in several engagements, in one of which he re­ceived a wound. Augustus's young mind, which glowed with patriotism, now burned with re­doubled friendship towards him. He enquired how many children he had, to which, after a little hesitation, he replied only one. He was about to question him concerning the young la­dy which he meant to say his servant had seen there; when Mr. Ambern looking at him with a smile, cried, I know it is in vain, my young friend, to hide from you what you allude to, and although requested to secrecy, I will inform you of what little I know, not only from a mo­tive to satisfy you, but that you being ac­quainted with the circumstances, may be in some degree useful. Augustus replied, that there needed not any other plea but distress to engage his protection; but especially, in favour of one arrayed in such charms, his interestedness must be greatly increased, for he now informed [Page 208] Mr. Ambern he had been an eye witness of them. Mr. Ambern replied, you are yet ac­quainted with but half her charms, for equal to her beauty is the cultivation of her mind; her sweet enticing manners, her engaging conver­sation, have so won upon the affections of my wife and myself, that we love her almost equal­ly with our son. We feel almost equally with her­self for the distress under which she appears to labour. She has a little instrument through which she breathes the sorrows of her soul in such melancholy strains as to often draw tears from our eyes. But, my friend, I will pass from this, to tell you what little I know concerning this amiable young lady. About a week past, late in the evening as we sat at tea, we heard a carriage stop, and soon after a knocking at the door, when opening it, a young gentleman of genteel appearance, and noble countenance, led in this young female; they both appeared to be in distress; I invited them to sit down, which they immediately did; we all sat for some time in profound silence, at last [...]he young gentleman arose, and in the sweetest and most melancholy [Page 209] accents, desired me to walk a little way in the field with him. I immediately complied, leav­ing the young lady with my wife; we had not proceeded far when he thus addressed me—you will, no doubt, wonder to see two persons thus enter your house with whom you have not the least acquaintance; but it will be sufficient to inform you that it is distress which has thus obliged us abruptly to claim an entrance; and at the door of the industrious and honest hus­bandman, misery is seldom refused admittance. I interrupted him with assurances of the suffici­ency of his apology, and expressed, in sincere terms, my interest in his sorrows; that if I could in any way serve him, it would give me the greatest pleasure. With tears of joy and gratitude he acknowledged my kindness and hospitality: He told me, I need not harbour the least suspicion of their dishonesty, for it was virtue that bade them fly hither. But (conti­nued he) you must pardon me for not relating the cause of our appearance here, you shall hear it at some future time; the few minutes which circumstances allow me to stay here will not permit me: But let me now call your attention [Page 210] to the trouble which I solicit from you—This lovely female which I have brought under your roof, I beseech you to protect; let her remain with you as one of your family; be a kind and indulgent parent to her; let it remain a secret that she is here; endeavor to soothe her in her affliction, but do not endeavor to draw the cause of it from her, as it will heighten it—excuse, my protector, the shortness and abruptness of my expressions, as haste will allow me no others. We then turned towards the house; when the young gentleman entered it, and, while the tears trickled down his cheeks, he exclaimed, now, my Aurelia, having found a faithful guardian for you, suffer me to bid you farewell: It shall not be long before I shall return to restore you to joy and to your home. The lovely Aurelia sprang from her chair, and encircled his neck with her snowy arms, exclaiming, in accents almost inarticulate, return soon my Ferdinand, my dearest —. The last word here I was unable to distinguish. Ferdinand, after having eembraced her, and, with all the politeness of afflicted gratitude, bid us farewell, walked has­tily from the door. He immediately sprang [Page 211] in his carriage, dropping his purse, which I had formerly refused. I returned to the house, much touched by the generosity and distress of the youth. Aurelia the next morning seemed to have much recovered her spirits—to prevent discovery, she dressed herself in those garments in which you have seen her. This is all, my dear young gentleman, that I know about the beautiful Aurelia. After much other conver­sation, chiefly concerning the same subject, Mr. Ambern returned home. When Augustus was left alone, his thoughts naturally remained with the object of his late conversation: his curiosi­ty, instead of being diminished, was rather in­creased. The behavior of Ferdinand, the young gentleman who accompanied her, and the pic­ture which the servant had seen about Aurelia's neck, convinced him that he was her lover. The pain which these reflections gave, told him the state of his heart—He was resolved to guard himself against her charms— Sed omnia vincit [...]mor.

One evening, which was very calm and beautiful, when silence waved her gentle hand, and hushed the world in quiet and repose, when [Page 212] the mind is filled with thoughts congenial to the scene, Augustus took up his flute, upon which he was a great proficient, and directed his steps towards a little grove, which grew a small dis­tance behind the house of Mr. Ambern. Au­relia was the subject of his meditation. When he came to the grove, he reclined himself be­neath a tree, and, after having remained for some time in silence, he applied his mouth to his flute, and through it breathed forth such harmonious strains as corresponded with his feelings: The melody, in sweetest vibrations, floated on the air, and the hills were responsive to the trem­bling notes—The feathered songsters forgot their song, and listened in attentive silence—Nor were these the only listeners—This grove was often the resort of Aurelia—The beauty of the present evening had invited her thither, and she was now listening in a little place sur­rounded by bushes, a silent hearer and spectator of Augustus—She, unseen, now perceived him, as he formerly did her—She was charmed with the beauty of the music, which was also conge­nial to her feelings—but the manly appearance of Augustus claimed her attention more than [Page 213] his strains—While thus Augustus indulged his feelings, his sister Louisa, who had observed him walk towards the grove, and who deter­mined to follow him, now came up, and, laughing, caught hold of his flute, and said, Why, Augustus, what is the matter with you—what makes you so grave and serious of late, that you must run into the woods to play such dolesome ditties?—Augustus, smiling, with­out making any reply, took his sister by the hand, and they directed their steps home.—Aurelia, when she returned to the cot, did not relate what she had seen—From the appearance of Augustus, she supposed he was a young gen­tleman of fortune, and that some secret uneasi­ness dwelled within his breast—Her heart ac­knowledged the charms of his music, and of himself. The next morning Augustus deter­mined to pay a visit at the cot—He, therefore, after breakfast, went unaccompanied, and was received with great joy by its industrious inhabi­tants—In casting his eyes around the room, he misled the object for whom the present visit was designed—Delicacy prevented him from expressing his disappointment, but Mr. Am­bern [Page 214] perceived it by his countenance—It was, however, of short duration, for he had set but a few minutes, when Aurelia entered, with her hat on, just returned from a walk—She did not perceive Augustus, who had arisen at her en­trance, until she had advanced a few steps in the room; but directly after, her eyes meeting his, a crimson blush diffused itself over both their countenances—Aurelia immediately re­collected the young gentleman she had seen in the grove, whose music had so greatly enter­tained her. Mr. Ambern then introduced them to each other—a certain embarrassment was visible in Aurelia—After they had set down, Augustus, with his usual engaging demeanor, endeavored to enter into conversation, nor were his attempts unsuccessful, and the common em­barrassment which subsists between strangers was soon removed—He could not behold, but with admiration and emotion, her beauty, which was heightened by the exercise she had been taking—Without the aid of ornament, and richness of dress, she now appeared in her own charms—her beautiful eyes beamed sweetness and love—her flowing locks hung graceful on [Page 215] her back, unadorned by the hand of art—She had not the fragrance of cosmetic perfume, but the flowers of the garden bloomed on her bosom. Augustus was equally pleased with her conver­sation, and he found, that his imagination had not painted her in too high colours.

He pas [...]ed the evening in her company, and was sorry to see it so rapidly glide away. At his departure, he informed Aurelia, that he had a sister nearly of the same age with herself, who would be happy to possess such an invaluable acquaintance. Aurelia thanked him for his po­liteness, and expressed the happiness she should experience from a friend. When Augustus returned home, his mind was almost wholly oc­cupied with Aurelia—His sister Louisa jocu­larly questioned him concerning where he had been—He, without disguise, informed her of the conversation at the cot, and of the liberty he had taken in offering her friendship to Au­relia. Louisa rejoiced in this opportunity of getting acquainted with her—Her curiosity had become so greatly excited, that she resolved the very next day to visit her—She did so, and she [Page 216] and Aurelia became intimates at the very first meeting—This intimacy gradually increased; Aurelia often visited Augustus's feat, himself and his sister often at the cot. Augustus now informed Aurelia, where he had first seen her, but never ventured to utter a syllable respecting her situation. She, in return, informed Au­gustus where she had first seen him, and how much she had been entertained with his flute.

While thus the intimacy and passion of Au­gustus were daily increasing, an event happen­ed, which draws my tale to a speedy conclu­sion:—

One evening Augustus was on a visit to the cot; when he had approached within view of it, he perceived a carriage standing before the door; his curiosity was greatly excited, to know to whom it belonged. He softly entered the house, but what was his surprize, when the first object that struck his eyes, was a young gentleman with Aurelia clasped in his arms—His heart throbbed, his pulse beat quick, the thought immediately occurred, that he was to have his beloved Aurelia snatched from him forever, by a successful lover. The young gen­tleman [Page 217] who held Aurelia, did not perceive Au­gustus at his first entrance, but upon her whispering to him, he turned round. They instantly caught each other's eye, stood for a moment gazing on each other, then flow into each other's arms, while Augustus exclaimed, O my Ferdinand, is it you, my former dearest friend and classmate? After this warm em­brace, Augustus's first inquiry to Ferdinand was, why he had come hither▪—Ah! my dear Au­gustus (he cried) I have come on a very pleasing embassy; to recall home an only and beloved sister, who has fled here for protection from a father who was going to force her into marri­age with one whom she detested. As soon as Ferdinand pronounced the name of sister, Au­gustus was unable to contain himself—he sprang forward towards Aurelia, and pressed her rosy cheek to his—she did not receive him with a frown, but a blush and a smile. Here the au­thor breaks off his narrative, assuring those who have honored his little tale with their perusal, that the conclusion which they will be naturally led to draw, will be the true and right one; such an one as the author, if he had felt himself disposed, would have drawn himself.

PELOPIDAS AND EPAMINONDAS.
[Page 273] PELOPIDAS AND EPAMINONDAS.

THE Grecians in their primitive state were bands of robbers—They were subservient to no laws, nor [...] to no [...]—The sword was the only instrument which de­cided their quarrels and disputes—The warrior, whose limbs were nerved with vigor and activi­ty, exercised a lawless tyranny over the weak; the weak had only to condemn the hand of na­ture, and submit with patience to those calami­ties which could not then be remedied—But as the human mind is naturally inclined to civiliza­tion, and a propensity to social intercourse is inhe­rent in it—we see this country, which exhibited so barbarous a prospect, gradually advance in refinement. The arm of the savage, which once raged without controul, became restrained by wise and salutary laws—the plains which lay a dreary waste, became cultivated, and waved with grain and fruits—That country which was first inhabited with robbers and murderers, in a short time, rose to such perfection in literature, the polite arts, and in war, that she has reared characters the wonder and admiration of all suc­ceeding generations—never while the world re­mains [Page 274] will their immortal names die. The ri­sing youth, soon as his understanding begins to expand, seizes with avidity the Grecian history and dwells with rapture on its animating pages. In the Grecian history, we are struck with eve­ry thing that is grand and noble in human na­ture; one while we are led to the field of battle with the military hero—we admire his patriot­ism, his undaunted soul, and illustrious actions. At other times we become astonished with the justice and amiable qualifications of many statesmen, and are conducted into the calm and retired life of the philosopher, poet, and artist.

When the reader arrives to the gradual decline of the Grecian Republic, what a gloom mus [...] sorrow throw over his breast. He beholds the glory and the terror of the world sinking in effe­minacy and oppression. The soul of no here but a Phocian was then awake to the involving calamities of his country. The voice of none but a Demosthenes endeavoured to awaken the Athenians from their sleeping inactivity, and to conquer or die. The Athenians, roused by the thunder of their orator, arose from their lethar­gy, [...] arose too late; the snares of Philip had been successful, and the glory of Greece [Page 275] sunk in darkness and gloom. When we take a view of some of the most celebrated heroes of Greece, we become so engaged with the illus­trious actions of each, that we know not which to prefer. It is natural to the mind of youth, to enquire which of the celebrated heroes of antiquity is greatest. Some, captivated by the glaring actions of Alexander the Great, extoll him as the greatest of terrestrial beings. Two, which I very much admire, and whom I think, in some respects, excell all others, are Epa­minondas and Pelopidas.

Epaminondas was possessed of every qualifi­cation necessary to render man truly great. He possessed all the heroic virtues of a general, and all the milder and softer virtues of a friend—He was of illustrious birth, and the son of Polymnis—No Theban ever equalled him in knowledge and eloquence. ^* Although poor, he resisted the generous solicitations of his friends, to deliver him from the honorable po­verty in which he was born, continuing poor from taste and choice, and justly delighting in a state which is more favorable, especially in a [Page 276] Democratical Republic, to that freedom and independence of mind, which wisdom recom­mends as the greatest good. Nor was he more careless of money, than avaricious of time, which he continually dedicated to the study of learning and philosophy, or employed in the exercise of public and private virtue: Yet, to become useful, he was not desirous to be great: He not only turned his attention to the cultiva­tion of his mind, but to the acquirement of vigour and strength of body: He had a martial and manly appearance, and shone at once the hero and philosopher. Pelopidas, the son of Hippoclus, was equal with Epaminondas in his descent: From his infancy he was brought up in opulence and plenty, and obtained, when he arrived at the age of manhood, an immense estate: He possessed, in a high degree, the vir­tues, generosity and benevolence, and delight­ed to relieve the distresses of the indigent: All his friends he made partake of his wealth, ex­cept Epaminondas, who could never be pre­vailed upon to relinquish that virtuous poverty which was so very much adapted to his philoso­phical disposition. Pelopidas married early a noble Theban lady, and had by her many chil­dren ^*; [Page 277] yet, notwithstanding the increase of his expences, he still continued to bestow large donations upon his friends; and when some person, in consequence of this, told him, "That money, which he neglected, was a very ne­cessary thing"—"It is very necessary, replied he, for Nicodemus there"—pointing to a man of that name, who was both blind and lame.

These two illustrious Thebans possessed dis­positions for all kinds of virtues: But no par­ticular virtue has rendered them more glorious and celebrated, than the friendship which sub­sisted between them, which was never broken but by the hand of death. Pelopidas preferred the society and improving conversation of his amiable friend, before all the amusements and honor which riches afford. When he perceiv­ed that Epaminondas would receive no share of that wealth which was bountifully bestowed up­on him, he learned equally to despise it, and changed his rich apparel for the decent cloath­ing of the philosopher.

[Page 278] They both equally possessed beauty and strength of body; they both equally excelled in athlet­ick exercises, and in swiftness; but Epaminon­das, owing to his greater inclination for litera­ture and philosophical pursuits, surpassed his friend in knowledge and prudence; indeed not only Pelopidas, but every Grecian who was his cotemporary, and perhaps he was not ex­celled by any who preceded or succeeded him.

There is no where exhibited more conspi­cuously the great importance and utility of wise and eminent leaders, than in the history of Thebes—Before these two heroes arose, we find Thebes possessing a very little share in the government of Greece; but, when headed by these two men, she became Empress of Greece; and after their deaths, she sunk again into her former degree of insignificancy, and yielded again the sceptre to Sparta. In her affliction, she called for Epaminondas and Pelopidas, but, never did they again appear. The first place where we behold them acting a conspicuous part, is in the battle of Mantinea, which was fought against the Arcadians, in the third year of the ninety-eighth Olympiad. ^* The reader must make a distinction between this and the [Page 279] battle of Mantinea in which Epaminondas was slain, which did not happen until after the death of Pelopidas, and which was fought against the Lacedemonians. The Thebans, in this war which I have reference to, were friends and allies to the Lacedemonians. Epaminondas and Pelopidas were sent with some troops to as­sist them against the Arcadians. They both fought in the infantry near one another with un­daunted bravery; but, notwithstanding their great exertions and atchievements, the wing in which they were, gradually gave way, and re­treated before the enemy; when they perceived this, scorning to sly, and supported by intre­pidity and courage in a miraculous degree, they stood firm as two rocks amidst the angry sea, and alone defied the enemy, elevated to enthu­siasm by such great success—They joined their shields together, and undauntedly repulsed all who attacked them; but at length Pelopidas, overcome by seven large wounds he had receiv­ed, and fainting with the loss of blood which these occasioned, fell upon the bodies of the enemies which his warlike arm had extended dead at his feet. Epaminondas saw his com­panion fall by his side. He was resolved to [Page 280] die, rather than forsake his friend, and leave him in the power of the enemy: He advanced before his bleeding body, and took his deter­mined stand to defend him and his arms, with his own life. Bereft of that warrior, whose arm (now lanquid and feeble) terrified and put to flight hundreds, he entirely alone maintained the combat for a long time with great num­bers; but being pierced in his breast by a spear, and wounded in his arm by a sword, he became disabled, and would have been the next minute laid lifeless by the side of Pelopidas, had not Agesipolis, king of Sparta, came from the other wing to his assistance, and unexpectedly saved both their valuable lives—They were intimate friends before this desperate action, but it en­creased and augmented the virtuous flame—Friendship arises from virtue and congeniality of soul, but it is greatly increased by actions which excite gratitude and admiration.

In the lives of these persons, we do not intend to enter into a minute detail of the affairs of Greece at this period—we shall only take notice of events which are dependent on their actions.

The characters of Epaminondas and Pelopidas added so much prosperity to Thebes, that the [Page 281] Lacedemonians became jealous of their rising fame, and wished to extinguish it—But they concealed their rancour by the mask of friend­ship and alliance. About this time Sparta had resolved upon an expedition against Olynthus. She had already dispatched Eudamidas at the head of a number of troops, and it was intend­ed that Phoebidas, his brother, should follow him at the head of eight thousand more. This powerful reinforcement set out from Pelopon­nesus, and in their march northward encamped in the neighbourhood of Thebes. Thebes at this time exhibited a scene of confusion and faction—Occupied entirely by internal com­motion, she was totally defenceless; and be­sides, she was lulled into security by alliances which she then held with all the powerful states of Greece. The commotion of Thebes arose from a warm dispute respecting the form of government. Ismenias, Androclides, and Pe­lopidas headed a party zealous for Liberty, and a popular administration—Archias, Leontides, and Philip, who were all very rich, immo­derately ambitious, supported with the greatest enthusiasm and violence, and oligarchical form of government. This being the state of affairs [Page 282] at Thebes, and the aristocratic party unable to accomplish their favorite designs, sent secretly to Phoebidas, to seize the citadel called Cad­mea, and to expell the adherents of Ismenias, and give the possession of it to the Lacedemoni­ans. They displayed, in the most eloquent terms, the glory which would attend such an immortal action, as to make himself master of a defenceless city, and one which was in alli­ance with his state; that such an act would greatly assist in the reduction of Olynthus; that the Thebans, who had published, by decree, that no person should act offensively against Olynthus, but should remain entirely neutral, would not fail, after such an exploit, to furnish him with as great a number of troops, both horse and foot, as he should think necessary for the reinforcement of his brother Eudamidas.

Some eminent historians have supposed this to have been a concerted plan with Sparta it­self—This, I think, is extremely probable, for Sparta, in a very few instances, was emi­nent for her political justice. Agesilaus, one of the greatest kings they ever possessed, and who was much celebrated for this particular virtue, committed actions highly unjust and [Page 283] unpardonable. Sparta, we have also seen, was at this time jealous of the increasing glory of Thebes, and elevated by the pitch of grandeur to which she had arrived, as she now held much the superiority over Athens: But the greatest proof of this assertion is the manner in which they behaved—After Phoebidas had taken pos­session of the citadel, they deprived him of his command, fined him one hundred thousand drachmas, but still kept possession of the Cad­mea, and continued in it a strong and well supplied garrison: An action inconsistent, ex­tremely base, and one among the numerous others which blast the Spartan name. But, however this is, Phoebidas listened to the pro­posal of this perfidious party; he was a general of much ambition, and who wished very much to signalize himself in some extraordinary ac­tion: This one, which now opened before him, perfectly corresponded with his ideas of magnificence and greatness. Whilst the The­bans, secured by their alliances, and little knowing the ingratitude of Sparta, whom they had lately served in the Arcadian war, cele­brated the feasts of Ceres, and indulged them­selves [Page 284] in the pleasures arising from their reli­gious ceremonies, Phoebidas suddenly led on his troops, and took possession of the citadel. The Theban Senate were then sitting—Leon­tides, one of the leaders of the aristocratic fac­tion, entered the Senate chamber, and, ad­dressing the Senators, informed them, that they need not be the least apprehensive of danger from the Lacedemonians who had entered the citadel; that they had only come to regulate some affairs highly necessary in the city, and that they would only inflict chastisement on those violent disturbers of the public tranquilli­ty; that as for himself, being always desirous of the happiness of his country, and willing to lend his aid to restore that tranquillity which had for some time past fled his beloved coun­try, he would now take the liberty of exer­cising that power which his office of polemarch gave him, of confining all persons who caballed and bred disturbances in the state. ^*

He here concluded his speech, and instantly ordered Ismenias to be seized, and carried to the citadel, where he might remain secure. The party of Ismenias, when they saw their leader conducted to prison, and fearful of the violence [Page 285] which the opposite faction would exercise upon them, since they had now the government en­tirely in their own hands, sled from the city with great precipitation, and, mourning the fate of their distressed country, retired, to the amount of four hundred or upwards, to Athens. They soon after received sentence of perpetual banishment, by a public decree. Among the number of the banished was Pelopidas—But Epaminondas remained unmolested, prosecut­ing his philosophical studies at Thebes; for the party thought there was nothing to fear from a man who devoted the whole of his attention to literature, and who was surrounded with poverty. ^* After the capture of Thebes, the fortune of the Lacedemonians never appeared more strongly established, or shone with more splendour. They now ruled all Greece with absolute sway—All Boetia was entirely under their controul—Corinth obeyed their orders in every respect—Argos they humbled, and held in dependence—The Athenians, abandoned by their allies, and in other respects in a declin­ing situation, were by no means able to oppose the victorious Lacedemonians.

[Page 286] They chastised and reduced to still stricter obedience, those people who attempted to throw off their oppression, and to become free. The punishments inflicted upon some for exertions of this nature, terrified all others from attempt­ing the like. Now the sole Empress of the land and sea, all trembled at the terror of their arms, and bowed in humble submission to their victorious warriors, before they would dare at­tempt to fight those whom they now supposed invincible. The great king of Persia courted their friendship, and the tyrant of Sicily des­cended almost to meanness to obtain their alli­ance—But, says Rollin, "A prosperity found­ed in injustice, can be of no long duration.—The greatest blows that were given the Spartan power, came from the quarter where they had acted the highest injuries, and from whence they did not seem to have any thing to fear, that is, from Thebes." Pelopidas and his party now found an asylum in Athens; their virtues and engaging behavior rendered them beloved by the nobles and worthy men of Athens. The infamous Leontides, when he was informed of these circumstances, sent secretly [...] to Athens to dispatch some of the most virtuous [Page 287] and heroic exiles—All escaped except Andro­clides—Sparta at the same time dispatched let­ters to Athens, commanding them not to afford the exiles the least assistance, but to expell them from their walls, as they were the common enemies of all Greece. That humanity and virtue, which, in the most illustrious state of Athens, was always the amiable characteristic of an Athenian bosom, revolted at such an in­famous proposal, and spurned it with de [...]esta­tion—Instead of obeying the commands of im­perial Sparta; they rejoiced at this opportunity of expressing the gratitude which had ever re­mained sacred in their breasts, since Thebes lent their assistance on a similar occasion, and helped them to establish their democracy of which they were deprived. What a contrast is there here of Athenian virtue and Spartan in­famy! Who would not rather be an Athenian, although inferior at the present time in war to Sparta, than a blood-thirsty and ungrateful La­cedemonian? The Athenians, although they had reason to fear the indignation of the Spar­tans, for their kind treatment of the banished Thebans, still obeyed the dictates of duty, of [Page 288] virtue, and of gratitude. But, to return to Pe­lopidas, whom we shall soon behold shine with glorious lustre! whom we shall see the hero of an action, a greater than which history cannot boast.

Sparta had now for four years exercised an absolute power over Thebes—She had set over it three tyrants, Leontides, Archias, and Philip, who performed every species of tyranny with­out controul, which their cruel and ignoble souls dictated. Pelopidas, who was then very young, was unable any longer to contain his indignation and patriotism, when informed of the cruelties of the tyrants—He resolved to en­ter into some plan to restore his country her former freedom, or to sell a life, which, with­out it, was unhappy and disagreeable—He, therefore, requested a meeting of all the exiles then at Athens; which being effected, he arose from his seat, with a countenance on which glowed undaunted courage, and, in an oration splendid for its patriotic and truly heroic sen­timents, represented to them, with all the elo­quence and ardor of enthusiasm, that it was un­worthy for honorable men, and for Thebans, to remain inactive, after having saved their [Page 289] own lives; to behold, with calmness and in­difference, the beloved country in which they were born and educated, enslaved and misera­ble; that to rely upon the protection and sup­port which Athens afforded them, was a situa­tion mean, dependent, and, besides, very pre­carious; for that Sparta, having much the su­periority over Athens, might oblige them to acquiesce to any proposals they should make; that the orators of Athens, who were then the rulers, needed even now to be fawned and flat­tered—which occupations were unworthy, and degrading to the Theban character; that no scheme could be too hazardous to accomplish the liberty of their country, and that none ap­peared to him more promising than that which Thrasybulus pursued; that he was a model of intrepid valour and generous fortitude; that as he set out from Thebes to destroy the tyrants of Athens, so they might march from Athens to restore to Thebes its primitive freedom.

When the youthful hero had finished, the as­sembly resounded with universal applauses; every individual admired the zeal and scheme of Pelopidas: They then considered and digest­ed affairs, necessary for the execution of their [Page 290] purpose. Information was secretly dispatched to some of their friends at Thebes, of all their designs, which met with a joyful reception. Among their friends which still remained at Thebes, were Charon and Phyllidas: Charon was one of the noblest and wealthiest persons of the city, and a determined advocate for a de­mocratical form of government. Phyllidas was of an enterprising activity, and possessed a very insinuating address; He had so engaged him­self in the favour of Archias and Philip, the two most licentious of the tyrants, by his craftiness and cunning, that they procured him the important office of secretary of council, and seldom executed any plan without first con­sulting him. By frequent secret intelligence between these two Thebans and Pelopidas, their designs became properly arranged, and ripe for execution. Charon was to receive them in his house, and have every thing necessary for the project: Phyllidas was to give an entertainment to Archias and Philip, to endeavor to heat them with wine, and introduce in their company some lewd and licentious women. Epaminon­das was at this time endeavoring to inspire the young Thebans, by his discourses, with a pas­sionate [Page 291] desire to throw off the Lacedemonian tyranny. He was made acquainted with every circumstance relative to Pelopidas's intentions, but took no active part in the destruction of the tyrants. The time for action at length arriv­ed; the little band of conspirators marched, and made a stop at Thrasium, a small town not far distant from Thebes: There they resolved, that a small number of the youngest of them should enter the city, and try the first dangers, and if they were surprized by the enemy, the others should provide for their families. Twelve young heroes, of the best families of Thebes, united together by a faithful and virtuous friend­ship, rivals of honor and glory, offered them­selves for this bold and dangerous exploit—Pelopidas was their daring leader, and after him were Melon, Democlides, and Theopom­pus. ^* The distance between Athens and Thebes was about thirty-five miles: The conspirators had thirteen miles to march, through a dreary and hostile country. After having taken an affectionate farewell of their companions, and dispatched a messenger to Charon to give him notice of their coming, they set out, disguised in the dresses of sportsmen, carrying nets and [Page 292] hunting poles, that such who met them, might not have the least suspicion of their designs. They arrived, without being noticed, towards the close of the evening, at Charon's house, who received them with courage and honour, the peculiar attributes of a great soul. The ap­proach of impending danger did no ways inti­midate him, or alter his sentiments. What condu [...]d to their success in not being disco­vered, was a great fall of snow which took place in the evening; the north wind blew cold and piercing, so that almost every person re­mained within doors. Their arrival at Thebes like to have been prevented by the following circumstance— ^* One of the conspirators who re­mained in the city, who was a sincere friend to democracy, and to the exiles, but who was deficient in that fortitude and resolution, so greatly necessa­ry for carrying on such a hazardous enterprise, and could think of nothing but the dangers, dif­ficulties, and obstacles which presented them­selves to his terrified imagination—When he heard of the approach of Pelopidas, by the messenger which he had dispatched to Charon, all the terrors of the designs appeared greatly exaggerated to his mind—He secretly made [Page 293] this inquiry to himself, How can a few weak and indigent exiles shake the government of Sparta, and free themselves from that power? In this disposition of mind, he privately retired to his own house, and, revolving the circum­stances over and over, at last resolved to send some friend to desire Pelopidas to defer the en­terprise for the present, and retire to Athens until a more convenient opportunity should offer.

This friend immediately went home in a [...] great a haste as possible, and, going to the stable, led his horse out, and desired his wife to bring him the bridle; but she not knowing where to find it, returned to tell him, that she believed it was lent out to some neighbour—Her hus­band immediately got into a violent passion, which was returned with equal ardour by his beloved spouse—neither being willing to leave the field, or to own themselves conquered, con­tinued the combat for a long time—the wife cursed her husband, and prayed heartily that he might break his neck in the journey which he was about to take—Thus they continued this heroic employment until it was late, when the husband, considering this as an unhappy omen, gave over all thoughts of the Journey.

[Page 294] Here, then, let it be said, to the honor of scolding, and to the glory of women, that by these, Thebes recovered her Liberty and Inde­pendence.

The important hour of action approached—Phyllidas, the artful secretary, had prepared the concerted entertainment in the treasury—No ^* article was omitted, that could gratify the senses, and lull the activity of the mind in a dream of pleasure—But still the joys of the tyrants were interrupted in their voluptuous career, by a certain obscure rumour, spread among them, that a party of exiles lay some­where concealed in the city—All the address of Phyllidas could not divert the terror of his guests—The tyrant Archias immediately dis­patched one of his lictors to request the atten­dance of Charon. Night had now spread her glooms over the city: The conspirators were buckling on their armour, and hanging their swords by their thighs, expecting in a few mi­nutes to proceed to their enterprise—suddenly was heard a loud knocking at the door—Charon himself opened it, and received with awe the message of the tyrant—Pelopidas and his band [Page 295] wrung their hands, believing that all was dis­covered, and that they should die without ef­fecting any thing to their own glory, or to the advantage of their country—After a moment of dreadful reflection, they unanimously advised Charon to obey the mandate without delay.—Charon was a man of intrepid courage; he stood unmoved at the danger which threatened himself, but was full of concern for the situa­tion of his friends: fearful lest he might be suspected of treachery, if so many brave citi­zens should fall victims to the tyrants rage, he went to the apartment of his wife, and brought out his only son, a youth of about fifteen years of age, who, in strength and beauty, was supe­rior to all the youth of Thebes; he gave him into the hands of Pelopidas, pronouncing these re­markable words—"If you discover that I have betrayed you, and have been guilty of treachery on this occasion, revenge yourselves on me, in this my only son, whom, as dear as he is to me, I abandon to you, and let him fall a victim, without mercy, to his father's perfidy." ^*—These expressions drew tears from the [Page 296] eyes of many: It much hurt the feelings of these heroic Thebans, to think that Charon should suspect that they indulged any idea of his dishonesty. They affectionately conjured him not to leave his son with them, but to con­duct him to a place of safety, that in some fu­ture time he might rise the champion of his friends and his country's wrongs— ^* "No," replied the noble father, "He shall stay with you, and share your fate. If he must perish, what nobler end can he make than with his father and his best friends? For you, my son, exert yourself beyond your years, and shew a courage worthy of you and me—You see here the most excellent of the Thebans—Make, un­der such masters, a noble essay of glory, and learn to fight, or, if it must be, to die, like them, for Liberty—For the rest, I am not without hopes, for I believe, that the justice of our cause will draw down the favour and protection of the Gods upon us." He con­cluded with a prayer for them, and, after em­bracing the conspirators, went out. He en­deavored, on the way, to compose his counte­nance in such a manner, that he might answer, [Page 297] without suspicion, the questions of Archias—When he arrived at the door of the house where the feast was held, Archias, Philip, and the other magistrates who, through apprehension, had arisen from the table, met him there, and immediately asked him if he knew any thing concerning a report which was spread, respect­ing the arrival of some disaffected people in the city? He affected gestures of astonishment, and perceiving, by the answers which they made to some questions he put to them, that they had no accurate information of the affair, he ventured to speak in a more bold and commanding man­ner, and said—"It is very probable the ru­mour you speak of, is only some false alarm, intended or interrupt your mirth and entertain­ment: But, as the slightest hints of such things ought not to be neglected, I will go and make the strictest search which possibly lies in my power." Phyllidas, who then appeared, praised very much his prudence and zeal—He then led them back to the entertainment, and placed before them some of the most captivating li­quors.

Charon, when he returned home, found his friends, not prepared to sly, but to die glori­ously, [Page 298] and to sell their lives at a dear price—The joy which glowed upon his face, explain­ed at once their good fortune—He made them acquainted with all that passed, which raised them from dejection and despair, to the highest degree of hope. This circumstance, which threatened to prove fatal to the design, was di­rectly after succeeded by another much more alarming—Archias, Philip, and the other ma­gistrates had not long returned to the table, af­ter the interview with Charon, when a courier arrived from Athens, bearing every mark of haste and trepidation, desiring to see Archias, to whom he delivered a letter from an Athenian magistrate, of the same name, his ancient friend and guest—This letter revealed the whole con­spiracy, and every circumstance relative to it, as afterwards discovered—The messenger told Archias, that his master desired him to read it instantly, as it contained business of the greatest importance, and which required immediate consideration. Archias took the letter, saying, smiling, "business to-morrow," ^* and put the letter under the bolster of his couch, without reading it. Fortune proving thus kind to our [Page 299] bold adventures, they now were equipped, and every way prepared for the attack: They now set out, divided into two parties—Those which were to attack Leontides, were headed by Pe­lopidas, and those which marched against Ar­chias and Philip, the tyrants who were at the feast, were led by Charon and Melon. These arrayed themselves in the flowing vestments of a woman, and overshadowed their countenances by a load of wreaths and garlands ^*—In this disguise they approached to the door where the feast was kept—upon their entrance, the guests raised loud shouts of joy, expecting that these were the women which Phyllidas had promised them an interview with; they immediately dis­missed all the servants who attended at the feast.—At a signal given by the commander, the conspirators, like lightening, unsheathed their swords, and rushed upon the tyrants, and some of their partizans, pointed out to them by Phyllidas: They, being in a situation incapa­ble of defence, soon fell victims to their un­bounded sury.

But Pelopidas had a more difficult task to accomplish; he had not to encounter with per­sons [Page 300] debauched and debilitated with wine, but with a sober, wise, and brave man. When he and his party came to the door of this sur­viving tyrant, they found it locked and bolted, for he was already in bed and asleep; they knocked several times before any person an­swered or came to open it—at last a servant ap­proached, and demanded their wishes; one of the band answered him in a satisfactory man­ner; he then opened the door, which he had no sooner done, than the conspirators rushed in, laid him lifeless on the floor, and bent their way towards the chamber where they knew Leontides slept. He, hearing the noise and the shriek of the servant, immediately suspected the true cause: He instantly leaped from his bed, seized his sword, and prepared to make as vigorous a defence as possible; but, unhappily for him, he forgot to extinguish the candle, which he always kept burning in the room, which, had he done, it would have thrown the conspirators into confusion, and made them mistake each other for a foe. Leontides, however, received them boldly at his chamber, and laid Cephisodorus dead at his feet, who was the first man that attempted to enter— [Page 301] Their leader, Pelopidas, seeing one of his brave men slain in the contest, became exceedingly enraged, and rushed furiously forward to the passage; but it being very narrow, and the dead body of Cephisodorus lying in the way, the dispute was long and difficult, owing to the many disadvantages under which Pelopidas laboured, and as no person but one could possi­bly engage at once; however, the youthful and vigorous arm of Pelopidas at length prevailed, and laid the impious wretch at his feet.

They went from thence in pursuit of Hy­pates, his friend and neighbour, and dispatched him likewise.

This immortal exploit being performed af­ter this manner, with unexpected success, mes­sengers were immediately dispatched to Thria­fium, where their companions still remained. The doors of all the prisons in Thebes flew open to the victorious republicans; the prison­ers, wretched victims of tyranny, once more breathed the fresh air, and enjoyed the use of their limbs; the porticos were deprived of their spoils; the cutlers shops were broken open, and arms were given to every person they met.

[Page 302] Ep [...]minondas heard the voice of liberty, and came clothed in polished armour, which glit­tered to the rays of the moon, leading a troop of some of the most noble persons in Thebes, which he had collected together—All the city was in great terror and confusion; most of the people knew not to what to assign the reason of this disturbance—Multitudes thronged the streets—The houses were illuminated with torches—Some audible voices at last hushed in dreadful silence the confusion, and proclaimed Liberty to Thebes! the death of the tyrants! and summoned to arms the friends of demo­cracy.

The Lacedemonian garrison most authors have thought guilty of ill conduct, in not fall­ing upon them when the disorder prevailed during the night; for the garrison consisted of fifteen hundred Spartans, besides three thousand aristocrats who had taken refuge in the citadel. They, alarmed by the cries they heard, by the illuminations of the houses, and the multitudes of people which flocked the streets, remained still, and only dispatched a courier to Sparta, desiring a reinforcement.

[Page 303] At sun-rise the next morning, the exiles ar­rived from Thraisium, completely armed.—Epaminondas led Pelopidas and his party in a large assembly of the people, who received them with repeated shouts of applause, and poured forth their thanks and gratitude in the most animated language.

Pelopidas addressed them in an oration, desir­ing them to assist their country, and join with their gods in demolishing the tyranny of Sparta. The same day Pelopidas, with Meion and Charon, were chosen Boetarchs.

Soon after the early arrival of the conspira­tors from Thraisium, a body of men arrived from Athens, to the assistance of Pelopidas, consisting of five thousand foot and five hundred horse. These troops, with others which came from several places of Boetia, composed an army of twelve thousand foot, and the same number of horse. Pelopidas, considering that a reinforce­ment might probably very soon arrive from Spar­ta, led on these troops with as much expedition as possible to attack the citadel. The events of the siege are variously related; some say the gar­rison made a very vigorous defence, and were at last forced to surrender on account of the [Page 304] failure of provision: But the most probable ac­count is, that they made a very feeble resistance, being intimidated by the alacrity and enthusi­asm, as well as the increasing number, of the assailants. The garrison had their lives granted them, and the liberty to go to whatever place they pleased.

The Cadmea surrendered only a few days before the arrival of a fresh force from Sparta. Cleombrotus led on a powerful Lacedemonian army as far as Megara, which, with a little more expedition, would have saved the citadel. Two of the generals who capitulated were punished by death, and the other was so heavily fined, that he had to go into voluntary banish­ment, at Peloponnesus.

Thus we have followed an action of which Pelopidas, our hero, was both the proposer and conductor. "It is," says Rollin, "the greatest exploit that ever was executed by surprize and stratagem, and may very properly be compared with that of Thrasybulus, who delivered Athens from the same subjection. Both Pelopidas and Thrasybulus, destitute in themselves of all re­source, and induced to implore a foreign sup­port, from the bold design of attacking a for­midable [Page 305] power, with an handful of men; and, ^* overcoming all obstacles to their enterprize, solely by their valour, had each of them the good fortune to deliver their country, and to change the face of its affairs entirely: For the Athe­nians were indebted to Thrasybulus for that sudden and happy change, which, freeing them from the oppression they groaned under, not only restored their liberty, but with it their ancient splendour, and put them into a condi­tion to humble and make Sparta tremble in their turn.

We shall see in like manner, that the war which reduced the pride of Sparta, and de­prived it of the empire, both by sea and land, was the work of this single night, in which Pelopidas, without taking either citadel or for­tress, and entering only one of twelve into a private house, unloosened and broke the chains imposed by the Lacedemonians on all the other states of Greece, though it appeared impracti­cable even to produce such an effect."

The freedom of Thebes, restored in the man­ner which has been related, lowered the pride [Page 306] and dignity of imperial Sparta. She breathed nothing but revenge, and prepared, with every exertion possible, all affairs requisite to bestow a chastisement adequate to the crime of the au­dacious Theban rebels, who dare assert the rights of man, and the greatest priviledge of human nature. The Thebans, who had for­merly tasted of liberty, and knew the charms of that celestial Goddes, resolved to maintain their recovered rights, and to die rather than yield in so sacred a cause.

These dispositions on both sides occasioned an, inveterate war, which lasted nearly seven years, and ended with the battle of Leuctra, which produced a revolution throughout the whole of Greece.

Age [...]laus, on account of his old age, ex­cused himself from acting the part of a general. Cleombrotus entered Boetia with a very pow­erful army, spreading dismay and terror before him. The declining Athenians, when they saw the great exertions of Sparta, became so terrified, that they renounced the Theban alli­ance, fined, banished, and put to death all their firm adherents.

[Page 307] The affairs of Thebes now appeared truly desperate, having no friend or ally on whom they could depend—It was only the singular qualifications and heroic virtues of their leaders, that supported it.

Pelopidas and Gorgidas, who were then at the head of the government, consulted some scheme by which they might create a quarrel between Athens and Sparta.

Cleombrotus, after a campaign of 2 months, returned home, leaving one Sphodrias to com­mand a numerous force at Thespioe. This general possessed courage and enterprise, but very little prudence. His character and dispo­sition were well known by Pelopidas—Pelopi­das thought that he would be a good instrument in effecting a rupture between Athens and Sparta; to accomplish which, was then his principal design—He, therefore, dispatched a particular friend of his to him with money, which he was to offer him, while he bestowed upon him insinuations and flattery, yet more agreeable to him than money. This friend, after having represented to Sphodrias, that a man so great and glorious as himself, ought to perform [Page 308] some wonderful action, to render his name im­mortal, proposed to him the taking of Piraeus by stratagem, when the Athenians had no sus­picion of such an event: Such an action, con­tinued he, will be extremely grateful to your countrymen: The Thebans, enraged against the Athenians for their base conduct and de­sertion, will swell with praises the name of Sphodrias, and lend you all the assistance in their power.

The ambitious Sphodrias listened with atten­tion to this speech of the friend of Pelopidas: He envied the glory of Phoebidas, who, ac­cording to his ideas of greatness, performed a very renowned exploit: But he still considered it as more glorious to seize Piraeeus, and de­prive the Athenians of their power, by an un­expected attack. Transported with joy, he immediately made preparations for the execu­tion of this illustrious action, which was even more horrid than the seizure of the Cadmea.

The distance between Thebes and Thespioe was not more than twenty miles, which fur­nished an easy opportunity for the prosecution of these secret practices—But the great distance between Thebes and Athens, which exceeded [Page 309] forty miles, rendered the intentions of Spho­drias extremely unsuccessful. He marched from Thespioe with the flower of the garrison, with a view of surprizing Piraeus before the dawn of the succeeding day; but day-light over­took him in Thriasium, near Eleusis: The news of his approach was soon spread in Athens [...] youth, with their usual celerity, seized their arms, and obliged Sphodrias shamefully to return to Thespioe. The Athenians dis­patched an embassy, complaining bitterly of the insult which had been offered them. In consequence of which, the Lacedemonians, under the shadow of virtue, deprived Sphodrias of his command; cited him to appear before the civil magistrates; but finally acquitted him.

This injustice of Sparta exceedingly exasper­ated the Athenians, and involved them in a long and dangerous war.

The Athenians immediately made a new al­liance with Thebes; fitted out a large fleet, commanded by the illustrious Timotheus, son of Conon. Agesilaus, at the head of eighteen thousand foot, and fifteen hundred horse, made frequent incursions in Boetia, committing great [Page 310] damage, but not without considerable loss on his side. There were skirmishes every day be­tween the armies. It was altogether owing to the abilities of her generals, that Thebes was able to carry on a war against a superior force, commanded by one of the greatest captains of antiquity. The whole glory and great success, at this period of the war, is justly due to Pelo­pidas, for Epaminondas had not yet taken the lead of public affairs.

The arms of Thebes were crowned with victory at Platea and Thespioe, where Phoebi­das (the same person who had surprized the Cadmea) was slain. At the battle of Tanagara, Theban valour shone very conspicuous—Pelo­pidas there slew with his own hand Panthoides, the chief commander. The engagement at Tegyra rendered particularly glorious this youthful hero—It was a prelude to the battle of Leuctra, which was one of the most illustri­ous engagements that has ever happened.

Pelopidas, with his soldiers, having failed in a design he formed against Orchomenos, which declared on the side of the Lacedemonians, were returning by Tegyra, which is remarkable for its narrow passes. The Lacedemonians, march­ing [Page 311] from Locris, met them on the road—As soon as the enemy was perceived approaching, a soldier ran in great haste to Pelopidas, and, exceedingly terrified, exclaimed, "We are fallen into the enemy's hands." Ah! replied he, why should we not rather say, that they are fallen into ours? ^*

He instantly ordered his horse, which were his rear-guard, to begin the attack—He drew out his foot into a close body, which were only 300 in number, called the sacred battalion—He hoped, wherever these charged, being so closely united, they would break through the enemy. Gorgolicon and Theopompus, the Lacedemonian generals, formed their infantry into two battalions; each of these divisions consisted of 900 men. The engagements of those parts where the generals on each side com­manded in person, were very fierce and dread­ful. The Spartan generals, who charged Pe­lopidas with great fury, were slain first; all the troops that were around them were either killed or dispersed: The remainder of the Lacede­monians were so terrified, that they opened a passage for Pelopidas to march through; but [Page 312] he, disdaining to retreat, advanced furiously against those who were still drawn out for battle: He made a terrible slaughter among them, spreading terror and dismay wherever he went—He did not pursue far the routed ene­my, fearing he might be surprized.—But con­tinued his march, crowned with the wreaths of victory.

This encounter depressed the spirits of the Lacedemonians; for it had never before hap­pened until this time, that the Lacedemonians had been defeated by an inferior, or even an equal number; but in this instance they were more than three times the number of the Thebans.

They now became deprived of that glory; the Thebans, in their turn, became the terror and dread, even of those who had rendered themselves so universally formidable. ^*

The war had now lasted several campaigns: All Greece began to grow weary of a war, which, although victory was more frequently on the side of the Thebans and Athenians, redounded to the enrichment and aggrandize­ment of Sparta. They began to turn their [Page 313] thoughts once more on the blessings and smiles of peace, and to concert measures necessary to obtain an object so delightful.

Deputies were sent from the different states to Sparta, who still held the power and con­troul of Greece; Epaminondas, whom we left pursuing with ardor the paths of philo­sophy, was at the head of this deputation.—He now became very much celebrat­ed for his profound knowledge and educa­tion; but he had not yet shone conspicuous as a statesman and military hero: His friend Pe­lipodas was at this time the most illustrious hero of Greece, without Timotheus, the Athe­nian general, is considered as his equal.

In the counsel of the deputies, where Age­silaus, as king of Lacedemonia presided, Epa­minondas listened in thoughtful silence to the tyranny of the king, and the mean and depen­dent spirit of the deputies, who coincided in every thing he said: But he preserved his mag­nanimity and independence of soul; he feared not the frowns of Agesilaus, or his sycophants; he was a philosopher! he was a patriot—He arose from his seat in deliberate warmth; by the thunder of his eloquence, he made the [Page 314] haughty Spartan tremble on his throne: He spoke not for the advantage of Thebes alone, but of Greece in general; in which he endea­voured to spare the effusion of human blood; vigorously insisted on the necessity of establish­ing a peace on equality and justice, for that no peace could be firm and durable, which was not equal and consistent in all its parts.

This discourse, founded on reason and jus­tice, made great impression on the minds of the hearers. Agesilaus observed the effect it had upon the deputies, by their thoughtfulness and silence. To prevent this effect, which it might have to his disadvantage, he demanded, in a haughty manner, of Epaminondas, "Whe­ther he thought it just and reasonable, that Boetia should be free and independent! That is, Whether he agreed that the cities of Boetia should depend no longer upon Thebes?"

Epaminondas answered it with equal warmth, by a similar inquiry, "Whether he thought it just and reasonable, that Laconia should enjoy the same independence and liberty?"

When Agesilaus heard this, he rose from his seat in great rage, ordering Epaminondas in­stantly to declare, "Whether Boetia should be free?"

[Page 315] Epaminondas, firm and resolved, replied again, asking, "Whether, on his side, he would consent that Laconia should be free?" ^*

The tyrant, unaccustomed to the language of an independent hero, and of one who feared neither him nor his absolute power, upon the repetition of this question, became so inve­terate, that he banished the Thebans out of the treaty of alliance which he was then con­cluding with the other states of Greece. The rest of the allies signed it, imperfect as it was, dreading the power of the Lacedemonians, if they refused.

In consequence of this treaty, the armies of Athens were to be disbanded and recalled.

Thebes was now left alone to brave the fury of the most powerful state of Greece. Agesi­laus, and his son Archidamus, collected a very powerful Lacedemonian army, and summoned the aid of their confederates: Sickness prevented Agesilaus from taking the field in person; but he commanded his colleague, Cleombrotus, to march without delay into the territories of the enemy, promising him, that he should be soon joined by a powerful reinforcement. Cleom­brotus halted in the plains of Leuctra; it was [Page 316] surrounded on all sides by ridges of mountains, which reared their lofty heads to the skies; the most conspicuous of these were called Helicon, Citheron, and Cynocephaloe. In this place, as was reported, were buried two Theban dam­sels, whose virginity had fell a sacrifice to the brutality of three Spartan youths. Not able to support life under the load of dishonor, these beautiful and unhappy females flew, before the poisonous breath of disgrace, into the arms of a voluntary death: Their old and afflicted fa­ther, Scedasus, followed their example, im­ploring vengeance from gods and men. ^*

The Thebans were extremely terrified; they saw themselves without a friend and supporter, braving the waves of adversity, while the states of Greece looked on, and gave them up for lost. They little then knew that the abilities of one man were to secure them from impend­ing ruin, and make them triumphant over their foes. This was Epaminondas—We have hi­therto beheld him as an amiable man, a phi­losopher, and an orator; but now we will see him in the field of battle, surrounded with vir­tue and glory. He was appointed by his coun­trymen supreme general of the war, and had [Page 317] several colleagues joined with him as generals. He immediately raised all the troops which he possibly could, and began his [...]arch. Several persons, to prevent his marching, came and informed him of many unfavorable omens they had—He [...] replied, "There is but one good omen, to fight for one's country."

Pelopidas then commanded the celebrated sacred [...] which consisted of youths nearly of the same age, bound together by friend­ship and the nearest ties, and resolved never to [...] an enemy.

When Pelopidas left his house to join the army, his young and beautiful wife, in taking her last farewell, with a shower of tears, be­seeched him to avoid as much danger as possi­ble, and to think of her while in the tumult and clangour of battle. He made this remark­able reply to her, "Private men are to be ad­vised to take care of themselves, but generals to take care of others."

It was a dispute among the Theban generals, whether they should offer the enemy battle or not: Pelopidas was a warm advocate for battle; but three of the generals were against it; the voice of Epaminondas was only wanting to de­cide [Page 318] it which way he pleased; he firmly de­clared for the engagement.

While the two armies lay at Leuctra, deter­mined on battle at the succeeding day, it is re­lated, that at the dead of night, when a solemn stillness reigned throughout the camps, Pelo­pidas dreamt that he saw the two Theban maids, whose deaths we have related, weeping at their tombs, calling curses and evils upon the Spar­tans; that their father, Scedasus, also appear­ed, commanding him, "to sacrifice a young red haired virgin, in honor of his daughters, if he desired to be victorious in the ensuing bat­tle."

The next morning when Pelopidas arose, and reflected on the dream, his humanity re­volted at the dreadful command; he resolved in his mind not to obey it, notwithstanding it was contrary to the opinion of the soothsayers. While Pelopidas was in this frame of mind, a wild she-colt, which had broken loose, ran neighing through the camp, but when she ap­proached near the place where he was, she stood still and silent: The whole army admired the sparkling redness of her mane; the stateliness of her form and actions. The thought instant­ly [Page 319] occurred to Pelopidas, that this was the vir­gin which was represented to him in his dream: He ordered her to bé seized and sacrificed, in honor of the violated Theban maids.

This circumstance was spread through the army, and tended to animate their spirits. The time of battle arrived—The two armies were very unequal in number; the Lacedemonians consisted of twenty-four thousand foot, and six­teen hundred horse; the Thebans had only six thousand foot, and four hundred horse, but all of them valiant men, determined to conquer or die.

The commanders of each army were very celebrated generals: Cleombrotus may be justly ranked among the greatest heroes that ever Sparta produced; and Epaminondas among the greatest that ever the world produced. The two armies drew out upon a plain ^*—Cleom­brotus commanded on the right wing, consist­ing of Spartans, on whom he most confided. To receive the great advantage which his su­periority of horse gave him, he placed them in front of the right wing, where he commanded. [Page 320] The allies who formed the left wing, were commanded by Archidamus, the son of king Agesilaus.

The Theban general viewed with attention this arrangement of the enemy; he was sensi­ble, that the issue of the battle would depend upon the domestic troops of Sparta, who were incomparably braver than their allies: He, therefore, resolved to command in person the left wing, to strengthen it with the best of his heavy armed troops, and to make a very vigor­ous attack on the right of the enemy, deter­mined to seize or destroy the person of Cleom­brotus. The sacred battalion, headed by his friend Pelopidas, he placed near his person; these closed the left wing: The remainder of his infantry he drew up on his right in an ob­lique line, which the farther it extended, be­came more distant from the enemy: This cu­rious disposition on the right was made, to pre­vent his little army from being surrounded by the numbers of the enemy, who resembled the form of a crescent: His horse he posted in the front of his left, after the manner of the La­cedemonians.

[Page 321] The action began with the cavalry: This skirmish continued but a short time, when the sixteen hundred horsemen of the Lacedemoni­ans gave way, before the impetuosity and bravery of the four hundred Thebans: Being driven back upon the infantry, they put them into considerable confusion: This disorder was still more increased, by an impetuous sally made upon the flank of Cleombrotus, by Pelopidas, at the head of his sacred band. Epaminondas followed close his horse, and fell suddenly on the phalanx with all the weight of his heavy battalion: He bore down all before him. The danger of their king recalled to their ancient principles the degenerate disciples of Lycurgus. ^* The most valiant warriors [...] from every part, to the assistance of their prince, placed them­selves before him, and fought with desperate valour. They repelled the astonishing progress of Epaminondas, until the dragoons who sur­rounded the person of Cleombrotus, were to­tally slain, and the warlike king himself pierced with many wounds, and, fainting with loss of blood, fell dead upon the field, amidst the bleed­ing bodies of his enthusiastic defenders. The [Page 322] fall of their chief added new fury to the Spar­tans—They held the death of their king as a much less disgrace than to leave his mangled body to the view and insults of the enemy—To recover his body, they made every exertion; their amazing efforts were successful; but they were unable to obtain any other advantage—Epaminondas was careful to fortify his ranks, and to maintain his order of battle; the firm­ness and celerity of his assault gained him a complete and glorious victory over an army more than four times his number—He routed them in every quarter, and, following them ve­ry vigorously in their flight, killed a great num­ber. Epaminondas erected a trophy in cele­bration of this memorable engagement.

Never before had the Lacedemonian arms re­ceived so much disgrace; in their former most bloody engagements, they had never more than five or six hundred of their citizens slain; in this battle they lost four thousand men; the Thebans only three hundred.

When we consider the battle of Leuctra in every circumstance, the great numbers of the Lacedemonian army, their bravery, the excel­lency of their generals, we will be led to ex­claim, [Page 323] that this victory of Epaminondas is one of the most glorious and astonishing that has ever happened in the world: In no instance has the qualities of a general been so eminently displayed.

Before the time of Pelopidas and Epaminon­das, the Thebans could not stand before the victorious Spartans, and after their deaths, they fell again into the same degeneracy.

When the intelligence was spread over Greece; that the Thebans, with the loss of only three hundred men, had gained an immortal victory over Sparta, it occasioned revolutions in every quarter.

The Thebans sent an account of this victory to Athens, demanding at the same time aid against a common enemy; but the Senate of the Athenians, which was then sitting, influ­enced greatly by Timotheus and Iphicrates, treated the embassy rather coldly, and refused the desired assistance.

Epaminondas and Pelopidas were, after this battle, appointed joint governors of Boetia: They assembled all the troops of Boetia, and all the assistance of their allies, whose number daily [Page 324] increased, and entered Peloponnesus, driving all before them. Many places revolted from the subjection of the Spartans: among these were Elis, Argos, Arcadia, and the greatest part of Laconia.

It was then about the winter solstice, towards the end of the last month of the year—The first day of the next month was the time appointed for the resignation of their offices; it was enacted by law, that death should be inflicted upon all those who held them beyond that time: The rest of the colleagues, fearful of bad wea­ther and of the dreadful consequences of the infringement of the law, wished that the army should march immediately back to Thebes—Epaminondas and Pelopidas, on the contrary, animated the citizens, and exhorted them to take advantage of the fear and alarm of the enemy, and to follow an enterprise, which would be of much benefit to the state, and which would more than compensate for the neglect of this formality. The army approved this salutary advice. Epaminondas, therefore, entered La­conia at the head of seventy thousand soldiers, a small part of which were Thebans.

[Page 325] The great reputation of the two generals had spread so extensively abroad, that allies flocked in numbers to their standard, obeyed with great respect their orders, and marched confident of success, when they were their leaders.

In this expedition they united all Arcadia into one body; they captured Messenia, driv­ing before them the Spartans, who had been in possession of it near two hundred and eighty­seven years. It was a country extremely fer­tile, and in extent nearly equal to Laconia. ^* Epaminondas called to their paternal country its ancient inhabitants, who were dispersed in the different states of Greece, Italy, and Sicily: They heard the friendly invitation, and, ani­mated by the love of their country, inherent in­humanity, they flocked in joyful crouds to their once happy land.

This wise and benevolent action-of the The­ban gave immoderate grief to the Spartans: an­inveterate animosity had always prevailed be­tween them and the Messenians, and was in­capable of being extinguished until the ruin of one party.

It is related, that Epaminondas, after having ravaged the country in sight of Sparta, crossed [Page 326] the river Eurotas, which was at that time very much swelled by the melting of the snows: as he passed at the head of his infantry, some of the Spartans pointed him out to Agesilaus, who, after having for a considerable time surveyed him in a very thoughtful manner, raised up his hands, and said, "wonderful man."

After these successes, the rapidity of which we can scarcely imagine, Epaminondas led his army through Cenchea, on his return home.—During his march he defeated the [...], who, to prevent his passage, had [...] him, in narrow ways, with which that country abounds.

The two Thebans, when they returned home, after having performed such memorable actions, instead of receiving honor and applause from a grateful country, were summoned to appear as criminals against the state, for having disobeyed one of its strictest laws, in retaining their com­mands four months after the term appointed for their resignation; during which time they performed those exploits which we have briefly related.

Such a behaviour, at first view, excites in­dignation in every generous breast—But when [Page 327] we consider, that it is upon the obedience of the laws that the existence of government de­pends, and particularly the situation of Thebes at that time, who had lately recovered her free­dom, our indignation ought to be changed into admiration. Thebes rejoiced at their victories, but still they arraigned their laurelled heroes to the court of justice.

When these two generals appeared before the magistrates, Epaminondas, instead of plead­ing his cause, delivered an eulogy on the vic­tories he had gained, together with his friend—He stood undaunted, although surrounded by persons envious of his glory—He spurned from him supplication, or language unworthy of a philosopher. Both he and Pelopidas were unanimously acquitted, and he returned from his trial, as he did from battle, surrounded with glory and universal applause.

When the Lacedemonians beheld the The­bans successful in every undertaking, and daily increasing in strength and grandeur, they began to tremble so, the fate of Sparta—They knew the enterprising spirits of Epaminondas and Pelopidas, and they had dreadfully experienced the terrors, of their arms. That imperial state, [Page 328] which lately gave law to Athens, dispatched an orator, who sorrowfully implored their kind protection and assistance. The orator describ­ed, in the most pathetic terms, the miseries, the eminent danger in which Sparta remained; the haughtiness of Thebes, and her ambition, which extended its views to the empire of all Greece: He represented the danger which Athens herself had to fear, if, without opposi­tion, Thebes was allowed to drive all before her, and daily acquire new allies: He dwelt upon the time when a strict union prevailed be­tween Athens and Sparta, and when, by their united efforts, they preserved all Greece from destruction. ^*

The Athenians acknowledged the justness of most parts of this discourse: They felt sorrow for the distress of Sparta, and were jealous of the increasing power of Thebes. Their com­passion entirely forgave the injuries they had formerly received from their armies, and they finally determined to assist the Lacedemonians with the whole of their forces. A league and consederacy was concluded against the Thebans.

The king of Persia, desirous to reconcile the Grecian states, sent one Philiscus for that pur­pose; [Page 329] but his embassy proved unsuccessful.—He then returned home, after having bestowed large sums to the Spartans for carrying on the war.

The Spartans, not yet content with the as­sistance of the Athenians, and wishing still to enlarge the confederacy, dispatched deputies to the great king.

When the Thebans heard this, they thought it was necessary to deputize some person on their side—Pelopidas was chosen for this pur­pose.

The fame of his great exploits had spread so extensively abroad, and had raised him so great in the eyes of the world, that when he appear­ed at court among the princes and nobility, they received him with joy and acclamations; they related his exploits, and crowned him with praise and applause. Artaxerxes paid him ex­traordinary honours; he publicly extolled him before his lords. After having heard him speak, more nervous than the Athenian ambassador, and more simple than the Lacedemonian, he esteemed him more than ever—He gave him far the preference to all the rest of the Grecian deputies. The king granted to Pelopidas all [Page 330] his requests, so that he entirely baffled the de­sires of the confederates.

He returned home, cloathed with honor, and without accepting any of the riches of Persia; a behavior widely different from Timagoras, the Athenian ambassador.

The esteem of Thebes for him was augment­ed by the good success of his embassy, which had procured the freedom of Greece, and the re-establishment of Messene.

Shortly after the return of Pelopidas from this embassy, new troubles arose in Greece, which called him once more into the field of battle.

Alexander, the tyrant of Pheroe, entertained secret designs of subduing all Thessaly under his subjection. He declared open war against several parts of it.

The terrified Thessalonians immediately dis­patched ambassadors to Thebes, begging the assistance of some troops and a general. Epa­minondas was at that time engaged in the Pe­loponnesian war. The command of this ex­pedition was unanimously given to Pelopidas: He marched with an army to Thessaly in a lit­tle time—reduced Sarissa to a capitulation, and [Page 331] obliged Alexander to come, in a suppliant man­ner, and make submission to him. He endea­vored, by mild and lenient behavior, to soften his hardened disposition, and to change the cruel tyrant into the humane prince; but, finding these endeavors ineffectual, and hearing every day of his cruelties and vicious pursuits, he exercised more severity towards him. The tyrant, upon this usage, secretly fled with his guards.

Pelopidas, having settled the affairs of Thes­saly, and defeated the schemes of Alexander, led his army to Macedonia, where Ptolemy was carrying on war against his brother Alexander, the king of Macedon, respecting some politi­cal affairs. The two brothers had invited him to be the judge and arbitrator of their quarrel, and to espouse that side which should appear to him to be the most just.

When he arrived, he quieted all disturbances and disputes; he recalled all those persons who had been banished by either party, and returned to Thebes, taking with him Philip, the brother of Alexander, and thirty youths of the most il­lustrious families of Macedonia, to shew the [Page 332] Greeks the authority of the Thebans, and the extensive reputation of their arms. One of the hostages was that Philip, who was father of Alexander the Great, and who afterwards en­slaved Greece. It is said, that he placed Epa­minondas as his model for imitation as a war­rior—but the other excellencies and virtues of this truly great man, he possessed not the least share of them.

The troubles of Macedonia had subsided on­ly for a short time, when they broke out again with greater fury than ever. Ptolemy murder­ed his brother Alexander, and seized the king­dom. The friends of the deceased called again for the great Pelopidas, who had formerly so wisely terminated their disputes.

Always willing to lend his assistance to dis­tress, he readily undertook their cause. De­sirous to arrive at Macedonia before Ptolemy had time sufficient to execute his intended pro­jects, and to establish himself firmly on the throne, he raised, in haste, mercenary troops, and marched against him. When [...] approached near each other, [...] some secret means, corrupted those [...] soldiers, and, by large sums of [...] [Page 333] them desert their general, and come over on his side. But, being awed by the glory and name of Pelopidas, ^* he went to him, and, in a submissive manner, caressed him as his mas­ter and superior, and solemnly promised him, that he would retain the crown only as the guardian to the son of the deceased king, and that he would unite himself in such a strict al­liance with the Thebans, that their friends and enemies should be theirs. As security for these engagements, he gave as hostages his son Phi­loxenus, and fifty children who were educated with him. These Pelopidas sent to his coun­trymen, desiring them to shew them affection and tenderness.

Pelopidas was extremely enraged against the mercenaries, for their treachery. Being in­formed, that they had deposited the whole of their effects at Pharsalus, a city in Thessaly— [...]e thought this a fair opportunity to be reveng­ed upon them, by depriving them of that, for which they proved perfidious traitors—He, therefore, collected a few Thessalian troops, and marched to capture Pharsalus. He had ar­rived but a few minutes, and was preparing to [Page 334] attack the place, when Alexander the tyrant, his former enemy, came against him at the head of a powerful army. ^* Pelopidas, who had been sent as ambassador to him, believing that he came to justify himself, and to answer to the complaints of the Thebans, for his cruel pro­ceedings, went to meet him, taking no person along with him but Ismenias—He well knew that Alexander was an impious wretch, void of faith and honor, but he supposed that the ter­ror of Thebes, and his own dignity and fame, would prevent him from executing any violence on his person—He was, however deceived, for the tyrant, seeing him and Ismenias alone and unarmed, seized them both as prisoners, and made himself master of Pharsalus.

This perfidious action filled the minds of the subjects of Alexander with terror and dis­may—They feared greatly for themselves, on account of the violent proceedings of the tyrant, who imbrued his hands daily in the blood of the innocent; and for the fate of their country, from the revenge of the justly enraged The­bans.

[Page 335] When the news of the capture of their leader was conveyed to Thebes, extremely incensed against such a detestable proceeding, she imme­diately dispatched an army into Thessaly. Epa­minondas happening at that time to lie under the displeasure of his countrymen, the com­mand of this expedition was given to some per­son of very little fame, and incapable of so great a trust. Epaminondas, actuated friend­ship and patriotism, entered the army as a pri­vate soldier.

Alexander conveyed Polopidas to Pheroe—he exhibited him as a shew to all persons who, led by curiosity, came to gaze upon the man whose exploits had rendered him so famous, and who deprived Sparta of the command of Greece.

The tyrant hoped, by this degrading cir­cumstance, his pride would be humbled, and his courage abated. But the heroic soul of the Theban remained firm—His humanity revolt­ed at the cruel ties which he beheld exercised upon the unhappy Phereans—He consoled them by affectionate language, and by informing them, that it would not be long before the ty­rant would meet with a punishment adequate [Page 336] to his crimes. He informed Alexander him­self, in threatening language, of his dreadful cruelties on his innocent subjects, and that, as soon as he was released by his countrymen from consinement, he would punish him severely, not only for his perfidy to him, but for his other vices; and that it would be more wise in him to put to death a person who, when freed, he dreaded the power of his vengeance, than per­sons who never did him any harm, and who, in every instance, were obedient to his will.

The tyrant, amazed at his magnanimity and greatness of soul, asked him why he was so de­sirous to die?— ^* The illustrious prisoner re­plied, "It is that thou mayest perish the soon­er, by being still more detestable to the gods and men."

Alexander, after this, awed by the heroism of Pelopidas, committed him to close confine­ment, and gave orders, that no person, under penalty of death, should approach near his dun­geon, or attempt to speak with him.

Thebe, the wife of Alexander, and daughter of Jason, the predecessor of the present tyrant, desirous to see the warrior, whose name had resounded throughout the world, and who had [Page 337] been so much celebrated for his external beau­ty, implored the permission of her husband that she might be admitted into the company of the Theban captive. Thebe, who was extremely handsome, and very much beloved by the ty­rant, after many eager intreaties, obtained at length her desire.

She found Pelopidas sitting in a melancholy posture, in a retired part of his prison; he was dressed in the habit of sorrow and distress; his beard was neglected, his hair uncombed and dishevelled; but still the hero shone through this mean disguise; distress had not yet con­quered the aspect of dignity. When she found him in this situation, she was unable to refrain from tears—"Ah! unfortunate Pelopidas (said she) how I lament your poor wife!" He re­plied, "And I you, who, being at liberty, can endure a tyrant so cruel and unjust as Alexan­der." ^*

These words made great impression on her mind, for she hated, as well as dreaded, her husband—Repeating often her visits to the pri­son of Pelopidas, and conversing concerning Alexander's actions, her aversion and abhor­rence of him daily increased.

[Page 338] The Theban generals who entered Thessaly with an army to revenge the seizure of Pelo­pidas, performed no actions of any importance, and finally were obliged, through their inca­pacity, to abandon the country, and leave Pe­lopidas in his former state of confinement.

The tyrant pursued them in their retreat, killed numbers of the troops, and brought shame and disgrace on the Theban arms..

The whole army at one time would have suffered a total defeat, had not the soldiers be­seeched Epaminondas, who served as a private man, to receive the command, and to endeavor to prevent the ruin of the army. This he ac­cepted, and, at the head of the cavalry and light armed troops, placed himself in the rear, where, by his skill and prudence, he completed the retreat, and saved the Boetians from destruc­tion.

The generals, when they returned home, were fined each ten thousand drachmas, which is about 225l. sterling. ^*

The Thebans now, regretting that they had not appointed Epaminondas to the command formerly, substituted him in their place.

[Page 339] This great man, actuated by public good, forgave their former neglect, and received the [...]ffice.

The name of Epaminondas struck the ty­rant with terror, and inspired his enemies with joy, who hoped now to behold an end to his cruelties and oppression. But, preferring the safety of his friend to his reputation, Epami­nondas did not prosecute the war with his usual vigor and rapidity, for he was apprehensive, that the tyrant, when driven to despair, would pour his vengeance upon Pelopidas; he chose rather to hover about him, and terrify him into his designs.

This he soon accomplished—Alexander dis­patched to him persons to apologize for his in­sults, and to offer his alliance to the Thebans. Epaminondas refused either peace or an alliance to so impious a wretch—He only granted him a truce for thirty days, and, after having res­cued Pelopidas and Ismenias from their con­finement, returned victorious to his native home.

Thessaly had enjoyed but a short repose, be­fore the tyrant of Pheroe, unable to change his natural disposition, again invaded their terri­tories, [Page 340] and deluged their fields with blood. He entirely desolated several cities, and placed strong garrisons in Pthia, Achoe, and Magne­sia. Deputies were immediately dispatched from this unhappy country, imploring the as­sistance of a few Theban troops, and that Pe­lopidas might be their commander. Thebes granted their requests.

On the day of the departure of Pelopidas, the sun, which had shone with uncommon lustre and magnificence on the morning of the same day, became at noon totally eclipsed, and wrapt Thebes in its gloom and awful darkness!

Dread and consternation damped the bosoms of almost every Theban. Pelopidas knew that this appearance in the Heavens flowed from a natural cause—But, unwilling to lead on those to battle, who looked upon the darkness which spread over the plains, as the presage of calam­ity and woe, and who were entirely dispirited by the imaginary terrors of superstition: He, therefore, departed, contrary to the will of the soothsayers, with the Thessalians, taking with him only three hundred Thebans—Being join­ed by a few troops of Thessaly, and their allies, he encamped near the city of Pharsalus, at the foot of the mountains of Cynoscephaloe.

[Page 341] Alexander, conscious of the smallness of his force, approached against him with an army consisting of more than twenty thousand men, challenging him to battle; nor did the valiant Theban refuse! but drew out his little band to meet him. The action commenced with the cavalry, which proved victorious to the The­bans; but Alexander, having obtained the most advantageous ground, charged with great fury the Thessalian infantry. Pelopidas, when he perceived this, immediately recalled his [...]orse, and, ordering them to attack the enemy's in­fantry, he snatched his buckler, and ran to that part where the engagement was the warmest, animating his soldiers by his voice and actions. The Thebans and Thessalians, roused by the example of their beloved general, made every exertion possible for so small a force; the in­fantry of the enemy gradually gave way. Pe­lopidas darted his eye, beaming terror through their retiring bands, in search of the tyrant, who had formerly treated him with so much indignity. When he perceived him on the right wing, endeavoring to rally his soldiers, the prudence of the general forsook him; he neglected the care of his life, the orders neces­sary [Page 342] for the battle, and gave his whole soul up to revenge: He rushed impetuously forward, raising aloud his voice, and daring his adversa­ry to single combat—The coward tyrant feared his dreadful presence, and shrunk behind his troops—These received the enraged warrior with a shower of javelins and spears—The battalion stood firm for a considerable time; but Pelopidas drove before him the first ranks, strewing the ground with many bleeding vic­tims of his rage: none daring to approach him, he stood alone the victor of the field.

The dastardly Phareans, at a distance, show­ered on him their javelins and spears, until at length, pierced in the breast and on the arms, the imprudent hero fell.

His troops, when they perceived his alarm­ing situation, poured furiously on to his assis­tance; but they arrived too late, they found their general dead.

They did not now give way to grief, but de­voted themselves entirely to resentment; they desperately charged the retreating enemy, routed them, and covered the plain with the numbers of the slain; more than three thousand of the tyrant's troops fell in this engagement.

[Page 343] This action of Pelopidas has been much con­demned by some eminent historians very justly, and we would in vain plead his youth, his re­sentment, and natural aversion to tyranny, as excuses sufficient for his rashness. No general was ever more sincerely lamented; instead of shouts of victory! a solemn stillness spread the dreary plain; instead of the loud and joyous blasts of the trumpet! the voice of sorrow was feebly heard in plaintive murmurs; instead of smiles of exultation! the deepest glooms of af­fliction sat drooping on each warrior's coun­tenance.

As his army marched with his body in pro­cession to Thebes, the magistrates, priests, and people of all classes flocked from every city they passed, and joined the procession, carrying crowns, trophies, and armour of gold.

The Thessalians, in whose service he had been slain, deeply sensible of their obligations to him, and shedding tears of genuine regret over his fate, requested from the Thebans the honor of his burial—This mark of affection they could not deny—The funeral of Pelopidas was celebrated with magnificence and woe— [Page 344] The tears of two countries were shed in fond remembrance over his tomb—the one of which he raised from slavery to the empire of Greece, and the other he protected from the ravages and cruelties of the tyrant of Pheroe.

Thebes was not content with only lamenting the death of Pelopidas, for the immediately sent an army against Alexander, which stripped him of his conquests in Thessaly, and subjected him to the Theban power. Shortly after this, he was murdered in his bed by Thebe his wife, and her brothers.

The Thebans, deprived of one of their sup­porters, still retained their pre­eminence, and flourished under the conduct of Epaminondas. At that time almost all Greece was involved in war and confusion.

The people of Tegea sent a messenger to Thebes, imploring their assistance against the Mantineans; the Mantineans, on their side, called for the aid of the Athenians and Spar­tans. ^*

The former gave the sole command of the war to Epaminondas. He marched with his troops into Arcadia, and encamped at Tegea. [Page 345] While he remained there, he was informed, that Agesilaus, at the head of his army, had set out from Sparta with a design of meeting him. Upon this he formed a plan of taking Sparta herself by surprize—In the night, unknown to the Mantineans, he marched for Sparta, by a dif­ferent road from that which Agesilaus had taken. His enterprising spirit would have met with success, and the city would have fallen into his hands, had not a Cretan, by some secret means, become acquainted with the intention, and, with amazing celerity, arrived time sufficient at Agesilaus's head-quarters to acquaint him with the danger of Sparta.

The king instantly dispatched a courier to Sparta, and, by a hasty march, arrived there in a short time himself.

The Thebans, soon after his arrival, were perceived crossing the Eurotas. Epaminondas, when he had drawn his men up on the other shore, saw that his design had been discovered; but, having proceeded thus far, he thought it a disgrace to retire without making any at­tempt, or performing some action after his tiresome march. He divided his army into several squadrons, and made furious attacks up­on [Page 346] the city; he ^* penetrated as far as the pub­lic place, and seized that division which lay on the bank of the river Eurotas. Agefilaus, and his son Archidamus, fought with astonishing talour—They fought with the fury of despair—They saw that the fate of Sparta, once the glory of Greece, depended upon these exertions—Archidamus, outstripping the old age of his father, shone in this battle with extraordinary glory! It was to him that Sparta was indebted for her preservation—With a band of Spartan youths, he rushed forward against the enemy, and drove before him all whom he attacked.

The Theban chief, having failed of his de­sign, suspecting that the assistance of the Ar­cadians would every minute arrive at Sparta, and knowing that he had not a sufficient force to stand against such numbers, returned to Tegea, having performed what never general did before.

The troops of the enemy, consisting of Spar­tans, Lacedemonians, Athenians, and allies, soon after marched in pursuit of him.

Epaminondas regretted that his troops were to be brought so soon to action, after having [Page 347] undergone so much fatigue—But, considering the disgrace and inconvenience of a retreat, he ordered his army to prepare for battle.

In all the civil wars of Greece, the Greeks had never before fought with such numerous armies. Upon the right wing of the Lacede­monians were the Mantineans, Arcadians, and Lacedemonians—the center was composed of the E [...]eans and Acheans, the weakest of their troops—the Athenians alone formed the left wing.

Epaminondas ranged the Thebans and the Arcadians of Tegea on the left—upon the right the Argives, and his other allies in the centre: The cavalry of each were posted before the wings—He marched in the same order in which he intended to fight, that he might not loose time in the disposition of his army, when he came up with the enemy—He marched slowly along upon the hills, with his circuit extended, as if he did, not intend to fight that day—When he arrived to a certain part of the mountain, he commanded his men to halt, and lay down their arms, pretending that he intended to en­camp there—The enemy, who wondered at [Page 348] his curious movements, now thought it evident that he had laid aside all intentions of coming to an engagement that day—they abandoned their ranks and arms, dispersed themselves about the field, and banished all thoughts of battle for that time..

Epaminondas seized this opportunity, so fa­vorable to his design—he suddenly, by wheeling to the right, changed his column into a line of battle—his troops became immediately formed in the order which he meant to fight—His left wing consisted of the flower of his army, which he formed as at Leuctra, in the shape of a wedge—The centre and right wing were com­posed of troops in whom he placed but little confidence—He ordered these to move very slow, and to make a halt before they came up with the enemy, so that he might first attack the enemy before these engaged. ^*

The Lacedemonians were amazed when they saw the Thebans thus advancing terrible against them—they instantly snatched their arms, bri­dled their horses, and flew to their ranks.

The Theban horse, ordered by their com­mander, attacked those of the Lacedemonian, [Page 349] and obliged them, after a fierce engagement, to seek shelter behind the infantry.

Epaminondas, pursuing close this advantage, attacked with vigour the Spartan phalanx—No troops ever fought on each side with more desperate bravery—they soon broke the spears with which they first contended, and grasped with fury the more durable sword—A dreadful slaughter continued on both sides for a long space of time.

Epaminondas thought it his duty to obtain the victory by making an extraordinary effort in person—He put himself at the head of a small band of dauntless Thebans, and made a bold charge upon the enemy, in that part where they were most successful—He cut to pieces the first ranks, and dangerously wounded their general: His band,. animated by his example, drove all before them, and penetrated the dreadful pha­lanx—Dismayed by the appearance of Epami­nondas in so furious a manner, the Lacedemo­nians gave ground—The whole Theban army saw the exploits of their general, and grew more desperate in their exertions—The enemy retreated before them with great slaughter:—The god-like Theban did not live to enjoy his [Page 350] victory so gloriously obtained—Some of the most resolute Spartans, feeing, as they fled, his great ardour in the pursuit, suddenly rallied, and made a stand—they let fly a shower of ja­velins, aimed with great skill at Epaminon­das—whilst he endeavored to avoid those, and still, with undaunted heroism, spursued his victory, Callicrates, a young Spartan, with a javelin pierced him mortally in the breast; the wood of the weapon snapped, and the iron con­tinued buried in the wound—he fell upon the ground in excrutiating tortures. The enemy, informed of this circumstance, returned again to the engagement, and fought with great cour­age to obtain the body of Epaminondas—The Thebans, like tygers, defended their beloved hero, routed their foes, and bore him from the bloody field—With him retired the soldiers' vigor and courage; they felt no desire to pur­sue their glorious victory, since bereft of their leader, whom they supposed no more. The cavalry, who had defeated the enemy's horse with much slaughter, returned sorrowful and dejected from the pursuit, as if they had suf­fered a defeat. In the right wing the Athenian cavalry, finding themselves not pursued, after [Page 351] being repulsed, rallied themselves again, and, instead of going to the assistance of their foot, who were flying before the Thebans, they at­tacked a detachment of the enemy, placed with­out the line, upon the hills which surrounded the plain. They, in this skirmish, proved vic­torious; they routed the detachment, and put it to the sword.

^* After these various advantages and slaugh­ters, the weary soldiers of each army ceased from fighting, and rested upon their spears—the martial trumpets sounded a retreat.

The Lacedemonians and Athenians pretend­ed that the victory was theirs, because they had cut in pieces a detachment—But the Thebans, with much more justice, claimed it, since they had defeated the enemy's right wing, and re­mained masters of the field—Both sides erected trophies, and refused to ask permission of the other to inter the dead; for this, with the an­cients, was the acknowledgement of a defeat—The Lacedemonians, however, finding their claims feeble and fruitless, sent first to demand this degrading occupation.

[Page 352] Epaminondas had been carried into his [...]. After the battle, all his officers, and the most distinguished Thebans, flocked around him—The surgeons, after having examined his wound, declared, that it was impossible for him to sur­vive after the weapon was extracted.

These words threw a solemn gloom over the feelings of every warrior present—"Tears streamed from every eye."

The dying chief expressed great [...] about his arms, fearing that they [...] fell into the enemy's hands— [...] generals presented his [...] upon it a look of [...] joy—When he was [...] were victorious, [...] peace, for I leave my [...]."

Some of his [...] that he should die [...] children to in­herit his [...]—"You mistake," said he, [...] a smile of death, "I leave be­hind me two beautiful daughters, the battles of Leuctra and Mantinea." ^*

These were the last words that Epaminon­das spoke; he expired while the surgeon was extracting the iron from his breast.

[Page 353] Thus died this glorious Theban—If we con­sider all his qualities, we [...] with justice pro­nounce him one of the greatest [...] that ever existed; he possessed the most brilliant and amiable qualities of human nature; he was a philosopher and a hero; neither him nor Pelopi­das were ever conquered in battle, or defeated in eloquence. By their wisdom and martial qualities, the little state of Thebes rose to be empress of Greece; but after their deaths, call­ing in vain for her chiefs, she suddenly fell from her sublimity and grandeur.