THE ADVENTURES OF SOCIVIZCA—A NOTO­RIOUS ROBBER AND ASSASSIN, OF THE RACE OF THE MORLACHIANS.

MORLACHIA is a province belonging to the Vene [...]an state, lying between the Gulph of Venice, Croatia and Bosnia, having Dalmatia to the South. Some reckon it a part of Croatia: the Capital town is Seng, or S [...]gna. The inhabitants are inveterate ene­mies to the Turks, and never spare them when they get them into their power. This will appear in the history of Socivizca, and is the only thing that can be urged in extenuation of his crimes, or as an excuse for the conduct of the present Emperor of Germany, who, since the year 1776, has retained him in his service, as Arambassa, an officer in his regiment of Pandours. The [Page 4] Morlachians are amazingly strong; travellers affirm that four of them will carry a man on horseback twen­ty or thirty paces over the most dangerous passes of the mountains. Their habits are of divers colours, quite different from those of the Venetians, and they commonly go armed with an ax.

This singular man will not excite in us that horror and aversion which we generally feel in reading the lives of common thieves and murderers, nor does he deserve to be considered wholly in that light, since he did not lie in wait for travellers indiscriminately▪ to strip and murder them, but confined his depredations and barbarity to the Turks, against whom he had a na­tive animosity, roused and augmented by personal in­juries.

Before we proceed to the incidents of his life, it may be proper to show, that the Morlachians of our time differ very little in their manners and customs from the ancient inhabitants of their country, described thus by Ovid, in his " Epistolae ex Pento. The men that I see here (says this author) are scarce worthy to be called men, for they have the natural ferocity of wolves. They neither fear nor ob [...]y the laws: justice with them, yields to strength, and the laws are annul­led by the force of arms. They live on pillage, but they fight-bravely and openly for their prey; all other means of procuring the necessaries of life appear to them to be base and ignominious,. Without any fear or apprehension of them, the sight of them is alone suf­ficient to create aversion. Their voice is savage; their [Page 5] wan and furious physiognomy is a just representation of death."

STANISLAO SOCIVIZCA was born in the year 1715, at Simiovo, in a farm house, about sixteen miles from Trebigne, a city dependant on the Ottoman empire. His father, who was in extreme indigence, labored, with three other sons, in cultivating the lands of a very rich Turkish family, called the Umitalcichi, and these poor people were cruelly oppressed by their masters, inso­much that they not only loaded them with insults, but beat them severely. Neither Socivizca, whose tempera­ment was naturally savage and cruel, nor his brothers, could any longer endure their repeated acts of tyranny, but their father constantly exhorted them to forbear­ance, and bound them by the ties of filial obedience to submit, for several years, with resignation to their hard fate.

At length however chance threw in their way the three Turkish brothers who were the chief persecutor [...] of these unfortunate laborers. Having amassed the sum of [...]8000 sequins arising from exactions called the Arai, that is to say, the forced contributions of the inhabit­ants of several villages, their vassals, they came to pass a few days on the farm where Socivizca and his family cultivated the lands. This favourable opportunity awak­ened their resentment, and deaf to all the remonstran­ces of their mild and peaceable father, they resolved to avenge themselves of the whole house of the Umitalcichi in the persons of these three young men: accordingly they massacred them, and buried the bodies in a deep [Page 6] ditch which they dug round the farm. The young men being missed, the Turkish Bashaw of Trebigne, and the captain of the guards arrested upwards of fifty christians of the district; some of whom were put to death, and others made slaves for not confessing tho innocent, that they were criminals; but not the smallest suspicion fell upon the family of Socivizca.

It is a custom among the Turks, that when a sum of money has been stolen from any person, and cannot be recovered, all the inhabitants of the village or town wherein the robbery is committed are assembled togeth­er, and a tax is levied upon each family in proportion to their property to make up the amount; this was put in practice in the present case, and the neatness of So­civizca's dress, the pride he had assumed, and which he had not shown before, together with his temerity and audacity of which he had given frequent proofs since this event, left no doubt in the minds of the Turks that he was the murderer: but a full year had elapsed before they were confirmed in this opinion.

Upon the first rumour of his family being suspect­ed, Socivizca had advised his brothers to retire to a distant province with the remains of the money. Ac­cordingly they all sled together with their father, who being very old and infirm died upon the road; and they reached Imoschi a small town upon the Venetian territories. This happened in the year 1745; there they purchased lands, built a house, and stocked a warehouse with the most valuable merchandise.

As for Socivizca as he did not think the slow re­turns [Page 7] of trade, or annual rents worth his notice he re­solved to return to Monte Vero, where with a small band of chosen relations and friends, he commenced public robber and murderer of the Turks; in one summer they attacked, assassinated and robbed forty. One of his com­rades having lost his carabine, Socivizca resolved to take one by force from the first person he met armed, but in this attempt, when he least suspected it, he found himself in the midst of a Turkish caravan. The guard who first perceived him, took him for what [...]e really was, an Aiduco, a name formerly given to a party of Morlachians, who devoted their whole lives to the de­struction of the Turks, at present they call every high­way robber an Aiduco; he denied it with terrible oaths, but in vain, six other Turks surrounded him, and with­out any further trial were preparing to bind him. Soci­vizca seeing himself in this situation, fired a pistol as an alarm to his companions and told the Turks they consisted of a large band at a little distance; at the same time he shouted as loud as possible. The Turks took the alarm, and imagining they already saw a hardy troop of veteran assassins advancing, fell back a few paces to observe from what quarter they would come, this gave him an opportunity to escape by flight; but the Turks perceiving the stratagem, pursued him with their carabines loaded. Socivizca, who knew that it was the custom of the Turks to fire all together, and not to reserve a single carabine for an emergency, just as they were on the point of discharging their pieces, laid himself down flat on the ground, and the enemy having fired, instantly approached him think­ing [Page 8] they had mortally wounded him, either in the mid­dle of his body or in the head, when rising suddenly he shot one Turk, and knocked down another, with the butt end of his pistol, then recollecting that he had an­other pistol loaded he dispatched him.

In the interval his comrades joined him, and the five remaining Turks took to their heels. The caravan now came up, and tho Socivizca and his companions had no inclination to let so rich a body escape them, they found it so numerous that they durst not venture to attack it.

After this expedition he returned to Imoschi where he lived retired for nine years, and followed the traf­fick his family had established, but when he wanted recreation he made a sport of hunting the Turks, and assassinating one or two from time to time.

One of the brothers of Socivizca following his ex­ample, became the terror of the country; he associated himself with a banditti, at the head of whom was one Pezeireb who took pleasure in empaling alive all the Turks who had the misfortune to fall into his hands. This monster of cruelty at last was taken by the Turks, who ran a stake thro his body, and then fastened him with cords to another, leaving him in this condition to expire at the side of a high road. Passengers, and the peasants inhabiting the neighbourhood, affirmed, that he lived in this horrid situation three days, preserving his ferocity to the last, and smoaking repeated pipes given him by them as long as he had breath, notwih­standing the agonies he endured.

[Page 9]Soivcizca's brother, after the death of his chief, entered into a close friendship with a Mo [...]lachian, of the Greek church, but a subject of the Turks. This man was a Probatim, a name assumed by a fraternity in Morlachia, who by solemn rites and ceremonies, at the foot of the alter, swear an unalterable friendship to each other, and a mutual alliance offensive and defen­sive. The usual vows had been exchanged between this Greek and Socivizca's brother, and in confirma­tion of their friendship, he invited him to pass a few days at his house on the confines of Imoschi: the [...]e having shown him every mark of hospitality and atten­tion, when he had made him quite drunk, he advised him to retire to rest, and while he slept, sent for a par­ty of the Turks to whom, for a bribe, he delivered up his unsuspecting guest. The Turks carried him to the Bashaw of Trawnick, who knowing him to be the bro­ther of a man who had sworn destruction to the Otto­man race held a council which lasted eight hours, to devise the most cruel mode of torturing him to death. The news of this dreadful catastrophe soon reached the ears of Socivizca, but as he remained ignorant of the circumstances of his falling into their hands, he went directly to the house of the Proba­tim for intelligence. The father of the prefidious friend, received him with the greatest composure, and being a venerable old man, Socivizca readily believed the artful tale he told him, of their being unexpectedly surround­ed by the Turks, who had received some secret intelli­gence, no doubt, from an unknown hand. The Proba­tim [Page 10] likewise received him with such an appearance of real kindness, that he did not entertain the smallest suspicions of treachery: for he invited him to stay the night, and told him he would fetch a fine lamb from the fold to make him an excellent supper. With this pretence he left him, in affect, to run as fast as he could to give notice to a party of the Turkish cavalry station­ed about twelve miles from his house, that he had got their great enemy under his roof.

The hour of midnight was passed, when Socivizca finding the Probatim was not returned with the lamb, went to bed, as well as the rest of the family, who soon fell into a profound sleep, but as for Socivizca, his sus­picions were awake, and he could not close his eyes. "And such were my forebodings, said he, (his own words to the Emperor) as if I was at the brink of some eminent danger, that I jumped from my bed and en­deavoured to light a lamp by the ashes of a fire that had been in the room, but the old man was in the plot with his son, and knowing what they expected to happen in the course of the night, had taken care to extinguish ev­ery spark." He was then convinced that some horrid conspiracy was formed against his life, and rage took possession of his soul; he sought in vain for his arms, they were concealed: he then called aloud to know if any of the family could tell him where to find them, but no one replied, except an old woman, who bid the brute lie still and not make a noise to disturb the children. Fortunately he had a flint and a knife in his pocket, with which he struck a light, and applied it to the lamp. [Page 11] He then repaired to the old man's bed, and asked in a severe tone of voice where they had put his arms, but the traitor to gain time, feigned to be asleep, but being compelled to answer, he pretended not to understand him, which cost him his life, for Socivizca took up a hatchet that lay by the chimney, and dispatched him. This so terrified the woman, that she instantly produc­ed his arms, and he had no sooner got them, then he made his escape from the house, and concealed himself in some thick bushes at a small distance to wait the e­vent. He had not been long in this situation before he heard the trampling of a great number of horses, and by the light of their torches he discovered them to be a detachment of Turkish cavalry, who dismounted, went into the house, and in a few minutes returned, seem­ingly much disappointed. Socivizca observed their motions when they remounted and returned by the same road; at length, having narrowly watched that not one of them remained to lay wait for him, he ven­tured from his hiding place and made the best of his way to Imoschi.

This double persidy of the Probatim made such an impression upon his mind that it was never out of his thoughts, nor was he easy till he had taken a most am­ple and cruel revenge. As soon as he could get toge­ther seven companions on whom he could rely for their resolution, insensibility, and attachment, he pro­posed to them his horrid expedition, which was to set fire to the house in the dead of night. This they effect­ed so secretly and suddenly, that the cottage which was [Page 12] built with wood and thatch was in flames before any of the family perceived it, except one woman, who endea­vouring to make her escape by the door, was shot thro the head. Seventeen persons fell a victim to his savage vengeance; and the Turks represented this barbarous transaction in such strong terms, in a memorial against him, addressed to the Governor General of Dalmatia, that he issued a decree ordering the house of Socivizca to be razed level with the ground, and setting a price upon his head, by offering twenty sequins to any person who should kill him, and forty to those who should take him alive. Before this decree appeared, he had with­drawn himself from Imoschi, and secreted himself un­der different disguises, in various places, without en­joying one hour of tranquility, from the constant exer­tion of his mind, to find means of avoiding a surprise.

Being at the fair of Sign, in August 1754, the year in which he had burnt the family of the Probatim, he narrowly escaped the pursuit of a party of Croats, who were out in search of him, and therefore finding he was no longer safe in any part of the Venetian territories▪ he wrote privately to one of his confidential friends to send his wife and family, with his effects, after him to Carlowitz, near the river Zermanga, as soon as they could securely quit the retreat in which they lay con­cealed. Thither he travelled on foot, with all possible expedition, and not long after his family arrived with all his effects, which were considerable. His household consisted of himself, his two remaining brothers, his wife, a son and two daughters. This place being so sit­uated [Page 13] that he had no opportunity to pursue his savage vengeance against the Mahometans; his manners were insensibly softened, he lived a peaceable life for three years, and might have been totally reformed if a certain person in authority in that country had not been tempted from motives of avarice to deliver him and his brothers into the hands of the Turks. It is said, he afterwards paid dear for his perfidy; but be this as it may, poor So­civizca and his two brothers were sent to a fort beyond the Udbina, on the frontiers of the territories of Aus­tria, Venice, and Turkey, from whence they were es­corted by a detachment of one hundred Turkish hors [...] to the Bashaw of Traunick, the same who had put the fourth brother to death a few years before. After they had lain in prison some time, sinking under the weight of double irons, and strictly guarded night and day: the alternative was proposed to them, either to turn Ma­hometans, or to be impaled. It may well be imagined they prefered the milder operation of circumcision; and at the same time it shows the force of Turkish su­perstition, which beats down the fence of justice: for Socivizca was publickly known to be the mortal foe of their race; and had massacred many of their brethren. Socivizca upon this occasion took the name of Ibrahim, but he did not thereby regain his liberty: his two broth­ers indeed were released, and one of them had the post of Aga bestowed upon him; but this did not prevent them from taking the first fair opportunity to fly from the Turkish dominions. The Bashaw enraged at this step ordered the new Ibrahim to be more closely con­fined; that the indulgence lately granted to him should [Page 14] be withdrawn, and notwithstanding his pretended zeal for the Mahometan faith, that the guards should never lose sight of him.

Perceiving at length, that all his religious adora­tions, his affected docility, and exemplary patience did not advance his deliverance; his fruitful imagination furnished him another stratagem. His only relief from the horror of his fate was to converse with his guards, whom he one day addressed in the following terms. "My condemnation to perpetual captivity I could bear with fortitude; I have been guilty of crimes which de­serve this punishment; but I regret the quantity of money I have been obliged to bury under ground, while the hand of justice pursued me from place to place: considerable sums are likewise owing to me from my former neighbors and friends. The Bashaw cannot de­mand the one, nor find the other, but if he would per­mit me to demand my dues in person, or to find the money I have concealed, it should be his; and I should be happy to regain his favor by these presents, and to be restored to the privileges' I enjoyed before my bro­thers incurred his displeasure by their escape."

The substance of this speech was carried to the Ba­shaw; avarice, the ruling passion of the Turks, prevail­ed over every other consideration, and an order soon came to the goaler, to perm [...]t Ibrahim to leave the prison, escorted by ten of the guard [...], & to give them directions to conduct him to every spot where he should indicate that he had concealed any treasure.

Restored by this artful device to the liberty of [Page 15] breathing the free air, his subtlety furnished him with various pretences to amuse the guards for upwards of a month; sometimes he directed them to pursue one route to arrive at a cavern in which he had concealed a con­siderable sum, at others, he declared he had mistaken the place, and finally, at SIGN, being confronted by several persons whom he called his debtors to a large amount, but who solemnly and juridically protested they did not owe him a single sequin, the guards to punish him loaded him with heavy irons and confined him in an obscure apartment, placing two sentinels at the door night and day, till they had reposed themselves sufficiently after the fatigue of travelling, and had pro­cured depositions in form of the falsity of his pretensions to give to the Bashaw. By way of revenge, they found means to send for his wife and his two children, a boy and a girl, from the county of Zara, pretending that he was at full liberty, and had ordered them to repair to him, but as soon as they arrived, they took them into custody.

This was an unexpected aggravation of his misfor­tunes, but it did not conquer his fortitude, nor check the fertility of his genius, ever meditating the means of escape. On the 26th of November, 1758, Socivizca and his family were carried before the Effendi by his guards, in order to receive instructions for reconducting him to Traunick; his wife was ordered to kiss the hand of the officer as a token of obedience; he suffered her and his daughter to submit to this ceremony, but when they ordered his son to do the same▪ he called to him in [Page 16] a furious tone—"Stand off! and do not offer to kiss the hand of that dog." The Turks were struck dumb with surprise, and the Effendi admiring his greatness of soul made an apology to him, expressing regret that his people had urged the compliance with this ceremo­ny, only as a matter of custom. One of the spectators showing a forwardness to seize him, in order to tie him on the horse he was to ride, he shook his chains in a terrible manner, and bid him keep his distance, adding these words, in the same furious tone: "Soul of a dog, think'st thou, that I am a woman to be held by the hand!" and then notwithstanding the weight of his chains, he mounted his ho [...]se without assistance, and would not suffer any [...]ubaltern to tie him on, obliging the Effendi himself to perform this office, to whom he submitted quietly. His wife and children were obliged to follow upon other horses.

The inhabitants of Sign, affected at this melancholy cavalcade, in compassion for his wife and children, made a collection for him, and these charitable contri­butions he turned to more advantage than a rich booty so dexterous was he in resources. The liberality of Soci­vizca soon became the theme of praise with his guards, for most of the money given to him for his support he spent in regaling them with brandy, till they got drunk by drinking bumpers to his health. As soon as they had passed the frontiers of the Venetian territories, Soci­vizca complained of the extreme cold, upon which they covered him with a long Turkish cloak called a habanizca, and his wife having secretly conveyed to [Page 17] him a knife sometime before; he took an opportunity under this concealment, to cut the rope with which he was tied upon the horse, first in two, and afterwards by degrees into small bits which he dropped from time to time unperceived upon the road. About sun set they arrived at the tower of Prologh, not far from Bilibrigh, where is a station of Turkish cavalry. Here a dispute arose, if they should proceed farther, or stop; and it was decided by the majority to go on. At the distance of about two hundred yards beyond the tower of Pro­logh the road on one side, passes along the edge of a very steep descent; at this part of it Socivizca slid from the horse, and took the chance of rolling down the declivity, till he caught hold of the branch of a tree, which stopped him, and behind this tree he sheltered himself. The snow lay upon the ground, which at oth­er times is a fine valley lined with fruit trees. As soon as the guard nearest the horse missed his prisoner, he imparted it to his companions, who were stupified with astonishment, and not suspecting that he had stop­ped, they seperated and galloped on in pursuit of him. Night now came on, and a heavy fall of snow, and when Socivizca thought it was so dark that objects could not be any longer distinguished, he traversed the mountains and woods, continuing his journey all night to regain the Venetian frontiers. He was frequently obliged to climb up into trees to avoid the fury of wild beasts, but the weight of his chains generally brought him to the ground, and probably nothing but the rat­tling of them preserved him from being devoured. At [Page 18] length however he reached Morlachia in safety; his countrymen released him from his chains, made great rejoicings upon the occasion, and composed songs in their language to be sung in honor of their hero.

He told the emperor, that at this period of his life he had resolved to support himself and family by the la­bor of his hands in a private retreat, and not to commit any more depredations on the Turks; if he could have prevailed on the Bashaw of Traunick to restore to him his wife and son; as for his daughter she had been com­pelled to embrace the Mahometan religion, and was well maried to a rich Turk, who said it was a pity such fine blood should be contaminated by a Morlachian con­tract. But the Bashaw deaf to all his intreaties, and en­raged by disappointment, would not answer the letters he wrote him, in which he [...]emonstrated, that he had only followed the common law of nature in using every stratagem to recover that first of blessings, liberty. In­stead of restoring his wife and son, he sent an embassy to the Margrave Contarini, Govenor General of Vene­tian Dalmatia, requiring him by the law of nations to find him out, to seize him, and to send him to him. The Margrave who understood politicks better than the Ba­shaw, replied, that having once got him into their hands, within their own dominions, they should have taken care to prevent his escape; and that an attempt to make him compensate for their negligence was a manifest af­front: in short, he dismissed the envoys with contempt.

As for Socivizca, finding all his endeavors to recov­er his wife and son by fair means were fruitless, he re­solved [Page 19] to resume his former occupation and to avenge himself on the Bashaw's subjects. For this purpose he put himself at the head of twenty five select compan­ions, all of them intrepid, and in the vigor of youth: with this chosen band he took the road for Serraglio, the first Turkish town beyond the Venetian frontiers; for he had the prudence not to commit any act of vio­lence within the jurisdiction of the Venetian state, that he might not make that government responsible for his depredations.

In a few days he met with a Turkish caravan, con­sisting of one hundred horses laden with merchandise, and escorted by seventy men. The Turks seeing him accompanied by so strong a band, though they were so much superior, dreaded him to such a degree, that they fled with the utmost precipitation, and only one Jew merchant lost his life, in defence of his valuable effects. This audacious robbery alarmed the whole Ottoman empire. Parties were sent out against him from all quar­ters, he was sought for in the mountains and in the val­lies, every field and almost every bush was beat, as if they had been in chase of a wild boar; but this was all mockery to disguise their cowardice, for while all these parties were making such strict researches, he and his companions appeared at noon day in their villages, and supplied themselves with provisions in the markets of their towns. He generally lodged his booty at a con­vent of Caloyers, an order of friars of the Greek church, who make a vow of rigid abstinence, but whose relig­ion does not prevent them from harboring the Aiduzee (highwaymen) of the country, and sharing their plunder. [Page 20] The guardian of one of these convents situated at Drago­vich, seven miles beyond the springs of Cettina, was his particular friend, and here he often retired, sepera­ting himself from his companions for many months, so that the Turks often thought he was dead; while he was only waiting for an opportunity to fall upon them, and to exterminate as many of their race as possible. At length, his robberies and massacres became insupporta­ble to the Ottomans, and occasioned great inconven­iences to the Venetian state; for they were the con­stant source of quarrels between the inhabitants of the frontiers of the two powers, so that it became the in­terest of the latter to seize him; therefore upon every new complaint of the Turks, the government of Dal­matia increased the reward offered to take him, dead or alive.

Socivizca was not insensible of the great danger he was in of being seized by open force, or betrayed by some false friend for the sake of the price set on his head, yet such is the force of habit, that nothing could deter him from continuing his depredations on the Turks, In the course of the year 1760, a certain Turk whose name was Acia Smaich, a very formidable man in the opinion of his countrymen, and in his own ideas a great hero, boasted in all companies that Socivizca durst not encounter him in single combat. It happened however that this man and one of his brothers escorted, in company with eight others, a rich caravan which passed through a village near Glamoz in the Ottoman territories, where Socivizca and six of his comrades lay [Page 21] concealed waiting for an opportunity to exerc [...]se their valor and to gain some considerable booty. By their spies they easily got intelligence who was at the head of the escort, and Socivizca who was not of a temper to put up with the insolence of Smaich, went out to meet the caravan; and as soon as he approached it, pub­lickly called upon the Turk to defend himself. Smaich advancing, instantly fired from his carabine at Sociviz­ca, and aimed so well that the ball struck the upper part of his forehead, fortunately for him he had turned his head, to see that the enemy did not surround him while he was engaged with his adversary, and in this position, the ball passed obliquely and only gave him a slight wound; but it rendered him desperate, and with amaz­ing rapidity he fired one ball which entered the barrel of Smaich's carabine, and a second which shot him thro the head, and killed him on the spot. His companions instantly fled, but five of them were overtaken in the pursuit and put to death by Socivizca's comrades.

After they had plundered the caravan and divided the spoils, they disguised themselves and took different roads, the better to avoid the researches of the Turks, who generally go in search of troops of robbers, and pay little or no attention to single persons on the road. For some time after this event, Socivizca lived so retir­ed and quiet, that it was generally believed he was dead; but when it was least expected, he suddenly ap­peared at the head of a formidable banditti, consisting of twenty five stout young men, with whom he march­ed to attack a very considerable caravan that was go­ing [Page 22] from Ragusa into Turkey with a prodigious quan­ti [...]y of visclini, a silver coin of base alloy, worth about four pence of our money. At the first onset, they killed seventeen of the Turks and took three prisoners; which so terrified the rest of the guards, that they fled with the utmost precipitation and left him in quiet possession of the treasure. Socivizca was no sooner arrived at a neighboring wood, than he ordered two of his prison­ers to be impaled alive, and assigned to the third, the dreadful office of turning the stake which was passed thro their bodies before a slow fire; his companions ad­vised him to put the third to death, but instead of this when the two victims were half roasted, he ordered their heads to be cut off, which he delivered to the surviv­ing prisoner with this commission: "Carry these to the Bashaw of Traunick, and tell him from me, that if he does not release my wife and children without delay, I will serve every Turk who falls into my hands in the same manner; and, that God only knows what exces­sive pleasure it would give me to roast the Bashaw him­self."

The melancholy ambassador no sooner arrived at Traunick and made known the unhappy fate of his countrymen, than all the [...]nhabitants vowed revenge, and rivalled each other in their eagerness to arm and go in pursuit of Socivizca. Several strong parties of foot and horse took different routes to traverse the mountains, woods, and vallies in search of this desperate enemy. Upon this occasion they were so exasperated, that they resolved to quit every other employment, and to think [Page 23] of nothing else but the extirmination of Socivizca and his band; and they were very near succeeding, for not expecting so much celerity on the part of the Turks, they were surprised in a wood, and obliged to maintain a flying skirmish, in which five of his comrades were wounded and and one killed, whose brother cut off his head, that the Turks might not have it to expose upon a gibbet: The Turks pursued them almost to Mitco [...]ick in the Primorie, and in this place, belonging to the Vene­tians, they took refuge. Escaped from this eminent danger, Socivizca once more seperated himself from his companions, and to avoid the consequences of such a general pursuit, he retired for several months and concealed himself in the most dismal caverns in the sides of mountains, or in woods that were seldom pen­etrated by any human foot-step; here he endured hun­ger, fatigue, and all the horrors of solitude, venturing forth but seldom for food, from the apprehension of being traced to his retreats.

In the mean time the Bashaw of Traunick was re­called to Constantinople, to answer to accusations of ty­ranny in his government, and a design to pillage the province af Mostar: Socivizca had always foretold this event, and that whenever it happened, the festivity and disorder which is occasioned by the arrival of a new Ba­shaw, would afford a favorable opportunity for his wife and children to escape. After a great many fruitless at­tempts to accomplish this grand point, he fell upon a stratagem which succeeded. A comrade who had found him out, and informed him of the revolution at Trau­nick, [Page 24] agreed to be dressed in the habit of the Calac [...]e, persons who have an exclusive privilege from the Grand Signor to sell silks and other merchandise, in the nature of travelling pedlars, throughout all Turkey. Having collected four more of his troop, he sent this man to Traunick, and with the others he arrived by another road within four miles of that city, and there waited the issue of the enterprise. We know not how it hap­pened, but his four companions had one day left him alone, when three of the Turkish cavalry accosted him, who strongly suspected he was an Aiduco, but little imagined he was Socivizca. Finding no excuse to evade this, he thought the only way of removing their suspi­cion was to offer to go with them to the city of Prusack, which was at no great distance; many people in that place knew him personally, and he would not have made this offer, if he had not imagined that their doubts concerning him would have ceased, and that they would have left him, for it was hardly possible to conceive that any notorious robber would make such an offer.

Contrary to his expectations the Turks replied, Well then, we will, go with you: accordingly they set out▪ when they arrived on the banks of a river, the soldie [...] dismounted to water their horses, Socivizca drew hi [...] sabre unperceived, and in a moment severed the hea [...] of one of them from his shoulders, the second turning round-upon his companion's falling at his feet, met with the same fate, & the third, like a poor bird, who sees th [...] hawk ready to pounce upon him, was struck motionles [...] ▪ he had not the power to mount his horse, or to attemp [...] his escape on foot: this man he, took aside into a [Page 25] wood, and after he had drawn from him all the infor­mation he could procure concerning the number and disposition of the troops that were in search of him, he sacrificed him also to the savage resentment he harbour­ed against all the Ottoman race. His four comrades found him employed in this dreadful manner, and with them he returned to the village wh [...]e he was to wait for his emissary to Traunick. The pretended pedlar, went about that city [...]ending his silks for some days, till at last he met the wife of Socivizca, and imparted to her his secret design. Overjoyed to find her husband was so near, she determined to join him if possible, and she would have brought off her daughter, but she enjoyed so much pleasure in the arms of her husband, that she would only consent to facilitate the escape of her mother and brother. In the dusk of the evening they followed the pedlar, as if they were bargaining for some of his goods, and walking gently out of the gates, as if intending to return, they stole out without notice, and got clear off. The joy of Socivizca at their meeting, could only be restrained by the sense of their immediate danger, and therefore as soon as the first embraces were over, he and his companions escorted his wife and his son to Draco­vick, the usual place of refuge for them, and he desired the Cal [...]yer, his confidential friend to teach the boy to read and write.

When it was known in Traunick that the wife and son of Socivizca were not to be found, after the stric­test search, the inhabitants were in as much consterna­tion as if their city had been besieged: fear was on ev­ery [Page 26] countenance, for the name of Socivizca was become so formidable to the Turks, that instead of terrifying their children with the appearance of ghosts; they had only to name Socivizca to make them shudder, and as the sum of all punishment; not doubting that he himself had conducted this bold enterprise; they intreat­ed the new Bashaw to make the strongest remon­strances to the governor of Dalmatia, declaring that they could not sleep in tranquillity, unless his excel­lency would cause him to be seized and put to death. The Turkish envoys positively maintained that he resid­ed in Dalmatia, and the Venetian governor as obstinate­ly insisted that he durst not remain a single day within any part of his juridiction, which was the fact, and therefore the disputes about him occasioned jealousies between the two powers without producing any effect.

About the latter end of the year 1764, Socivizca found himself deprived of most of his comrades, some being carried off by the plague which raged with great violence in the territory of Sign, and others, amongst whom were the most desperate, being taken and execu­ted for robberies in the Venetian dominions. Thus circumstanced, he could not undertake any cosiderable enterprise, for which reason he retired to the Austrian frontiers near the river Zermagna, and his name was not heard of again for some years, insomuch that the Turks had entirely forgot him, imagining he was either dead, or had taken refuge in some very remote part of the world. However, he was not quite idle all this time, for under the name and disguise of a chief [Page 27] of another banditti who died, he assisted in some attacks on small caravans, and collected a little booty, just sufficient for the support of his own family. But in the year 1769, he appeared publicly again; having picked up eight associates of determined valour, they attacked and pillaged larger caravans with success, and once more spread an alarm throughout the Turkish ter­ritories. Innumerable and almost incredible stories are related of his intrepidity and dexterity about this time, in his encounters with large bodies of the Turkish horse sent out to scower the country in search of him. At one time, perceiving a party of twenty five, ap­proaching, he ordered his comrades to conceal them­selves behind some trees, and to place their caps in such a manner in others near, that they should appear to be upon the heads of men; by this stratagem he doubled the number of his little corps, and confounded the ene­my, for having fired at the caps which all fell down, and yet still receiving a warm discharge of shot from another quarter, they thought there was some magic in it, and were struck with such a panic that they fled with the utmost precipitation. Another party consist­ing of forty, coming upon him by surprise in a wood near the banks of a river, his companions had just time to escape by flight, and while the Turks were pointing their musquetry at them, he darted into the river and lay concealed under the water, in the hollow of a bank. The astonished Turks thought it impossi­ble he could escape them, and at last fatigued with fruitless search, they gave him to the devil with whom [Page 28] they were certain he was in league, otherwise he could not have rendered himself almost instantaneously invis­ible.

At length he began to grow tired of the wretched kind of life he led, and resolved to employ the money he had saved in purchasing [...]ome little post for the re­mainder of his days; but his design was frustrated by a cruel misfortune. The Caloyer, his confessor, with whom he had deposited five hundred sequins and some valuable jewels, the principal fruit of his robberies, ran away with them and was never heard of more; and to complete his misery, while he was gone as far as the Danube in pursuit of him on false intelligence, one of his cousins from Imoschi came to pay him a visit, and availing himself of his absence, stripped the house of his clothes and linen. These events happened in the beginning of the year 1775, and the bitter complaints he made of the perfidy of these two thieves, showed that he was abandoning himself to dispair, when by one of those unaccountable vicissitudes for which the lives of some men are remarkable, chance brought the pre­sent emperor of Germany to the village where he resid­ed; it lay in the route of his memorable travels under▪ the title of Count Falkerstein; and the fame, such as it was, of this bold man having reached Vienna many years before, his majesty sent for him, that he might be entertained with his adventures from his own mouth. The emperor perceived that the man was born with tal­lents for military enterprises, and the command of ar­mies; that in all probability if he had been civilized by [Page 29] education he would have made a great figure in the world; and after a strict scrutiny, finding that he had limited his assassinations and robberies to the Turks alone, from whom he had experienced every injury almost from his birth, he generously provided him a secure protection from the fury of his enemies, & com­fortable subsistence for life, by appointing him to be Arambassa, or chief of a company of Pandours. Hi [...] residence is at the borough of Grazact in Austria, about forty miles from K [...]in. He is now in the sixty-third year of his age, and has all the appearance of living to a great age. He is of the middle stature, long visaged, with a lively blue eyes, but his countenance is fierce, and his demeanour savage.

THE REFINED LOVERS. A SPANISH TALE.

WHEN a lady happens to feel tender pre­possessions, in favor of a man very much inferior to her in point of rank and fortune, she may be allowed to make the first overtures to him, especially if she had reason to believe, from his behavior, that he feels pre­possessions of the same kind with her own, and that he is only prevented by a delicate consciousness of his inferiority, from making an avowal of his passion for her. In this situation, however, tho appearances may be very promising, a woman cannot be sure of disinter­estedness on the side of him who has made an impres­sion on her heart; she cannot be certain that his affec­tion [Page 30] is pure and unmixed with any mercenary consid­erations, without making some trial of it; without bringing it to the test. An artful woman is not, in general, an amiable character; but, in these supposed circumstances, no woman can be fairly blamed for the exertion of her address.

Olivetta, a rich heiress in one of the most fertile parts of Spain, lived upon the lands she inherited in a style which at once proved the grandeur of her senti­ments, and the delicacy of her taste; the strength of her understanding, and the goodness of her heart. In the various arrangements of her household, she discovered a considerable deal of judgment, happily steering be­tween the two extremes of parsimony and extrava­gance: and, while she exhibited a splendid appearance to the world, had not recourse to any domestic mean­nesses for the support of it. Her liberality was exten­sive; but it was ever under the guidance of discretion: the objects of her beneficence were numerous; but they were objects deserving of her compassion, before they tasted of her generosity.

It may be easily imagined that such a woman, unmar­ried, had a train of admirers. Olivetta's admirers were innumerable, and many of them were in a situation to justify their pretentions to an alliance with her; but, as she had discernment enough to see that the majority of them only wanted to increase their consequence by the addition of her fortune, she very prudently declin­ed coming to any serious conversation with them.

Among those who wished to be united to Olivetta, [Page 31] there was one, however, whom she particularly distin­guished from the rest, and whom she felt emotions, of which she had not, before he came in her way, been sensible. With nothing to recommend himself to her first notice but an agreeable person, and a genteel de­portment, he drew her attention: by his modest and respectful behavior afterwards he became of so much importance in her eyes, that she could not help secretly wishing he was in a situation to throw himself into the line of her opulent lovers; a line which he avoided with a decency which heightened the favora­ble opinion she had entertained of him.

Julio, the timid, silent, sincere lover of Olivetta, was by birth a gentleman, but the sport of fortune. His parents, having met with a series of bitter disap­pointments sunk at last under the oppressive load of them, and left him to struggle with an income just suffi­cient for a decent subsistance: an income by no means equal to what he had reason to expect in his early days, to the education which his father bestowed upon him when he was in a flourishing state, and had no presenti­ment of the change he was destined to feel in his cir­cumstances. With that income, however, he made himself, by dint of oeconomy, fit to mix with the best company. His figure, his conversation, and his man­ners, were extremely engaging, and he was as much praised as pitied by all who new him. Every body said, that he deserved to be placed in a very different sphere, but nobody offered to promote his advancement to it. A man cramped in his affairs by the mere ca­price [Page 32] of fortune, without having done any thing to me­rit his adversity, may derive some pleasure, indeed, from the good wishes of his friends; but if those who declare themselves to be his friends are not active in his service, if they take no steps to remove the distress [...] which excite their compassion, he is under very slight obligations to them. Julio could not but be pained by the inactivity of his friends, yet he was cheerful; and moved in his small circle uncomplaining, unrepining with a dignity which threw a lustre upon his character, and shamed many illustrious personages who looked down upon him with the cold eye of commiseration.

This was the man whom Olivetta beheld in the most favorable light, and whom she thought worthy of that affluence which she herself enjoyed. At first she viewed him with a kind of reverence, so much was she struck with the philosophic part of his character: Venera­tion was soon followed by esteem, & esteem in a short time ripened into love. Such was the succession of feelings in Olivetta's bosom, and the last gave no small distur­bance to her gentle breast. Many were the tender lines which she remembered from the soft pages of the most elegant Spanish poets, lines of which she had not till then felt the full—the more than poetic force. She blushed whenever she thought of her loving a man in a station so much beneath her. Not because she deem­ed Julio undeserving of her sincerest affection, but be­cause she clearly perceived that he would not venture to offer himself to her for a husband, and that she could not of course hope to be united to him in the manner [Page 33] she wished, without deviating from the decorum which she could not bring herself to violate.

While she was sitting one day in this painful, per­plexing situation, in a pensive attitude, over one of her favorite poets, a young lady, for whom she had a great regard, who lived with her as a companion, endeavored to divert her melancholy, by some sprightly reflections on the havock made between the two sexes by the belle passion: but poor Olivetta was too much under the in­fluence of that passion to be amused with her compan­ion's vivacity. She only, sighing, replied, that those were, in her opinion, the unhappiest of human beings, who were denied the satisfaction of a marriage agreea­ble to their inclinations.

[...]Francisca, who knew as well what passed in Olivet­ta's heart at that moment as she did herself, told her, that, "if she was in her place, she would marry the man she liked, however inferior he might be to her, if he was not unworthy of her, if she could be assured of his loving her, without any lucrative views in re­turn."

"Would you have me condescend to make the first advances to a man?"

"The first advances from a woman to a man, replied Francisca, are not, I confess, in general, to be defended; but, circumstanced as you are, a few female delicacies may, I think, be dispensed with. You love Julio—nay, you need not be ashamed of loving him—I am sure he is necessary to your happiness. He is very much your inferior, I grant, with respect to rank and for­tune, [Page 34] but he is a gentleman by birth and education, and intrinsically superior to all his richer competitors. From the modesty of his behavior, in consequence, no doubt, of his elevated sentiments, I will presume to say, that he will never speak first upon the subject."

"Then I am doomed to be miserable," exclaimed Olivetta, hastily interrupting her, rising, and walking across her chamber inexpressibly agitated.

"Perhaps not, answered Francisca, your amiable lover, thro his extreme diffidence, a diffidence which enhances his merit, prevents him from disclosing the sensations which wound his peace on your account, may be drawn into the very declaration you wish to extract from him, I do not pretend to put myself upon a foot­ing with you in any shape; yet I fancy, I can point out a way to you, by which you may arrive at the summit of your desires, without being reduced to any indelicate measures."

Olivetta, after having listened very attentively to her concluding words, earnestly entreated her to pro­ceed with the greatest freedom and unreservedness.

Francisca obeyed, proceeded, and gave Olivetta so much pleasure by her communications, that she resolved to avail herself of her advise without delay.

While Olivetta and Francisca were engaged in this manner, Julio, unable to remain in a place where he was perpetually beholding the woman whom he loved to distraction, but with whom he dared not to expect an alliance, determined to remove himself to a distant part of the country, and endeavor, by absence, to cure the [Page 35] wounds which love had inflicted on his heart. It was not, however, till after the severest conflict which he had ever endured, that he resolved to take a step so lit­tle likely to produce the intended effect.

When he had packed up the few moveables in his possession, he repaired to Olivetta's magnificent man­sion, in order to pay his grateful acknowledgements for all the civilities he had received from her, and to bid his eyes "take their last farewell."

The reception which he met with from the "god­dess of his idolatay," would have probably encouraged any other man to tell his "fond tale;" but he, from the extreme refinement of his ideas, was silent upon the sub­ject in which he was most interested, and only announ­ced his departure, after having poured out his most grateful effusions. During the delivery of those effusions, O [...]vetta's cheeks were alternately pale and red, and the concluding words affected her in such a manner, that she was almost on the point of fainting away. Recover­ing herself, however, in a few moments, she took a dia­mond ring, of considerable value, from her finger, and presented it to him, with the following speech.

"Having longer entertained a high opinion of your merit, sir, I have long wished to reward it; and if I should happily have it in my power to be of service to you, I shall certainly prove myself your friend. In the mean time, I beg you to accept this trifle (presenting the ring to him) as a small token of my regard; and let me be acquainted with your route, if you are abso­lutely determined to leave this place, that I may know [Page 36] whither to dispatch a messenger, should I hear of any thing to your advantage."

If Julio had observed Olivetta's looks, while she delivered the above speech, with the penetrating eyes of a truly touched inamorato, he would have derived the highest satisfaction from them, as they forcibly as­sured him, as forcible as a thousand words could have done▪ that she earnestly wished to reward him person­ally for the merit which had won her heart, and that she wished, with the utmost impatience, for his making the first overtures, to save her from the indelicacy of having recourse to a still plainer mode of utterance for the consumation of her desires: her chaste desires: for she loved Julio with an affection of the purest kind; loved him more for his internal worth than for his ex­ternal accomplishments.

Julio, overwhelmed at once with gratitude, love, and delicacy, was unable to return an answer to the most friendly expressions with which the brilliant dona­tion was accompanied.

It is an old saying, and a pretty true one, that a man sincerely in love is very apt to look like a fool in the presence of his mistress. It is not quite clear that Julio's appearance would have been silly before a wom­an to whom he might have had, as he thought, preten­tions, without being guilty of impertinence or pre­sumption; but Olivetta's superiority operated upon him in such a manner, that all the encouragement she gave him to disclose his tender sensations, was insuffi­ficient to remove the obstructions which delicacy threw [Page 37] in his way. After much hesitation, and many strong marks of irresolution in his whole behavior, he murmured out something very grateful, but very aukwardly pro­nounced, and retired.

It is not easy to describe what Olivetta suffered, when her timid lover had taken his leave. Ordering her attendant to withdraw, she thus unbosomed herself to her faithful companion,

"The behavior of this amiable man, my dear Fran­cisca, is not to be endured. I have gone as far as I can with propriety, to make him see that his addresses to me would be favorably received; but to no purpose. You are continually assuring me, that he loves me as much as I love him. Would he not then, encouraged as he has been, make a declaration? Besides, how can you reconcile his intended departure from this place for ever—these were his words, Francisca, with the vi­olence of his attachment to me?"

"The violence of his attachment, replied Francisca smiling, is the cause of his departure. If he was quite indifferent about you, he would not, I imagine, have thought of it. His diffidence, his delicacy—call it what you will, prevents him from revealing the secret he longs to discover, (you cannot yourself long more to have the disclosure of it;)—and he is therefore resolved to fly from a spot which is become so distressing to him."

"You are right, I believe, my dear; but what can I do? how can I act? I cannot say directly to him, "I love!" and he will not, you perceive, give me a decent opportunity to tell him so."

[Page 38]"You are two of the most refined lovers in Spain; but, were I in your situation, I would—

Here Francisca was interrupted by the arrival of a letter to Olivetta, who, upon breaking it open and see­ing the name of Julio at the bottom of the page, read it with her spirits more fluttered than she had before ever felt them.

"The unfortunate Julio, unable to express his grat­titude in the terms he wished, when he received the generous Olivetta's valuable present accompanied with assurances of a very flattering kind, cannot help embracing this opportunity, before his departure, to in­form her, that her noble behavior has strengthened his resolution never to return. The recollection of her promised friendship will afford him, wherever he goes, as much consolation as he can possibly enjoy, while he feels himself in a situation which forbids him to expect an alliance with the only woman in the world whom he can ever love. From the presence of her, he flies into a voluntary exile, because he cannot bear the sight of that beauty for which he ardently long [...], but dares not hope to call his own. May she never endure the pangs of love, sharpened by despair."

The perusal of this letter occasioned a variety of mixed emotions in the fluttered bosom of Olivetta, but the pleasing ones were predominant. Supposing that she might now venture to reward the merit which had long engrossed her attention, she dispatched a note to her despairing l [...]ver, sufficiently animating, she imagin­ed, [Page 39] not only to make him give up all thoughts of ban­ishment, but to bring him in haste to her presence.

Having sent it away by a trusty and active messenger, she waited for his coming back with a restlessness much more easily to be conceived than communicated.

The messenger, hearing that Julio had set out from his appartment some hours before his arrival, made all the enquiries in his power concerning the road he had taken; but, not being able to gain the least intelligence about it, returned with his dispatches.

Olivetta, on the return of her domestic, was inex­pressibly disappointed, discontented, and distressed; and while she regretted the loss of the only man who had kindled the flame of love, in her breast, reproached her­self severely for that refinement which, by driving him into exile, had deprived her of the exquisite pleasure she had promised herself from the contents of her answer to his desponding epistle.

Day succeeded day, week followed week, moons per­formed their revolutions, and no Julio appeared. At last, her pain on his account increasing, and her patience being quite exhausted, Olivetta, dead to all enjoyments of the world, resolved to seclude herself from it; to spend the remainder of her melancholy days in a con­vent. Having made over the greatest part of her for­tune to Francisca, she proceeded to carry her monasti [...] designs into execution.

When she arrived within sight of her retreat, the very man for whose sake she was going to bury herself alive, Julio, surprised her with his appearance. The [Page 40] moment he saw her, he advanced with an uncommon agility towards her; perceiving on a nearer approach, that she looked like the picture of death, he started, and could hardly believe his eyes.

Olivetta, while her lover was advancing to her, had fainted away in the arms of her attendants. As soon as she recovered, he inquired with the greatest anxiety into the cause of the melancholy alteration in her looks. On her acquainting him with her sufferings on his ac­count, and with her conventual intentions, in conse­quence of them, he rapturously told her that it was in his power, by the decease of an opulent relation, to reinstate her in her former stile of life; and that, if she would consent to share his unexpected acquisition with him, he should deem himself the happiest being in the uni­verse.

Olivetta was charmed with a behavior which left her no room to question the sincerity of her Julio's at­tachment to her; but threw out a few difficulties, origi­na [...]ing from a new species of delicacy. These difficul­ties were, however, soon surmounted, and the union of their hearts was cemented by the union of their hands.

STORY OF ARISTOCLEA FROM PLUTARCH.

ARISTOCLEA, the daughter of Theophanes was celebrated all over Greece for her virtues, her beauty, and her accomplishments. Merit, so conspicu­ous as hers, could not but attract the regard of the Gre­cian [Page 41] youth, ever susceptible of the finest emotions of love. Among the rest of her admirers, Strato and Cal­listhenes were so happy as to obtain peculiar marks of distinction.

Strato had all the recommendations which wealth and power can bestow, & to do him justi [...]e, was not en­tirely destitute of personal merit. The only objection, which could with the appearance of reason be made to him, was, that he was considerably advanced beyond that period which is called the flower of youth; an ob­jection which commonly has great weight in a female heart.

Callisthenes yielded to Strato in fortune, interest, and family: but his person was more engaging, his man­ners more polite, and his acquirements more agreeable. There was a peculiar modesty in his address, which probably might be encreased by a consciousness of the smallness of his fortune: but this circumstance tended to promote his interest; for however it depressed his spirit, it taught him that submissive softness, which makes him appear amiable in the eyes of Aristoclea.

Strato, it must be confessed, was the more ardent lover, and his passion had been enflamed by an acciden­tal sight of his fair charmer while she was bathing, one summer morning, in a little rivulet that glided thro her father's garden.

Callisthenes, perhaps in reality, felt as strong a pas­sion as his rival, yet was he less assiduous in his address­es, from despair of succeeding against a competitor so much his superior in rank and fortune.

[Page 42]Theophanes, the father of Aristoclea, was much embarrassed by the importunities of the two lovers, but would gladly have given his consent to him whose pos­sessions were the largest, had he not been cautious of interfering in the choice of his daughter. After many delays, it was at last agreed, on all sides, to refer the af­fair to a neighbor of great wisdom and experience, by whose decision it was resolved to abide.

In the mean time, Strato was informed by a confi­dent of Aristoclea, whom he had bribed with liberal presents, that he possessed the first place in the affec­tions of his mistress. Animated with this intelligence, he determined to break off the agreement of referring the affair to a stranger, and to leave it to be decided by the most proper judge, Aristoclea herself. Callisthe­nes readily acceded to the proposal, from a conviction, that if he stood any chance; it could be only from the decision of the fair object of his love. The father, who had previously been assured by Strato, that his daughter had shown him a preference, entered without hesitation into the agreement, and appointed an early day for the final determination.

During this uneasy interval, various were the emo­tions of the two lovers. Strato already anticipated his happiness, and wantoned in imagination on all the charms of his mistress. Callisthenes, on the contrary felt all the pain and anguish of suspended hope.

At length, the important hour arrived. Strato ap­proached to hear his doom with a smile of confidence; Callisthenes in all the dejection of despair. How sud­denly [Page 43] were their several emotions exchanged, when the lovely fair one declared in favor of the desponding Callisthenes! Strato, however, after many efforts, got the better of his amazement and chagrin, assumed an air of chearfulness, and besought the happy pair to grant him one request, which was to permit him to be present at the nuptial ceremony. A request so reasona­ble, none could deny; and amidst the congratulations of the whole company, the next day was fixed for com­pleting the union.

The next day arrived, and the lovely pair appeared adorned with all the charms of beauty, and the smiles of innocence and joy▪ S [...]rato seemed not the least hap­py on the occasion: but the scene was soon changed to melancholy and despair. On a sudden, at a signal given by Strato, a company of armed men rushed from an ambuscade, and seized the unhappy Callisthenes. Strato endeavored to run away with the lovely maid, but while she was struggling in his arms, she fainted away, and, in the violence of her agitation▪ fell lifeless to the ground. Callisthenes was never heard of more, and Strato concluded the catastrophe by plunging a dagger into his own breast, and falling on the body of the unfortunate Aristoclea.

OMAR, OR THE FOLLY OF ENVY. AN EAST­ERN TALE.

AS Omar of Basra was one day wandering along the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of merchandise which the shops offered to his view, and observing the different occupations which busied the multitudes on every side, he was awakened from the tranquility of meditation, by a croud that obstructed the passage. He raised his eyes and saw the chief Visier, who had returned from the Divan, and was entering his palace.

Omar mingled with the attendants, and being sup­posed to have some petition for the Visier, was permitted to enter. He surveyed the spaciousness of the apart­ments, admired the walls hung with golden tapestry, and the floors covered with silken carpets, and despised the simple neatness of his own little habitation. Surely, said he to himself, this palace is the seat of happiness, where pleasure succeeds to pleasure, and discontent and sorrow can have no admission. Whatever nature has provided for the delight of sense, is here spread forth to be enjoy­ed. What can mortal wish or imagine which the mas­ter of this palace has not obtained? The dishes of lux­ury cover his table, the voice of harmony lulls him in his bowers; he breathes the fragrance of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the downs of the cygnets of the Gange [...]. He speaks and his mandate is obeyed; he [Page 45] wishes, and his wish is gratified; all whom he sees obey him, and all whom he hears flatter him.

How different, Omar, is thy condition, who art doomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire, and who has no amusement in thy power that can withold thee from thy own conviction. They tell thee that thou art wise, but what does wisdom avail with poverty? None will flatter the poor, and the wise have very little power of flattering themselves. That man, is surely the most wretched of the sons of wretch­edness, who lives with his own faults and follies always before him, and who has none to reconcile him to him­self by praise and veneration. I have long sought con­tent, and have not found it; I will from this moment endeavor to be rich.

Full of his new resolution, he shuts himself in his chamber for six months, to deliberate how he should grow rich; he sometimes proposes to offer himself as a counsellor to one of the kings of India, and sometimes resolves to dig for diamonds in the mines of Colconda. One day, after some hours passed in violent fluctuation of opinion, sleep insensibly seized him in his chair. He dreamed that he was ranging a desart country in search of some one that might teach him to grow rich; and as he stood on the top of a hill shaded with cypres [...] ▪ in doubt whither to direct his steps, his father appeared on a sudden, standing before him; Omar, said the old man, I know thy perplexity, listen to thy father. Cast thine eyes on the opposite mountain, Omar looked, and saw a torrent tumbling down the rocks, roaring with [Page 46] the noise of thunder, and scattering its foam on the impending woods. Now, said his father, look upon the valley that lies between the hills. Omar looked, & espied a little well out of which issued a small rivulet. Tell me now, said his father, dost thou wish for sudden affluence, that may pour upon thee like the mountain torrent, or for a slow and gradual increase, resembling the rill gliding from the well? Let me be quickly rich, said Omar, let the golden s [...]ream be quick and violent. Look round thee, said his father; once again Omar looked, and saw the channnel of the torrent dry and dusty. But, following the rivulet from the well, he traced it to a wide lake, which the supply, slow and constant, kept always full. He waked, and determined to grow rich by silent profits and persevering industry.

Having sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchan­dize, and in twenty years purchased lands on which he raised a house, equal in sumptuousness to that of the Visier's, to which he invited all the ministers of pleas­ure, expecting to enjoy all the felicity he had imagined riches able to afford. Leisure soon made him weary of himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great and happy. He was courteous and liberal, he gave all that approached him hopes of pleasing him, & all who should please him hopes of being rewarded. Ev­ery act of praise was tried, and every source of adula­tory fiction was exhausted. Omar heard his flatteries without delight, because he found himself unable to be­lieve them. His own heart told him his frailties. His own understanding reproached him with his faults. [Page 47] How long, said he, with a deep sigh, have I been labor­ing in vain to amass wealth, which at last is useless, let no man hereafter wish to be rich, who is already too wise to be flattered.

EDWIN AND ADELA. A TRAGIC STORY.

ADELA was the only daughter of a powerful baron of Aquitaine. Her father sprung from an illus­trious family, and added to hereditary honors, the glory of heroic atchievements. In his youth, he accompan­ied the flower of the European chivalry, who fought under the banner of Godfrey, and recovered the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidel. He returned to his country, crowned with victory, and fair renown; and inherited the rich domains of his ancestors. Adela was in the prime of beauty, and possessed a susceptible heart. In her air and aspect, dignity was mingled with sweetness: for in the disposition of her mind, conscious elevation of sentiment was softened by amiable and mild affections.

Edwin, a gallant youth, animated with the gener­ous love of arms, smit with the renown of Albert's prowess, and ambitious of profiting by the narrative of his exploits, repaired with other warriors to his hospi­table castle. His eye; keen and piercing, indicated a fiery, vigorous, and active spirit. His form was well fitted to kindle desire in the bosom of tender maids: and the heart of Adela was not insensible to his merit. [Page 48] Their passion was mutual. He gazed on her unaffected charms with astonishment; for, till then, he had never felt the tender anxiety, the restless longing and languish­ment of love. Ambition had been the governing pas­sion of his soul: but the fierceness of ambition now yielded to a softer, tho no less ardent desire. He no longer discoursed in keen rapture of marshalled hosts, of listed fields, and feats of venturous men; but lan­guished on the ineffable attractions of a roseate com­plexion, and tender melting eye. The vehement im­patience of the warrior was lost in the complacency and pensiven [...]ss of the lover.

Albert, perceiving this change in his deportment, demanded the cause, Edwin replied in candid and res­pectful guise; he told him, without reserve, of the im­pression made on his soul by the peerless beauty of Ade­la; and, with the temerity of youthful passion, be­sought him to ratify his sincere attachment by wedlock. "And who art thou, said the haughty baron, who pre­tendest to the love of Adela? What feats of heroic prowess hast thou atchieved? Or is thy ancestry dis­tinguished among the chieftains of the south? Thy shield is inscribed with no valorous atchievment: no [...] are thy deeds, nor the deeds of thy fathers, rehearsed by recording minstrels. Gain thee a name in arms, and then aspire to the envied alliance of the House of Al­bert" These words, like an arrow, penetrated the heart of Edwin. Love and ambition, hitherto at vari­ance, were now united, they concurred in the same pursuit, and their vehemence was irresistable. Accord­ingly [Page 49] the youthful warrior prepared for his departure, and took tender farewell of Adela. "Farewell, she replied (the tears gushing from her radiant eyes) heaven knows, no gallant youth but thee ever shared my affec­tions. May the holy angels, who regard true and vir­tuous love with esteem, grant thee protection! speedy be thy return! and O! remember me. Gay and courtly dames, skilled in seducement and cunning de­vice, may strive to allure thee; but their love will not equal mine." They plighted vows of mutual [...], and exchanged tokens of unshaken attachment▪ [...] Edwin, clad in complete armor, a gay undaunted war­rior, mounted a steed proudly caparisoned, and bent [...] course to the plains of Catalonia, where the Saracen waded in the blood of Spain.

Soon after his departure, Edgar, a proud and weal­thy chieftain, with a numerous retinue of knights and retainers, came to the castle of Albert. He was received with pomp and hospitable welcome. He cast amorous glances on the reserved, unrivaled charms of Adela. He prefered his courtship with studied smiles, and speeches devised with cunning. She heard him at first with in­difference; he persisted, and she requited him with con­tempt. He then addressed his suit to the baron: he boasted of the high renown of his ancestors, and the wide extent of his domain; he expatiated on the num­ber of his vassals; and insisted, in magnificent terms, on the mutual honor and security that would accrue from so seemly an alliance. Albert listened to him with par­tial and pleased attention; he repented of the hopes he [Page 50] had encouraged in the soul of Edwin; and endeavored to persuade his daughter to forget her attachment to that valiant youth. In vain the astonished Adela lamented, wept, entreated; in vain she threw herself at her father's feet, and tore her dishev [...]lled tresses, and in anguish smote her breast. Her opposition, instead of mitigating his rigor, irritated his resentment, and confirmed him in his ungenerous purpose. He mingled menaces and unkindly reproach with his persuasions: "By the holy rod, said he, with a fastidious and wrathful aspect, the honor of my house shall not be stained by the preten­sions of a low born boy. Degenerated as thou art, the meanness of thy sentiments shall not fully the splendor of thine ancestry, nor load my respectful age with dis­honor. Receive the addresses of Edgar with suitable regard, and the deference due to my commands. Mean time preparations shall be made for the bridal solemnity in a manner becoming the dignity of this alliance."

Adela, after remonstrating in vain against the sever­ity of his commands, intreated, with an humble and dejected air, that the marriage ceremony might be de­layed. "Can Edgar, said she, prize the cold and eon­strained embraces of a heart that throbs for another? Will the sighing and anguish of a broken spirit accord with the fond caresses of a bridegroom? To Edwin my faith was plighted, and on him my imagination hath dwelt. Give me time, therefore, to divert the current of an affection too violent to be suddenly opposed; to discourage the reveries of fancy, animated by a legal and habituated passion; and to reconcile myself to the [Page 51] addresses of Edgar." As her reasoning was plausible, the nuptial solemnity was deferred. But, as soon as she had retired from her father's presence, she summon­ed a page in whom she confided, and spoke to him in the following manner: "Prepare thee for a long journ­ey: saddle the sl [...]etest of my father's steeds, and dur­ing the obscurity of the night depart. Hie thee to the b [...]nks of the Ebro; find Edwin; tell him of the perils that beset me; tell him that a wealthy and powerful rival, with costly parade, and glittering show of blazon­ry, hath imposed on my father, and insinuated himself into his esteem." The menial bowed with humble obeisance, and, with professions of diligence and fideli­ty, departed.

Mean time Edgar pressed his suit with courteous phrase and dalliance. Daily tournaments were exhib­ited at the castle of Albert. The knights and barons of the neighboring domains attended: but Edgar surpassed them in the splendor of his armor, and the pomp of his retinue. The hall resounded with revelry and rejoicing; and minstrels, clad in gaudy apparel, celebrated the praises of warlike chiefs, or s [...]ng the power and the pleasures of love. Adela arrayed her countenance with smiles and courtesy; but her bosom was distracted with anguish. "O when, she cried, shall I be delivered from the importunity of a detested suitor, and the bondage of feigned complacency? When will Edwin return, adorned with conquest, and confident with success? His merit shall shine unri­valed; and Edgar shall be covered with shame." At [Page 52] length the page returned; and, repairing to the apart­ment of his mournful mistress, "Now heaven forbid, said he, most gracious lady, that the tidings I bring should injure thy tender frame more than thou art able to endure. May the saints and minist [...]ring angels [...] ­hold thee!"—"Hath he perished? cried Adela, with a look of terror and amazement, in what bloody field hath he fallen? Where li [...] the lifeless body? What barbarous adversary hath mangled and insulted his graceful form?" "He hath not perished replied the attendant. But, O gentle lady! foul arts have been practised; shameful perfidy hath been committed. Ed­win lives, but not for thee; he hath given his hand to another!" "Peace! peace! interrupted Adela, with a faultering utterance and looks of astonishment mixed with anger, restrain thy blasphemous speech, nor with base calumny asperse the fame of a true and gallant warrior." "When, answered the menial, have I been guilty of deceit or infidelity towards my gen­tle mistress? full sore it grieveth me to be the messen­ger of evil tidings." "Rehearse them unreservedly, cried Adela, with a tone of anxious impatience."

"I pursued my journey, said he, many days, without any adventure, till I came within sight of a stately cas­tle. It stood on a brow of a woody hill; was garnish­ed with towers and battlements; and commanded a wide prospect of cultivated fields and forests. As I advanced mine ear was suddenly surprised with the din of hounds and horns, mingled with the cries of the huntsmen. I soon descried a gallant show of knights [Page 53] and gorgeous dames, mounted on milk-white cou [...]ers, and pursuing the rapid deer. When the chace was ended, they stopped by the side of a crystal brook; and a comely youth, arrayed in shining apparel, light­ing from his foamy st [...]d, with courtly obeisance pre­sented the prey to a fair smiling lady. I mingled in their company, and in the lineaments of the courteous youth recognised the inconstant Edwin. O gentle la­dy, may Heaven so help me in my utmost need, as I now speak the words of truth; and may the saints and holy angels so succour thee as thy mishap requires! The faithless youth hath committed treason against thy love; seduced by the blandishment of an artful dame, he hath become forgetful of thy peerless beauty."

The heart of Adela throbbed with anguish during the recital. "Valorous, heroic warrior! she exclaim­ed, are these thy deeds of hardy prowess, to betray the innocent credulity of an easy maid? Stain to manhood, and the honoured profession of arms, be henceforth ban­ished from my remembrance?"

Edgar now advanced his suit with redoubled ardor. Albert, unable to brook any longer delay insisted on having the bridal ceremony solemnized; and Adela, in­cited by secret pride and resentment, submitted to the will of her father. The report of this noble alliance was published thro the land; and the kindred of Albert and Edgar, with the neighboring barons, were assem­bled to grace the solemnity. Already were the parties betrothed; the holy benediction was already pronounc­ed; and forever was Adela to be the wedded spous [...] of [Page 54] Edgar. Now, with pompous show and attendance, the banquet was served up to dames and knights, the flow­er of courtesy and valor. The castle resounded with minstrelsy, and the dance; when a stranger, in the sim­ple garb of a pilgrim, entered the hall. He cast his eyes around on the goodly company, and with an ai [...] of sanctity and respect, implored a blessing on their fel­lowship. He was received with hospitable welcome, and the reverence due to his holy semblance. He spake in meek and modest guise; his eyes were often fixed on Adela; they were sometimes dimmed with a glistening tear; and ever and anon his bosom heaved with involuntary sighs. He took the harp of a min­strel; he touched the strings with masterly cunning and accompanied the notes with a melodious voice. Tuneful, but melancholy was the strain: for he sung the sorrows of those that are forsaken; the anguish of a desponding spirit; and the wounds inflicted on a faith­ful heart, by inconstancy and proud disdain. He de­sisted, with marks of grief and inward contention. "Holy pilgrim, said Albert, the sense of calamnity de­vours thy spirit. Inform us of thy mishap, that, if pos­sible, we may administer comfort. Nor think it incom­patable with bridal festivity, to indulge compassion, and as [...]age the torment of heart felt care."

"I am the son of a freeman, replied the stranger; and tho my birth was not enobled by splendid titles, nor my ancestry distinguished by the parade of blazon­ry, my bosom burned with the love of arms, and my heart was upright. In an unlucky hour I became en­amored [Page 55] of a gentle dame, the only daughter of a noble baron. My sincere, tho presumptuous suit, seemed not displeasing to that peerless beauty; and with the rash, intemperate boldness of a lover, I asked her in marriage of her s [...]e. Go, said he, gain thee a name in arms, and then aspire to the envied alliance of my house. I de­parted, not without a tender interchange of vows and tokens of affection with the beloved idol of my heart. I hastened to the plains of Catalonia, where the Saracen was waging fierce battles against the banner of the holy cross. I proffered my service to the chief of the Chris­tians; and that my sword was not idle, and that I was not, backward in the strife of arms, my honorable wounds can testify. Neither were my services, nor my thirst after martial fame unrewarded. Fair recom­pences have I received, and the sun of glory hath gild­ed the obscurity of my birth. Rejoicing in my suc­cess, I hastened my return. But what power of utter­ance can express the agony of my soul, when I learned that the faithless and inconstant fair had yielded to the vows of another? I who was so true and loyal to my love and plighted truth, to be so soon forgotten, so soon forsaken!"

"Enough, enough, cried Adela, O ill requited lov­er! pierce not my soul with deeper wounds. O Ed­win! Edwin! never was I inconstant. Bear witness, ye holy angels! but traiterous guile hath been practised: thy integrity hath been impeached, and my vexed heart betrayed into error."

The eyes of all were now turned on the stranger: [Page 56] he threw off his disguise, and, instead of a pilgrim's staff, he grasped a keen and trenchant weapon. Re­sentment glowed in his cheeks, and flashed from his fiery eyes. "And who, said he, hath impeached mine integrity? Stand forth, thou proud, but dastard ba­ron, whose glossing tales have betrayed the unwary heart of a maiden: it is Edwin demands reparation." Conscious fear was manifest in the disordered features, the pale cheek, and disconcerted air of Edgar. He nevertheless accepted the challenge: and the warriors, arraying themselves in complete armor, descended in­to the court of the castle. In the first onset, the well tempered steel of Edwin cleft the crested helm of his adversary; he threw him to the ground, and disarmed him. "Confess thy guilt, said the conqueror, and by what infamous arts thou hast accomplished the design."—By gifts and glittering gold he replied, I cor­rupted the page of Adela, who with counterfeited sem­blance of fidelity and regret, accused thee of inconstan­cy, and imposed falsehood on the ear of his mistress. I embraced the season of her excited resentment, and forwarded my suit with success. She is mine by the indissoluble ties of wedlock: and know, proud boy that, if thy hands be stained with my blood, it is the blood of Adela's husband; and if she receives thee to her bosom, she receives the slayer of her spouse."

Edwin started with apparent horror. He paused; but recollecting himself, "arise he cried, and by anoth­er trial, prove thyself worthy of that envied title." So [Page 57] saying, he raised him from the ground, and both war­riors addressed themselves a second time to the fight. Edgar, burning with exasperated rancor, aimed his spear at his rival's breast. Edwin neither averted nor avoided the deadly blow. The keen weapon cleft his breast, and was tinged in the purple springs of his heart. He fell to the ground. "Farewell, he cried, Adela! lady peerless! and dearly beloved. I have proved myself worthy of thy esteem: I die a sacrifice to thy repose. With my hands red with thy husband's blood, could I ever aspire to thy love? Could I survive and behold thee wedded bride of another?" He heav­ed a sigh, and died. "Inhuman deed! cried Adela, tearing her lovely tresses, and beating her snow white breast: she ran, she threw herself on the lifeless body. O stay! she exclaimed, O leave me not in my woe! Return, fleeting spirit! reanimate these pallid features. He heeds me not.—I heard a voice! a dreary voice! it was Edwin! he summons me away!—I come! I come! Let the nuptial bed be prepared! The clay cold bed?"—So saying, she clasped the corps, and expired.

Instantly the page, who had been corrupted by Edger, seizing a daggar, rushed behind that teacherous baron, and pierced him to the heart. "Perish! he cried, author of my ruin, and of the ruin of the House of Albert." He grew immediately frantic: he ran forth furious and screaming: the memory of his crimes pur­sued him, and his reason was never restored.

The obsequies of the deceased were celebrated with due solemnity: holy requiems; and pious priests pre­ferred [Page 58] orisons for their eternal repose. Albert, unable to sustain the weight of his misfortune, forsook the habitation of his ancestors; and exposing his old age to the fatigues of a pilgrimage, he sought the holy land, and there passed the remnant of his days in a monastry.

MIRZIM AND SELIMA. A TURKISH TALE.

IN one of those incursions formerly made by the Tartars on the Russian monarchy, Osman, who at that time headed a party, had the good fortune to preserve a beautiful gi [...]l, about seven years old, from falling a sacrifice to the relentless sword; and conceiving great expectations form her surprising charms, carried her into Tartary, and educated her with all those accom­plishments necessary to render her a fit present for the Sultan. The perfections of her mind and person being improved to his wish, she was no sooner arrived at a proper age, than he set out with her towards Constant­inople. In their journey meeting with a company of Polanders, he was in great danger of losing his prize, and the innocence of the beautiful Selima had certainly been the prey of the savage hand, had not Mirzim, a great favorite of the Sultan, happened to come that way with a numerous retinue, and put the ravishers to flight.

The deliverer and the delivered were in the same instant inspired with a mutual passion for each other; [Page 59] but Mirzim, understanding Osman's design, made no public show of his affection; and Selima as carefully concealed her [...]s. To retard, however, as long as possi­ble being carried to Constantinople, she pretended sick­ness, and was every day visited by her lover disguised as a physician; and this frequent intercourse making them perfectly acquainted with each other's merit, established a tenderness, which ended not but with their lives.

Thus they continued giving and receiving all th [...] marks that virtue would permit of the fondest and most disinterested passion, till Mirzim received a mandate from the Sultan, creating him Grand Visir, and at the same time commanding him to go at the head of a pow­erful army to the relief of Buda, then besieged by the Emperor of Germany. The cruel seperation must be now endured, not all his love could render Mirzim neglectful of the duty be owed to his imperial master, his country, and his honor; and Selima had too true sense of the latter to delay his hastening where glory called. He took his leave, and she was now obliged to acknowledge herself re­covered, lest a real physician should discover she had but counterfeited indisposition. Osman prosecuted his journey, and in a short time reached Constantinople; where, he agreed with the K [...]ster Aga of the Sirago and the charming maid was to be delivered to him, in order to be presented to the sultan at a sit opportunity. The dry appointed being arrived, she could no longer restrain the struggling emotions of her soul, she kneels, she [Page 60] weeps: she intreats Osman to change his resolution, and at last reveals the secret of her love for Mirzim; but all is now too late, the compact is made and she must by force submit.

Mirzim returned from his expedition the same day▪ but in a condition far different from what he had hoped at his embarking in it: he had flattered himself with being able to do things which might enable him to beg the charming Selima of the Sultan as a reward of his services; but instead of laurels, he was covered with confusion; all his designs had proved unsuccessful; Buda was taken before his face, and he was obliged to acertificate from the subaltern officers to clear his con­duct to the Sultan. If any shadow of comfort appeared to him, it was in the friendship of the Kisler Aga, who promised him to conceal the beauty of Selima as much as possible from the Sultan's knowledge; but tho this eunuch kept his word inviolably a new and undreamed of misfortune befel their loves. Zara, a creature of Prince Mustapha, the brother of the Sultan, no sooner beheld this lovely maid, than she began to cast about in her mind how to procure her for him, and soon after intro­duced him to her apartment: he was immediately e [...] ­amored of her beauty, but her behavior gave him equal despair. Mirzim being informed of this visit, and the effects of it, writes a letter to a friend complaining of the severity of his face in raising him a new rival. The Kisler Aga had the charge of delivering it but being called away on some important business, entrusts it to a slave, who gives it into Zara's hand, she communicates [Page 61] it to Prince Mustapha, who, ignorant of the character, and no name being subscribed, is fired with extreme impatience to discover this happy favorite. At this in­stant Achmet and Ibrahim, two discontented courtiers, enter his apartment; to them he relates the story of his love and jealousy, and is by them informed, the letter which gave him so much pain, was the Visir's hand; and they take this opportunity of persuading him to appear at the head of a party already formed for de­throning the Sultan; this they assure him is the only means by which he can attain the enjoyment of his mistress, or the destruction of his rival.

How great soever the weight of these reasons were to him as a lover, those of nature and of duty had not less efficacy; he could not presently be brought to take up arms against his sovreign and brother, nor yet could he think of seeing his adored Selima torn from him; he therefore desires time for consideration & in this tempest of his soul, the Kisler Aga having found the miscarriage of the letter, and judging into whose hands it was fallen, makes him an offer of his service, and so artfully gains the belief and confidence of this unsuspecting prince, that he prevails with him to give him the letter on pre­tence of confronting Mirzim, and obliging him by me­naces to desist.

In the mean time Achmet and Ibrahim, having per­ceived that the only way to bring Mustapha into their plot, is the immediate danger of losing Selima, secretly inform the Sultan how beautiful a creature is in the Kisler Aga's possession; on which the impatient monarch [Page 62] commands she shall be brought instantly to his presence▪ as soon as she appeared, her charms had their ordinary effect, the Sultan's heart yielded to a passion not infe­rior to that she had inspired in his brother or the Visir; and finding her wit and virtue as matchless as her per­son, he resolves to make her Empress, and defer the gratification of his love till the celebration of those rites, which should yield her to him without a blush.

All the scruples which had hitherto subdued the dictates of ambition in Mustapha, were now silenced by the calls of a more powerful passion: he enters into the measures Achmet and Ibrahim had proposed, and perceives they had already carried things to such a height, that there wanted little more than his consent to pluck his brother from the throne; the Visir's well known loyalty was the only impediment he had to struggle with; it was therefore necessary to begin with his destruction, and chance soon furnished means.

That despairing lover had prevailed with the Kisler Aga to admit him in a disguise to take a last farewell of his dear Selima, and the contrivance by which he was to be introduced being overheard by Achmet, he that moment dispatches Ibrahim to the Sultan to acquaint him with it; who going in person to the apartment of Selima finds Mirzim with her. All denials of their mutual passion would be now in vain; they boldly own it, and the Visir is ordered to immediate death. Mirzim in the confusion of this dreadful incident drops a paper, which the Sultan t [...]kes up and reads. This was the [Page 63] letter wrote by him, that Zara had intercepted, and which the Kisler recovered from the hands of Musta­pha; but the [...]ame of that prince not being mentioned in it, the Sultan is distracted to know who is that rival, or whose love and visits the Visir has complained of; both are obstinate in concealing him, and Mirzim is or­dered to be put on the rack till he confesse [...] it.

While the Sultan is thus employed, the Divan and army have declared for Mustapha; but that prince be­ing informed of the Visir's generosity in choosing rat [...]er to endure the rack than betray him, tho his rival, sends his commands for his preservation.

The Sultan hearing what was done against him, goes at the head of his janissaries, to oppose his brother, but they revolting, at the sight of Mustapha, he was compel­led to yield to his destiny, and pass the remainder of his life divested of all power. Achmet having entered into this conspiracy in hopes of gaining the Grand Vi­sir's place, finding that Ibrahim had obtained it of the new Sultan, provokes him to sight, & both these villain [...] fall by each other's hands.

Mustapha, now supreme, thinks of nothing but shar­ing the Imperial dignity with Selima; but that faithful maid assuring him, that she had long since made a vow to Mirzim, her unshaken fidelity, and the consideration how much he was indebted to so generous a rival, de­termined him after a long and severe struggle with him­self to crown the happiness of so deserving a pair; and to restore Mirzim to the dignity of Grand Visir.

THE WEASLES AND THE FERRETS. AN OCCASIONAL FABLE.

IN ancient days, before man extended his do­minion over the extremest limits of the earth, there was an island in the Northern Seas, inhabited only by the different species of the quadruped kingdom; who, for a time, having no general ruler or master, lived in perfect case and happiness. Tranquil states, however, never are of long duration; the want of one general lord made them soon begin to lord it ever one another, and the Ferrets, a knavish and cunning, as well as extremely ambitious, tho weak people, look it into their heads to estab­lish an universal monarchy, of which their king should always be at head.

Slavery is a contagious evil; the king of the Ferrets had found means to make himself an absolute and des­potic tyrant over them, and the subjects seemed intent on nothing so much as reducing the whole island, which was to them a world, into the same abject state with themselves. Their tyran [...] had taught them to think his grandeur their greatest glory. This seemed a very ab­surd doctrine in the first age, when it was advanced; but as all opinions mellow by use, and the most ungrate­ful things become familiar by habit, the favorite opin­ion of the court had been handed down from father to son, till in a few reigns it became as absurd to dispute, as it had at first been to believe it. In this state were [Page 65] things in our island, when the king of the Ferrets, sum­moning his people about him, addressed them in these words: You see, my subjects, we live among a great number of different states, each of which has its pecu­liar king, but there is yet no monarch of the whole. Is it not your interest and glory, that I should become that king, and you the subjects of that monarch, who will then be master of the world. If this appears plain to you, the means are easy; force can command the weak­er. The stronger must be attacked by treachery, and the most powerful and obstinate of all will be overcome with gold. Be you unanimous, I will make you great▪ Before this is suspected abroad, let all our schemes be settled; let some Ferrets of distinguished address and abilities immediately depart for the courts of the seve­ral nations; of these, let some be supported in figure and equipage, to converse with the great in public, and others enter as menial servants, to pry into their secrets at home; let these all foment whatever broils or intestine divisions they find, for they who quarrel with one another half conquer themselves, and save an ene­my the greatest part of his expence and trouble; let those who reside at the Weasel court be rich, to bribe at all things; and those at the Polecats be cunning, to swear or forswear all things; these last, we may use as friends a while, and, when by their means we have conquered the rest, they fall of course, and thus in a few years the world is ours. But in the whole attempt be this the great lesson, the greater the supplies the sooner the great work is finished; therefore, come every Ferret [Page 66] into the field of battle, and send in every penny you are possessed of to the public use. The more soldiers appear, the fewer perish, because none dare resist them; thus the exposing your lives shall be the means of you [...] safety; the mean while, you will want no riches, while in the field, and all you send in shall be restored you ten fold, out of the spoils of your enemies, the conquer­ed provinces. Thus, continued the monarch, I have reasoned with you like friends; now, as your king, you know my will, and I command you all to execute it.

As the fire eyed tyrant ended his speech, he stalked away in a majestic manner, attended by his courtiers: great murmurs were raised among the people; many scrupled to give in their money, more to expose their lives, and some to murder innocent people, who had done them no injury, only at his command; but they had made a tyrant, and they found they must obey him. The Ferrets of broken fortunes entered readily to mend them, and those in better circumstances, because they could not help it▪ however, all entered. The whole country inhabited by these animals was stripped of its inhabitants, and the tyrant saw himself at the head of a very numerous and powerful army. With his bribes and emissaries at the stronger courts, and this army at his heels, he marched against the weaker provinces; he flattered himself every thing was in his power, all busi­ness, but that of conquest was neglected, and all thoughts but that of victory at once deserted the souls of prince and people. The inhabitants of this island were all of the smaller kind of animals, so that they had no destroy­ers [Page 67] of their own kind to fear; the lion, the leopard, and the wolf were not known there: only a creature of another kind swept them off with a very fatal havoc; this was a monstrous serpent known among them by a name which in their language signified death. He was cunning enough to way lay them in a thousand dif­ferent manners, and their only defence against him was by means of water, for he hated swimming, so that, while he was kept off from them by trenches filled with water, he only now and then came over and snapped them up one by one, as his natural hunger required; but, if this defence was away at any time, he devoured them by millions. Every province therefore allotted a great number of its inhabitants to work high up in the coun­try, at the sources of rivers and brooks, to turn their currents in, and give annually a fresh supply of this their liquid wall; this was a necessary service, and on the labor of these the lives of all depended. The Fer­ret king however, inflamed with the lust of universal tyranny, spared not even his subjects, who were thus employed, but commanded all into his army; in vain was it represented to him, that, when the first or second year was out, he would have no water, and that by that time his neighbors would be all too much his enemies to supply him; he arrogantly answered fear not that, they shall by that time be all my slaves and then we cannot want what they are possessed of.

Full of this tyrannic spirit, he now considered where first to bend his murdering course. The king­dom of the Mice, whose provinces lay very distant from [Page 68] his, but who had some possessions in his neighborhood, was at that time governed by a female sovereign, who had suffered many indignities and injuries from her neighbors, and the state was in a very declining condi­tion: to be weak was provocation enough to our tyranni [...] sovereign of the Ferrets; he immediately attacked these her distant possessions, and, at the same time detached large bodies of forces toward two or three oth­er of his weak neighbors. His army was too numerous to be resisted in the field, and his gold too heavy not to weigh down all arguments in the cabinet; in short, he was conquering some provinces and buying others, while the adjoining kingdoms, yet unhurt, saw wi [...] despair his destructive views, but no way to stop his progress.

One of the neighbor kingdoms was that of the Wea­sels; these were a race of animals happy in a robust habit of body; and penetrating turn of mind, and formed at once for the field and council. The great were bred up in all the pomp of knowledge, the lower class in honest industry; and all the generous principles of courage nursed by freedom. This happy nation had a king like the rest, but that king was bound to rule them justly, and acted only according to laws themselves had made; so that they had all the benefits of a regal government without the oppression, and their sovereign all the joys of power without its crimes. Great souls are formed by generous examples, and every king of this communi­ty had all the virtues of the subject, while every subject had all the honor of a king. The Weasels, alarmed at [Page 69] the progress of the Ferrets arts and arms, addressed their king, who rejoiced to be reminded of his duty to the world by his subjects; and answered their remonstrance in the following words:

"My faithful people, we are a nation born to the inheritance of virtuous liberty, and as we know the worth of that invaluable blessing, it is our duty not only to preserve it for ever among ourselves, but to propogate it as far as the world's utmost limits among other na­tions. Ours is a land of freedom, and him, whom his own wishes arm not in such a cause, we know no pow­er to force; let him enjoy his infamy, and we our hon­or. The designs of our ambitious neighbor yet▪ affect not us, but we live not solely for ourselves: the gener­ous virtue of the free soul knows the whole world for its home, and every creature for its brother. Let us with this view arm to check the devastations of his forces; and, could we be too cold to stir in such [...] cause, even our own interest will engage us to the war, since what he now bestows on others will hereafter be our own fate; he aims at universal power, and has entered into an union with our sworn enemies, the Polecats, hoping by their means to conquer us; and lastly, to sub­ject themselves. These are his views, and it is both our duty and our interest to disappoint them. To this purpose let us march an army against him in the field, but let us not, like him, depopulate our kingdom to do it: no let us leave enough here to manage the great business of the floods against our general destroy­er, that those who remain at home may be secured from [Page 70] perishing; but, as our numbers thus may be too small, let us by solomn embassy invite our neighbor powers to join with us, and, in the place of these we leave at home, hire with our money strangers from provinces too much peopled; who may thence be spared, and do their country as much service by their absence as ours do by their residing in it." The whole nation of the Weasels applauded to the clouds, the wisdom of their sovereign; and an army was soon formed on this pla [...]. These met the great power of the Ferret tyrant, while others were engaged in different places with his par­ties. He stirred up private dissentions where he could not come or send his troops in person; and even strip­ped his best friends of all their possessions, under the specious pretence of keeping them for them, and pre­serving them from falling into the hands of his, and, as he chose to express it, their enemies. Thus the whole island, before so peaceable and happy, was by the ambitious views of one prince turned into a scene of blood and murther.

Battles were fought with various success in different places, but the resistless numbers of the main body of the Ferret army made it every where too successful, and victories and conquered provinces crowned all its attempts. The island was alarmed with the impending danger, when the illconstructed fabrick began to sink by its own weight. The armies of the Weasels and their friends though they could not prevent, had greatly stopped the rapid progress of the Ferrets, and as these could be supported without injuring their country, being raised on judicous plans, [Page 71] so the Ferret army, gathered in haste, and managed without true prudence, now found itself perishing with its country, and soon fell into despair amidst its glorious conquests.

The supplies of water failed, the trenches became dry, and the grand destroyer, the Serpent, marched in horrid pomp with all his retinue over them, and thou­sands fell before him every day. The tyrant now be­held his army perishing, before his work was yet half done: he knew there was no way to save them, but by the relief and assistance of those he was now at war with, and he therefore humbly sued for peace.

The Weasels, who had armed only for the sake of peace, which they wished to give to the whole earth, readily consented, and to encourage the new humbled tyrant to better behaviour for the future, gave it on easy terms. His subtle heart, however, was not to be won by good; he had a deeply destructive plan con­trived, while all was open and free on the Weasels side. Both agreed to send off their armies to different quarters, and, as soon as articles of peace were agreed on, the generous Weasels stopped the rage of death among their late enemies, by throwing water from their own rivers into their trenches. The Serpent was now driven off again, and no hostilities were thought of against the Ferrets, when a thousand scenes of rapine and murther were at once let loose upon the Weasels, by the per­fidious enemy; when this was complained of, the double dealing tyrant delared his subjects had not done this, [Page 72] but that it was the Polecat nation who had been guilty of it, and with whom the Weasels had no dispute.

The Weasel monarch received the lying answer as he ought; Ask your perfidious king, said he, to the am­bassador, whether he thinks Weasels have not eyes to distinguish black from white, and tell him withal, his actions and those of his subjects stink to the whole world, though their carcases do not; and they shall be revenged. Let him beware: he has begun his treach­ery too early, & will find by the event, that the stings of his perfidy will return with tenfold violence on the head of him who is guilty of it. He dismissed him with these words, when an old and sage Weasel, well known to his country by his services, arose and addressed his sovreign in these words:

"What I have to offer seems but the tenour, of your majesty's own thoughts; let us now punish this breaker of treaties as we ought; he soon must bend to us again, and let us then make him feel the weight of his last crime. The supply we have given him to pre­serve him and his people from the common death, that else must have devoured them by this time, was but small in comparison of the occasion, and will be soon exhausted; though we sent, him rivers of water, the earth by its trenches, long parched with drought, will suck it all up in a few days; he then must apply and sue to us again: but, O my sovereign! let me in­treat that he may then sue in vain; let him feel the sharpness of the Serpent's sting some days, and let us then impose new conditions of the peace on him, and [Page 73] make him agree to such as will disable him from disturb­ing the world again."

This just advice was followed; a few years brought the haughty victor again to be a supplicant; death raged among his subjects with an uncontrolled sway, and swept them daily in such numbers from his side, that he was forced to yield to such conditions as made the whole island afterwards happy for many ages.

STORY OF FLORIMORE AND LEONTINE.

FRIENDSHIP has often been the theme of the poet and the pros [...]ist.—The beauties and ad­advantages concomitant on a cultivation of this sacred principle, between kindred souls, have been displayed in productions, replete with the brightest effusions of human genius. But so unstable, and momentary are the bonds which connect minds apparrently in unison, that many, very many, join with the poet; who says,

There are, however, (though rare) instances which confirm the existence of a principle so dear to the feel­ing heart. Instances, in which the mind (truly great) has triumphed over the pitiful prejudicies of what is called the fashionable world, and rose superior to the cen­sures and sarcasms of those, who vainly and arrogantly [Page 74] stile themselves, " the better sort." An example of this kind it pourtrayed in the following fact.

Florimore and Leontine were the only sons of two gentlemen, whose estates were contiguous, and who resided in a town situate in the western part of Massa­chusetts. In the innocent amusement of childhood, they were constant partners; through the playful scenes of youth, they walk'd hand in hand. They were instructed by the same preceptor; tasted the sweets of science from the same cup, and the same college wit­nessed the progressive improvment of two minds, which bid fair, in their expansion, to enlighten and bless society.

Having completed their collegiate education, they retired to spend a few months in their native town, and to enjoy the company of those whose paternal fondness had enabled them to tread the paths of knowledge with honor; and whose attention to the improvement of their understandings, in the days of youth, had assisted them to gain the applause of the learned world.

The time at length arrives when they must part.— It was the wish of Florimore's father that he should de­vote his talents to the ministry of the gospel of peace— with that wish the willing son coincided.— Leontine's dis­position led him to the study of physic.—They part, in pursuit of their different callings.—No vows were necessary to cement and perpetuate the friendship— an intimacy for years had formed an union, which noth­ing but death could dissolve.

Florimore, had completed his studies, and was inducted into the pastoral office, to take charge of a flock, who [Page 75] delighted in his ministry, and who were enraptured with the propriety and amiableness of his conduct in the private walks of life—indeed, his heart was the receptacle of every finer feeling; the sigh of sympathy ever escaped him, at the tale of another's woe, and the tear of pity streamed from his eye, at the sight of human misery. But the sigh of sympathy, and the tear of pity, were not the only consolations which Florimore afforded to the sons and daughters of distress. His hos­pitable board bid welcome to the hungry and the thirsty, and his wardrobe often furnished a cloak for the naked, shivering mendicant.

About this time Leontine was ushered into the notice of the world, as a Physician. He was soon celebrated for an uncommon share of skill in his profession, and for his attention and humamity to his patients. His practice became extensive, and his prospects were flour­ishing. Though the love of wealth is predominant in most minds, Leontine ever made it subservient to the calls of humanity. His attention and skill were em­ployed equally with those who moved in the obscure, humble paths of life, and those whose opulence enable them to revel in every luxury the world afford­ed.

At the close of three years attention to the duties of his calling, Florimore, was seized with a disorder, which his physicians apprehended would prove mor­tal. Leontine flew, on the wings of friendship, to the assistance of the beloved of his soul. His skilful aid, and the smiles of an overruling Providence, soon dis­pelled [Page 76] that anxiety, under which his parish and friends labored, lest a blossom so useful should be nipt in its opening. But though the respectable Clergyman got the better of his disorder, it left him in a very weak and debilitated state; and it was the decided opinion of the faculty, that he must bid adieu to the walks of a clerical life. This intelligence impressed the minds of the people of his charge, with the deepest sorrow;— nor was Florimore unaffected on the occasion, though he was sensible of the necessity of a compliance with the opinion of his physicians. He, however, collected sufficient strength and fortitude, once more to ascend the sacred desk, and take an affectionate farewell of his beloved flock. Tears often choaked the passage of his words; while melancholy, and heartfelt grief were depicted in the countenance of his audience. After this, he quitted the place of his late residence, and the prayers and blessings of hundreds followed him to the mansion of his affectionate parent.

A short time previous to this event, his father, from [...]he natural goodness and disposition of his heart, had become bound, to a large amount, in order to save a distant relation from the walls of a prison. (But, oh! [...]ngratitude, thou worst of fiends, how shall I relate [...]he tale of thy baseness.) This relation, in contempt of [...]he most solemn obligations, hardened against the op­eration of every principle of honour and generosity, [...]ecamped, and left his too credulous benefactors to the mercy of an unfeeling creditor, who sternly demanded of Florimore's father the payment of every farthing. [Page 77] To satisfy the demand the whole property of the un­fortunate gentleman was sold at public auction, nor did even the venerable mansion or household furni­ture remain the property of its former owner.—This event made so deep an impression upon the aged gen­tleman's mind, that it brought on a disease, which soon closed his eyes upon all temporary objects; and he was entombed beside the remains of a once fond partner, who had not lived to behold this melancholy reverse of fortune.

For soms time Florimore remained inconsolable— nor could every assistance which the genuine friendship of Leontine bestowed, dispel the gloom from his mind, or revive his depressed spirits. At length, however, calm reflection resumed her place in his soul; and a dis­position to submit with resignation to the divine will, triumphed in his mind. " The Lord hath given (said he) the Lord hath taken away; and blessed be his name."

At the pressing solicitations of his friend, Florimore repaired to the hospitable dome of Leontine; and every hour which could be spared from the calls of his pro­fession, Leontine devoted to solace the cares, and sweet­en the hours of him whom his soul loved.

Florimore's state of mind, and his bodily infirmities, prevented him from taking a part in the active pursuits of life—and his friend had assured him that no other separation than that which dissolves all human ties, should ever take place between them.—In this situa­tion, one of the most important objects of Florimore was the cultivation of the infant mind of the young son of [Page 78] Leontine. And "well were all his cares repaid," by the progress which his pupil made in knowledge and information.

Those who, from their wealth and rank in life, move in what is termed a more exalted sphere, are of­ten necessitated to associate, in some degree, with that class who have nothing but wealth to recommend them. It was Leontine's misfortune to be thus situated. At an entertainment given to the neighboring gentlemen, Ves­pers made one of the company. He abounded in wealth but was an entire stranger to every finer feeling of the soul. The tale of distress made little or no im­pression upon his mind; and the poor, tho encircled with merit and virtue, be ever treated with rudeness and disdain. His rough and uncouth manners led him to express his contempt of humble worth on all occa­sions.—He was no stranger to Florimore's situation and circumstances; and notwithstanding his presence, took occasion to fling out the most bitter reflections and pointed sarcasms, upon dependent objects.— Leontine perceiving the drift of his observations, and was sensi­ble to whom they pointed. His noble soul took fire at the affront, and he openly accused Vespers not only of ill manners, but brutality. His resentment led him further; he bid him depart from his presence, nor ever darken again his doors with an object, that could beast of nothing but an human form; the world, continued he, can furnish me if I want, with hundreds like your­self; but the world cannot give me another Florimore.

Leontine and Florimore passed many years in the [Page 79] mutual enjoyment of the sublimest friendship—The seeds of Florimore's disorder at length made their second appearance, and the power of medicine was ineffectual to preserve a life so precious. He yielded up his breath to him who gave it—and left the best of friends to de­plore an irreparable loss—When Leontine's grief had in some measure abated, he erected a monument over the remains of his friend, upon which he inscribed the following short epitaph.

JUSTICE AND GENEROSITY. OR, THE RE­MARKABLE HISTORY OF SIR WILBRAHAM WENTWORTH.

THERE is a particular injustice amongst man­kind which, tho glaring, has hitherto been unnoticed, and which so far from being censured is never thought culpable in the practices—this injustice is the custom which people have of possessing property without scru­ple, which their ancestors have acquired by dishonesty; a man will readily acknowledge that his father's wealth resulted from the oppression of the unfortunate, but he will not refund a single shilling to the lawful owners when it descends into his own hands;—on the contrary, tho he is convinced it is in equity the actual right of [Page 80] another, he thinks he may retain it without the least shadow of reproach, and the world is so extremely po­lite that while it perhaps excerates the memory of the first spoilor, it compliments the latter with the reputa­tion of unquestionable probity—to elucidate this posi­tion clearly, & to let my readers see in what manner peo­ple should act, when they are made the heirs of ill gotten fortunes shall be the business of the following little nar­ative.

Sir John Wentworth was a younger brother of a fam­ily, who by the death of an uncle in Oxfordshire be­came possessed of a title, but of nothing else; the baro­net, whom he succeeded in honor, had it in his power to bequeath every foot of his estate, as he thought proper, and as he never entertained any cordial affection for Sir John, he left it to a more distant relation. This was rather an unfortunate circumstance for Sir John, whose finances were not in a very flourishing situation —however as his person was handsome, his address el­egant, and his education finished, he did not quite des­pair of obtaining a fortune somewhat suitable to his rank —nor was our baronet's expectations altogether with­out reason—to the qualities we have already described Sir John, added a deep dissimulation, and a fascinating plausibility—he knew mankind well, and was inclined upon every occasion to profit by the weakness or gen­erosity of his acquaintance, nor was an opportunity long wanting to gratify his avarice—a young widow who had been left in the possession of a large estate by the last will of a doating husband, saw Sir John by accident at [Page] Bath, liked, and married him; as love is seldom accom­panied by prudence, she would by no means lock up her fortune from the man she had honored with her person.—It is true she had a daughter by her former husband but what of that? She was in love with her present,—and we generally believe those people are really worthy of our regard, whom we eagerly wish to deserve it:—Besides this, Miss Milmour her daughter had ten thousand pounds settled on her by her fath­er's will, which Lady Wentworth thought a very handsome provision; and it was so in reality, if her mother had not been her guardian, and this guardian's fate entirely at the disposal of Sir John. It is unneces­sary to dwell minutely upon particulars;—our baronet had married totally from interestive motives, and as we have already observed, he was not the most conscien­tious of mankind,—he was not therefore united two years to his lady till he got possession of Miss Milmour's fortune, and in less than two years after, both the moth­er and the daughter were negligently loft at a miserable old [...]eat above two hundred miles from the capital, where Lady Wentworth after undergoing every species of mortification, and knowing that the man whom she loved to distraction publicly cohabited with another woman, died of a broken heart; leaving Miss Milmour wholly dependent on the generosity of a wretch whom she herself had found so utterly divested not only of sentiment, but shame, and not only of gratitude but of honesty.

Miss Milmour's relations in this exigence took th [...] [Page 82] young lady home, and having in vain applied to Sir John for her fortune, endeavoured to recover it by law; but unhappily justice is not always successful; the glorious uncertainty of the courts fatigued them for many years, and in the end totally deceived their expectations. This greatly cooled the affections of the young lady's friends, whose regard had for some time been gradually declining, from the unpromising appearance of affairs, and she was at last induced from motives of prudence as well as tenderness, to throw herself into the arms of a worthy young fellow who had a company in a march­ing regiment, and to whom she was rendered addi­tionally dear, by the melancholy turn in her circum­stances.

All this time it must be confessed the world made very free with Sir John Wentworth's character; they exclaimed at his inhumanity in the very moment they ac­knowledged his politeness, and tho the law had pro­nounced in his favour, the decision by no means removed the reflections which were eternally thrown upon his character.—But though his name was frequently men­tioned with abhorrence, his company was never avoided; & those who acknowledged the cruelty of his disposition, were the first to give him invitations, and though they could say nothing in favour of his principles, they were always ready to declare that he was infinitely agreeable: Death, however, did not treat him so polite­ly as the world did; it took him away in the midst of all his ill-gotten wealth, without a moment of pre­vious intimation, and an apoplexy snatched away at a [Page] splendid assembly as great a wretch as ever was a dis­grace to humanity.—

Sir John was succeeded by a son, who tho untainted with his crimes was not what a good man should rev­erence as an amiable character. He knew his fa [...]her had robbed, (for justice authorizes no elegant pallia [...]i [...]n of terms) the poor Miss Milmour, now Mrs. Ormsby of her whole fortune, and was sensible, that this very Mrs. Ormsby with her husband and an infant daughter, were laboring under the greatest distresses; yet so far was he from restoring what she had been plundered of, that he thought it extremely generous to send them an occasional five guineas for temporary relief.—Nay, the world thought it extremely generous also, and Sir Charles was every where mentioned in consequence of this conduct as a man of the greatest benevolence.—His son Wilbraham however, the hero of this little story, had scarcely reached his twelfth year when he felt much compassion for Mrs. Ormsby; he would teaze his papa to send the unhappy family something, frequently added his pocket money to the present, but unknown, when he knew the servant was sent to their house.— Yet notwithstanding this solicitude in their favour, he had never seen them;—his only spring of action was the natural rectitude of his heart, and he would often wish Sir Charles would place them in some comforta­ble independency.—As he grew older, he felt more strongly for them, and secretly blushed at the cruel­ty of his grandfather;—But his studies, and the tour of Europe, in some measures diverted his attention [Page 84] from their necessities; and as his allowance from rather a severe & parsimonious father was pitifully slender he could only secretly grieve at the lamentable state of their circumstances.—

Besides this, a circumstance happened while he was in Italy, which principally engrossed his heart.—In Si­enna he had the misfortune of wounding a gentleman dangerously who grosly insulted him, and thought it nec­essary to fly to a neighboring state as fast as possible, and to avoid the resentment of the gentleman's numer­ous relatians who loudly threatened to revenge their friend, he changed his name, and lived for some time very privately.—Notwithstanding this cautiousness of conduct, an English family, then resident at the place of his retreat, quickly discovered that they had a coun­tryman in town, and gave him an invitation so good naturedly importunate, that he embraced it with a dou­ble degree of satisfaction, because it rendered his safety more secure, and furnished him with an opportunity of spending many an hour very agreeably, which at this time hung uncommonly heavy upon his hands.—

The good natured family which took so kind a no­tice of Mr. Har [...]ington, for that was the name assumed by Mr. Wentworth, was Colonel Mortimer's.—It con­sisted of the colonel, his lady, Miss Mortimer their daughter and Miss Dashwood a distant relation—the colonel and his lady were people of the first breeding, and if any thing could equal the politeness of their be­havior, it was the benevolence of their hearts—Miss Mortimer, tho the apparent heiress of a large fortune, [Page 85] and extremely amiable in her person, was affable and condescending—she did not imagine that opulence gave her any claim to extraordinary respect, nor did she believe that a fine face could furnish her with a just ti­tle to be arrogant—on the contrary, she considered sweetness of temper to be one of the most essential in­gredients in the composition of the female character, and strove rather to merit the good opinion of her friends, than to obtain their admiration—the charms of her person however, and the gentleness of her manner [...] were not the only accomplishments which distinguish­ed her; she had a fine understanding admirably culti­vated, and was mistress of a sprightliness so captivating that, to make use of a strong metaphor, she pleased her acquaintance up to an actual pain of vivacity.

Mr. Harrington found great entertainment in the company of this amiable young lady, but the just sensi­bility which he felt for her merit could by no means render him unmindful to the attractions of Miss D [...]sh­wood. This young lady was no less formed for gene­ral esteem than her beautiful relation, and yet she was distinguished by very different accomplishments.

Miss Mortimer, for instance, was the very soul of cheerfulness, whereas a continual air of dejection sat on the features of Miss Dashwood—the first loved com­pany and conversation, the latter was remarkably silent and fond of retirement—Miss Dashwood however, was no way surpassed either in depth of sense, or dig­nity of sentiment by Miss Mortimer—and if her fair cousin's vivacity rendered her universally beloved, she [Page 86] possessed a voice which, to borrow an expression from Milton,

Upon the whole, if there was a sweetness in Miss Mortimer's face, that excited love, there was a ma­jesty in Miss Dashwood that commanded respect; and, if the endless good humour of the one gave every body pleasure, there was a softness in the melancholy all of the other which filled the whole soul with a ten­derness unutterable—Not to trespass on the reader's patience, Mr. Harrington considered Miss Mortimer with esteem—Miss Dashwood he beheld with rever­ence—his different sensations for each increased with his acquaintance, and while the first imperceptibly en­gaged his friendship, the latter as imperceptibly took possession of his heart—Mr. Harrington was himself naturally grave, and he found a congenial something in Miss Dashwood which riveted his inclination; de­sirous therefore of rendering himself agreeable to a lady on whom his felicity immediately depended, he dou­bled his assiduities to please her, and did not despair of obtaining his father's consent could he but happily make her propitious to his wishes—Satisfied of this, he went so far as to open the secret of his passion to Colonel Mortimer, and the two ladies, requesting their influence with Miss Dashwood, and declaring he must he miserable for ever, unless she condescended to approve his addresses.—Colonel Mortimer was a man of great prudence, tho he was a man of great honor— [Page 87] [...] could not enter warmly into the interests of a man in such an affair with whose fortune and connexions he was wholly unacquainted—he believed Mr. Harring­ton to be a person of condition, he found him amiable in his person, enlarged in his mind, and finished in his education—but still a marriage with his relation, a relation too immediately under his protection, was a business of importance in which compliments were en­tirely out of the case; he accordingly declined to assist Mr. Harrington's views at that time, but politely hinted, that he should in a short time return to England, and that if Mr. Harrington still retained his sentiments for Miss Dashwood, and could make a settlement suitable to her fortune, there was not any body whom he would sooner recommend to her for a husband.

Just as Colonel Mortimer had given this reply, Miss Dashwood entered the room, and begging Mr. Harring­ton would favor her with a short audience, she proceed­ted in the following manner—"I have just this moment been informed by Miss Mortimer. Sir, that you honor me with a very favourable opinion, and I will neither doubt your veracity nor my own little merits so far as to imagine such a circumstance utter­ly impossible.—But, Sir, I should be utterly un­worthy the attachment you profess for me, if I was to delude you with the shadow of a hope, where I do not mean to give the least encouragement—I am there­fore under a necessity of declaring that I never can be yours.— Your person and manners are unexception­able, Mr. Harrington, and there is not a gentleman of [Page 88] my acquaintance who possesses a higher place in my esteem:—Yet Sir, notwithstanding this acknowledg­ment, I must beg to decline your addresses—and to convince you I must,—I will now candidly own what I never before confessed,—that any heart I possess is already engaged—engaged, Sir, romantically, nay ridic­ulously, to a man I never saw, nor possibly ever shall— but it is unalterably fixed —I have a right to indulge peculiarity—and after this information I am sure you will have too much pride, as well as too much humanity, to distress me with any solicitation."

The moment Miss Dashwood ended, she quitted the room in very visible confusion, and Mr. Harrington sat in a [...]tate of inconceivable surprise staring wildly at Colonel Mortimer, who seemed himself to labor under no inconsiderable degree of astonishment—Mr. Har­rington with a deep sigh at last recovered himself, and promised to sustain his fate with as much fortitude as possible, wishing that a continual round of felicity might be the lady's portion, tho he could expect noth­ing but endless wretchedness for his own.—

In a little time after this, Colonel Mortimer and his family returned to England, leaving poor Har­rington to brood in secret over the anguish of his own reflections—Harrington's parting with these deserving people was a considerable aggravation of his distress— though refused as a lover by Miss Dashwood he still visited at the Colonel's with his usual assiduity, and was even received with an increased regard on ac­count of the implicit submission which he paid to [Page 89] that lady's injunctions—this in some measure soothed the bitterness of his disappointment, he found a mel­ancholy kind of pleasure in looking at, or conversio [...] with, the object of his affections, and flattered himsel [...] that time would restore his former tranquility;—but the moment he lost this consolation, he became a vic­tim to the most poignant despair, and would probably have fallen a sacrifice to his passion, if the death of his father which happened about this time, had not driven the tide of sorrow into a new channel, and opened a scene of business that helpe [...], in some measure to rescue him from the gloom of his own imagination.

It was now so long since the unfortunate affair in which Mr. Harrington wounded his [...] that he was under no apprehension of s [...]ttin [...] [...] to England on the first intelligence, especially [...] the ga [...]ar [...] b [...] perfectly recovered—he there [...] depa [...]ed with the utmost expedition—and when his father's funeral [...] solemnised, every debt discharged, and his mother of whom he was extremely [...], settled to his wi [...], the first object which recurred to his memory was [...]he [...] of which his grandfather had [...]aid to [...] the poor Mrs. Ormsby. On a minute [...] into the affair he found the charge against his ancestor was but too just, and he determined immediately [...] restore what could not honestly belong to him.—His [...] was extremely ample, not less than eight thousand [...] year with a prodigious sum of [...] money consequen [...] ­ly there could be no necessity for procrasti [...]ating the payment; accordingly, ordering his stewa [...]d to get [...] ready to the account of twenty thousand bounds, [...] [Page 90] desired him to carry them with a letter which he ha [...] written to Captain Ormsby.—"Captain Ormsby is dead, Sir, answered the steward, and so is Mrs. Ormsby." —"Good God, (replied Sir Wilbraham) how unfor­tunate —but they had a daughter."—"She was taken by some of her father's relations, Sir, returned the steward, and left as we are told in very good cir­cumstances by the will of a grand aunt, who, during the Captain's life would not give a shilling to relieve his necessities."—"Well Mr. Willis, rejoined Sir Charles—I shall write a letter to the young lady— you can easily find her out I suppose."—"Yes Sir, I believe I can," said Mr. Willis; on which Sir Wilbra­ham immediately sat down, and dismissed him with the following epistle:

[Page 91]The steward carried this letter in conformity to orders, and returned in a little time, producing a re­ceipt for the money, and informing his master that the lady would do herself the pleasure of waiting on him immediately.—In about an hour she arrived ac­cordingly attended by a gentleman and was shewn into Sir Wilbraham, who exclaimed, Miss Dashwood! Co­lonel Mortimer; pray how long have you been in town? Miss Dashwood and the Colonel replied, by asking how long he had been in England, and expres­sing their great satisfaction at seeing him so well.— After congratulations had mutually passed—Colonel Mortimer began by asking where Sir Wilbraham was, saying that his cousin was come to thank him for a most extraordinary act of generosity, and expressing a little surprize that they did not find him in that room— Sir Wilbraham to this replied. "My dear Colonel you must now know Sir Wilbraham Wentworth is your old friend Harrington, and I shall be extremely happy—

The Baronet would have proceeded but he was interrupted by a violent shriek from Miss Dashwood— who just, pronounced, "You Sir Wilbraham!"—and fell lifeless on the floor—If the surprize of the Colonel and Sir Wilbraham was great at this unexpected cir­cumstance, their astonishment was still greater when on recovering Miss Dashwood, she went on to this purport.

If you are Sir Wilbraham Wentworth the hand of heaven is certainly working miracles,—when I thought [Page 92] you really Mr. Harrington, I told you my affection [...] were unalterably fixed upon a man I had never [...] —but at that moment they were fixed upon the son [...] Sir Charles Wentworth—after my poor father [...] obliged to part with his commission, and after he, with his little family, discarded by all their relations, we [...] plunged in the deepest distress, (we did not then know Colonel Mortimer was our relation) I have a thousand times heard my unhappy parents lavish in praise of you [...] humanity; I have a thousand times heard them declare that had it not been for the assistance which you pro­cured them, they must have absolutely perished for want of bread—I loved my parents tenderly, Sir Wilbraham, & my heart greedily imbibed early sentiments of gratitude for their preserver.—As I grew up I found this gratitude imperceptibly softening into tenderness, & the character which we continually received of you was so amiable, that I determined never to alter my situation, unless I could obtain Mr. Wentworth for my husband—Silly, idle and [...]himerical as my resolution may seem, my resolution was unalterable, and I do not blush to ac­knowledge my self the strenuous admirer of virtue—On the death of my father and mother, which happened while you were a broad, Mrs. Dashwood, who was aun [...] to the former, took me under her protection, though she never would take any notice or me before, and I had the good fortune to be such a fovourite with her that at her decease she left me a large fortune on condition that I adopted her name—the name I accordingly as­sumed, the fortune I still possess, and if Sir Wilbraham [Page 93] Wentworth is actuated by the sentiments which were once acknowledged by Mr. Harrington, my person and my estate are at his service, whenever he thinks pro­per to demand them—I have not been two days in town and I signed the receipt for the twenty thousand pounds, with my original name, because I purposed immediately to wait upon Sir Wilbraham, to thank him for his unparalled generosity, to acquaint him with the happy revolution in my circumstances."

Miss Dashwood having ended, Sir Wilbraham im­mediately accounted for his assuming the name of Har­rington, which clearly explained this comedy of errors the two principal actors were in a little time after uni­ted, and live in the most perfect happiness that human­ity can know, proving beyond a doubt, that however virtue may suffer for a time, even in this world, it is generally sure of being rewarded in the end.

THE FATAL EFFECTS OF GAMING.

THE most certain causes of ruin and misery, are often the most alluring. There is a strength in some temptations which subdues us by slow degrees, and when we look back on the means of our destruction, we wonder by what fatality we were first led astray. Few vices are more prevalent in our days than gaming; few more destructive; few which, for all this, meet with more encouragement from men of rank, fortune, & men­tal abilities. To be initiated in the mysteries of gaming [Page 94] seems an innocent and pleasing employment, but [...] proceed in the practice of it never fails to end in shame▪ poverty, and distress.

These reflections naturally arise to me, from the office I have just been performing: paying the last du­ties of friendship to two young men, whose untimely death has been occasioned by a fatal propensity to the worst of all vices, gaming, a vice which they prac­tised against the advice of friends, the knowledge of experience, and even the conviction of their own minds.

These unhappy youths were the twin sons of a gen [...]tlemen in the west, whose name (for the sake of the narrative) is Hargrave. Educated by their parents with tenderness and attention, they grew up the admira­tion of their friends.—They were the companions [...] the virtuous, whose society they courted, and by whom they were beloved. Their father's fortune was scanty, yet sufficient to furnish them with the means of polite education, and it was his constant study to instruct them in virtuous principles, and to teach them to set a value on piety as their best possession, and on time, no [...] an hour of which they could ever recall. Such in­structions were not lost upon them. Their parents lived to see them tread the steps of true goodness, and they fondly hoped they never would stray from the path of real happiness.

But vain and delusory are the hope of parents. The morning of their children's existence arose with bright­ness, and bade fair for a day of serenity. Their youth [Page 95] passed on, and every day was remembered with plea­sure. Their dispositions were amiable as their person [...]; their sensibility forbade all fears of declension, and it was with confidence that their parents sent them from under their inspection, to pursue their studies at a distant university.

Youth, liveliness of temper, and ingenuousness of mind, pointed them out as the proper objects of a game­ster's attention. One Leeson was at this time the main support of the profession of gaming, and ever watchful to seduce the unwary. For this purpose (if it is not im­pious to speak it) he seemed even formed by nature. His person, wit, and acomplishments, reccommended him to general notice. His language was copious, ele­gant and persuasive: and his memory and understand­ing were of the highest degree of strength. He had studied human nature for no intention but to prey on its weaknesses, and he well knew when to take an op­portunity to insinuate his pernicious principles. Gam­ing was his business, and to seduction of females he was no stranger. His personal courage was established in the fashionable world, but upon no better foundation than his having killed in a duel the husband of a woman whom he had ruined, plundered and exposed to shame. With the undiscerning part of the world, he was a man of honour and of abilities.—In fact, he was totally destitute of every virtue that can dignify man, and he practised those vices which brutes are incapable of, but which the imperfect state of our legislature leaves "unwhipt of justice."

[Page 96]The young' Hargraves soon become acquainted with L [...]sen. They were charmed with his vivacity, and seduced by his persuasion into gaming. At first he practised the usual arts, allowing them to win; which mo [...] and more led them on, until at length they lost all they were possessed of, and after extorting as much money from their father, under false pretences, as he could possibly spare, they were reduced to the necessity of subsisting on the chance of that employment, which had already stript them of every shilling they possessed.

Had the loss of fortune been the only consequence, frugality and abstinence from the company into which they had been introduced might have retrieved, or at least lessened their misfortune. But they had lost that which can seldom be recalled; they lost the spotless purity of their minds; they scarcely ever recollected the princi­ples of their early education. The sensibilities of love and friendship were no longer felt. Avarice, envy, and rancour were now the leading passions, as they are the natural consequence of gaming. The distresses into which they were from time to time plunged, they did not seek to alleviate by sobriety and attention to duty. As their expences multiplied, they found it necessary to have recourse to other means than formerly: their father might weep over their infatuation, but he could no longer supply their wants. The friends (as they were wont to call them) who had profited by their folly, re­fused to contribute any assistance. The gaming table was their only place of refuge; but ignorant of the tricks of sharpers, they found that their success here [Page 97] was but temporary, and only served to chain them down to a torture of which they began to have the most alarming apprehensions.

An offer was made by an opulent relation to purchase a commission in a regiment destined for for­eign service. This was represented to them by their parent, and the eldest accepted the offer, while the other agreed to apply to the study of commerce in the house of an eminent merchant in London, to which they now removed, and their parents rejoiced at their departure from a place in which their fondest hopes had been so sadly disappointed.

Happy had it been, if their follies had now ended; if they had profited by their experience, dear bought as it was, and been reclaimed from vicious indulgencies. But the company they fell into in London, a place to which they were before strangers, added to their imprudence. In a short time, by the common transitions of the life of a gamester they were reduced to the greatest distress. To complete all, when they found themselves beyond all hopes of retrieving circumstances, they took the des­perate resolution of going on the highway, determined to plunder or die in the attempt. They carried their purpose into execution; weary of life, they also re­solved that if there should be danger of detection to rid themselves of life by pistol or poison. If they succeed­ed, they were to leave of the pernicious practice off gaming, and amend that life which in its present state was a burthen. Such is the sophistry with which a gamester grown desperate amuses his mind.

They disguised themselves in coarse great coats, and [Page 98] in one fatal evening sat out towards a public road.— Observing a po [...]—chaise they rode up to it, and com­manded the postilion to stop which he refused, and while they threatened him, a voice which they were well acquainted with cried out from the carriage, "My son, my son!" But it was too late. The eldest of them had fired at the postilion, and the ball missing him, mortally wounded the gentleman in the carriage, who was no other than their own father!—The other who had not heard the voice, rode up to the door of the chaise, and was about to discharge his pistol, when h [...] perceived his father almost dead.

Horror seized upon them; they uttered the bitter­est execrations against themselves, cursing the hour in which they were born, and the wretches who had un­done them.—Stripping off their disguise, and retiring into a neighboring field, the one swallowed poison, and was almost instantly dead, while the other finished his miserable life by a pistol.

The postilion seeing some passengers come up, im­plored their assistance in apprehending the murtherers. They found one already dead, the other lived just to mention the particulars of their story, then expired in great agonies. The good old man had died while they were in pursuit of his sons. He departed first, as if to plead for mercy to his unhappy sons at the tribunal of heaven, before which they were s [...]on to appear.

Such and so fatal are the effects of gaming. When a harmless game of cards, as it is called, becomes a habit of gaming every game may be reckoned a step towards inevitable ruin. They are also pernicious when the [Page 99] [...]utabiliies of the game disturb the mind, which often happens even when the sums played for are too incon­siderable to be mentioned.—There are few objects more disagreeable than a lady of youth and beauty, whose features are distorted by another's good fortune, and who becomes a fiend in temper from the loss of an odd trick, or of a sum that effects not her fortune.

But gaming, when it is made the business of life, is pernicious in every respect. Ruin and reproach are the portion of that unhappy female who is prone to a vice so inconsistent with the delicacy of the sex. All the horrors of despair, and an untimely end await the man who beggars himself and family, consumes his time and strength, and gives with a lavish hand and an infatuated heart all he possesses to sharpers and profligates. Ban­ished for ever from reputable society be all games of hazard, if from apparently harmless playing of them in youth, it can be proved that one unhappy victim may date his destruction! And may he who reads this un­happy tale, and thinks himself so little addicted to gam­ing as to be out of the reach of misfortune like this, re­member that what he is now, these young men once were, and as much presumptuous in their own strength, and as little suspicious of misfortune as himself.

THE UNHAPPY LOVERS.

WHEN I view the surprising advancement that has been made in literature and politeness, and [Page 100] see the justness of sentiment, the elegance of style, and force of expression, which adorn the manly productions of some American geniuses; being at the same time conscious of my own inexperience and want of educa­tion, I am almost deterred from the prosecution of my theme. But being touched by the wrongs of in­nocence, and sensible, of my obligations to the unhappy sufferers, I can no longer justify a concealment of their case from the public eye: Resting, therefore, upon the candor of the age, I shall give a free and unbiassed ac­count of a circumstance, that lately befel me in a country town.

I called one day at Mr.—'s a gentleman of my acquaintance, where I had promised myself an agreea­ble afternoon; but finding my friend was gone out, I resolved to entertain myself as well as I could. Accor­dingly, being invited by the lovely songsters, and prompted by a natural curiosity, I took a walk into the fields; and, intent upon great nature's works, carelessly sauntered about, till I was quite lost among the inex­tricable mazes of mountains, lawns, and meadows. The sun had set, and the sables of night were covering the earth; when I found myself alone in a sequestered vale. From whence I had come, or whither to go, I knew not. In this bewildered condition, I came to an high mountain, and sat down under a large tree; that the boughs might shelter me from the damps of night. The winds ceased, and a s [...]rene calm ensued. I reclined my head against my favorite tree, and was just closing my eyes in sleep; when I was startled from the ground by the broken accents of grief. At first, I imagined it to [Page 101] be the love lorn turtle, who was co [...]ing her plaintive ditty: but the repeated sighs, joined with almost articu­late sounds, soon convinced me of my mistake. The ascent of the mountain, that the sound came from, was exceeding steep, and appeared to be insuperable; yet nature, at the voice of human distress, irrisistably urged me to offer relief. With much difficulty, and at the expence of much time, I climbed up the precipice; and guided by the mournful sound, I came to a cave where the object of pity was. The morning light by this time favoring me, I had a clear view: A young woman of surpassing beauty, was sitting on the ground within the mouth of the cave: her dishevelled hair hung neglected down her neck, and her languishing head reclined on her shoulder; while she was pouring forth her moans to the empty winds. For a few minutes I stood sur­prised at the piteous sight; then, moved with an humane passion and kind sympathy, I stepped to the cave, and took her by the hand to raise her up, till then she took no notice; but feeling my hand, she looked up and thus spoke: "Ah! depart, and leave me, the most wretched of my sex." If your misfortunes, said I, are great, as this your condition, is miserable, and you have no sympathising friend to bear the burden with you, thou art wretched indeed "Friend!" she replied, "sympa­thising friend! O Artamenes! had not I injured thee, I should now possess a warm and generous friend." Per­ceiving that she was oppressed with a load of sorrow, I begged to be informed of the cause; and made every proffer of assistance. "Kind stranger," she replied, [Page 102] "your curiosity is laudable, and your offers generous; the former, if it will afford you any satisfaction, I am willing to gratify; but the latter, thro a consciousness of my own unworthiness, I am resolved never to accept. All the pleasure I enjoy, is the indulgence of my grief; and all the assistance I desire is a pitying tear."

"I am the unhappy Cleora; born in the year 1753; and the only child of my worthy parents: who took unwearied pains to instruct me in the principles of vir­tue and benevolence. But [...]y reason of an ill ground­ed prejudice, I had conceived an utter aversion to your sex; and resolved never to change my manner of life. It was not long before a train of flatterers, as I thought them, paid me their compliments; but with a kind of pleasing vanity I treated all with disdain; and took a secret satisfaction in finding that the more I slighted, still the more I had to engage. At length A [...]tamenes of modest and winning deportment, pr [...]st his suit with the most delicate softness. With the same apparent cold­ness I listened to his passion. But he soon retired, de­siring the honor (as he termed it) of calling upon me the next day. I felt some strange emotions; but what they meant, I knew not. I reflected with pleasure on every thing that had passed▪ the modesty of his expres­sion, the brightness of his sentiment, the sweetness of his countenance, the languishment of his eyes, and the justness of his features, crouded into my mind, and made me waver in my former resolution. But how, said I, shall I now become a slave to that passion, over which I have so often triumphed? Reason forbids it:—or if I do, I will first give Artamenes the torture of an imaginary [Page 103] disappointment. Thus I was fixed on a new strata­gem. The next day he returned, according to his de­sire, and renewed the attack with the greatest civility and warmest persuasion. But like the monster guilt my tongue said no, when my heart and coun [...]enance gave it the lie. This undoing folly, O tyrant custom, hast thou introduced to our sex, and blanched it over with the smooth name of modesty! He remained con­stant to his purpose, and often renewed his request. In­deed I admired his person, and was charmed with his sensibility; yet had the folly, incident to my sex, whilst I was in his presence to banter his passion and ridicule the sincerest professions of his love: but no sooner could he leave me, than I pined with the same vehe­mence of passion, and wished for an opportunity to disclose it. At length being wearied with ungenerous treatment, and despair of success, he made this last re­solve: (ah, too fatal resolution!) "Tho thou art dearer than life; tho death should sooner separate me from the world, than aught from thy arms; yet, since my misery is so nearly blended with thine, I cannot desire to be so wretchedly happy, as thereby to make you miserable; as you intimate, if ever a union betwixt us should en­sue: therefore, I fly thy presence, having this comfort only, that I may feed on thy sweet remembrance, which is so deeply fixed in my breast, that not life, nor death can erase it."

"This he spoke with so much tenderness, and yet resolution that I was at a loss what to do: and whilst I was considering whether false named modesty, or open sincerity should guide my way, he took his last farewell. [Page 104] Still I had the vanity to think that he would break [...] his resolution and return; when I intended, to have thrown off the mask, and made myself happy in his arms. But I was soon informed that he took leave of his friends, and told them that he should never return. It is impossible for you to conceive of my distress and anxiety: a thousand ideas, and a thousand stratagems continually passed thro my mind. My spirits sunk, and I pined away in grief and sorrow. And altho the slightest occurrence would raise my expectation, yet they were all ideal and momentary. My parents no sooner saw me disordered, than with the kindest concern they used all means for recovering my health. Physicians far and near were consulted, but to no purpose; for be­ing ignorant of the cause, the cure was beyond their reach. I continued in this state for a considerable time, avoiding all company as much as possible. But as I was sitting alone one evening in my chamber, having secur [...]d myself from interruption by locking my door, I fell into a drowse. My fancy, ever busy at such times now placed me in the midst of a large and populous city. The streets were liued on one side with a stern soldiery, and on the other filled with a distracted crowd. I spoke to a person, who was standing by, and asked the cause of the tumult. He replied, that life, or liberty, must now be resigned. Just as he spoke, I espied thro the crowd the long wished for Artamenes. The rose blushed on his cheek and the serenity of the morn­ing sat upon his countenance; length of time had added new elegance to his form, and melting love, mingled with cheerful innocence sparkled in his eye. Trans­ported [Page 105] beyond expression, I was just leaping to embrace the object of my love—but ere I could reach his lovely arms; (Oh horrid to relate! let flowing tears buy off the mournful tale) ere I could taste the sweetness of his lips; the cruel soldiers discharged the winged fate. Artamenes was the first! pale, and ghastly he fell to the ground! the blood, than worlds more precious, streamed from his body! besmeared with gore, he wal­lowed on the cold ground! and his head, without any friendly hand to support it, was bruised upon the rough pavement! he groan'd! he gasp'd! he died!"

Here she was so affected, that her power of speech was suspended for a considerable time; but at length she thus continued.

"I startled in wild amaze from my sleep, raved with staring horror; and, then swooned with over­whelming grief. When I had recovered again my en­feebled strength, I thus spoke with myself; O Artame­nes! if my dream be true, how changed! a pale, lifeless corpse! trampled with the common earth under foot! sacrifice to savage lust! and the second victim at liber­ty's shrine! O cruel, cursed—but be ye hushed, revengeful passions; they were only the agents, I the cause. Oh! I could weep my spirit from mine eyes! perhaps in the pangs of death he remembered Cleora, and called her cruel! wretched me! what have I done! I will seek some lonely cavern where I may forever mourn his unhappy fate. The next day at evening I had the sorrowful news of his murder from a person who was present at the massacre. I retired to my cham­ber, and spent the night in grief and impatience, being [Page 106] haunted with the dying groans and injured shade of my butchered lover. At length the morning light just glimmering upon the mountains, I left my kind, indul­ent parents to bewail my loss, and sled in all the pangs of despair to this mountain. Unknowing, and un­known, I wandered about; till I chanced to light upon this cave. I viewed it wishfully on every side; the ground I saw, was covered with a mossy gray; the dark walls seemed to weep for my hard fate; and every ob­ject was tinged with a sullen gloom; it appeared every way adapted for the [...]ecess of dejected and unpitied mourners. Here I entered, and have been kindly sheltered from the inclemencies of the weather, being supported, by the spontaneous product of the moun­tain. Here, in this gloomy cavern, will I spend my remaining sands in mourning and sorrow, the just re­ward of folly."

It is impossible for any person to imagine, or me to express, the grief and sympathy that agitated my breast, whilst she was relating her story. When she had finished, I endeavored with all the rhetoric I was master of to persuade her from her cave: but all to no effect. And when I saw she was obstinately fixed, I left her sitting upon the cold ground sighing and mourning to the deaf, but the weeping walls of her cavern.

I came down from the mountain, and with some difficulty found the way back to my friend's house. After the usual compliments, and a transient conversa­tion were passed; being very much fatigued with what had happened, I retired to an apartment, and slept till [Page 107] the next morning. I then gave my friend an account of Cleora's misfortunes, and made some enquiries about her character. He expressed a great deal of surprize at what I told him, and replied: "She was the sweetest, and most lovely creature upon eerth: no body was ever better respected or more beloved: but she has been lost ever since the unhappy period mentioned in her dream. We imagined, that being drowned in grief, for her lover, she had put an end to her life. But if she be yet alive, let us hasten to her relief, and force her from her cave; for her parents are now expiring with grief, end every countenance through the village is veiled with sorrow." Upon this I went back with him to the mountain; and just before we entered [...] cave, we heard her thus speaking in a most [...] and dej [...]cted tone:

"Where? who am I? like a loathed adder, I crawl about in this [...]inty cave. No company, but growling bears! no comforters, but croaking ravens! the sun glimmers like the pale moon; the moon, like a dying taper: the earth dwindles into nothing, and grief swells its place! O Artamenes! once I thought of thee, and happiness! once I hoped to feast on a world of pleasure, bathe in a sea of love and die in thy encircling arms; but ah! no more! my folly has blasted my ripen­ing hopes and stripped me of every joy. Artamenes! Artamenes, the sweet, the kind, the lovely, and the brave, has left the world? and now I hate it. Be gone, thou insipid toy; for I am tired of my ratling. O in­jured lover! O wronged Artamenes! point me where thou art! I am coming, and with my last gasp will [Page 108] groan for pardon: nay, frown not, thou gentle ghost! for I am just leaving the empty, loathsome, world, to attest my love in Heaven: yes, the lazy blood crawls slowly thro my veins, and I feel a cold sweat spreading death upon me—Ha! what shapes do I see?"

We had now presented ourselves to her view, and when she spoke to us, made answer, that we come to bring relief.

"Impossible, she returned, for I have none upon earth: but stay—now it is well; death mocks your kindness, O Artamenes! I loved—I die."

"O Cleora! (I cried) you demanded a pitying tear; I pay a flood! hear me! look up! but Oh, she is gone. See, my friend, see her deadened eye! her pale cheeks! and her ashy lips! feel, she is already cold and lifeless! Was there ever innocence that lived and died like this! Ah! (says my friend) you can speak your grief; but mine is too great for utterance. Let us carry her with us, and pay the last solemn duties that we owe her." At length we took the corpse, and with tears and silence brought it to the village. But who can imagine, or what pen describe, the grief and sorrow, that filled the place? "Cleora is dead! Cleora is dead!" was the distracting news; till the whole village reechoed with a groan. They crouded around, and mourned, and wept her unhappy fate.

But a mother swooning▪ & dying by her daughter; and a father seeing, and retreating, in all the greatness of a silent anguish; was a scene too highly wrought for a description.

THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE.

IN one of those ages when despotism was the engine of resentment, of passion, of civil fury, and po­litical rage, Alphonso, the son of Ferdinand, king of Arragon, lived. This young prince was distinguished not more by the robust valor of the times, than by the gentle and generous qualities of the heart, which are thought to belong more properly to modern manners. The son of a cruel and ruthless tyrant, he was mild, hu­mane, and forbearing; the flattery of courtiers was heard by him with indifference, and to the fawning of sycophants he was ever averse. He led a retired life even in the bustle of a court, and devoted his hours to love and the Muses. The object of his passion was the daughter of his father's treasurer Orlando—her name Isabella—a virgin universally admired for her extreme beauty, and the lovely qualities of her mind. She was not insensible to the passion of Alphonso, but whether from dread of Ferdinand, who she was convinced had too much pride to allow his son to marry the daughter of one whom he had raised from obscurity—or whether Orlando had forbid her interviews with the young prince, she avoided meeting with the prince, who could not but venerate her prudence while he lamented the unhappy cause.

Ferdinand about this time sent for his son, and in­formed him of a march he had prepared for him, and [Page 110] which he had ordered him instantly to accept, forbid­ing him on pain of his displeasure to offer any argument against it. Alphonso was not more alarmed at this in­formation than astonished at the injunctions which accompanied it. "Surely," though he, "my father suspects my passion for Isabella, else why imagine that I was about to refuse his offer." Ferdinand, however, most absolute in all his commands, immediately gave orders to prepare the solemnities usual on the marriage of the king's son. Alphonso had no alternative—He flew to Isabella—and by stealth got into her apart­ment, notwithstanding every precaution her father had used to prevent their meeting.—Fatal was that interview; he was discovered entering Isabella's apart­ment, and betrayed to his father by a domestic. Ferdi­nand, enraged beyond description, sent for Orlando, and reproaching him for encouraging an illicit connec­tion between his son and Isabella, ordered him instantly to be beheaded; the cruel sentence was no sooner exe­cuted than the king sent some trusty servant to seize Isabella and remove her to a secret place of confine­ment on the borders of his dominions, and command­ed her to be treated with every possible severity, and that every precaution should be taken to prevent her escape. The minions of tyrants are frequently sacrifices to their own treachery; when those servants returned to inform him that his orders were obeyed, he put every one of them to death, lest they might betray the secret of Isabella's imprisonment.

Mean time Alphonso, in the height of his despair, a th [...]usand times meditated his own destruction; but [Page 111] fortitude and resignation suggesting to him that he ought to live to redress the wrongs of Isabella, he became in­spired with the romantic hope; and that he might no longer be subject to his father's tyranny, suddenly dis­appeared on the very morning appointed for his de­tested nuptials, as he now more than ever accounted them.—Messengers were sent into every part of the kingdom to seck for him, but in vain.—Ferdinand's fury became so great as to end in madness, a disorder rendered still stronger by the recollection of his many cruelties and murders; and in a few days he died, call­ing upon his son to come and forgive him. The news of his death soon spread over the kingdom; and Al­phonso, who had hid himself at no great distance from the city, returned and was proclaimed king; the first act of his power was to dismiss those men who had been the agents of his father's tyranny, and redress the grievances of those subjects who had suffered by their oppression. His virtues had long been the theme of popular applause, and the whole kingdom reechoed "Long live Alphonso!"

To Alphonso, however, these proofs of loyalty af­forded little relief. The remembrance of Isabella's wrongs, nothing could efface. His imagination represented her as in misery and distress, and his dreams were filled with horrible apparitions of her sorrows. Every means he had hitherto used to find out the place of her confinement were in vain. Such precautions were taken by Ferdinand that this might for ever have remained a secret had not accident discovered it.

[Page 112]To divert Alphonso's mind the griefs of which had a visible effect on his person, his courtiers recommend­ed him to visit his kingdom throughout. Alphonso, indifferent whether to live or die, careless of himself and dead to pleasure, agreed however, to their propo­sal. One day when he was riding near the frontiers of his kingdom with only one attendant, he missed his way, and in endeavoring to recover it, had to go through a wood; the evening approached, and he had no hopes of being able to join the body of his guards at the village where he had left them. In this dilemma, he came up to an old tower, the greater part of which was in ruins; the only habitable part was a prison, but apparently in decay. Alighting from his horse he entered the horrible place, and ordered his attendant to tell the persons in the prison, that he was a benighted traveller, and begged shelter until morning, The keep­er received him courteously, and even satisfied his cu­riosity as to the nature of the place, and, ignorant of the late king's death, informed him tha [...] it was a state prison, where criminals that had rendered themselves obnoxious to the king, were confined for life, but that at present there was only one lady in it. At the word lady, Alphonso started, and in the wildest manner beg­ged to know her name and crime. Of that the keeper told him he was perfectly ignorant; the persons who brought her never having informed him, nor returned themselves; but that his orders were she should be kept in chains, and every possibility of escape provid­ed against. Alphonso could contain no longer—He begged, protested, and assured the keeper that if he [Page 113] would but permit him to see her, the secret should never be divulged to his prejudice.—The keeper hesi­tated for some time, but at length, prevailed on by the fears and entreaties of the handsome stranger, in whose looks he thought he discovered something noble and generous, he conducted him to the cell, where sat a female chained down to the ground, her lovely coun­tenance settled to a deep melancholy—but gracious heavens! what were her transports and those of Al­phonso! when thy recognized each other—IT WAS ISABELLA!

HAMET: OR THE INSUFFICIENCY OF LUXU­RY TO THE ATTAINMENT OF HAPPINESS. AN ORIENTAL TALE.

HAMET the son of Morat was descended from the ancient princes of Persia: led by the fame of Cha Abbas, he resorted to his court and was treated with all those marks of distinction which he could expect from so generous a monarch.

He had a fine house and gardens allotted him in the city of Ispahan with a numerous retinue, and an ample revenue to maintain them. His table was loaded with all the luxuries of the east, his seraglio was filled with the most beautiful women in the world, He was high in favour with the Persian Monarch, and seemed to pos­sess every thing that could contribute to ensure human felicity.

Yet there was a strange void in his heart, a sort of [Page 114] chasm which to him was the source of perpetual unea­siness.—The rising day beheld him a prey to cares, and the shades of night brought him no repose.

One day as he was wandering abroad alone, full of anxious thoughts, he came to a little spot of ground where he found a shepherd who was reclining on a green bank warbling out a pleasant air, while his flock was feeding beside him; every now and then he cast a look towards a small cottage at a little distance, then ceasing his melody would cast up a grateful look to heaven as full of thankfulness for its benefits.

Hamet had approached as yet unseen, and as there was something in the peasant [...]hat attracted his notice, he stood for a while observing him. At length discov­ering him "shepherd, said he, thou appearest delighted with thy occupation, and by thy countenance thy heart seems to be unacquainted with trouble." It is so indeed, illustrious stranger, returned the shepherd, my occupation answers all my wants and is well suited to my inclination; but I have besides yet other sources of happiness.—Then thou art happy? exclaimed Ha­met, but what are these sources of felicity, and where­fore dost thou regard that cottage with such satisfaction, and lift up thy eyes to heaven as in prayer or rather in thanksgiving." —"My sources of happiness my lord, answered the shepherd, are in a woman whom I tenderly love, and a faithful friend who regards me as himself.—That cottage suffices to contain us all, and I am for ever pouring out my thanks to heaven that has preserved them to me, and thus has made me hap­py."

[Page 115]This speech touched the very source of Hamet's an­xiety: "Alas he cried, I have an hundred slaves and concubines, and friends without number, and yet I am unhappy!"

So saying he left the shepherd, and advanced on his walk buried in meditation till the hour of noon, when the weather which he had before little attended to, grew suddenly very boisterous.—A cloudy curtain veiled the skies, the fighting winds rushed forth, loud thunders roared and lightning flashed around him, —A deluge of rain poured down while the very ground seemed to shake beneath him.

Driven by their tempests, he hasted to seek shelter in a wood, whose thickest branches however were not sufficient to repel its force. But in the midst of this distress, by the glare of the lightning he discerned some­what like a little mistic building in the wood; encour­aged by the hopes that it was inhabited, he eagerly pressed forward to it. When he arrived, a venerable man opened the door to him, whose hair and beard were silvered over by age, it was the hermit Hassan, who kindly invited him to take refuge from the storm while it lasted. Perceiving the anxiety that dwelt on the bow of his guest, he inquired the cause of his un­easiness—Hamet concealed nothing of it from him, as far as he knew himself;—When he came to speak of the shepherd's happiness and compare it with his own situation, "what said Hassan, dost thou say, thou hast an hundred slaves, concubines and friends with­out number—ah! deluded wretch, thou hast no love, no friend, thy luxury indeed has provided thee with a [Page 116] number of women and thy high station has caused thee to be attended by a number of dependants, but amongst an hundred concubines thou mayest not find one love, nor amidst an hundred thousand flatterers, one friend. Wouldst thou seek for love and friend­ship, fly the court, quit Ispahan, seek them in some distant province. Lay by thy rich attire, and conceal thy grandeur, so shall thou better judge of human kind, when divesting thyself of the prince thou findest those who regard plain Hamet."

The son of Morat withdrew, when the tempest was over, fully determined to follow the advice of the hermit, he went home and changed his attire for plain cloathing and disguised his face as much as possible; then having concealed a quantity of rich jewels in his garment, he sat out on a journey to Cachemire. Passing thus along through tha public streets of Isaphan as a traveller he received no marks of respect from any one and was obliged often to give the way to his own do­mestics and dependants.

As he was travelling one evening late on the confines of Cachemire, he found himself suddenly attacked by a number of armed robbers, against whom he defended himself with great bravery, but must have fallen in the contest, had not a young man timely came up, who with three servants were travelling on the same road—These fell upon the robbers flew some and put the rest to flight, and afterwards the youth took Hamet home with him, and having provided him with a surgeon insisted on his staying at his house till the wounds he had received should be cured. This generous stranger whose name was [Page 117] Heli, was forever present with his guest succouring and consoling him, till at last such a mutual regard grew between them, as for the first time made Hamet taste of real friendship—yet one thing more was wanting; his heart had yet a vacancy left, when by chance one day he beheld a beautiful young female at the window of the women's apartment; struck with her charms, he flew to Heli to know whom she was, "she is Abra my sister said the youth, would to heaven she were,—return­ed Hamet, in broken accents—what! cries he impa­tiently—my wife, said his guest—the generous youth then told him he would bestow her on him in marriage if he approved her, but he who first knew love, beg­ged only to converse with her, and declared he should prove unhappy if he possessed not her heart as well as her person."—He saw her and finding she entertained a mutual passion for him, whom she had often looked upon undiscovered, they were married according to the manner of the east, after which Hamet discovered himself, and rewarded the love and fidelity of his wife and friend, by making them sharers in his high estate: he took them both with him to the court of Ispahan, where Abra was received as his princess, and Heli was promoted to one of the highest offices in the court of Cha Abba [...], who caused the story to be recorded in the Chronicles of Persia,—to which was affixed this concluding sentence. "Mortals who are exalted among the princes of the earth, learn that splendor may be attended with anxiety, and that without love and friendship there can be no true happiness."

LINDOR TO CAROLINE. CONTAINING THE STORY OF PHILANDER AND HONORIA.

I FELICITATE you on the happy event of the arrival of your brother, and feel myself entitled to a participation with the rest of his friends in the general joy. I read with much pleasure, and equal anxiety, his little adventure, and can conceive by my own feel­ings the force of his. Delia has made too deep an in­cision in my heart to be soon healed, yes! the wound will accompany me to the silent tomb. Until the blood shall cease to glow in my veins, the name of Delia will be remembered. I sometimes meet with her at con­certs and balls, but a lover's fears restrain and prevent the discovery of his wishes, and the overwhelmings of his heart are silently endured. The blood in burning torrents flows, and sometimes an abulition takes place, th [...] the fair Delia be unmindful of the cause, and the constant misery of her ardorer.

I feel a just sense of my obligation for your partial correspondence, and am duly impressed with the purity of your intentions and the genuine goodness of your heart, where generous sentiments dwell. Be assured that I know how to appreciate the words your lips im­part. The rose may fade and the lily die, but the lau­rel that shall decorate the temples of any one, by you bestowed, shall be immortal.

I have experienced the want of a father. I was young and ignorant of the worth of a tender parent [Page 119] when I was deprived of mine. I have reflected on my loss with deep sensibility; frequently have envied the fortunate lot of others, more favored in this respect, by the most high.

The occurrences of human life, however pleasura­ble and full of mirth, are not always so favourable as to secure from causes of the most real grief, a mind sus­ceptible of impressions of the tender passion of virtuous love. To love witout return, is hard and cruel [...]; piti­able and u [...]enviable indeed, is the lot of him, who falls within the limits of this description; his fate is severe, and his future prospects of felicity but very small. Happy he who, in these moments finds a friend, to whom he may impart his grief, and receive conso­lation from a symphathizing heart. Happy the man who possesses fortitude firm enough to banish from his mind the tormenting idea, and drive from his imagin­ation the object of his woe, but transcendantly more happy, the man, who is fortunate enough to fix his choice on a person▪ not ungrateful to the sentiments her worth inspires. Warmed with congenial transport, the friendly spark is gently fanned, until blazing into a flame of mutual affection, Hymen crowns them happy, and their terrestial felicity terminates alone in death. It is, however, a melancholy truth, that the connubial state is unfortunately too often attended with undesir­able, I wont say unavoidable, hapless moments of dis­putes and animosities, which ought never to enter there­in. Deception on either hand may take place before the gordian knot is tied; and above every thing disap­pointment in the temper, disposition and real merits, [Page 120] is ever to be deplored and lamented; they form a source of continual rancour, and are the bane of harmonious agreement and conjugal love. A man cannot conceal his real temper from the world; he cannot dissemble altogether his true character; a female can in a great measure; seen by few persons she may appear charm­ing, while she is in fact quite the reverse, and by a con­tinual chain of duplicity and artful affability, captivate an unhappy victim, to partake in the inherent misery, nature had intended for her alone. But these instances are rare in happy America. Her daughters are virtu­ous as fair. The lustre of whose charms shine resplen­dent in the face of day, and the lucid brightness of their characters, form the devoted objects of heaven's care.

I would never make interest a prevailing motive for a change of condition, nor would I advise any one to aspire at the attainment of a person, above the sphere of life, in which he is placed by the opinion of the sur­rounding world; disappointment is too often the con­sequence, and sometimes misery results from the unhop­ed for denial. The man who marries from interest alone, find out pretty generally the error of his choice, and meets sooner or later with just cause of repentance, especially should misfortune happen, which none are altogether exempt from. It is absolutely necessary that there should be a competency, without which the ex­pectations are very confined. A pretty girl, or a pretty fellow, form no sufficient food for sustenance, by no manner of means. I seldom knew love to be durable where the means of subsistence were wanting; at most, [Page 121] it is a very rare case. An union of this kind adds misery to want, and makes penury the wretched condi­tion of at least two persons, when one alone might have been the subject. I would not be understood as having a positive aversion to matrimony; the feelings of my heart evince the reverse. I should be happy in being the cause of its promotion on principles of general hap­piness and general good.

A young man, as soon as he finds himself established in business, provided he meets with a person of amiable qualities, whose esteem he can flatter himself with, and with whom he has every ground to promise himself future felicity, I think does perfectly right in entering into the connubial state; his generous companion i [...] the soother of his sorrows and the partner of his joy. If she is well disposed to his interest and her own, she will calculate the income of her husband, and from an­nual reduce it to diurnal, and never extend her daily expences beyond his real earnings, but by frugality and decent economy, endeavor that at the close of the year he sha [...]l find a favorable difference in his affairs, and a recompense and a reward for his past and incessant toils and industrious labors. If she is a woman of good con­duct and sense, she will be careful what debts she con­tracts on her husband's account; she will be cautious of [...]unning into extravagancies to equal her neighbors and acquaintances in finery, superfluous dress, and unneces­sary furniture. She will be neat and clean in her attire and her apartments will evince the good house wife and the devoted mistress of her family. Thus frugality [Page 122] and well meditated economy will procure to them last­ing joy and durable felicity, exceeding by far the brilliancy of a moment, or the torpid and lifeless dura­tion of a few days pleasure, too frequently the source of endless pain.

In this country we are born to inherit an equal proportion of our parents' fortune at their decease, pro­vided our conduct does not render us unworthy their care: by this means a large estate is subject to being di­vided into many hands; thence the basis of equality and the incitement to industry and caution: and the exam­ple of frugality may operate with the same if not superi­or force, in preserving the respectability of families in this country, as the pernicious custom of inheritance, which the laws have established in some parts of Eu­rope, are capable of doing. But even the mildest laws, and customs the most generous and well founded, will not alone insure and maintain respectability. Virtue and good morality are necessary. These are the most munificent guardians, these the consolations of a dying parent. Precepts may be futile and examples vague, when the mind is not prone to virtue. It therefore is a parents duty to early infuse into the minds of his off­spring a just idea of their expectations and their situa­tion in life, and prepare them by an education calcula­ted to the part they are to act, upon the grand theatre of the world. A liberal extensive education is not al­ways attended with success, even in the superior walks of life; and I think they must be often still less so, in the more humble. A young man with no rich protec­tor, [Page 123] when he comes from college, is very often desti­tute; he is obliged to become schoolmaster in some small village, the fees of which will not always produce sufficient for his support: This is discouraging to a ge­nius that might have been better employed in tilling the ground, and making improvements in agriculture, which he is now by the brilliancy of his education and perhaps false ideas of his talents, led to regard as below the sphere of life which nature had designed him for. Long accustomed to a life of ease, he despises laborious em­ployments, and the wrong notions his education has induced him to imbibe, become the source of his wretchedness, and deprives his country of otherwise a valuable subject and the respect of a flourishing posteri­ty. Thus population is cramped.

Agriculture and manufactures are the substantial riches of a state; they ought to go hand in hand in pro­motion. These are the sources of commerce, and when the former are encouraged and protected, the lattter will consequently flourish and improve.

The disconsolate heart and the gnawings of con­science, resulting from a wrong decision in Lavina, ex­hibited in your Nymph of the Grove, prove that a female, left as Lavina was, cannot be too cautious in disposing of herself. Her affections, however excite commise [...]a­tion, they were kindly relieved by the generous Sylvan­der. A young lady at the age of Lavina, coming into the world, with which she was before almost entirely unacquainted, must have experienced emotions altogeth­er strange, and it is not surprising, that a mind, uncul­tivated and inexperienced, should be led away from [Page 124] the object who warmed her youthful heart. Tho it discovers little firmness and some caprice, yet it can be easily conceived of. But this was not the case with Honoria, the worthy and generous consort of Philan­der. Honori [...] was the daughter of a rich merchant in America, whose generous heart and hospitable board, were the resorts of the affl [...]cted and unfortunate: whose soul was formed for the relief of the distressed, and in whose bosom the warm sentiments of friendship dwelt. Born and brought up in affluence, he educated his only daughter agreeable to his station in life, and the expec­tations his fortune allowed her to look forward to. She is amiable and discreet, kind, compassionate and possessing charms personal and mental. The smiles and the graces are her c [...]mpanions, and he loves her pro­tectors. The father of Honoria, whom we shall here call Mercator, had taken Philander an orphan, whose parents were snatched from him at a tender age, and th [...] care of whose education devolved on relations who were not unmindful of their charge. They furnished him with learning sufficient for a counting house, and at a proper age good fortune directed the kind hand of Mercator, to take Philander, into the bosom of his fam­ily. Honoria was then at an age when those sentiments which have since expanded and allayed unmeasureable sorrows, began to take root in her heart. She saw Philander with no indifference; innocence was painted on his brow, simplicity, artless affability, and obliging manners, evinced the sincerity of a mind which his outward deportment announced. Qualities like these could not escape the already penetrating eye of Hono­ria; [Page 125] she determined to be the friend of Philander; a mutual confidence soon took place, and from friendship, which grew up with them, resulted the purest love. When Philander had attained his twenty first year, he retired from the house of his friend to enter into busi­ness in a town some ways distant from that of his pro­tector; but not before giving him the most demonstra­ble assurances of his obligations and the indeliable im­pressions his generous and kind partiality had made on his heart. When he comes to take leave of the lovely Honoria, the recollection of past pleasures and the con­fidential friendship that had so early enkindled and uni­ted their affections, served to augment the natural regret of his departure, and cause the moment of their sepera­tion to be equally painful and unhappy.

Mercator was not unknowing to their friendship, and suspected their mutual attachment; but far from being disposed to suppress, he watched the spontaneous flame, and promoted the object of his generosity by set­ting him forward in business and making him still his care. An explanation had long before taken place be­tween the lovers, and they swore to each other at the shrine of Philander's departed father, that their hearts should never swerve, and when mountains and lakes should intercept them, the pen should become subservi­ent to oral intercourse. Philander, by his industry and strict economy, soon acquired a handsome property, and his business daily increased. During his absence Mer­cator died, and left his daughter chief heiress to his large fortune; but by some fatality, at this important [Page 126] and afflicting period, the letters of Honoria were inter­cepted, and their enemies, to effect certain purposes, gave rise to reports equally painful to both lovers. The business of Philander at this time happened to call him near to the capital, the former residence of his departed friend, and he was there informed of his death. Great­ly alarmed at the melancholy news, he flew to his mis­tress, and with hers mixed the tear of sympathy and sorrow. He was soon made acquainted with the vile purposes of his enemies, and controverted all their in­famous intrigues, and at a proper time the angelic Ho­noria granted her hand, and presented her fortune, to the grateful object of so rich a prize.

THE STAGE-COACH: A MORAL TALE.

HUMAN life is composed of pleasure and pain. Success and disapointment, anxiety and hope, form the portion allotted to humanity. Our wishes are unbound­ed; we grasp at the shadow and lose the substance. We consider disappointment as one of the greatest evils, tho it often proves our greatest happiness. Blinded with desire, and agitated by ardour, we porsue the ob­ject of our passion, without reflecting on the conse­quences, or whether it ultimately tends to procure hap­piness or regret.

Frank Sanders was the son of an eminent merchant, and well known at all the places of public diversion; but his good sense assisted by a liberal education, still [Page 127] prevented his being a dupe to the artifices of the in­sidious, and enabled him to escape the snares of the designing. He visited the gardens of pleasure without losing himself in their labyrinths, and paid his devoir [...] at the shrine of beauty without being fascinated by her charms. Frank was no stranger at Bath, Bristol, Scar­borough, and Brighthelmstone; and he began to shat­ter himself that he had gained so much wisdom by experience, that it would be almost impossible for him to be deceived, even by the most artful.

His prudence was soon put to the trial. Passing in a stage-coach from London to York, he was struck with the sight of a young lady, whom he considered as the most beautiful of her sex. She appeared modest even to a fault, and gave the most prudent answer to the questions she was asked by any of the passengers. As she became more familiar with the company, she be­came more entertaining, and it was soon evident that the charms of her conversation were not inferior to those of her face and form. 'This, said Frank to him­self, is certainly the most beautiful, and the most ac­complished woman in the world. I thought beauty had no power to make me her slave: But I was mista­ken. The charms of Delia have been victor in the contest, and I shall willingly resign my liberty at her feet. There can be no deception here. Innocence and good nature have been her constant companions The roses of youth and health bloom in her counten­ance, and all the graces have contributed to render her complete.'

[Page 128]Determined if possible, to gain this amiable object, Frank redoubled his assiduities, obtained permission to visit her at her lodgings, and every thing seemed to promise that his attempt would be crowned with success. One evening, as Frank was walking with the object of his wishes, he accidentally met a gentleman, who had been a very particular acquaintance of his father. Surprised to see him in that part of the world, without having received the favour of a visit, he com­plained in a friendly manner of such unmerited neglect, and begged the favour of his company the next day to dinner. Frank, promised to attend him, and after mutual compliments they parted. Delia seemed con­founded at the presence of this gentleman, whom we shall call Horatio; and, during the conference, kept her eyes fixed upon the ground. Her lover imputed her behaviour entirely to modesty, and the incident seemed rather to increase, than lessen the esteem he had conceiv­ed for her. But Delia's confusion arose from a very dif­ferent motive: She was no stranger to the face of Horatio, and used every artifice in her power to pre­vent Frank from performing the promise he had made to his friend. She proposed a tour into the country, where she promised to shew him some remarkable pieces of antiquity, Frank expressed his desire of attending her but wished the tour might be postponed for a day or two, as he should then have paid the visit he had promised; and Delia, fearing that any farther importu­nity might attend to alarm him, consented to postpone the tour, declaring at the same time that his engage­ment had slipped her memory.

[Page 129]Frank repaired at the time appointed to Horatio's house, and was received with most cordial affection. After dinner, when the company were retired, Ho­ratio asked his friend how long he had been acquainted with the lady whom he saw yesterday in his company. Frank ingenuously told him the whole of his adventure, that he had ne [...]er seen her till he had accidentally met her in the stage coach; adding that her innocence & beauty had inspired him with the most tender passion; and that he hoped to spend the remainder of his life with her in happiness and peace.

'I wish, for the sake of our common friendship, and that harmony which has always subsisted between our families,' replied Horatio, with some vivacity, 'that I could approve your choice. I would willingly con­gratulate your on the prospect of your approaching happiness with all the ardour of a friend. But, be­lieve me, Frank, you have placed your affections on an undeserving object. She has put on the cloak of innocence to deceive you; and will, if you persist in completing the connection you wish; soon triumph in your ruin.'

'It is impossible,' answered Frank, with great emo­tion, 'that I can suspect your uttering a premeditated falshood; but are you not deceived in the object? You may have seen a person that nearly resembles her; and it is possible you may load her with crimes which are the property of another.' 'I am too cautious Frank,' replied Heratio, 'to be easily deceived; and I have too much reason to remember her: The injuries I have [Page 130] received are too great and too recent to be forgotten. To her hypocritical innocence I owe the greatest mis­fortune of my life. My eldest son, your old school­fellow and companion, was seduced by her arts, and, had not I snatched him from her company, his ruin had been completed. She then practised her arts in the capital, and is now I suppose endeavouring to extend her pernicious influence in the country. Believe me, Frank, though very young, she has already been the ru­in of several, and possibly you yourself might have been the next victim at her altar. You seem astonished, but I will convince you that I have uttered nothing but the truth: I will to morrow attend you to her lodgings, and force her to confess that I have not in­jured her character.'

Frank readily consented, and it was agreed that the visit should be paid in the morning. Frank was persuad­ed that his friend was mistaken, and that this inteview with Delia would only tend to give an additional lustre to her innocence and virtue. He believed he had seen too much of the world to be deceived; and that tho vice might for a time assume the mask of virtue, yet the unnatural character would soon be conspicuous, and capa­ble only of deceiving the ignorant and the credu­lous.

As soon as the morning appeared, Frank visited his friend, and could hardly be persuaded to stay till break­fast was over before they repaired to the scene of action. But what was his astonishment to find that Delia, the innocent Delia, was fled, and had taken Frank's pocket [Page 131] book, with notes to a considerable value, which he had imprudently intrusted to her care! They were informed that, immediately after Frank's departure, she had discharged her lodgings, and took post for London.

Frank was now sufficiently convinced he had been deceived, and that all his experience was not sufficient to defend himself against the snares of infidious artifice. He told his friend at his departure that he could wish his unfortunate adventure might be published for the benefit of the young, the thoughtless, and the innocent.

THE PARADISE OF SCHEDAD: AN EASTERN TALE.

A LONG time before the prophet of true be­lievers had enlightened the world, and the holy Alco­ran had descended from the seventh heaven, Schedad reigned in Yemen, with absolute power, which he used without moderation. He was a voluptuous, an extrav­agant, and an impious tyrant: He was a monster rather than a man, and he had the ambition of being a god. If he had wished to be so only in his court, they say the courtiers of these times would have adored without scru­ple, himself, his monkey, and his paroquet: But Sche­dad was desirous that all his subjects should recognize his pretended divinity, and that they seriously and in good faith should believe in it.

To succeed in this project, he conceived a scheme, which to him appeared infallible. He made a circular [Page 132] wall, of prodigious height and extent, built in the most beautiful spot of Yemen. This wall was bordered on the inside with a forest of pine trees, which served as a belt or crown to the greatest and m [...]st magnificent gar­den one can possibly imagine. There were meadows adorned with all the flowers of the spring, and orchards which promised all the riches of autumn. There were rivulets which glided in silence over golden sands; or which rushing rapidly over a bed of pearls, mixed their murmurs with the warbling of the birds On one side, a person might admire himself in a sma [...]l like, where fish of all kind and colours were sport [...]ng: On the other, one might descend into a delicious valley, whose freshness is preserved by a sheet of water which tumbles from a rock.

A little further on, one might walk among per­fumed arbours always green, where the spikenard, the balm, and the aloes, grow at the foot of palm trees and cedarr. Nature every where shows herself with all her charms; and the timid art which has unveiled her, hardly allows herself to be perceived.

In the center of this enchanted solitude, a round hill arises with a gentle slope; then growing flat at once, forms on the summit a vast esplanade. There Schedad constructed a superb palace, which he furn­ished with equal elegance and magnificence.

Here the pomp of luxury was found joined with the acquirements of affeminacy, and the immense ap­paratus of little conveniencies. And one might there find the artists of pleasure, cooks, musicians, dancers, [Page 133] buffoons, and even poets. Schedad thought little of these last; but what he prized above all the rest was a numerous swarm of young girls, whom he took care to scatter over the palace and the gardens.—They were beautiful as the heavenly houris somewhat less pure, but much more lively and sprightly.

When every thing was ready for the execution of his design, Schedad was in haste to publish this strange edict, which was affixed on all the tem­ples.

"Schedad, the god of Yemen, to our faithful adorers, sends health and happiness. As we intend to surpass in liberality all other gods, who only promise happiness after death, we make it known unto you, that we have created in the plain of Iram a paradise where you shall enjoy all the pleasures of this life. We shall admit into that place, at a convenient season, all those among you, who, neglecting every superflu­ous virtue, shall believe sincerely in us, and shall sub­mit themselves without reserve to our divine will. We shall admit there at present, and without any fur­ther proof, our blessed servants, whose names are com­prehended in the list annexed to this present edict▪— O people of Yemen! encourage yourselves to follow the example they leave you, and merit the crown which they have obtained."

Should you wish to know who were these bles­sed servants of Schedad? Some of the most impudent flatterers; some ministers of his oppression and of his debaucheries; some despicable women who had yielded to his desires; some others more artful who [Page 134] only promised to repair there, and these were best treated in this promotion. Scarcely was this edict published, when Schedad kept his word with the new saints. He conducted them with great solemnity to the palace of Iram, where he left them, desiring them to enjoy in peace the happiness he had prepared for them, which his frequent visits should render more perfect.—He himself in going out shut the gate of the sacred inclosure, with an order to the soldiers who guarded it without, to kill without mercy all the pro­fane who should dare to approach it.

In the mean time, the blessed gave themselves up without reserve to the raptures into which the view alone of their new habitation had thrown them. For the first time in their life they admired, nay almost loved, the tyrant of Yemen. They even believed, as if he had been present, that the author of so many delights could be only a god. But their faith was of no longer duration than their happiness, which was indeed extremely short. Pleasures varied in appear­ance, but which at bottom were eternally the same; pleasures easy to be procured, constant, and immode­rate; soon became insipid employments or hateful drudgery. By being obliged to enjoy them, they had no longer relish for hem; they perceived, on the other hand, that disgust and disquiet paid little respect to the paradise of Schedad, and that diseases without intermission paid still less. This was not all. The blessed had been a little acquainted in the world, and did not like each other; but on seeing one another nearer, they became better acquainted, and mutually [Page 135] detested each other. From that time, no more society, no more conversation. Shut up in their apartment, or dispersed over the terraces of the palace, they looked with sorrow on the delicious gardens which surround­ed them; They only saw there the verdure of their prison. Their eyes were more willingly fixed on the red sea, and on a chain of mountains they perceived at a distance. What would they not have given to wan­der at liberty through these frightful rocks, or to sail on that sea, discredited by so many ship­wrecks.

In this situation were the blessed when the god of Yemen honored them with his first visit. He came to add the supreme good of his presence to the pleasures with which he believed them enchanted. But who can figure his surprise and indignation when he saw sorrow painted on every countenance: And when in place of hymns and songs, he heard only complaints and murmurs! he dissembled, however, and contained himself as much as possible! He joined caresses to re­proaches; and by threatening and cajolling his saints, he made them promise that they would endeavour to accustom themselves to paradise, and to enjoy their good fortune with patience. But this extorted prom­ise hardly removed his fears. He trusted more to an order he left with the guards of the outer wall; which was to put to death no longer the profane, but the saints themselves, if they attempted to scale the wall.

In spite of all these precautions, Schedad returned to his capital with the most lively inquietude, which [Page 136] was but too well founded. He no longer flattered himself; he saw that his paradise and his divinity would tumble together into such discredit as never more to raise themselves. To parry this fatal stroke, he had recourse to the only expedient which remain­ed. He proclaimed, by a second edict, that seeing the ingratitude of his people, and their little eagerness to deserve paradise, he was about to create a hell, where unbelievers and impious persons should no longer mock him. As it is more easy to torment men than to make them happy, the new project would probably have succeeded better than the other: But they did not leave Schedad time to execute it. That cruel extravagance alarmed people of all ranks, and exhaust­ed their patience. The tyrant was dethroned; and they deliberated a long time on the punishment they should inflict. At last, they could think of none more proper than to shut him up in the garden of Iram with the vile wretches with whom he had peopled it, and to shut the gate of that infernal paradise. There, torn with remorse, and overwhelmed with affronts, the god of Yemen ought to be convinced, that there is a supreme God, who confounds the projects of impiety; and who has only promised happiness to virtue.

TWO LETTERS FROM MR. EVERARD, F.S.M. CONTAINING AN ADVENTURE, OF WHICH HE WAS AN EYE WITNESS, AT THE QUICK­SILVER MINE OF IDRA.

KINTAIR AND SEATON; OR, THE UNFORTU­NATE SISTERS.

IN the north west parts of Scotland, in the reign of Malcolm, and cotemporary with the usurper Macbeth, whose history our immortal Shakespear has made the subject of one of his tragedies, there lived two young noblemen, at the head of two parties, th [...] mortal ene­mies of one another. Scarce a week passed, at those times when the families were near one another, without accounts of rapes, of duels, and of private murthers; for the hatred was so universally strong thro the whole multitude, that from the lord to the meanest servant, all thought it a merit and an honor to injure, even in the most dishonest manner, any body that belonged in any degree to the enemy's party.

[Page 159]The names of the two young noblemen, at this time at the head of these parties, were Seaton and Kintair; the former, a youth of a most promising genius and great abilities, joined to great integrity, and an earnest love of virtue; his hereditary hatred to the Kintairs was, in short, the only thing that could sully his character; and that he governed in such a manner, that had it not been for the temper of his enemy, the world saw the family quarrel might have been made up between them, and a deal of misery and bloodshed prevented to the country; but such was the implacable hatred and native cruelty of the young Kintair, that all offers of this kind in his life must have been vain, and could only have ex­posed the goodness of the offerer to the imputations of weakness, cowardice, and fear. The violent Kintair was in his temper bloody, revengeful, pityless, and savagely cruel, to a degree scarce to be conceived; ye all these violent passions and all his hatred to the Seaton family, could not prevent his falling in love, at first sight, with one of that house, indeed the sister, though he at first knew it not, of the very lord he hated so implacably.

This lady, whose name was Margaret, had nor only a very charming person; but the innate virtues of her soul displayed themselves outwardly in her face▪ and whole deportment, and gave her an air and manner not to be resisted; she had a twin sister, so like her in every feature and lineament of face, that they were not easily to be known asunder, these were the only relations of the young Seaton; and, with him, made all the remain­der of that noble and antient family.

[Page 160]Opportunities of meeting, it is easy to imagine, were not very frequent between these two families, especially between the heads of them: in short, it happened that the rough Kintair had never seen this lady, till one evening as she was returning on horse back from a visit to a friend at some miles distance, he met her, as he was going across the country, attended by half a dozen ser­vants, to a party of diversion. The moment he beheld her, he stopped his horse, ordered as polite a message a [...] he could dictate to be delivered to her, and begged h [...] might have leave to speak to her: the lady alighted from her horse, and readily admitted him: when he ap­proached her, he threw himself upon his knees, intreated her to tell him her condition; and, if the laws of honor would permit it, he would make her wife to the first nobleman of the country; for that he was the lord Kintair. The lady, who had till that word heard him with a downcast look, and a face covered with a blush of modesty, now immediatly leaped on her horse again, and told him; young lord, one word will answer you; my name is Maraget Seaton. And, thus saying, she pursued her journey.

Words are too faint to describe the conflict of raging passions in the breast of the wild Kintair, on this occasion; love, anger, pride, revenge, the lost hopes of enjoyment of the lady, and the disdain of a refusal, all combating together in his breast, left him no room at first for words, or for any resolution: he thew himself on the ground, and tore up the very earth in agony: at length, arising in a fury, he bade his servants follow, and bring her and her attendants back to him: [Page 161] they were not got far, however, before he changed his opinion; and, thinking of the uncertainty of their suc­cess, as the lady's attendants were equal to them in num­ber, and determining to trust his revenge to nobody but himself, he mounted his horse and followed them.

Love and revenge gave him wings; he soon over­took his own servants, and, quickly after, the lady Margaret and hers: he rode up to her, and addressed himself to her a second time in these words: Insolent ideot, did you imagine you could escape me thus, and that I would let you go home to make your brother sport with my entreaties, and your proud refusal? no! think not that I would marry the sister of a man I hate; or be the scandalous means, by a boyish passion, of making up an enmity, which has so just a cause as that between our families; and which I hope, will be eter­nal. There is a shorter way for me to satiate my de­sires; one that gives me too a double pleasure; as it seeds at once my hatred and my love, and gives me the noblest revenge on all your house, that my hate can even wish: with these words, he gave the signal of mur­ther to his attendants, who destroyed all the unhappy lady's servants, after a short conflict; during which, the inhuman lord ravished their miserable mistress. With­in a moment after this, tho too late, alas! to prevent it, a party of near an hundred of the Seatons appeared up­on a neighboring hill; they, however, saw nothing of this; but the savage ravisher, fearing to be overpowered by numbers, mounted his horse, and with his attendants rode off in haste thro the woods. The Seatons passed [Page 162] another way; and the wretched lady was in a moment left alone, encompassed with the horrors of her own fate, the carcases of her murthered servants, and the bloody weapons of the murtherers, which their haste to get away, on sight of the other party, had made them leave. Her first resolution was, to end her life and misery together, by plunging one of the daggers into her own bosom; but religion forbidding, and her own shame preventing her returning home, she came to a final resolution, of hiding herself from the world for ever; and picking up the weapons to lay before her, as an eternal remembrance of the horrid scene: she made her way to a distant cottage, where she told her story; and, giving to the poor honest hands her money, jewels, and whatever else of value she had about her, swore them to an eternal secrecy, and conjured them to let her spend the remainder of a miserable life with them.

The bloody Kintair, as soon as he had got to a place of safety, sat down with his attendants, exulted with them in the success of his monstrous villainy, and [...]swore he never tasted the pleasures of revenge before; he praised their courage, gave them a number of presents, promised them a thousand more; and, finally, bound himself in an association with them, to make them his companions and his friends forever; and give them all estates, provided they joined heartily with him in prosecuting a scene of vengeance, which he told them he had now concerted; and of which this was but the auspicious beginning. All were proud of the honor their lord did them; and all, with the severest impreca­tions, [Page 163] entered into the association he proposed, of nev­er resting till the family of the Seatons, consisting now of three persons only, should be extinct.

Friends and brothers in revenge, said Kintair on this, hear me now, and know the first step to my de­sign is this: the lady whom I have enjoyed must per­ish; this must be the first act; and you shall then see, and be surprised at my concerted vengeance. I had not spared her, but for the party that we saw above us; but now the desperate attempt must be to seize her again ere she gets home, and kill her on the spot where I enjoyed her; this completes my yet unfinished ven­geance on her, and leads you besides to a scene of com­plicated mischief, with which my brain is full, but which you can yet have no idea of.

The words were no sooner uttered, but all were up and ready for the enterprise; and made that haste, that they soon got forwarder than she could possibly have been by that time, had she continued her journey home­ward; here they pitched on a thick wood, thro which the road to the castle of the Seatons lay, and waited for the unfortunate lady. She, poor creature, was other­wise employed than they imagined; but her sister the lady Jane, unfortunately for her, had the same day been abroad to some little distance, and returning home in the dusk of the evening alone, the villains immediately seized on her, and, according to the orders of their lord carried her to the fatal place where the rape and mur­ther had been before commmitted. It was late in the night before they arrived there; and the moon shining bright, the distracted lady Margaret had left her cottage [Page 164] and wandered to weep her sorrows at the fatal place where the horrid act had been committed; she was here tossing herself on the ground, and making the rocks and woods resound with her distracted cries, when the mur­therers approached with their unhappy prey; the trampling of horses, the oaths and blasphemies of the company, and the known voice of the hated Kintair ter­rified the unfortunate lady Margaret so, that she crept among bushes and thorns which wounded her tender skin as she passed on at every step, till she came to a thicket, behind which she rested to listen to the noise of these abandoned ruffians. They were now come to the place, and the servants throwing down the unfortunate and mistaken victim of their fury, whose mouth they had before stopped, and tyed over with handkerchiefs, to prevent her outcries, no voice was heard but of the savage Kintair, who, walking up to her, cried in an in­sulting tone, We were prevented, lady, this morning, but here is now a favor that you shall own strikes you to the heart: with these words he plunged his sword into her bosom, and put an end to her life, without dis­covering his mistake. As soon as the unfortunate lady fell, the inhuman murtherer seating himself on her body, yet struggling in the agonies of death, said to his attendants, Now, friends, hear the utmost of my inten­tions; alarm you the neighboring villages with cries of murther; these other bodies are yet warm, and they shall be made to believe all fell together; I will join in the croud that first comes, and do you, Farquarson (speaking to one of his servants) mount the swiftest horse, and, as you see us approach, ride with your ut­most [Page 165] speed towards Seaton castle, then round the heath and join us, and you shall be rejoiced at what my re­venge shall make of this. Immediately all separated to the work; and the afflicted lady Margaret took that opportunity to get back to her cottage; she was scarce there when the whole country was raised; the bloody Kintair joined the mob; and Farquarson, when they came in sight, fled, as he was ordered, before them; Kintair pursued him, with a number of the clowns; and when he was got from them, that monster of villainy returned, assured, and persuaded his followers, that it was lord Seaton who sled before them. The clowns, willing to show their discernment, agreed to a man, that they knew him all the way he went, and knew the horse he rode on; and on now viewing the bodies of the murthered persons, the abandoned Kintair persuaded every body, that this Seaton had debauched his sister, and brought her hither, where with the assistance of his other servants, he had murthered her, and all who were there present. His own people, it is easy to imagine, joined readily in this, and the rest were soon brought over to follow their opinion: as soon as Kintair found this, he made them a long declamation on the horror of the crime, and persuaded them all to follow him imme­diately to the next large town, and relate before the magistracy what they had seen. His persuasions, and the rewards he promised to all that would go with him, made every one present follow; and immediately they set forward, tho in the night, and never stopped or stay­ed till they arrived at the end of their journey. All the way, as they went on, the villainous Kintair's attend­ants [Page 166] extolled the generosity, the goodness, and love of justice their master showed in this; and partly by these praises, and partly by promised reward to all that should be able to give material evidence against the murtherers, the clowns were led into forming a thousand circum­stances, all positive, against the pretended murtherer. When they arrived at the town, it happened that the magistracy was at that time sitting: they were all rejoic­ed at this, and went in a body to the hall; and, de­manding (on account of the horrid enormity of the crime they came to give evidence in) an immediate [...]u­dinence, were admitted. The arch-devil Kintair en­tering at their head, recounted to the magistracy the story he had before concerted, and swore to the iden­tity of the person he accused; his servants all follow­ed his example, and, unwilling to say something from their own knowledge, each singled out some one by name of the innocent Seaton's servants, whom they accused of the murther of the attendants; and the clowns joining their positive oaths to the same facts, and ma­ny other forged circumstances, the absent Seaton and six of his attendants were accused of a most horrid murther, on the positive oaths of more than thirty persons, who all declared themselves to have been eye witnesses of the facts they alledged against them.

The innocent lord Seaton knew nothing of any part of this fatal tragedy, but was returning to his castle with some of his servants, from a short journey he had taken to meet his sisters, when he was seized by the officers of justice sent to apprehend him: all circum­stances are construed into meaning by people possessed [Page 167] of an opinion; and accordingly, this unhappy lord being now found returning with a number of his ser­vants from that part of the country where the murther had been committed, was looked on as a proof of his having been committing it; and the agonies of grief, astonishment, and horror with which he received the news of the death of his beloved sister, and his servants, were construed into confessions of his guilt.

The mistake of the two-sisters was not found out; and the positives oaths of all the accusers, that it was lady Margaret that was murthered, made it not at all doubted. The unfortunate lady was glad of the mis­take, wishing, since the rape, for nothing but to be un­known to the whole world; and looking on this as the most secure of all the means of being so, would never, had she not afterwards felt the then necessity that com­pelled her to it, have declared herself to the world.

A short journey brought the accused lord before the magistracy; he entered the room before they ex­pected him, and immediately on his appearance all the accusers renewed their oaths, that he and his attend­ants who were now with him, were the very persons who had committed the murthers; and the vile Kintair made a long harrangue to the court, aggravating in the strongest manner the horror of the crime, and adding a thousand reproaches. When he had done, the accused lord advanced toward his judges with a settled coun­tenance, and looking with disdain on his accuser, and on his judges with that modest, but intrepid confidence, which conscious innocence ever gives, spoke in the following manner:

Here the accused ended his defence, which was soon overpowered by the number and repeated oaths of the evidences and particularly of his enemy Kintair, who asserted that he saw him plunge his dagger in the breast of the lady Margaret, and saw the others butch­ering her attendants. The supreme judge was now rising from his seat, to pronounce sentence on the ac­cused lord and his attendants, when a voice was heard crying with the utmost earnestness, Forbear! forbear, oh judge guard well the doors that none escape; and at the same instant, a woman threw herself at the feet of the judges, crying out, I am that Margaret, whom this innocent this best of brothers is accused of mur­thering; [Page 169] and look well whose are these. With these words she threw down the daggers. The court all rose in a moment, astonished at her appearance; the brother threw himself on her neck in a transport of joy, and the court examining the daggers, and finding on each the name of its owner, demanded of the lady the true history of the fact. She on this related the whole ca­tastrophe in the most pathetic terms. And when she had heard the sentence, intended for her brother and his servants, passed on his accusers, she retired into a nunnery, and left the innocent, but unhappy Seaton in the possession of his own, and the forfeited estate and titles of his accuser; which his descendants, the Seatons of that country, enjoy to this day.

THE FATAL EFFECTS OF MISPLACED CONFI­DENCE.

AMONG the variety of subjects which pre­sent themselves to my view, none excite so forcibly my attention as the one I have selected for my present missive. The colourings of which have been exhibit­ed in animating strains by the poet, and furnished a task for the essayist in numberless instances. The pic­ture of distress, and the throbbings of the heart at the critical moment of impending misery; and the un­generous tribute in return for the purest philanthropic intentions, shall be my theme. Ingratitude, has, from the earliest ages, been treated with just contempt, and [Page 170] incessant pains have been taken to publish the deed, and lay open to mankind the hated miscreant, guilty of so vile a stain; a crime of the greatest magnitude in the sight of heaven, and generally regarded as heinous and contemptible by the inhabitants of this lower world.

I was led to these reflections, from a circumstance which took place not long after the peace. It will be recollected, that at the close of the late war, between Britain and America, the latter was as memorable for failures among its merchants, as during the contest, the success of their trade had been remarkable. At this period the unfortunate Douxville (as I shall here call him) from his extensive trade, experienced repeated shocks by bankruptcies and the death of insolvent debt­ors; these, added to ill success in navigation, reduced a handsome fortune to the confines of a very small capital, all of which he could not call his own.

Douxville, was a foreigner, of a compassionate turn of mind, and a disposition truly amiable. It always de­lighted him to calm the afflictions of his fellow coun­tryman, who were indigent through misfortunes. These he seemed to entertain with an extreme plea­sure, even from the slightest recommendation. It was in the days of his prosperity when mirth was the product of every moment; when affluence had ceased to afford in real enjoyment, and the exquisite refinements of plea­sure had lost their verdant smiles, arising from a con­stant succession of them, that chance presented to his hospitalitie board his former friend Raymond, to whom [...] fortune had been illiberal in the distribution [Page 171] of her favours. He had contracted an intimacy with Raymond in Paris, and found his family to be rather in opulent that middling circumstances. They offered him a handsome capital on his enterance into business; with which he purchased goods and came to America a little before the peace; but through misfortunes on the one hand, and entering into speculations he was en­tirely unacquainted with, on the other, he reduced himself to mere penury. Raymond was a young man who united to a getneel person and polite address, the advantages of an extensive education; but destitute, without a hope, when introduced to Douxville, whose generosity, from disinterested friendship alone, taught him to recognize the friendless object. Douxville, whose hospitality was conspicious on every occasion, and whose liberality the shadow of meanness never eclipsed, invited him to his house, and made him his companion and bosom friend. The impressions such distinguished kindness wrought upon feelings of the distressed Raymond, can be easily conceived of. He accepted the invitation with all the assurances, that a mind penetrated with the extent of the obligation is capable of testifying: But it appears by the event, that this sentiment of gratitude was only momentary; and these outward demonstrations were, by no means the genuine effusions of a good heart. The time however was now arrived, when the beneficent acts of real friendship could be in some measure re­paid; fidelity inviolable, and attachment sincere, were all that became necessary. It was at this time Douxville, taking into serious consideration his extreme reverse of fortune, reflected with some secret satisfaction, that [Page 172] a friend was left him, to whom he could disclose without any kind of reserve, the exact estate of his affairs. From the stagnation of business in America, he found he should be totally ruined to continue, and therefore, sug­gested the plan of collecting together the feeble remains of his shattered fortune, and sailing for the Westindies, in a vessel which he had, to endeavour to repair his losses by a few successful voyages in those parts. From a mistaken conception of merit, and a false idea of friendship in the object he had selected for his com­panion, he thought to place the most implicit confi­dence in the wretch he had prevented from famishing; one whom gratitude ought to have very strongly in­fluenced to strict fidelity. But behold! a fatal reverse. The small capital that remained in Douxville's posses­sion would not admit of diminution without injury to his trade; and owing several sums in the Westindies, though not very considerable, he thought it most pru­dent to secure his property, in such a manner as not to have it arrested from him by seizure in the ports where his business might lead him. To this effect, he proposed to convey the vessel and cargo by a bill of sale to Raymond; the latter promoted the idea with all the warmth of apparent friendship, and the plan was duly carried into execution. They pursued their voyage, and arriving in the Westindies, found every thing to exceed their most sanguine expectations. Fortune to appearance began once more to display her lucid beams over the head of the unhappy Douxville. The cargo was disposed of in the name of Raymond, and the profits afforded Douxville the pleasing hopes of [Page 173] a speedy termination with his creditors in a neighbour­ing island. These did not long remain ignorant of his being there, and improved the first opportunity to send and arrest him. From the confidence he placed in the efforts, of his pretended friend, he suffered himself to be conducted to prison, in perference to making any attempts to escape; and the gates were shut against him, never to be opened for his enlarge­ment. The false Raymond continued the mask no longer than an opportunity offered for casting off the dissembling veil; and the property which he was first led to regard as imaginary, he now claimed as his lawful right. He was sent for, from the darksome cell, and called on by the voice of his benefactor from the black recess of a prison. But the hardened wretch was deaf to the calls of him who had been his truest friend, whose absence served to suppress all kind of fear and restraint. His answers, when he condescend­ed to make any, were vile as the mouth that uttered them, the imports of which were, that he had been his friend already too long, and that the period was now arrived that must terminate all further intercourse between them. He pretended ignorance of having any obligations to him, and affected to despise him as an impostor; one for whom repeated favours had be­come irksome, by their constant succession.

Confined within the walls of a loathsome goal, the unhappy Douxville was unable to justify himself to the world, or to obtain the least justice from a wretch lost to all the feelings of humanity. In vain did the now miserable Douxville, by pathetic remon­strances, [Page 174] endeavour to raise a grateful sentiment in his breast.—Equally vain were his attempts to prove the property his and offer it in preference to his cred­itors in payment of his just debts. It was in the pos­session of a wretch undaunted by threats and demands, and whose heart was thoroughly steeled against the soft language of milder intreaties. Every effort to ob­tain justice became futile, and the hardened villian sailed in a few days from the shore, leaving his truest friend in the deepest affliction and lowest misery, to worry out the remainder of his existence in a prison; where he was soon overcome by the weight of his grief, surviving only a few days the departure of the wretch who com­pleted his ruin and terminated his existence. How fatal the effects of misplaced confidence! The perpetra­tor of this horrid deed did not however escape with impunity. The enjoyment of his ill gotten treasures was but of short duration. Righteous heaven, to whom nothing is unknown, who presides in justice, and who pun [...]shes sooner or later the crimes of mankind, and [...] whose discerning eye black ingratitude is never concealed, beheld in wrath the horrid deed. Raymond was overtaken by a severe storm soon after his depart­ure, and the blue lightning from the skies shivered the masts from the top to the surface of the deck, and the vessel was left to the sport of the waves.—This storm was succeeded by another more violent and more terri­ble: And the vessel was now almost incapable of longer resisting the impetuosity of the watry element, beating without cessation against every part. The distress of [...] was augmented by [Page 175] the ship's starting a plank, which let the water in so fast, that the greatest exertions of the seamen were in­sufficient to free her. The leak increased with ra­pidity, the storm debated not of its fury, and the vessel must have gone down, had not a lee shore presented; on which they run with such violence, that the bark already weakened and exhausted by continual storms, went to pieces almost immediately. Raymond, was the first victim of distress. He was precipitated from the quarter deck into the sea, and tossed by the vibra­ting flood upon rocks which mangled his limbs and body in a shocking manner. The inhabitants of the shore, aroused by the misfortunes of their fellow crea­tures, came and relieved them; took the almost lifeless Raymond to their house, and imitated the good Samari­tan by dressing his wounds and administering to him the kindest acts of hospitality and friendship. The seamen however, not altogether ignorant of the circum­stances I have related, concerning this wretch, dropped several hints of the real state of facts. This informa­tion was carried to Raymond, who began by denying, but finding himself at the point of approaching dissolu­tion, he had just time to make an open avowal of his crime, and shut his trembling eyes in torment.

A TURKISH STORY.

L [...] [...] one of the handsomest girls in D [...] [...] not the least pretentions to [Page 176] beauty, but she was infinitely more witty than Lelia▪ Her father, who was an Arabian physician, had taught her to read; she could make verses, and sing like a fairy. G [...]mil was a young Arabian, rich and of a noble fami­ly. The Damascans said, the pretty Lelia should be the wife of the rich Gamil. Scanbade, piqued at the fre­quent repetition of this mortifying speech, made the following song: 'Blind and superficial mortal, thinkest thou to find the satisfaction of thy heart in the delight of thy eyes, or that a momentary gratification is to be put in competition with a durable system of happiness? Insensible man open the eyes of thy soul, and make a choice worthy of thy judgment. The beauty that so inchants thee is but the morning flower, which in the evening fading thou wilt cast it away. Quit the flowery gardens of Damascus, and seek the happy plains of Arabia; the plants it produces will stand the test of time, and by proper keeping, send forth an odour more sweet and lively than that of the morning. Time, the rapid destroyer of beauty and flowers, perfects and embellishes wit, sense and benevolence.'

This song soon found its way to Gemil. He was struck with the beauty of it, and the truths it conveyed. Peace was a stranger to his bosom until Scanbade be­came united to him for life. After a long course of years spent together in uninterrupted enjoyment, the marriage of Gemil and Scanbade was quoted as a pattern of fidelity and happiness.

Abdalmelech, who then reigned in Damascus, being prompted by curiosity to visit this renowned pair, was astonished when he perceived the difference in their [Page 177] external appearance, for Gemil was handsome, and of [...] lovely mein. The Prince himself, being a tolerable poet, addressed Scanbade in the following verses:

'What traces of beauty has Gemil discovered in your person, that he should seiect you from all the beauties of the city, to be his wife, and the sole object of his affections? On the contrary, can any thing be more the reverse of beauty, both in form and features, than yourself? Is not your figure so thin as to be scarce­ly palpable, and your complexion more like that of a t [...]wney African than the fair Damascan?'

Scanbade, stung to the heart by this rude declama­tion, replied to him directly with that freedom of senti­ment which might be expected from an offended wom­an of her sensibility and address:

'What merit did the people of the earth discover in you, that you above all others was chosen to reign over them? They have been deceived, for he alone i [...] worthy the esteem of mankind who possesses an unspot­ted soul, like the diamond, whose brilliancy is not clouded with any speck.'

The Caliph, struck by an answer so complete with spirit and propriety, charmed likewise with her under­standing and the poignancy of her wit, presented her with a magnificent robe, and sent her husband back loaded with presents.

THE HISTORY OF LEONORA, OR THE UN­FORTUNATE JILT.

LEONORA was the daughter of a gentleman of fortune; she was tall and well-shaped, with a spright­liness in her countenance, which often attracts beyond more regular features joined with an insipid air; nor is this kind of beauty less apt to deceive than allure the good humor which it indicates, being often mistaken for good nature, and the vivacity for true understand­ing.

Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived with an aunt of her's in a town in the north of England. She was an extreme lover of gaiety; and very rarely missed a ball, or any other public assembly; where she had frequently opportunities of satisfying a greedy ap­petite of vanity with the preference which was given her by the men to almost every other woman present.

Among many young fellows who were particular in their gallantries towards her, Horatio soon distin­guished himself in her eyes beyond all his competitors; she danced with more than ordinary gaiety when he happened to be her partner; neither the fairness of the evening nor the music of the nightingale, could length­en her walk like his company. She affected no longer to understand the civilities of others: whilst she inclined so attentive an air to every compliment of Horatio, that she often smiled even when it was too delicate for her comprehension.

[Page 179]Horatio, was a young gentleman of a good family [...]red to the law, and had been some few years called to the degree of a barrister. His face and person were such as the generality allowed handsome: but he had a dignity in his air very rarely to be seen. His temper was of the saturnine complexion, and without the least [...]aint of moroseness. He had wit and humor, with an inclination to satire, which he indulged rather too much.

This gentleman, who had contracted the most vio­lent passion for Leonora, was the last person who per­ceived the probability of its success. The whole town had made the match for him, before he himself had drawn a confidence from her actions sufficient to men­tion his passion to her; for it was his opinion, (and perhaps he was there in the right) that it is highly im­politic to talk seriously of love to a woman before you have made such a progress in her affections, that she herself expects and desires to hear it.

But whatever diffidence the fears of a lover may create, which are apt to magnify every favor conferred on a rival, and to see the little advances towards them­seves thro the other end of the perspective; it was im­possible that Horatio's passion should so blind his dis­cernment, as to prevent his conceiving hopes from the behavior of Leonora, whose fondness for him was now as visible to an indifferent person in their company, as his for her.

It was in the midst of a gay conversation in the walks one evening, when Horatio whispered Leonora, that he was desirous to take a turn or two with her in [Page 180] private, for that he had something to communicate [...] her of great consequence. 'Are you sure it is of con [...]sequence? said she smiling— ‘I hope, answered ha [...] you will think so too, since the whole future happi­ness of my life must depend on the event.’

Leonora, who very much suspected what was com­ing, would have deferred it till another time: but Ho­ratio, who had more than half conquered the difficulty of speaking, by the first motion, was so very impor­tunate, that she at last yielded, and leaving the rest of the company, they turned aside into an un [...]re­quented walk.

They had retired far out of the sight of the com­pany, both maintaining a strict silence. At last Ho­ratio made a full stop, and taking Leonora, who stood pail and trembling, gently by the hand, he fetched a deep sigh, and then looking on her eyes with all the tenderness imaginable, he cried out in a faltering ac­cent; 'O Leonora! it is necessary for me to declare to you on what the future happiness of my life must be founded! Must I say, there is something belonging to you which is a bar to my happiness, and which unless you will part with, I must be miserable?' 'What can that be,' replied Leonora?— 'No wonder,' said he, 'you are surprized that I should make an objection to any thing which is yours, yet sure you may guess, since it is the only one which the riches of the world, if they were mine, should purchase of me—Oh it is that which you must part with, to bestow all the rest! Can Leonora, or rather will she, doubt longer?—Let me then whisper it in her ears,—It is your name, [Page 181] Madam. It is by parting with that, by your conde­ [...]cension to be for ever mine, which must at once pre­vent me from being the most miserable, and will ren­der me the happiest of mankind.'

Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as an­gry a look as she could possibly put on, told him, that had she suspected what his declaration would have been, he should not have decoyed her from her com­pany; that he had so surprized and frightened her, that she begged him to convey her back as quick as possible; which he, trembling very near as much as herself, did.

Many weeks had not pass'd after this interview, before Horatio and Leonora were what they call on a good footing together. All ceremonies except the last were now over; the writings were now drawn, and every thing was in the utmost forwardness pre­parative to the putting Horatio in possession of all his wishes. I will, if you please, repeat you a letter from each of them which I have got by heart, and which will give you no small idea of their passion on both sides.

THE STORY OF THE TWO SISTERS.

TOWARDS the end of those troubleso [...] times, when ENGLAND was shaken by the feuds of th [...] houses of York and Lancaster, there resided, in a vil­lage near the bank of the Medway, a gentleman, whose name was Geoffry de Saint Clair, descended from a family of great antiquity and repute in those parts. The many launces, and pieces of armour, that hung round the old hall, did not render it more res­pectable, that did the unbounded benevolence of its present possessor. The poor sat at his gate, and bles­sed his liberal hand; and never a pilgrim reposed in his porch, without remembering, in his orisons, its hospitable owner.

Saint Clair had allied himself in marriage with the Lady Margaret de Boys, a woman of high birth and rare endowments; whose accomplishments might have embellished the greatest scenes, had not a love of do­mestic life and a religious cast of mind, induced her to prefer retirement. All her leisure hours, which her family did not call for, were spent in duties, which, in that age, ladies of the noblest rank exercised, without thinking they demeaned their stations;—she relieved the indigent,—advised with the unfortunate,—visited the sick,—and brought up her Twin Daughters, Fran­ces and Isabella, in the same sentiments;—accustom­ing them very early, to attend upon her in all those acts of primitive piety. As these young ladies were the sole issue of Saint Clair and Lady Margaret, they [Page 205] devoted their whole attention to their education; and and the comfort to find in their minds, so rich a soil, that every thing prospered which was planted in them: —no useful knowledge was omitted,—no external ac­complishment neglected.

Frances and Isabella were now arrived at the age of twenty five. The amiableness of their characters, their enlarged understanding, and the gracefulness of their persons, won the admiration and esteem of all who approached them. They had, from similitude of manners, and sentiment, contracted such a rare affec­tion for each other, that it seemed as if Nature, by for­ming them together in the womb, had prepared them for that extraordinary union, which was to distinguish their lives,—and for those effusions of elevated friend­ship, which the loss of their exemplary mother was one day to call forth. Nor was this event very re­mote; Lady Margaret was seized by a sudden illness which, in a few days, carried her off, and desolated one of the happiest families in the world.

It would be difficult to describe the sounds of woe, which on this occasion, echoed through all the man­sions, or the sighs of the disconsolate poor, under the windows.—The grief of Saint Clair, after the many years of uninterrupted happiness that he had enjoyed with lady Margaret, in its first attack, almost over­powered his reason;—whilst Frances and Isabella had the weight of a father's sorrow added to their own; which compelled them to smother their feelings, great as they were, and to assume a fortitude their hearts disavowed.

[Page 206]—Lovely mourners!—more lovely in your tea [...] —Fancy pictures you before me, bathed in filial [...]or [...] —standing by and supporting your distracted parent— striving in vain to tear him from the coffin, which you will not suffer his servants to close, still demanding in wild utterance, again, and again— one last—last look!—

—Heavens!—how severe a distress!—If any read­er hath been in a situation, to ask for a last look of what is most dear to him,—and what he is going to be depriv­ed of forever—he alone can best judge how much that bosom agonizes, that urges the request!—

The Saint Clair called in aid all his philosophy, to support himself under the loss of his beloved Lady Margaret, yet he was worn, by a silent sorrow, which had so visible an effect on his health, as to menace his life; and which, in about a year, put an end to it.

In this mournful interval, the greatest comfort his dejected daughters received, was from the frequent visits of their uncle, John de Saint Clair—who was at that time Abbot of the monastery of Saint Augustin, in Canterbury; of which place there are, at this day, such noble remains existing. He was the younger brother of Geoffry, though there was but the difference of a year between them; and was reputed to be a man of so much learning and virtue, that Saint Clair, by his will, recommended his children to his care and protection; bequeathing to each of them a very large inheritance.

—The manner in which Frances had been brought up, added to her natural turn of mind, and the example of a mother she so much revered, determined her to a life [Page 207] of religious retirement;—and a great convent of Bene­ [...]tine Nuns, not very distant from Feversham, hap­pening a few months after, to lose their principal (who was always one of a considerable family) the Abbot of Saint Augustin, perceiving her fixed in her scheme of life, procured her to be named the Lady Abbess of it.

Isabella, who had never as yet been separated from her sister, would on this occasion, most willingly have taken the veil. "The same roof," says she, "hath ever hitherto covered us,—the same have been our wishes —the same our pursuits;—the grave hath divided us, from those, who taught us the amiableness of friend­ship,—and shall alone divide us from one ano­ther!"

—The Abbot was much hurt by this declaration of his niece. He desired her to banish from her thought, such a resolution;—and failed not to intimate to her, that Frances, having devoted herself to the cloyster▪ she remained the only support of the family of Saint Clair; that her virtues should rather embellish society, than be lost within the walls of a monastery;—and wished she would, by accepting some alliance of suita­ble rank and fortune, rather permit those accomplish­ments to be seen by the world, which she sought to hide in oblivion.

Frances, on her part, however she was charmed with this testimony of her sister's affection, joined in sentiment with her uncle,—expressing to her, how much happier she should be, to see her settle herself by marriage, and imitate the good life and example of their excellent mother.—

[Page 208]"I am not, you know," says she, "by the religiou [...] office I fill, tied down to all those rules, which must [...] coerse be imposed on you:—my liberty remain [...] [...] we shall have constant opportunities of continuin [...] that intercourse of love, our hearts so mutually desire. —It will be the highest pleasure to me, to see you uni­ted to a man worthy your choice;—preserving in our father's castle, that hospitality, for which it hath so long been famed;—and whenever you shall wish to make a short retreat from the bustle of the world, our holy house will afford you a peaceable asylum."—

—It was not but with great difficulty, nor even [...]ill much time after, that, by the repeated solicitations of Frances, and her uncle, Isabella was prevailed on to relinquish entirely, her intentions of entering on a monastic life.—She resided for some time, in her father's venerable old mansion on the Medway, accompanied by a widowed aunt, her father's sister;—who at in­tervals, attended her on visits to Frances,—and also, at particular seasons, to the Abbot, at his house which was a noble building, adjoining to the monastery of Saint Augustin.

—It was in one of these visits to her uncle, that she became acquainted with Henry de Belville, between whose father and the Abbot, there had long subsisted a most firm friendship. He was of good birth, though much inferior to Isabella in fortune; his father's estate having greatly suffered in the confusion of those turbu­lent times.

Belville was now in his twentyninth year;—his figure was graceful and manly,—and, to a disposition as [Page 209] amiable as his person, was joined an understanding [...]th quick and strong, and which had been improved by the most extensive education, that the fashion of the age allowed.—He had been sent to travel over Europe, —had resided in several of its principal courts;—and was now on his return from a short expedition into France,—and had stopped at Canterbury, to pay his respects to the Abbot, and to deliver him certain letters with which he had been charged.—

Belville, on his first return to England, a few years previous to the present period, had been honored by the patronage of Richard Duke of Gloucester; near whose person he held an employment, which could not long dispence with his absence;—for that prince, being now mounted on the throne of England, the whole nation was thrown into an hostile state.

It will not be wondered at, if after Belville and Isa­bella had been a few days together, their mutual accom­plishments, and their mutual desire to please, should have made them much charmed with one another. Bel­ville felt himself enamoured of his fair companion,— and had the satisfaction to perceive, that his attention to her was not thrown away. Tho he took leave, after a short time, to go to London, yet he found an ex­cuse for returning very soon;—and having reason to think he had made a favorable impression on Isabella, did not long hesitate to propose himself to her, as one who would be happy to pass his life in the society of so engaging a woman. His offer was not less pleasing to Isabella, than it was to her uncle, and Frances;—the latter of whom agreed to give up to her sister, her right [Page 210] in the castle of Saint Clair, where it was proposed th [...] should reside.

—Every thing was preparing for their nuptials [...] and nothing could wear a fairer face of prosperity, than did this purposed union of true and disinterested affec­tion. But the successful progress that the arms of Henry of Richmond, now made in the kingdom, had obliged Richard to oppose them with his utmost force, and to summon all his servants to attend his camp; amongst whom, as I before mentioned, was the intend­ed bridegroom; who at this time would most willingly have waved the service, had not his own nice sense of honor, and his zeal for his royal master, overcome ev­ery private motive.

—Were I to follow closely, the manuscript from whence the substance of this story is drawn, it would lead me into some of the historical transactions of those times, which are already sufficiently known; only it is worthy of being remembered, that there are encomiums bestowed on the character, and person of Richard; upon both of which, historians have thrown so much deformity.—I shall therefore pass over those circum­stances, which are foreign to my subject; and only observe, that the unfortunate Belville was amongst those of the king's followers, who shared the fate of their royal master in Bosworth Field.—He was near Richard in great part of the battle, and was also a wit­ness of his death;—& his own horse being killed under him either by the fall, o [...] by being trampled on in the confusion, his thigh was broken; and, after Rich­mond's party had obtained the victory, this gallant [Page 211] [...]ath was carried, with several others wounded, into L [...]ester,—where his rank being known, he was [...]ged in a monastery of Black Friars, in that city.

—His page, Bertram, who had served him from his infancy, took care that every assistance should be pro­cured him;—but the fever, which was occasioned by the accident, together with the many bruises he had re­ceived, neither gave himself, or those about him any other prospect, but that of approaching death.

Those who contemplated Belville a few weeks before, in the full vigour of youth, flattering himself with every expectation of happiness, that virtue, fortune, and an union with one of the loveliest of woman, could present to his imagination; and now picture him, stretched on a poor pallet, surrounded by a parcel of mendicant friars,—his countenance shrunk and wan, —and his eyes fixed with humility, and resignation, on a crucifix which they held before him,—cannot sure­ly, by the contrast, avoid dropping a sigh, at the fal­lacy of human hopes!—

—A little before he expired, he desired to be left alone with his Page, that he might give him his latest orders.

"Bertram," says he,—looking wistfully on him —"the day that hath ruined our Sovereign's fortune, hath blasted mine!—and that too, in the moment when it shone the fairest!—Thou wilt soon render me the last of thy faithful services!—Let my body rest with the fathers of this house,—and as soon as thou hast seen its due rites performed, speed thee to Can­terbury,—and acquaint the holy abbot of Saint Augus­tin, [Page 212] with the bloody event of yesterday.—Conjure [...] that he unfold it to my intended Bride, in such [...], as his discretion shall advise. Bear her this [...] from my finger, in token that my last thoughts dw [...] on her;—and tell her, my only sigh in leaving th [...] world was for the losing her, whose virtues so embel­ished it!"

—The faithful Bertram dopped a tear of affection and gratitude, over the grave of his gallant master;— and journeying to Canterbury with a bursting heart, presented himself before the Abbot, with such a counte­nance, as hardly needed a tongue to tell his melancholy errand.

The arrival of Belville's Page, could not be long a secret to Isabella, who was then at her uncle's; and whose mind instantly foreboded some extraordinary event;—tho the news of the battle had not yet reached that city.

When Saint Clair was himself sufficiently composed, to open the mournful business to his niece, he spared none of that ghostly comfort, which a good man would offer on such an occasion;—tho the amount of all that can be said to the sons and daughters of affliction, is no more than this,—that it is our duty, and our interest, to bear, with patience, that which it is not in our power to alter!—The emotions of nature must subside, before the soothing voice of reason can be heard!

Isabella, after giving way to the first transports of passion, assumed a fortitude, and resignation, which her piety alone could inspire. She desired that Ber­tram might be detained, two, or three days, at the mon­ [...]stery, [Page 213] —and as soon as her mind was more fortified, [...] [...]ould dispatch him to her sister Frances, whom sh [...] [...]ould then bear to see with more calmness;—and to whom she sent the following letter, by the hands of the Page.

When the Lady Abbess saw her Sister, she found her still more confirmed in her resolution of entering [Page 214] on a monastic life. Her uncle, conceiving it might be restore a calm to her troubled spirits, no longer opp [...] it;—and as soon as her affairs were properly adju [...] and every thing prepared, she took the veil in the co [...]vent where Frances presided.

—Isabella now found in religion, the only consola­tion for her past misfortunes;—and tho the remem­brance of her Belville, would often come across her, and spread a temporary gloom over her mind,—yet she con­stantly strove to dispel it, by piety and resignation. The two Sisters enjoyed all that heart felt pleasure, which arises from rooted friendship;—and, as the effects of benevolent dispositions operate on all around, theirs served to commmunicate happiness to all the Sisterhood.

The Louvain Manuscript informs us, that after these ladies had passed near fourteen years in this peaceful retirement, the Abbess was seized with an alarming fe­ver, the effects of which hung so long upon her, that they greatly endangered her life. It is not difficult to conceive, how severe Isabella's sufferings were, in this dreadful interval of suspense and apprehension, or the anxieties of her mind, till her Sister was restored to health.

FRANCES during her illness, had made a private vow to the Blessed Virgin Mary, that if she recovered, she would send some costly offering to a chapel, which was consecrated to her, at a little Port, called Bradstow or Broadstairs, in the isle of Thanet (part of which chapel is at this day [...]maining);—and in which, her image was esteemed to work such great miracles, that Pilgrims came from parts very remote, to visit it;—and [Page 215] it was held in such veneration, that all ships passing within fight of it; are reported to have constantly lowered their top sails, to salute it. And the feast of the Invention of the Holy Cross, which was the third day of May, being to be celebrated there, with great solemnity,—her gratitude for her recovery, and for the supposed intercession of the Virgin, determined her to go herself at that time and fulfil her vow.

Isabella obtained permission to accompany her sister in this devout purpose;—and the roads being little frequented in that age, and a horse almost the only conveyance—they resolved to put themselves, with two attendants, aboard a passage-sloop, that usually went at stated times, from Feversham to Broad-stairs, and other parts along the coast, between that place and the Downs.

—They set sail in the evening, but had not been at sea above two hours, before a violent storm arose. Ev­ery one who is acquainted with the navigation of this coast, quite to the mouth of the Thames, knows how difficult it is rendered, by reason of the many flats, and banks of sand, that obstruct it.

—The suddenness and fury of the storm, together with the thunder and lightening that accompanied it, threw▪ dismay amongst all the passengers;—and the mariners, from the opposition of the wind and tide, were unable to direct the vessel. To pursue their course was impracticable;—they therefore attempted to save themselves, by running in on the shore, at a place called Reculver (which is a small village, tho of great antiquity situate on the border of the isle of Thanet;)—but the [Page 216] advance of night, and a thick fog, prevented them [...] discerning exactly, whereabout they were. [...] endeavor to reach the shore was frustrated by the [...] driving them from it;—and their sails being all sha [...]tered, a sudden swell of the sea, bore them quite out o [...] their direction, and struck the vessel on a bank of sand, called the Horse, that lies a little off from Reculver.

—The surprise—the confusion—and the image of death, that must naturally rush into the minds of peo­ple, who are on the point of being wrecked,—can only be justly felt, or described by those who have stood in so dreadful a situation. Each one recommend­ed himself to God, and to his Tutelar Saint. The mar­iners hoisted out their long boat as precipitately as they could; and that which most agitated the thoughts of Frances and Isabella, was the mutual preservation of each other.

Scarce was the boat on the surface of the waves, when every one was eager to rush into it; for it was certain the vessel must bilge in a few hours,—and, to add to the horror, night advanced. The Captain, almost by force, dragged the Lady Abbess, and her Sis­ter, from the cabin,—and scarce had he helped the first, half dead as she was, down the side of the ship, when those who were already in the boat, finding they must all perish, if more got in, pushed off instantly, and rowed towards shore,—in spite of the menaces of the Captain, who stood on deck, supporting Isabella,—the intreaties of the Abbess, who was wild to return,—or the cries of the passengers left behind.

—The only faint hope which now remained to [Page 217] [...]ose on board, was, that the vessel might possibly hold t [...]her, till some assistance could be obtained from the [...]; which they still flattered themselves would come, in case the boat reached the land,—which it prov­identially did, tho with the utmost risk. Every one who remained in the vessel was resigned to his fate;— and surrounded as Isabella was, by impending death, it afforded no small consolation to her, to think, there was a possibility that her Sister had escaped.

—It was four hours after the arrival of the boat, before any one durst venture out; when, the storm abating with the departure of the tide, and the day be­ing near dawning, a large boat put off to the wreck. When those who went to assist, got to it, they found all the people on board, retired to different places be­neath the deck,—great part of which was broken away. Isabella had remained in the cabin; one side of which was also washed off, and the room half filled with water;—she was almost exhausted, by the terrors she had sustained,—the bruises she had received,—and the extreme cold in which she had so long suffered. They led her with the utmost gentleness from this wretched place,—while she, all pale and trembling, scarcely comprehended at first what they were doing;— yet life seemed to flush anew in her countenance, on hearing that her Sister was preserved.—

—As soon as they had brought her on shore, she was supported by several women, who were waiting to receive her; and conducted to the house where the la­dy Abbess was. Frances, transported at the first sight of her Sister, ran out to meet Isabella,—who the mo­ment [Page 218] she approached, made an effort to spring forwa [...] to her, but sunk down, overpowered, into the arm [...] her attendants. Frances cl [...]sped her hand, and in [...] eager joy, would have uttered some [...] but could on [...]ly faintly pronounce her name, and [...] feet in a swoon.

Isabella was immediately put into bed, and received every assistance that could be procured;—but her strength and spirits were so far exhausted, by the terror and fatigue, which her mind and body had undergone, and by remaining so many hours in water, that she lived but till the evening of the following day.

Frances, tho still sinking from the shock and agita­tion of the preceeding night, forgot, in her attention to her Sister, her own sufferings. She never stirred from her bedside,—and often accused herself, as being the fatal cause of all that had befallen her, by suffering her attendance in this expedition. Isabella chid her for thinking so,—declaring it was the will of heaven, to, which she patiently submitted. "Tho we came into the world together," says she, "yet as we were not destined to perish together,—a time must inevitably have come, when death would have dissolved our un­ion. I rejoice that I am not the survivor. I die, where I have ever wished to live, in the arms of the most beloved of sisters. Pray for the repose of my soul; —and lay me in the tomb which you have allotted to be your own—that one grave may in death hold our remains, who in life had but one heart."

The loss of Isabella plunged the lady Abbess into that deep distress, which minds, formed like her's with [Page 219] the noblest sentiments of tenderness, and benevolence, [...], on such a trial, inevitably feel. She caused the body of her unfortunate sister to be transported in solemnity to their convent;—where, after it had been exposed with accustomed rites, it was deposited, with every mark of respect, in a vault, on one side of the shrine of Saint Benedict,—bedewed with tears of the most heart-felt sorrow, dropped from the eyes all the sis­terhood.

When time and reflection had somewhat calmed her affliction, Frances failed not to transmit, by the hands of her Confessor, (her uncle, the Abbot, having been sometime dead) her intended offering to the Vir­gin of Broad-Stairs,—accompanied by a donation of twelve masses, to be said for the repose of Isabella's soul. And soon after, to perpetuate the memory of her Sis­ter,—as well as to direct mariners in their course,— that they might escape the sad calamnity herself had so fatally experienced,—she caused a very ancient church, that stood on a rising ground just above the village of Reculver, and which was greatly fallen into decay, to be restored, and much enlarged,—and at one end there­of erected two Towers with lofty Spires upon them,— the which she directed should be called THE SISTERS! —and to this day it retains the name, and is a sea mark of great utility.

In less than seven years, the whole church was completed; which she endowed very liberally, by a grant out of her own fortune;—and ordained, that there should be celebrated one solemn mass on the first day of every month (the wreck having happened on [Page 220] the first of May;) and that a perpetual litany sho [...] be sung, for the eternal peace of the departed Is [...]la.

She lived to see this her Will executed,—as well a [...] to bestow many other charitable donations,—not only on the convent over which she presided,—but on sev­eral other religious institutions;—and was, from her amiable character, and pious example, beloved, and res­pected to the last hour of her life.

She survived Isabella eleven years, and died most sincerely, and deservedly lamented, towards the end of the year 1512.

Her remains, pursuant to her own desire, were de­posited by the side of those of her Sister, with all that solemnity due to her high rank and office. A monu­ment was erected near to the place, where they were interred, with their figures kneeling, hand in hand, be­fore a cross,—and beneath it a plate of brass, recording their unshaken friendship.

—Faithful,—congenial spirits!—in whatsoever world ye reside, peace be your lot!—as virtue was your portion here!—Long, long may this memorial of your love remain!—to guide the dubious vessel in its course, and make your names blest by the wanderers of the deep!—

ALCANDER AND ROSILLA.

IN the time of Heptarchy lived in the kingdom of Kent, a certain gentleman, whose property was im­mense; he had one child only, an heiress, whose name was Rosilla, whose beauty was insurpassable, and whose qualities of mind were in no degree inferior to her ex­ternal accomplishments; in short, she was esteemed as the most finished piece of perfection which nature could boast of being the author of; she was celebrated not only through the kingdom of Kent, but furnished a topic of conversation for all the people, and a subject for the employment of the genius of all the bardo through the whole seven kingdoms; and every person of quality was striving to recommend themselves to her favourable notice. Then, thus situated, her father, who was of a disposition ambitious in the extreme, had nur­ished in his bosom a hope of raising her to the bed of the king of Kent, who was a prince excessively fond of beauty, and no effort was left unassayed to recommend her to him; the king himself had a deep impression made on his mimd by the many concurrent reports he had heard of her external and mental accomplishments, and was determined to make a visit to her father in a tour through that part of his kingdom where he lived, and if she answered the idea he had formed of her by reports, to raise her to his bed and throne, of which he informed her father in a letter sent by express.

[Page 222]The father of Rosilla with transport read the [...] tents of the king's letter, and his eyes sparkled [...] joy at anticipating the having his daughter a [...] and being father in-law to a king; his mind form [...] reveries of future greatness, pomp, splendor, and power; but while he was indulging himself in the most pleasing anticipations, which his ambitious mind could invent, there entered his apartment his beloved Idol, his beautiful and accomplished daughter having by the hand a beautiful and sprightly young gentleman of about twenty one, dressed in a manner the most genteel, and whose aspect bespoke something great in his soul. Her father's eyes began to kindle into rage at a sight his imagination suggested to him was omnious of no good. His daughter's perception informed her of the sensa­tions which occupied the indignant breast of her father; she thus accosted him.—

[Page 223]Her father stood gazing, his eyes being fixed in aston­ [...]ment while she proceeded; you see sir, I have by [...] hand a young gentleman, his person you are no doubt totally unacquainted with, but his virtues you may depend are not to be surpassed by any one which this or any other country can boast of; long have I in private admired him, he has had full possession of my soul and affections for a long time before he was in­formed thereof; tho, often had an opportunity of being a witness to his genius, his knowledge, and his virtues, yet till very lately I had no proper opportunity of let­ting him understand the high value I had for him, and of the deep wound he had unintentionally given, and which no one could do any thing which could contri­bute to its cure but himself.

I have at last had an opportunity to inform him of my passion for him, which I did in the most engaging manner I was capable of; and tho a novice in the art of wooing, yet such was my pathos that it fully convinced him that nothing but the purest sensations of uncon­taminated affection was the cause of the overtures I made him; when I had made an end of my address to him, the rose bloomed in all its verdue in his cheeks, while in accents the most engaging, he vainly endeav­ored to persuade me to give over what he was pleased to call so improper and unsuitable a pursuit, telling me that I was heiress to one of the most wealthy and con­sequental characters in the kingdom; that was qualifi­ed to grace the bed of a monarch; that he himself was a most obscure character; that his birth and parentage [Page 224] were totally unknown even to himself; that whe [...] [...] infant he was taken out of a box tossing amidst th [...] [...] which beat on our shore, that he had been broug [...] [...] by the hospitable charity of a gentleman, and that [...] had no means of supporting himself except the charity of his benefactor, and the education which he had given him, that such a difference of [...]uality totally disqualified him for a conjugal connexion, but that apart from those considerations, the want of my father's approba­tion would be an insurmountable obstruction thereto, and therefore desired and begged of me to banish every idea of him from my mind.

Of little consequence was this harangue; I still con­tinued inportunate to the last degree, nor would I suf­fer him to leave me, till he had promised at a certain time and place to meet me again on the subject: thus ended our first interview, from which time 'till our second meeting each moment crept off with the imper­ceptable motion of an age, and I was a stranger to qui­etness, peace or sleep 'till the happy time arrived, but to my mortification he persevered in his resolution, un­til he perceived I grew desperate, and an idea that I might fall into a phrenzy, the efforts of which might prove fatal, occasioned him to express his resolution in terms less strong, which by degrees softened down to an implicit accquiescence with my proposal to him.

Three weeks have passed since this event took place, in which time we have spent every moment together, which we had any opportunity for, which [Page 225] [...] served only to highten my esteem and regard for [...] ▪ and has raised his affections for me to a pitch [...]rly equal to mine for him, and our happiness is suspended on your approbation of our mutual love, and on your consent to our being united in the connubial state. This sir, is the occasion of my thus introducing him to you, and with the greatest pathos of soul I beseech you sir, if you tender the happiness of your only child, and if my welfare is an object which you put any value upon, that you grant me this request."

Her father who scarcely contained himself while she was addressing him, as soon as she had ended broke out in the most bitter invectives against the young man, and the most severe reprehensions to his daughter, for the criminal overtures she had made him, and in the end by the ringing a bell, called in a number of servants when he ordered them to take the young man and convey him on board of a vessel lying in the har­bour, then immediately bound on a voyage to sea, which command was instantly obeyed, while the poor Rosilla, lay senseless in a swoon, at the first time seeing her father disapprove of her conduct, and at the loss of him who was dearer to her than life itself.

Every effort was made use of to restore her to her senses, which at last proved effectual, but the most appa­rent dejection was seated on her contenance, and in vain was every method used to erase from her mind the memory of him; to no purpose, was she informed of the King's intention towards her, the gaudy trapings of royalty had no allurements in them that could induce her to withdraw her affections from the young man, [Page 226] whom she looked on as the ornament and glory of [...] man nature.

For a week she remained in an inconsolable [...] when her invention suggested to her a probability of once more meeting with her admired Alcander (for that was his name) and she immediately formed a resolution of putting the scheme into execution, in order to effect which, she procured a suit of seamen's apparrel, with which she attired herself; with this habit she entered on board a vessel as a common seamen, hoping by this mean to meet with him whom she prized more than all the riches in the world.

It is foreign from my present design, to give a par­ticular detail of what the poor Rosilla passed thro on board of the vessel under the name of Evander, and of what hardships she experienced in a long and fruitless search after her beloved Alcander; suffice it to say, that she acquitted herself so honorably that she be­came the second commander in the vessel on the death of her prececessor, in which station she possessed the highest degree of confidence of all who were on board the vessel; but what amazement & horror seized not on­ly Rosilla, but the Captain & the whole crew, one fair and pleasant morning, when they espyed a vessel but a small distance from them, having a piratical flag hoist­ed at their mast heast; to attempt an escape was in vain, as they had been long at sea, and very soul, and but a dull sailor at best, and no hopes could rationally be en­tertained of success in a combat.

In this confused situation they held a consultation, the result of which was, to make as good a defence as [Page 227] they could, and knowing that fortune favors the brave; they rested only on this ground that there was a possi­bility of avoiding being captured by this merciless pi­rate.

By the time this was agreed on, the pirate was along side of them, when a furious attack was begun by the pirate and an obstinate defence by the other. Perhaps never was more valor discovered than by this little band of heroes; 'till at length being overpowered, their Captain slain, and above half their men killed and wounded, they were boarded by the assailants, on which a compleat victory soon ensued.

The prisoners were indiscriminately hurryed on board of the pirate, and huddled in below the deck, while the captors were busily employed in plundering their new acquired booty. This business being ended, said the Lieutenant to the Captain, 'tis time a council should set to determine the fate of those sturdy prisoners who have put us to so much cost of time, pains, and blood to conquer them, not less than one third of their crew being either killed or wounded, those miscreants ought to be sacrificed to appease the manes, of our fallen breth­ren, and to alleviate the pains of those who are suffer­ing under their wounds; what say you Captain? "You are quite right, (answered the bloody disposed Captain) but I am so exhausted with fatigue, and the loss of blood, by a large (tho not mortal) wound, that I must substitute you and place you on the tribunal of retribu­tion, and your determination shall be fate." Every thing being prepared, the Lieutenant took the seat of judgment, and ordered the prisoners to be brought out [Page 228] one by one, safely ironed. The first whose fate it [...] to be arraigned was the tender and delicate [...] bound in fetters & brought before the bench of [...] where the sole arbitor of life and death, with a counte­nance, frowning vengeance and eyes sparkling with rage, and a voice rendered the most horifick, he thus addressed the prisoner, "poor pitiful misecrant, you have obstinately refused to submit to our regency of the seas, and put us to much trouble and hazard, and deprived us of a considerable number of our best men, in consequence of which it has become our incumbent duty to make example of you, especially of your per­son, as you had the chief command devolved on you af­ter the death of your superior, therefore hold up your guilty hand and hear your sentence, for by the infernal Gods, within half an hour you shall be wrapt in sheets of liquid sulphur, impregnated with fire; for you in the first place shall be made fast to the deck with your face upwards, your mouth extended with a gag in each cor­ner, of an inch thickness, two quarts of lead melted and mixed with sulphur, shall be poured down your throat, and if this is not sufficient to satiate your appetite, the dose shall be doubled, and my impatience is such, that each moment is an age till I see this decree carried into effect."

The terrified Rosilla under the name of Evander, raised her distracted eyes to her judge; but what was her sensations when in the person of him who had pronounced this awful sentence against her, she discov­ered her long sought for Alcander! The color in her face alternately charged from red to paleness, and from [Page 229] paleness to the vivid color of the rose, and the highest degree of confusion was legible in her countenance, her different emotions of mind for some time divested her of the power of utterance; at last she collected her scattering ideas, and thus addressed the judge. "Dear sir, it is enough—I have seen you once more— You have given the most bloody sentence which the compass of human ideas is capable of forming against your best friend, against one who loved you better than every other earthly enjoyment—against one who dispised a diadem and a sceptre for the affection she had for you, against one who has left every thing near and dear for the hopes of finding you—You have given sentence against one who might have remained possessed of every human tranquility, had it not have been for the love of you; thousands and thousands were annually at my command, but I have left every thing for your sake, and this is the benediction you bestow on me therefor—Here sir, is the ring you once gave me as a pledge of your inviolable love to me—you must re­member that happiest of moments, when you bestow­ed this on her you called your adorable Rosilla— pray sir then, from whence comes this strange altera­tion.

Alcander stood in a maze 'till he heard her mention the name of " Rosilla" at the naming of which, he burst into a flood of tears—and quiting his seat, clasped her in his arms, and embraced her in extacy—exclaiming yes! yes my dear Rosilla! I recollect! I recollect, you was mine, you are mine still, and I am yours! the most inviolable—the most indissoluble bond, bind us together, [Page 230] a cement that is stronger than that of blood, has [...] us, and nothing below the power of omnipotence [...], or can put an end to that union—It is sufficient I have found my adorable Rosilla—I will prove to my vows—I will never more part from her—my bloody sentence I totally reverse and repeal—we will shape our course for the chalky cliffs of Albion, and will spend our days in peace, and no more hazard ourselves o'er the boisterous billows of the tempestuous ocean— we will unite our hands at the sacred altar of Hymen and retire to the peaceful enjoyments, of domestic life.

The spectators stood astonished at this transaction, and notwithstanding their piratical dispositions, seem­ed pleased at the occurence, 'till the Captain interrupt­ed the pleasing sensations they enjoyed, by addressing the Judge in the following manner—"Pray sir, take care of mistakes—we do not repeal laws for the sake of a true lover. If you had not given sentence, you might spare her from death, but as it is, the sen­tence should be put in execution if she was a wife of my own."—A Serjeant, whose affections were much moved on the occasion, stepped to the Captain, saying, pray sir, let this determination of yours be varied in a small degree; let the Lady be acquitted, and I myself will submit to the sentence which is pronounced against her; but spare her I pray you—The Captain enraged, drew his sword and sheathed it in the poor fellow's bo­som, who dropt dead at his feet, and then with a voice that bespoke the malignity of his heart, he thus addressed the Lieutenant, whom he had constituted as Judge. " Vile Reptile! thou pretend to be a man?—Thou think [Page 231] [...] be esteemed not only worthy the human shape, but [...] to be capable of enterprize, & to put on the name [...] soldier, and inlist under the banner of Mars, and to cross the ocean in search of adventures, and at the fame time to have thy femenine heart melted down by a whimpering woman's tears? No, thou art a disgrace, a scandal, and in irreparable blemish to our function; thou must learn to hearden thy waxen heart or expect to fall a sacrifice to our just indignation: I'll give you a lesson which shall divest you of those disgraceful ten­der feelings, under the sensations of which you haVe sullied all your former acts of valour and forfeited that worthless life which animates that body of thine, which now ought to be on a rack; seize that worthless wo­man, which is the cause of thy unmanning thyself; take her with thy own hands, as unnerved as they are, bind her fast to the windlass, then put lead over the fire, & see you make it boil instantly-then, when it has receiv­ed as great a degree of heat as it is capable of—pour it down her throat, but not too fast, that she may take a true relish of all it's opening qualities: This do instant­ly; for a refusal or even a show of reluctancy, will in­volve yourself in the same malediction.

Alcander was struck with horror at this infernal mandate; but being sensible of his situation, and know­ing that his life depended on a momentary exertion, he drew his sword, and with one push, pierced the heart of this insuperable Captain, who with a hideous yell gave up the ghost, and whose body was instantly committed to the deep for food to the ravenous un­couth [Page 232] animals which inhabit the caverns th [...]of.

Alcander now being the sole commander, directed his course for the famed isle of Britain, enjoying his incomparable lady, whom he caused to be decked in the best of women's attire, and Neptune favouring their purpose, soon introduced them into the harbour from which he at first sailed, when he was forced away by her remorseless father; but unhappily for them, the ves­se [...] [...]hey were in was no sooner in port than she was known; and poor Alcander was taken into costody as a pirate, together with the crew, (Rosilla excepted, who was kept as a witness.)

Alcander soon underwent a trial, and received sentence of death, and his death warrant was instantly made out, in order that it might be put in execution the next day, when he was taken out of the dungeon with all the awful formalities of execution. He was carried to the fatal spot, where in the most finished agony, he was just going to make his exit; Rosilla, who was dismissed the day before, came up and de­manded a release of the prisoner; for said she, "There is a law in the Kingdom of Kent, from before the mem­ory of man to the contrary, that when any man, sen­tenced by the laws of the kingdom to death, and brought to the place of execution, should be demanded by a woman that would marry him then under the gallows, that her demand should be granted, and the malefactor liberated accordingly—I therefore, a woman of one of the first families in Britian, demand this male­factor in marriage, and am ready to solemnize the nup­tials [Page 233] in the manner by law provided." The officers of j [...]ice who attended on the execution, on hearing this, or [...]red that he be taken from the stage erected for his execution, and married as the law directs—which was done accordingly, and Alcander set at liberty.

Having taken lodgings at an inn for a few days, they made preparation for repairing to her father's, reasonably supposing that the old gentleman would not fail of properly rewarding any one who should be the introducer of his daughter to him; and a journey of two days brought them to his gate: they entered his house, where falling on their knees, they informed him of the whole of their history, and concluded by hum­bly, and in tears, asking his blessing.

The father could scarcely contain himself while they were asking his blessing, and no sooner had they fin­ished their petition, for his benediction, than the old man knitting his brows, with a countenance full of wrath, thus uttered himself—Shall it be said that my daughter, the heir to my immense fortune, has for a husband a Pirate, one that has been condemned to a gibbet! No! no! this never shall be endured—I'll see him safely imprisoned, and there he shall spend the remainder of his days in close confinement.—Dear father (replied Rosilla) whatever offence has been com­mitted, was done by me, and me alone; my dear Al­cander is entirely innocent—in justice therefore he should not be a sufferer—Whatever revenge you think proper to be inflicted, let it fall on me only, and let my husband be clear—Her father in stern accents replied, do you think Madam, you are so well able to [Page 234] bear the weight of mine anger? I will assure you, [...] shall have as much of it as you are able to bear, to [...] extent, and he shall have the rest—I shall shut co [...]sion from my breast, and pity from my heart, and my eye shall not spare the objects of my displeasure—Hav­ing said this, he sent him well guarded to a prison, and her be confined to a dark chamber, there to spend the disconsolate hours in heart rending anguish—in which situation they kept her until the time of her travail ar­rived, and she was delivered of a smiling pretty son— which by her father's special order was forced from her; she tenderly kissed the little innocent, and with melting tears parted with it—she soon heard the little thing give a direful scretch or two, and was still—they soon sent the blanket back (in which they had taken away the child) all covered with blood; at the sight of which she swooned away, and it was with difficulty they recovered her to her senses—she continued to la­ment the loss of her darling infant and her dear husband, while her father continued to conduct towards her in the severest manner he was capable of inventing—there was no person suffered to come within her sight, but an old deformed ill natured Hag, whose aspect was so dreadful as to be sufficient to inspire any beholder with horror, who would do any thing in her power to render the situation of the unfortunate Rosilla more insupport­able,—In this situation they kept her a year longer— when one morning, her father came into her apart­ment, and said, Daughter,—notwithstanding your former foolish conduct, I have taken pains to procure you a suitable husband, whom if you will now consent [Page 235] [...] marry you shall be received to my favor, and shall [...] made as happy as the enjoyments of life can render [...].

" Dear father, (replied the disconsolate lady) how long will you continue to add to my distresses, which are altogether intolerable already.—I have been mar­ried two years to him who has the full possession of my affections—I can never love another—'tis in vain to urge it upon me, for none in this world shall ever en­joy me besides my inestimable Alcander—My body is in your power—you will dispose of it as you think proper, but my soul is free from your disposal, and let you inflict what you will upon me, it will never induce me to prove false to the man whom I esteem preferable to all others."

Her father, on hearing this, retired from her; find­ing it was in vain to make any further attempts to in­duce her to break her resolution, sent to the prison, and fetched away Alcander, dressed in the most elegant at­tire; caused his daughter to meet him in his parlor, in all the decorations which dress was capable of orna­menting her with; recognized her marriage—presented her son to her embraces, and joy and gladness once more filled the hearts of Alcander and Rosilla, and no­thing but mirth was heard in the house of her father,

MATRIMONIAL INFIDELITY DETECTED

FRANK GAYLOVE is the third son of a man of fortune. His father finding him averse to business, and disposed for a military life, gave him at an early period his small patrimony, with which he purchased a pair of colours in the guards. Being a genteel hansome young fellow, he made a very elegant appearance, and did cre­dit to hi [...] corps. In this situation he was soon distin­guished by many demireps upon the ton, and having a natural passion for gallantry, failed not to improve eve­ry opportunity that presented itself for promoting an [...]mour. In these pursuits he found that the pay of an ensign would scarce pay coach [...]hire, and he soon dis­covered, that he was so much in arrears with his agent, that he would advance Frank no more money.

In this situation he saw no other hope than having recourse to play, in which he was for sometime pretty successful, & was, by his good fortune at the hazard ta­ble, enabled to make a more splendid figure than ever, & even his mistresses more valuable presents. He set up a chariot, upon the death of his father, which hapened about this period, he gave out that he had come to the possession of an estate of two thousand a year, when, in fact, all he gained by this demise was fifty pounds for mourning, and a ring.

Frank having persuaded [...] his acquaintance of the truth of his good fortune, i [...] [...]oon got wind, and was [Page 237] a strong recommendation to the ladies, who now viewed him with more partial eyes than ever; and finding his influence, he resolved to turn it to some ac­count, & to realize his nominal estate, in that of a wise. He had scarce come to this resolution, before a lady pre­sented herself with about fifteen thousand pounds in her possession, being of age, and out of the clutches of her guardian. Miss Ellis was about twenty-three, tall and genteel, rather showy than handsome; but, upon the whole, very well calculated to make an agreeable wise, and a domestic life completly comfortable.

Frank let no opportunity escape of advancing his suit: and the lady had so far consented, and the day of their nuptials was appointed. In the interim, a most unfortunate affair happened to Frank. He one night engaged in a party at picquet with a celebrated Black legs, well known upon the turf, to whom he lost two hundred pounds. An apology was sufficient for the evening; but on the morrow, a farther apology was fruitless, Paddy said, this is 'tother side of enough—a man with two thousand a year, to make two apologies for such a trifle as two hundred—no, no—my dear, it won't do—I had a miserable ill run myself last week at Newmarket—and so do you see, I shall meet you here to morrow at twelve, and we must settle it one way or other." Saying this he took a French leave, and left poor Frank to his own melancholy reflections. What was to be done?—If he asked Miss Ellis to lend him money, it would ruin his match, that was to take place in about a week—To morrow he must either pay or fight, which was a very disagreeable alternative. In a [Page 238] word, he found there was no other resource than [...] his commission, which he immediately did to [...] great disadvantage.

Unfortunately for Frank, Miss Ellis had a near re­lation in the same regiment, and as occurrences of this kind soon get abroad, and become the subject of ani­madversion among officers of the same corps, it became, in a day or two, the subject of conversation at miss Ellis's teatable. She was greatly alarmed at the intel­ligence, but suppressed her astonishment at the informa­tion, and endeavoured to account for the transaction, by saying, "She heard Mr Gaylove was on the point of being married, and doubtless that was the cause of his selling out of the army." But her kindsman assured her that she was mistaken in this respect, as he was informed Mr. Gaylove had sold his commission to pay a gaming debt.—"Pay a gaming debt (said 'miss Ellis) Heavens does he game? you astonish me, I have always heard him declare the greatest abhorrence for play." Ha! ha! ha! resumed the captain, you are very much deceived; there is not a man who plays deeper in all the purlieus of St. James's. Miss Ellis now became very serious; and of course very bad company, when her relation retired.

He had not long gone before Frank made his appear­ance, when he found Miss Ellis in a very melancholy situation—Her answer to all his questions were very cool and concise. He urged her very strenuously to explain the cause of her very uncommon behaviour, when eclaricissement ensued: she then said, that a soldier was the idol of her heart, and that she had resolved never to [Page 239] marry any other; and if he had that esteem for her which he pretended, he would buy it again the first opportunity, for that she would not give him her hand till he bore a commission.

Frank took his leave in a promise to obey her man­dates—but, alas! it was impossible in his present situa­tion. He had but one chance, which was very un­promising—but one glimmering of hope; which was very forlorn. He was in possession of about a hundred and fifty pounds, the residue of the sale of his commis­sion; and with this he was resolved to make a push at the gaming-table, in the flattering expectation that the blind goddess would, for once, smile propitiously on him.

He accordingly had recourse that very evening, to the box and dice; and the bones, to speak in the gambling phraseology, were pretty favourable to him: but twenty pounds were no objects to him in his present situation. In fine, he pursued his plan for about three weeks; at the end of which time, he was neither a con­siderable loser or gainer—but his expences had eat up near a moiety of the relics of his fortune. He, never­theless, continued paying his visits to Miss Ellis, but did not meet with that cordial reception he had hitherto done, and not a sylable of the nuptial day ever now transpired; tho he assured her he was then in treaty for a cornet [...]y of dragoons.

Three weeks were expired, and affairs still remained in statu quo, till one morning at breakfast, at the coffee house, he read with astonishment—"Yesterday morn­ing was married at St. James' church captain D— [Page 240] of the guards, to Miss Ellis, a beautiful young lady▪ with a handsome fortune." He slung down the paper in rage, broke all the tea equipage, damned the whole sex and slew out of the room; to the great astonishment of every one present, who for the most part judged he was mad.

Thus situated—the came up with Miss Eills—He had another game to play, and he was resolved to pay more attention to his cards, and never make such an­other matrimonial revoke. He was by this time re­duced to his last ten pieces, when being at a city ball, he danced with a lady whom he found to be a widow, and in possession of a handsome jointure. Having gained this intelligence, he resolved to cultivate the acquaintance, and waited upon her the next day, to in­quire after her health, and hoped she had taken no cold.

Mrs. Harrison, the lady in question, received him very politely, as she had entertained some prejudices in his favor the night before, from the elegance of his person, and the graceful manner of his dancing. His conversation she now found to be as lively and enter­taining, as his figure had been pre-engaging; and an involuntary sigh soon convinced her; that he had made no small impression on her.

Mr. Harrison, her former husband, was a plodding cit old enough to have been her father; it was a match of interest, and very disagreeable to her: she therefore resolved to please herself in a second mate.

Mrs. Harrison's partiality for Frank was soon dis­covered by her relations, who strenuously dissuaded [Page 241] [...] from the match; pointing him out as a rake and sp [...]d thrift, who would ruin her; and that she would have the pungent mortification of finding her fortune transferred to harlots and sharpers. But these remon­strances had little or no effect; she was resolved to have him, her vanity prompting her to believe her charms and attractions were sufficient to reclaim a rake, let him be ever so abandoned. In this presumption she listened to his addresses, and, in a short time gave him her hand; but not before she had prudently settled his whole fortune upon herself.

The honey moon had scarce clapsed, before she was sensible of his coolness. He was frequently absent from home all night; and, when he returned, seemed to have forgot that Mrs. Gaylove was his wife▪ Stung to the quick at this behaviour, she resolved to trace his haunts, and discover what happy female had supplan­ted her in his affections. It was not long before one of his emissaries pursued him from the chocolate house to the apartments of a celebrated Thais, in the new build­ings. This intelligence was immediately communica­ted to Mrs. Gaylove, who instantly took a coach, and repaired to the scene of infidelity, where having in­quired for Miss Shep—d, she gained admittance, and rushed up stairs, threw open the dining room door, when she detected her perfidious husband, in amorous dalliance with his mistress. His sword was hung up, and every circumstance tended to testify that he propo­sed taking up his quarters there that night.

Mrs. Gaylove's remonstrances to Miss Shep—d, were doubtless pretty severe upon the occasion; but [Page 242] could no way equal the emba [...]ssment and distraction Gaylove.

No sooner had Mrs. Gaylove returned home, than she packed up all her clothes, with what belonged to her, and repaired to a relation, with whom she remained till such time as she could obtain proper apartments for herself, leaving upon the table the following mortifying billet.

"Ungrateful wretch! adieu for ever! From this moment I take a final farewell, and leave you to the [...]upport of your generous mistress, upon whom you have, doubtless, lavished sums that were my property, and which will, certainly, entitle you, from her gene­rosity and gratitude, to make a suitable provision for you."

Upon Frank's return, finding the situation of affairs, he was almost frantic—he inquired of the servants whither their mistress had flown. The only answer he could obtain was, that she had paid them their wages, and dismissed them.

In this situation he disposed of the houshold furni­ture, the produce of which supported him for some time. But, during this period, he was greatly torment­ed by Jew usurers, who had lent him large sums, at en­ormous interest upon the presumption that he was in possession of his wife's fortune; but now discovering their error, they arrested him, and threw him into goal, where he remained a considerable time before he ap­plied to Miss Shep—d for relief, who wrote him an insulting answer, refusing him the loan of a guinea, tho he had squandered thousands upon her: concluding [Page 243] with this aggravating sentence, "She made it a rule never to keep up a corespondence with beggars."

His elder brother, hearing of his distress, sent a friend to him, who afforded him present relief; and having gained his liberty by the late act of insolvency, thro the interest of his brother, he obtained a commis­sion, and went over to America in one of the new regiments, which then served under general Clinton.

HISTORY OF MISS HORTENSIA MELMOTH.

HOW frail is beauty, unguarded by a true sense of virtue and modesty. Inquire the reason, why so many of the fair s [...] have deviated from the path of rectitude, and you will find that it is generally occasion­ed by their not having at an early period of life, proper notions of the beauty of virtue, and the deformity of vice, instilled into their young minds. Hence it is that having no ideas but those of dress, and making con­quests, which, instead of being nipt in the bud, have generally the greatest encouragement given to them; and Miss is applauded for a young lady of high spirit, till, poor girl, she is brought to the state of the hen, finding a snake's nest, and carefully hatching it. The very things she takes pains to rear and improve, when brought to the wished for perfection (like the poor hen's) prove her destruction, and she falls an easy prey to her seducer; and this, more from want of knowledge, as I said before, than a vitiated inclination or a deprav­ed heart. I shall no longer trespass upon my reader's [Page 244] patience, but proceed to give a melancholy proof of [...] assertions in the following story.

Hortensia Melmoth, the heroine of this history, was the daughter of Sir Cecil Melmoth, a man whose high­est ambition was to be reckoned the leader of the beau monde in all the fashionable pursuits of pleasure, so that it was almost proverbial when any thing particularly elegant appeared, to say, "this is quite in Sir Cecil's stile:" his fortune was large, and he had a heart sen­sible of the most delicate feelings; generous, and good natured to a fault: blessed with a wife in whom every virtue, every grace was concentered, to render the state of matrimony as perfectly happy as that of our primi­tive parents before their fall; yet had she none of that rigid sternness, which so many hypocrites affect, and call it virtue. No, she was all that was lively, gay, and debonair, would enter freely into most of the modish amusements, dress elegantly according to the taste of the times, and often, to please her husband, would even lead them.

One would imagine that nothing could now exceed Sir Cecil's felicity; happy in a woman's love with whom (after being satiated with a continual round of dissipation) he could pass his hours in social converse, with such heartfelt satisfaction, that, were it to be made known to the world even in idea, it would be the means of domesticating half the popinjays of the age. Flattered in his favorite foible of having the polite cir­cles implicitly following him thro all the mazes of plea­sure; and possessed of a fortune ample enough to sup­ply him in his darling passion without the least difficul­ty; [Page 245] had not that bane of society, that disturber of connu­bial tranquility GAMING, gained an ascendency over him, amidst the other follies of the day, and without which, it would be impossible for him to preserve that high rank, as a man of the ton, which he had taken such pains to acquire, he must have been as happy as this mundane state would admit. The consequence was, he fell a dupe to the designs of knighted pick pockets, and ennobled sharpers, who, according to their de­serts, should have a cord instead of a ribbon. Sure there never was a truer saying in regard to gaming than that of the French poet, "On commence par etre dupe, et on fi nit par etre fripon." His repeated and heavy losses brought a gloom upon his temper to which he was heretofore a stranger; and his breast, which used to be the mansion of pleasantry, was now the seat of anguish. This his lady, who was than preg­nant, observing, pressed him, with all the eagerness of virtuous love, to make her acquainted with the cause, and unreservedly pour his sorrows in her hosom, that, by participation, they might be lessened. For a time he evaded her sociliations, fearing the dangerous ef­fect it might occasion, but at length he yielded to her repeated entreaties, he confessed he had lost what ready money he was possessed of, and had mortgaged his estate for more than he ever had any hopes of re­trieving.

Here instead of reproaching him, she, with all the engaging softness of a fond female, who sees the object of her affection oppressed by misfortune, endeavored to sooth his sorrows, and calm his melancholy. This she in [Page 246] part effected; his countenance began to brighten, and [...] again pursued his former train in hopes of regainin [...] his former losses; instead of which he was obliged [...] sell his estate to pay his debts of honor; and he had been the father of two beautiful children (Hortensia and Charles) but about three months, when an execution was put into his house by some of his tradesmen. This was too severe a shock for the delicate frame of lady Melmoth to sustain—she sunk under it—it threw her into a decline; and she survived but a few months. For a time Sir Cecil was quite bereft of his reason; at first he was a mere bedlamite, to think of being de­prived of all he held dear in the world, and from an affluent fortune to be reduced to the scanty pittance of a small annuity purchased with the overplus of the sale of his estate. At length his frenzy subsided, and he was seized with a settled melancholy that seemed likely to last his life. In this state he continued about seven years; when, unexpectedly, by the death of a distant relation, a fortune much larger than his former devolv­ed to him—his first care was to place his children in a more eligible situation than they were at present, as they had been till now under the care of the nurse who had reared them from their tender infancy. His mel­ancholy decreased imperceptibly, and he once more returned to gaiety and pleasure; yet he took care to avoin gaming of every species. He bought a large house in Portland-place, and engaged a tutor for his son; his daughter he placed at an eminent boarding school near Londnn; where instead of that strict regard being paid to the morals, and proper care taken to implant [Page 247] the love of virtue and goodness in the breasts of the fair pupils, which, thro the course of their lives, would protect their innocence and honor from the wily arts of wicked and designing men, ever watchful to seize upon the hearts and persons of unguarded females, and then leave them a prey to reflection and despair; I say, in­stead of a proper attention to these things; the grand and only object is to make them accomplished in those external qualifications which serve to catch the eye, but seldom to win the affections. At the age of thir­teen Miss Melmoth was by far the best dancer in the school, played tolerably upon the harpsichord and guit­tar; spoke French fluently, and understood a little Italian. Already did she begin to distinguish that ele­gant taste for dress which had so characterised her father; for whatever Miss Hortensia wore, that fashion was sure to prevail thro'out the school.

This Sir Cecil observed with a joyful eye, and far from checking this vanity, put it in her power to in­dulge her fancy to its utmost latitude—Here she con­tinued till she was sixteen, daily making improvements in those ideal accomplishments which had been her early study, when her father took her home, and intro­duced her into the great world. The fame of her great beauty, fortune, and accomplishments, made his house a rendezvous for all the young men of fashion of the age. She kept her heart secure from the most vigor­ous attacks for a long time, coquetting with some, and laughing at others, till chance happening to bring the young lord Derwood (a young nobleman of a most bewitching person, and large fortune) to her acquain­tance, [Page 248] she surrendered at discretion. His princip [...] unfortunately for Hortensia, were detestable, parti [...]larly with regard to the fair sex. Here then our hero­ine lost her heart; and a man so deeply skilled in all the mysteries of intrigue as lord Derwood, soon found means that her chastity should follow. Having ac­compassed his designs, far from observing any secrecy, he boasted publicly of his triumph, and assured his riotous companions, that Miss Melmoth was (to use a fashionable phrase) come at-able. This soon reached Sir Cecil's ears; and he would immediately have wreaked his revenge on the despoiler of his child's honor; when then the reflection of himself having, as it were, been accessary to her ruin, both by his own example, and encouraging that levity, and love of dissipation, which had thrown her off her guard, and made her fall an easy victim to premeditate villiany, had such an effect upon him that threw him into a violent fever, accompanied by a high delirium. On the sixth day after he was taken ill, his reason seemed to return, he begged for a few minutes to be left alone; his attend­ants, not apprehending the consequence, easily compli­ed with his request; when, taking advantage of their obsence, he threw himself out of the window, and ex­pired on the spot. Three days had scarcely elapsed, after the interment of Sir Cecil, when Charles Melmoth, who had been making the tour of Europe with his tu­tor, arrived in Portland-place. Struck with horror, by the news of his sister's ruin and father's death, and fired with indignation again [...]t the gay seducer, he im­mediately challenged him, and, after a few passes ran [Page 249] him thro the body; upon which he absconded, and no account whatever has since been heard of him. Hor­tensia, who upon the first discovery of her seduction, had taken refuge at the house of a female friend, hear­ing of the deaths of her father and lover, and the ab­sconding of her brother, was almost instantaneously struck with infanity, in which situation there is great reason to believe she will remain during her residence in this world.