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THE FAMILY PICTURE. IN TWO VOLUMES.

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A ſe ſuiſque orſus, primum domum ſuam coercuit, quod plerique haud minus arduum eſt, quam provinciam regere. Tac. in Vit. Agric.
La Magnanimité eſt un noble effort de l' orgueil par laquel il rend l' homme maitre de lui-meme, pour Ie rendre maitre de toutes choſes. Rochefoucault.
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THE FAMILY PICTURE; OR, DOMESTIC DIALOGUES ON AMIABLE AND INTERESTING SUBJECTS; ILLUSTRATED BY HISTORIES, ALLEGORIES, TALES, FABLES, ANECDOTES, &c. INTENDED TO STRENGTHEN AND INFORM THE MIND. BY THOMAS HOLCROFT, AUTHOR OF DUPLICITY, A COMEDY.

VOLUME I.

LONDON: Printed for LOCKYER DAVIS, in Holborn; Printer to the Royal Society. M DCC LXXXIII.

ADVERTISEMENT.

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THE principal intention of this work is to give that ſtrength and fortitude to moral conduct, which are ſo apt to decline in times of refinement and luxury; but which are ſo eſſential to individual and national happineſs. The author's claims to literary reputation are few: he has endeavoured, however, both in the Dialogue and Narration, to write to the underſtanding as well as to the heart: or, to ſelect from thoſe who had the ſame intention. His own feelings have certainly been on the ſide of propriety and virtue: if he has expreſſed himſelf ſo as to incite ſimilar ſenſations in others, he has obtained [] what he purpoſed. There can be no doubt, but that young perſons, more eſpecially, will find themſelves inſtructed as well as entertained: and on this account, chiefly, the author hopes to merit the approbation of all Thoſe, who, like himſelf, are anxiouſly ſolicitous concerning the conduct and welfare of the riſing generation.

CONTENTS. VOL. I.

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  • DIALOGUE I. INTRODUCTION: or the Hiſtory of Mr. Egerton Page 1
  • DIALOGUE II. Page 18
    • Anecdote of Biſhop Bancroft ibid.
    • —of Cardinal Angelot—of Lewis XI. of France—of Ageſilaus Page 19
    • SELFISHNESS: or the Merchant of Bagdat Page 20
    • Anecdotes of Barnard Gilpin Page 26
  • DIALOGUE III. Page 30
    • BENEVOLENCE: or the ſtory of Palamon and Amaſina Page 31
    • Conjugal Affection of the Women of Wenſberg Page 47
    • — of Arria Page 48
  • DIALOGUE IV. Page 49
    • COQUETRY: or the ſtory of Lady Wildham Page 50
    • Anecdote of King Rudolphus Page 65
    • — of the King of Catona Page 66
    • — of the Cham of Tartary ibid.
    • VANITY: or the Viſion Page 67
    • Anecdote of Pyrrhus Page 70
    • Folly of Marius Page 71
    • — of an Infatuated Poet Page 72
    • Character of a General—Anecdote of Hannibal Page 74
    • Vanity of Harpagus—Anecdote of Alexander and the Pirate Page 76
  • DIALOGUE V. Page 79
    • Anecdotes of Ariſtides Page 80
    • — of an Athenian Porter Page 82
    • INTEMPERANCE: or the Salutiferous Fountain ibid.
    • WEALTH and its Conſequences. A Tale Page 96
  • [] DIALOGUE VI. Page 102
    • FORTITUDE: or the Great Traveller, Part I. Page 104
    • ———— Part II. Page 121
    • ——— Part III. Page 140
  • DIALOGUE VII. Page 161
    • Anecdotes of Fabricius Page 163
    • — of Papinian and Horatius Cocles Page 165
    • — of Mutius, and Henry V. when Prince of Wales Page 167
    • Remarkable Letter from Plutarch to the Emperor Trajan Page 169
    • —— from Sir Walter Raleigh to Prince Henry, ſon to James I. Page 170
  • DIALOGUE VIII. Page 173
    • TREACHERY: or the Hiſtory of Moſes Golemus, General to Scanderbeg the Great, King of Epirus ibid.
    • CONSCIENCE: or the Magical Ring Page 183
  • DIALOGUE IX. Page 207
    • FIDELITY and Conjugal Affection: A remarkable Adventure in the Mines of Idria ibid.
    • Anecdotes of Regulus Page 216
    • Advice of Scipio Page 223
    • PATRIOTISM: exemplified in a poor Armenian Page 224
  • DIALOGUE X. Reſpect to learning paid by barbarians——By Alexander the Great——By the Kings of Macedon, &c.——By Magdalene, wife of Lewis XI. of France Page 239
    • — By Marcellus to Archimedes Page 240
    • EMULATION: or an Account of a famous German Poeteſs Page 247
    • PRIDE: or the extraordinary Hiſtory of a Venetian Lady Page 252

THE FAMILY PICTURE.

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INTRODUCTION.
DIALOGUE I.

Mr. EGERTON, Mr. FORRESTER.
Mr. FORRESTER.

YOU are certainly a very happy Man, Sir. Happy in your fortune, happy in your Friends, and particularly happy in your Family. Whence is it that your children have acquired ſuch an evident ſuperiority over the young people of their own age? I, you know, am but lately come to ſettle in this neighbourhood. Reſerve, the characteriſtic of an Engliſhman, I have in a very ſtrong degree, except when I converſe with you; but in your ſociety, though I am conſcious you are my ſuperior, I ſeem to breathe and act with greater freedom. You baniſh my reſtraint, you enliven my [2] imagination: though almoſt a ſtranger to you, I can aſk you queſtions with the confidence of intimacy, and can be of a different opinion, without any apprehenſion of offending you. With you I become unembarraſſed, and acquire an eaſe and propriety that no where elſe ſeem ſo natural to me.— How does this happen?—Nay, your preſence ſeems to influence every thing. The ſcenery is particularly chearful and beautiful in this place; and the ſpot you have choſen for yourſelf, is the paradiſe of delight. Such variety, ſuch a charming aſſemblage of hill and dale, river, brook and clear ſpring, wood and ſhady grove, that I declare I fancy myſelf in the regions of romance, and am inclined to be poetical when I viſit you. In ſhort, Sir, I admire you, and am afraid I ſhould be tempted to envy any other man in ſuch a ſituation. But I want to be informed of the reaſon of all this. Why ſhould your arrangements be more happy, your ſervants in better decorum, and your children more accompliſhed than others? explain theſe things to me.

MR. EGERTON.

Without any affectation of modeſty, Sir, I confeſs that I believe what you ſay, in part, to be true. —Your fancy is lively, and has heightened the colouring, but, in general, I am of opinion that my family, my affairs, and my enjoyments of life, are different, and in ſome reſpects ſuperior, to that of [3] others. But this will not appear ſo wonderful, when the habits and events that have concurred to make them ſo are known; and the ſhorteſt manner of doing this, will be to relate the principal occurrences of my life—to give you, in a conciſe way, my hiſtory.

Though I was the youngeſt child of a numerous family, and conſequently was poſſeſſed of but little wealth to begin the world with, yet I had one advantage to which I attribute all my ſubſequent ſucceſs; I had the inſtruction, the experience, and the wiſdom of an affectionate father, to guide and direct me till I was fourteen. At this age, having loſt my parents, though I had guardians, I became leſs circumſpect. Being of a warm and enterprizing temper, and feeling myſelf ſuperior to the generality of my young companions, ſchemes of independence began to revolve in my mind. I obſerved the ſilly actions of men, and drew inferences favourable to my own prudence and capacity: thoſe to whom I was left in charge had weakneſſes; I ſaw them and became impatient of controul. As I grew towards manhood, my mind became reſtleſs, my imagination was heated by reading the ſtrong ſentiments and great actions of the ancient heroes. The ſucceſsful career of young Scipio charmed and fired my fancy: I panted to be diſtinguiſhed, and neglected no opportunity that could render me remarkable; as the following incident will convince you.

I was educated at Eton School and obſerving, one day, two of my ſchool-fellows inſulting a [4] poor woman, that was tottering under age, it excited my indignation ſo much, that I fell upon them both very heartily, and ſtruck one of them an unlucky blow. They conceiving I had injured them, by interfering in a buſineſs that did not concern me, and not being able to conceal their diſgrace, complained to the maſter, and made up a ſtory greatly to their own advantage. I was accordingly ſummoned to anſwer for myſelf. It happened that I had juſt before been reading the tale of the Spartan Boy that expired while the fox was biting him. In conſequence of this, having at that inſtant a thorough contempt for pain, and indeed wiſhing for an opportunity to ſhew how much I deſpiſed it, I behaved ſullenly, and refuſed to anſwer the maſter, except by haughtily declaring, I had done what I thought was right, and would, with the like provocation, do the ſame again. This, excluſive of the crime I ſtood accuſed of, was braving the authority of the maſter, who ordered me to be ſeverely puniſhed; which was what I wiſhed and expected. I ſupported the pain as if I had been inſenſible to it, and then told the maſter that he was miſtaken, if he ſuppoſed me capable of fearing any puniſhment that he, or the worſt of tyrants could inflict; I had done my duty by relieving age and imbecility from the wanton cruelty of two boys, and if he had done juſtice he would have puniſhed them inſtead of me. The maſter, who was a ſenſible and diſcerning [5] man, replied "there is ſomething peculiar in your conduct, young gentleman, it muſt be confeſſed, but you do wrong in accuſing me of tyranny. You have behaved with audacity, and if I ſhould ſuffer ſuch ill manners to go unpuniſhed, it would be impoſſible for me to preſerve any order in this place. If, as you now ſay, you took the part of the oppreſſed, you ſhould have condeſcended to have ſaid ſo, when I queſtioned you at firſt. I ſpeak thus to you, Sir, becauſe you ſeem, from what I have obſerved of your preſent and your former behaviour, to think ſomething deeper, and ſee a little further than people of your age uſually do, but you do not ſee far enough. I am no tyrant, young Sir; you have been very rude, and though I have ſome hope it proceeded from a good, though miſtaken motive, yet, had I not reſented it, I ſhould have acted inconſiſtently, and have degraded my ſituation. Recollect yourſelf, and if you have as much ſenſe as I believe you to have, you will ſee your error."

This cool addreſs not only ſhewed me how wrong I had been, in not explaining myſelf, but quite overcame me. I burſt into tears, fell upon my knees, and, as ſoon as I could ſpeak, aſked his pardon for having uſed ſuch an injurious epithet to him. I then related the ſtory of the old woman and my ſchool-fellows, ſimply as it happened, together with my heroic imitation of the Spartan Boy. The maſter who was evidently ſurprized and affected by my manner and conduct in this affair, ſaid to [6] me, "Mr. Egerton, I am ſorry I have degraded you by the puniſhment you have ſuffered; you are an extraordinary young gentleman, and I have no doubt will one day become an ornament to ſociety. Let me, however, caution you againſt your paſſions, they are very powerful, and while they perſuade you that you are doing ſomething uncommonly great, or good, may lead you into very dangerous miſtakes. This fortitude and contempt of pain at your age, would have been beyond praiſe, had they been exerted upon a proper occaſion; as it is, they can only be admired, but your generous protection of the helpleſs deſerves every reward and encouragement, and I hope you will hereafter conſider me as your friend, and not your maſter. As for your accuſers, there is no puniſhment I can inflict ſevere enough for cruelty, cowardice and lying; I ſhall therefore expel them, left their example ſhould corrupt others. I perceive you are going to intercede for them: but I will ſpare you the pain of being refuſed, by telling you, I cannot, in juſtice to the other young gentlemen that are entruſted to my care, ſuffer boys of ſuch vicious diſpoſitions to aſſociate with them. Youth is weak and inconſiderate, and as liable to imitate a bad as a good action; it is my particular duty therefore not to permit theſe wicked boys to remain among them."

I have related this adventure, to ſhew you the natural warmth and enthuſiaſtic bent of my temper. [7] I went through a regular courſe of education under the gentleman above-mentioned, whoſe friendſhip I poſſeſſed till his death, and to whoſe advice and inſtruction I am greatly indebted. It was the intention of my guardians that I ſhould ſtudy the law, and become a counſellor; I however had other views; for though it is certain, no profeſſion requires greater acuteneſs and abilities than this, yet as it is become common place to call it dry, tedious, knaviſh and ſo forth, it was little alluring to a mind like mine, that had ſo ſtrong a propenſity to romance. I wanted to be a hero, or a poet, or rather a ſomething ſupernatural, and it was experience only that could make me more rational. By my repeated interceſſions and poſitiveneſs in refuſing to engage in any other vocation, my guardians were prevailed upon to buy me a commiſſion in the army; and I entered it with an incoherent kind of hope of doing extraordinary things; but I had not been in it long before I diſcovered that more of mechaniſm than courage was required: that I muſt obey orders, and pay a ſtrict regard to trifles: that in order to riſe to any very ſuperior ſtation, I muſt not only have abilities, but powerful friends; and that without them it was as probable I ſhould remain obſcure in this, as in any other profeſſion. I was at the battle of Fontenoy, and, though I encouraged the men under my command, and executed the orders I received with the utmoſt ardor, yet I was convinced it was very little in the power of an individual to [8] turn the fortune of the day, for notwithſtanding all my heroiſm, I was wounded and taken priſoner. Some time after I was exchanged and ſent to England, when it was my fortune to fall deeply in love with my preſent wife.

Hitherto I had cared but little about riches, nay indeed as the poets and philoſophers I had read uſually affected to deſpiſe them, I did ſo too, my amour however brought me to a ſevere ſenſe of the want of them. My miſtreſs was the daughter of a very rich man, and an heireſs; I, a younger brother with a ſmall fortune, rather diminiſhed than increaſed; and as the peace and half-pay had deprived me of any further hopes from the army, I had no apparent means of augmenting my wealth. This made me reflect on the abſurdity of thoſe viſionary hopes in the contemplation of which I had formerly indulged myſelf. I began to perceive there was no arriving at perfection in any art, or knowledge, or eminence in any ſtation, but by gradual and almoſt imperceptible degrees; my paſſion was violent, I ſaw no probable means of obtaining a fortune inſtantaneouſly, nor of gaining the woman I loved without one. The father of Mrs. Egerton ſuſpected our love, which was mutual, and hinted, in an oblique manner, that he did not wiſh to ſee me any more at his houſe. After turning every kind of ſcheme in my mind, I concluded that the moſt expeditious way of becoming wealthy, would be by going into the ſervice of the Eaſt India Company; which, after conſulting with [9] Mrs. Egerton, and having exchanged reiterated promiſes of fidelity, I reſolved to do.

My family connections and the money I could command to begin with, gave the means of going out in a reſpectable light: and I embarked, though with an aching heart, not without hopes of returning to enjoy the fruits of my induſtry and love. I was abroad about three years, during which time I gained a conſiderable fund of worldly knowledge, and an inſight in the ways, motives and manners of men. The facts were ſome of them not very much to their honour, but they taught me to think more conſiſtently. I do not mean by this to cenſure the men of the world univerſally; there are many, within my own knowledge, of the ſtricteſt probity, but theſe I have obſerved never, unleſs by ſome accident, become ſuddenly rich. For my own part, I made but moderate advances, and this ſlow progreſs, with the letters I received from Mrs. Egerton, and the continual anxiety of ſo long an abſence, made me reſolve to return. When I arrived in England, I found I had a legacy left me by a relation. This, added to my little ſtock, made, in the whole, almoſt eleven thouſand pounds; for I had been as ſtrict an oeconomiſt, while in India, as the natural warmth of my temper would permit me to be: but there are weak, indolent and unfortunate men in all places, that muſt ever be a tax on the more induſtrious and ſucceſsful, who have ſome pity, ſome generoſity, and no exceſſive degree of ſelfiſhneſs, among [10] which number I hope I ſhall always remain: for though it is encumbent on every man to be prudent and aſſiduous, yet while I feel I have many weakneſſes myſelf, I truſt I ſhall always have philanthropy enough to look with an eye of pity on thoſe of others, though I neither wiſh to encourage theirs nor my own.

We are always apt enough to indulge hopes of ſucceſs when we wiſh it. I could not ſummon up the courage to wait on Mrs. Egerton's father and explain myſelf to him in perſon. I knew my fortune, tho' in this its improved ſtate, was by no means equal to what he had a right to expect from the huſband of his daughter. But as my family was reſpectable, and as I had uſed ſuch efforts to make myſelf more worthy, I ſuppoſed it poſſible, when theſe things were enumerated, that they might have ſome influence on the mind of the old gentleman: for which reaſon I reſolved to write to him, and tell him what I had done for his daughter's-ſake, and what I would do if he would but permit her to be mine. I did ſo, and ſoon received for anſwer the painful mortification of a poſitive refuſal, which threw me into a ſtate of deſpair that had like to have proved fatal to me. An accident however accompliſhed that which all my former efforts had failed to do. I received intelligence from Mrs. Egerton that her father was going into the country, under the pretence of taking her to enjoy the beauties of the ſpring, but in reality to keep her from the [11] ſight of me. I no ſooner heard this, but I reſolved to ride after them at a diſtance, to follow them down, and to diſguiſe myſelf and live in the neighbourhood while they ſhould remain there. It was fortunate for her father that I did ſo. I communicated my ſcheme to Mrs. Egerton, and though ſhe diſſuaded me from putting it in practice, it was in a way that ſhewed ſhe but half diſapproved my intention. I therefore executed my plan, by taking the dreſs of an ordinary tradeſman, hiring a lodging in the neighbourhood, and pretending I was ordered by the phyſicians to live ſome time in the country for a change of air, as being apprehenſive of falling into a conſumption; and, as ill health always attends any extraordinary agitation of the mind, I had a temporary paleneſs and dejection that made this pretext very plauſible. I had given Mrs. Egerton ſo many proofs of the purity of my intentions, and the ſtrict honour by which I was actuated, that I had prevailed on her, while in town, to admit me to converſe with her, in the preſence of her maid, in an evening, when her father was gone to reſt: and this, in conſequence of the preſſing earneſtneſs of my ſolicitations, was repeated in the country. One evening, about midnight, when the whole houſe except Mrs. Egerton and her maid was gone to bed, and every thing was ſtill and ſilent, as we were ſitting indulging our melancholy, and renewing thoſe proteſtations of conſtancy which lovers never think can be often enough repeated, we heard a [12] noiſe over our heads, in the chamber where her father ſlept, as of perſons walking without their ſhoes. We were all alarmed, Mrs. Egerton particularly, who exclaimed "Good God! there is ſomebody in my father's room, going to murder him perhaps." We liſtened, and preſently heard perſons ſpeaking in a low voice, who were anſwered by the old gentleman; this was almoſt immediately ſucceeded by a noiſe of ſtruggling, and the father's begging for God's ſake that they would ſpare his life. I inſtantly ſnatched up the poker and the candle, flew up ſtairs and burſt open the door, where I beheld the old gentleman gaſping for breath, beneath two villains who were endeavouring to ſtrangle him. My appearance was ſo ſudden, and the force of guilt ſo ſtrong, that I made an eaſy conqueſt. The houſe was inſtantly alarmed by the cries of Mrs. Egerton and her maid, and the ſervants coming to my aſſiſtance, the aſſaſſins were bound and ſecured. It appeared they were diſſolute fellows in the neighbourhood. They had crept into the houſe, concealed themſelves under the bed, waited till they ſuppoſed every body gone to reſt, and then, after having obliged the old gentleman to deliver his keys, endeavoured to ſtrangle him, leſt he ſhould wake his ſervants before they could accompliſh their purpoſe. The horror of the attempt made ſo ſtrong an impreſſion upon his mind, that when he came to himſelf, and ſaw his deliverer, he wept, embraced me, claſped my hand, bleſſed me, called me his ſon, his beſt ſon, his preſerver, [13] and ſeemed delighted that he could, in ſome meaſure, beſtow a recompence for the ſervice I had done him by giving me his daughter.

You may eaſily imagine the temporary flow of happineſs that ſucceeded; it was all rapture, love, gratitude, thanks, acknowledgements and congratulations. But theſe violent delights cannot long exiſt; they have too often as Shakeſpeare expreſſes it, violent ends*. This, however, happily, has not been my caſe: they have ſubſided into a calm and temperate tranquility. New ſcenes opened upon me. I became a father, when the anxieties of a parent, with the experience I had had, ſoon made me regard my former viſionary ſchemes in a more ſober and rational light. It is true, they left a warm glow upon my mind, that has always kept it alive to certain ſenſations, which thoſe who have once poſſeſſed never wiſh entirely to loſe. It has enlarged my ideas, and given me a habit of extending my views to objects, that with ſome people, are out of ſight. I encourage the effuſions of fancy, I remember the agreeable dreams of my youth with pleaſure, and ſome of them I have realized.

One of my chief cares has been the education of my children. I can never forget the ſtrong impreſſion reading made upon me, when very young. This, I am convinced, may be turned to the greateſt advantage, by thoſe who have the care of youth. Moral tales, well told, in which the good and ill effects of the paſſions are conſpicuous, have a greater [14] influence over the conduct of the youthful mind, and will do more in the improvement of the heart, than puniſhment or advice can ever effect. We are the creatures of imitation, and our moſt prevalent paſſion is vanity. This is the rein by which the ſkilful inſtructor ſhould guide his pupil. Till a certain age, fear and correction ſhould have their influence; after that, praiſe and example will be moſt prevalent. This, at leaſt, is my opinion. For this reaſon, I have adopted the method I uſe at preſent. I have formed a reading ſociety among my own family. My children aſſemble every day in the library. Hiſtory and biography are the great reſources, as theſe furniſh continual and real examples of the effects of the paſſions; to theſe are added, ſuch tales of fiction as I think well calculated to point out the good or ill conſequences of particular virtues and vices. It has been a conſtant ſource of delight to me, to obſerve the progreſs of the mind, and the natural propenſity of the human heart to rectitude and virtue. I have five children, three boys and two girls, the eldeſt is nineteen, and the youngeſt eight. They have all been educated at home, becauſe I have been afraid of their contracting the bad habits of their companions, had I ſent them to ſchools. I am ſenſible this mode of education has its diſadvantages, but as it has been the buſineſs and the delight of myſelf and Mrs. Egerton, to apply ourſelves to this, and this only, and as we have been fortunate in finding men of genius to [15] aſſiſt us in the taſk, I am inclined to ſuppoſe we have avoided many of the inconveniences, and ſupplied ſome of the defects.

There is one thing we have been particularly attentive to, which is candour. We have always ſpoken our ſentiments with ſimplicity and ſincerity. We have never diſguiſed our meaning by endeavouring to deceive a child into virtue; for we believe all deceit to have a dangerous tendency. We have encouraged truth and openneſs, and taken every poſſible precaution to detect, puniſh and expoſe the contrary. We have talked to our children rather as friends than maſters, and have become their confidants; for as we have never expected perfection, but have been always ready to forgive errors that have been ingenuouſly confeſſed, prevarication and falſhood, after a certain age, have ſeldom been attempted by our pupils. It is in conſequence of ſuch methods, that our little ſociety has acquired an air of freedom and ſimplicity, that cannot exiſt where artifice is not deſpiſed. There is a natural averſion in the mind to confeſs its foibles. Vanity is continually intent upon drawing compariſons in its own favour, and this principle is inſeparable from humanity. To correct it, to make the mind open to conviction, and willing to obſerve and detect its real motives, is peculiarly the duty of teachers. Eſtimable as ſcientific knowledge is, this knowledge is far more eſtimable, becauſe upon this depends our happineſs, and the execution of all the ſocial duties.

[16]Our family meet every evening, (except interrupted by being viſited, or going to viſit) in the library; which is very commodiouſly adapted for either a ſummer or a winter room. There are folding doors that open to the park. In the front is an extenſive and variegated landſcape, which includes ſome of the moſt beautiful ſcenery that this part of England affords. On the right is a ſtupendous craggy rock, that projects from the ſide of a high mountain, both of which are ſeen over a very ſpacious foreſt. Theſe form a delightful contraſt to the freſh verdure, the water, the cattle, and other paſtoral ſubjects immediately in ſight. On the left is the pleaſure garden, the ſhrubbery and the nurſery. The ſcene is ſo capacious and preſents itſelf in ſuch a variety of forms, and with ſuch a profuſion of objects, which the alteration of the ſeaſons, and other accidental cauſes are continually diverſifying, that the eye is never tired. When the weather permits the doors are thrown open, when it is very fine we ſit on the outſide, and enjoy the ſunſhine or cool ſhade, as circumſtances invite; in winter the room is ſufficiently warm for the ſeaſon, and we ſtill enjoy the ſatisfaction of contemplating Nature, amidſt hoar froſts, ſnows, clouds, ſtorms, and all the magnificence of her diſtreſs.

I am certain you perceive the egotiſm that runs through my narrative, I perceive it myſelf, but if I did not indulge it in this inſtance, my feelings [17] would not accompany my deſcription, and then it would be good for little.

MR. FORRESTER.

Your deſcription is, exactly what I approve, without affectation of modeſty; and, if I can judge, far from being exaggerated. I am become your neighbour. You, with peculiar eaſe and good humour, invite me to a ſocial intimacy which is exceedingly deſirable to me. I am a plain man, my knowledge is not ſo extenſive, nor my habits of thinking ſo refined as yours. I have a daughter to whom I have given a certain portion of education. You are acquainted with the anxieties of a parent. I ſhould be happy to ſend her to your ſchool, I mean, I ſhould be glad to have her admitted to your evening readings and converſations; but as I aſk this with frankneſs, I wiſh ſo to be anſwered. You may perceive improprieties that I do not, or you may diſcover ſuch hereafter. I have no doubt, but in that caſe, you will, or would, explain yourſelf, and being perſuaded of this, I find no reluctance in making the requeſt.

MR. EGERTON.

You do me juſtice, Sir; I would. Bring the young lady, I have no doubt but the intercourſe will be equally agreeable to all parties.

DIALOGUE II.

[18]
The ſcene is the library. The company conſiſts of Mr. and Miſs Forreſter; Mr. and Mrs. Egerton; Mr. Euſtace, the eldeſt; Mr. Charles, the ſecond, and Mr. Harry, the youngeſt ſon; Nancy, the eldeſt; and Fanny, the youngeſt daughter.
MR. EGERTON.

THOUGH there are many vices, the operations and conſequences of which are generally more violent and deſtructive than that of ſelf-love, yet there are none that render the poſſeſſor more mean and deſpicable. The ſelfiſh and covetous man is avoided by all who are not intereſted in his affairs, and by them he is contemned. No rank or power can procure him reſpect. Bancroft, Archbiſhop of Canterbury, notwithſtanding his dignity, had the following ſatirical epitaph beſtowed upon him, for his covetouſneſs:

Here lies his Grace, in cold clay clad,
"Who died for want of what he had.

Caligula was not more deteſted for his cruelties, than deſpiſed for his avarice; and when Cardinal Angelot received a ſevere chaſtiſement from the [19] hand of his groom, who, not knowing his maſter in the dark, detected him ſtealing the oats from his own horſes, his ſuffering became the ſubject of laughter inſtead of pity.

But here, children, I muſt obſerve to you, that parſimony and oeconomy are two very diſtinct things. Every man muſt have a certain degree of frugality, or he cannot continue benevolent. Lewis, the eleventh of France, was no miſer, and yet in the chamber of accounts, 1461, there is two ſhillings charged for fuſtian to new ſleeve his majeſty's old doublet.

Nor would I have you underſtand, that I wiſh to ſee any of you luxurious. When the Thracians ſent preſents of meal, geeſe, honey-cakes, ſweet-meats, wines, and other dainties to Ageſilaus, the Lacedemonian, he only accepted of the meal; and when they preſſed him to receive the others likewiſe, he took them, but immediately diſtributed them among the ſlaves, ſaying, that ſuch delicacies were improper for men addicted to virtue, and that thoſe things which tended to enfeeble the mind or the body, ought never to be admitted among a free and liberal people.

The ſocial paſſions, my children, cannot be too intimately encouraged as long as they do not degenerate into prodigality. That univerſal benevolence, which inclines us to aſſiſt all thoſe whom we have the power of aſſiſting, without materially injuring ourſelves, is perhaps the moſt reſplendent [20] of virtues. Selfiſhneſs hides itſelf in a corner, and, like a cur with his paw upon a bone, ſnarles at whoever approaches: benevolence is frugal and ſparing to herſelf, but opens her hand and her boſom to hunger, wretchedneſs and diſtreſs.

Do you, Charles, read the following tale, it will better illuſtrate my meaning than any thing which I can ſay.

SELFISHNESS, Or the Story of CARAZAN the Merchant of BAGDAT.

CARAZAN, the Merchant of Bagdat, was eminent throughout all the Eaſt for his avarice and his wealth: his origin was obſcure as that of the ſpark which by the colliſion of ſteel and adamant is ſtruck out of darkneſs; the patient labour of perſevering diligence alone had made him rich. It was remembered, that when he was indigent he was thought to be generous; and he was ſtill acknowledged to be inflexibly juſt. But whether in his dealings with men he diſcovered a perfidy which tempted him to put his truſt in gold, or whether in proportion as he accumulated wealth he diſcovered his own importance by increaſe, Carazan prized it more as he uſed it leſs. He gradually loſt the inclination to do good, as he acquired the power; and as the hand of time ſcattered [21] ſnow upon his head, the freezing influence extended to his boſom.

But though the door of Carazan was never opened by hoſpitality, nor his hand by compaſſion, yet fear led him conſtantly to the moſque at the ſtated hours of prayer: he performed all the rights of devotion with the moſt ſcrupulous punctuality, and had thrice paid his vows at the temple of the prophet. That devotion, which ariſes from the love of God, and neceſſarily includes the love of man, confers new dignity upon goodneſs, and is the object not only of affection but reverence. On the contrary, the devotion of the ſelfiſh, whether it be intended to avert the puniſhment which every one wiſhes to ſee inflicted, or to inſure it by the complication of hypocriſy with guilt, never fails to excite indignation and abhorrence. Carazan, therefore, locking his door, and, turning round with a look of circumſpective ſuſpicion, proceeded to the moſque, and was followed by every eye with ſilent malignity. The poor ſuſpended their ſupplications as he paſſed. Though he was known by every man, yet no man ſaluted him.

Such had long been the life of Carazan, and ſuch was the character which he had acquired, when notice was given by proclamation, that he was removed to a magnificent building in the centre of the city; that his table ſhould be ſpread for the hungry, and that the ſtranger ſhould be welcome to his bed. The multitude ſoon ruſhed like a torrent [22] to his door, where they beheld him diſtributing bread to the hungry, and apparel to the naked; his eye ſoftening with compaſſion, and his cheek glowing with delight. Every one gazed with aſtoniſhment at the prodigy; and the murmur of innumerable voices increaſing like the ſound of approaching thunder, Carazan beckoned with his hand. Attention ſuſpended the tumult in a moment; and he thus gratified the curioſity which procured him audience.

"To Him who touches the mountains and they ſmoke, the almighty and moſt merciful, be everlaſting honour! he hath ordained ſleep to be the miniſter of inſtruction, for his viſions have reproved me in the night. As I was ſitting alone in my haram, with my lamp burning before me, computing the product of my merchandize, and exulting in the encreaſe of my wealth, I fell into a deep ſleep, and the hand of him who dwells in the third heaven was upon me. I beheld the angel of death coming forward like a whirlwind, and he ſmote me before I could deprecate the blow. At the ſame moment I felt myſelf lifted from the ground and tranſported with aſtoniſhing rapidity through the regions of the air. The earth was contracted to an atom between; and the ſtars glowed round me with a luſtre that obſcured the ſun. The gate of paradiſe was now in ſight; and I was intercepted by a ſudden brightneſs which no human eye could behold. The irrevocable ſentence was now to be [23] pronounced; my day of probation was paſt, and from the evil of my life nothing could be taken away, nor could any thing be added to the good. When I reflected that my lot for eternity was caſt, which not all the powers of nature could reverſe, my confidence totally forſook me; and while I ſtood trembling and ſilent, covered with confuſion and chilled with horror, I was thus addreſſed by the radiance that flamed before me."

'Carazan, thy worſhip has not been accepted, becauſe it was not prompted by the love of God; neither can thy righteouſneſs be rewarded, becauſe it was not produced by the love of man: for thy own ſake only, haſt thou rendered to every man his due; and thou haſt approached the Almighty only for thyſelf. Thou haſt not looked upwards with gratitude nor round thee with kindneſs. Around thee thou haſt indeed beheld vice and folly; but if vice and folly could juſtify thy parſimony, would they not condemn the bounty of heaven? If not upon the fooliſh and the vicious, where ſhall die ſun diffuſe his light, or the clouds diſtil their dew? Where ſhall the lips of the ſpring breathe fragrance, or the hand of autumn diffuſe plenty? Remember, Cazaran, that thou haſt ſhut compaſſion from thy heart, and graſped thy treaſures with an hand of iron: thou haſt lived for thyſelf; and, therefore, henceforth for ever thou ſhalt ſubſiſt alone. From the light of heaven, and from the ſociety of all beings, ſhalt thou be driven; ſolitude [24] ſhall protract the lingering of etrnity, and darkneſs aggravate the horrors of deſpair.'

"At this moment I was driven by ſome ſecret and irreſiſtible power, through the glowing ſyſtem of creation, and paſſed innumerable worlds in an inſtant. As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the ſhadows of total and boundleſs vacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eternal ſilence, ſolitude, and darkneſs! unutterable horror ſeized me at the proſpect, and this exclamation burſt from me with all the vehemence of deſire. O! that I had been doomed for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence and guilt! there ſociety would have alleviated the torment of deſpair, and the rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light. Or, if I had been condemned to reſide on a comet, that would return but once in a thouſand years to the regions of light and life; the hope of theſe periods, however diſtant, would chear me in the dreary interval of cold and darkneſs, and the viciſſitude would divide eternity into time. While this thought paſſed over my mind, I loſt ſight of the remoteſt ſtar, and the laſt glimmering of light was quenched into utter darkneſs. The agonies of deſpair encreaſed every moment, as every moment augmented my diſtance from the laſt habitable world. I reflected with intolerable anguiſh, that when ten thouſand thouſand years ſhould carry me beyond the reach of all but that [25] power who fills infinitude, I ſhould ſtill look forward into an immenſe abyſs of darkneſs, through which I ſhould ſtill drive without ſuccour and without ſociety, farther and farther for ever and ever. I then ſtretched out my hands towards the regions of exiſtence, with an emotion that awaked me. Thus have I been taught to eſtimate ſociety, like every other bleſſing, by its loſs. My heart is warmed to liberality; and I am zealous to communicate the happineſs which I feel, to thoſe from whom it is derived; for, the ſociety of one wretch, whom in the pride of proſperity I would have ſpurned from my door, would, in the dreadful ſolitude to which I was condemned, have been more highly prized, than the gold of Afric, or the gems of Golconda."

At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan became ſuddenly ſilent, and looked upwards in an extaſy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude was ſtruck at once with the precept and the example; and the Caliph, to whom the event was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, commanded it to be recorded for the benefit of poſterity.

MR. EGERTON.

I perceive by your countenances, children, there is not one of you who would not dread the puniſhment of Carazan.

NANCY.
[26]

I am ſure, Sir, I ſhould; and I am quite happy to think it was only a dream,

EUSTACE.

Pray, Sir, did you ever read the life of Barnard Gilpin?

MR. EGERTON.

Yes.

EUSTACE.

And don't you think he was a very hoſpitable, good man?

MR. EGERTON.

I do indeed; one of the beſt of men.

EUSTACE.

Then if you pleaſe, Sir, I'll read you a little Extract I made from his life; I dare ſay it will be acceptable to Miſs Forreſter and the reſt of the company; and it will form an agreeable contraſt to the ſelfiſhneſs ſo well deſcribed in the tale of Carazan.

MR. EGERTON.

Do ſo, Euſtace.

EUSTACE.

Barnard Gilpin was rector of Houghton le Spring, in the reigns of the Queens Mary and Elizabeth. At his firſt undertaking the care of a pariſh, he laid [27] it down as a maxim, to do all the good in his power, and to gain the affections of his pariſhioners. To ſucceed in this, he uſed no ſervile compliances; but his behaviour was free without levity, obliging without meanneſs, and inſinuating without art. He condeſcended to the weak, bore with the paſſionate, complied with the ſcrupulous, and in a truly apoſtolic manner became all things to all men.

To his humanity and courteſy, he added an unwearied application to the inſtruction of thoſe under his care; and with unceaſing aſſiduity he employed himſelf in admoniſhing the vicious and encouraging the well-intentioned, ſo that in a few years he made a greater change in his neigbourhood, than could have been imagined.

His hoſpitable manner of living, was the admiration of the whole country. He ſpent in his family, every fortnight, forty buſhels of corn, twenty buſhels of malt, and a whole ox, beſides a proportionate quantity of other proviſions. Strangers and travellers found a chearful reception; all were welcome that came, and even their beaſts had ſuch care taken of them, that it was humourouſly ſaid, "If a horſe was turned looſe in any part of the county it would immediately make its way to the rector of Houghton."

Every Sunday, from Michaelmas till Eaſter, was a ſort of public day with him. During this ſeaſon he expected to ſee all his pariſhioners and their families. For their reception he had three tables well covered: the firſt was for gentlemen, the ſecond [28] for huſbandmen and farmers, and the third for day labourers. This piece of hoſpitality he never omitted, even when loſſes, or a ſcarcity of proviſion made its continuance rather difficult. When he was abſent from home, no alteration was made in his family expences. The poor were fed as uſual, and his neighbours entertained.

Lord Burleigh, the Lord Treaſurer, being ſent by Queen Elizabeth to tranſact ſome affairs in Scotland, when he came into Gilpin's neighbourhood, ſtruck with the univerſal praiſes which filled every mouth, he could not reſiſt his inclination to ſee a man ſo truly reſpectable; and although his lordſhip came on him unawares, yet he received his noble gueſt with ſuch true politeneſs, and treated him and his retinue in ſo affluent and generous a manner, that the treaſurer would often afterwards ſay, he could hardly have expected more at Lambeth. At his departure, embracing his generous hoſt, he told him he had heard great things in his commendation, but he had ſeen what far exceeded all he had heard: and when he had got to the top of a hill, which is about a mile from Houghton, he turned his horſe to take one more view of the place, and broke out into this exclamation, "There is enjoyment of life indeed! who can blame that man for not accepting a biſhoprick? What doth he want to make him greater or happier or more uſeful to mankind."

As Mr. Gilpin's whole life was a ſeries of pious, generous and charitable acts, there is no doing him [29] juſtice in this extract. Mr. Gilpin was not a dignitary of the church, nor did he poſſeſs a plurality of benefices, but he exerciſed a noble hoſpitality, and a ſeemingly boundleſs charity and liberality, with a living of four hundred pounds a year, which he refuſed to exchange for the biſhoprick of Carliſle, and many rich benefices that were offered him at different times.

MR. EGERTON.

I don't know, Euſtace, how to expreſs the pleaſure you have given me as a father, in the proof, I have juſt now received, of your diſpoſition to admire a truly great and moſt reſpectable character. Yes, my children, they are ſuch men as Mr. Gilpin, whom I would recommend you to imitate. Happy in themſelves, and beneficent to others, the reproach of the vicious, and the glory of human nature, they not only have contributed to the univerſal good of Society, while living, but will continue to do ſo, as long as goodneſs and good men ſhall be remembered upon earth; for, thoſe who can read the life of Barnard Gilpin, without wiſhing to be like him, muſt be loſt to virtue indeed!

MRS. EGERTON.

I think, my dear boy, you are entitled to the thanks of the company, for introducing ſo virtuous and valuable an example to their notice.

MR. FORRESTER.
[30]

I think ſo too, Madam: I, at leaſt, acknowledge myſelf very much obliged to him; and ſhall take care to make myſelf a little more intimate with this worthy Rector.

DIALOGUE III.

NANCY.

THE account which my brother was ſo obliging as to give us, yeſterday, of the rector of Houghton, reminded me, at the time, of a ſtory I had lately read; in which I very much admired the benevolent diſpoſition of a lady, who, though ſhe certainly had great reaſon to reſent the conduct of her huſband towards her, had the virtue and fortitude to forget her wrongs, and act in the moſt generous and amiable manner. I have ſhewed it my mamma, and ſhe approved of my offering it to you, Sir, and the preſent company, for their entertainment, if you and they think proper.

MR. EGERTON.
[31]

I can have no doubt of the propriety of it, my dear, if your mamma has ſeen it, and it has had her approbation; neither could I if ſhe had not ſeen it, as I think, my dear, your own good ſenſe, would have prevented you from offering us an improper ſubject. But pray is it a novel, or the hiſtory of ſome known and authentic character?

NANCY.

It is given under feigned names, and therefore has all the air of a novel; but the incidents are ſo natural, that I cannot help believing them to be true, at leaſt ſome of them are ſo noble, that I cannot help wiſhing them to be ſo.

MR. EGERTON.

Well, read, child, and let us hear.

BENEVOLENCE. Or the Story of PALAMON and AMASINA.

PALAMON and AMASINA were married almoſt too young to know the duties of the ſtate they entered into, yet both being extremely good-natured, a mutual deſire of obliging each other appeared in all their words and actions; and, though this complaiſance was not owing to thoſe tender emotions which attract the heart with a reſiſtleſs [32] force, and bear the name of love, yet were the effects ſo much the ſame, as not to be diſtinguiſhed.

The firſt year of their marriage made them the happy parents of an heir to a plentiful eſtate.—All their friends congratulated this addition to their felicity; and the moſt perfect joy and tranquillity reigned.

Amaſina, after ſhe became a mother, began to feel, by degrees, an encreaſing warmth of affection for him that made her ſo; and having no reaſon to doubt an equal regard from him, thought herſelf as happy as a woman could be, and that there were joys in marriage greater than ſhe had formerly ſuppoſed.

Quite otherwiſe was it with Palamon: the time was now arrived, which taught him what indeed it was to love.—The hopes, the fears, the anxieties, the impatiences, all the unnumbered cares, which are attributed to that paſſion, now took poſſeſſion of his heart.—He pined, he languiſhed—but, alas! not for his wife.—He had, unhappily, ſeen a young lady at the opera, who had given his heart ſenſations and deſires unfelt, unknown before. As he happened to fit in the ſame box with her, he had frequently an opportunity of ſpeaking to her: and, though only on ordinary ſubjects, every anſwer ſhe made to what he ſaid, ſeemed, to him, to diſcover a profuſion of wit and gave him the moſt longing deſire to be acquainted with her.

[33]Fortune, favourable to his wiſhes, preſented her to him the next day, in one of the public walks, accompanied by a lady and a gentleman, the latter of whom he had a ſlight knowledge of. He joined them; and perceiving it was to the other lady that the gentleman ſeemed moſt attached, he was at the greater liberty to ſay a thouſand tender and gallant things to her, who was now become the object of his wiſhes.

Belinda, who was in all reſpects one of the modern modiſh ladies, received the compliments he made her in a manner which convinced him his converſation was not diſagreeable to her; and, ſome mention happening to be made of a maſquerade that night, ſhe told him, that both ſhe and her fair companion intended to be there, and were then going to beſpeak habits for that purpoſe.

The hint was not loſt upon Palamon: he followed them at a diſtance; and when the ladies had left the ſhop he went in under pretence of hiring a domino for himſelf. Finding the woman behind the counter was no ſtranger to the ladies, he eaſily prevailed on her to let him know, not only what dreſſes they had beſpoke, but alſo of what condition and character they were.—She informed him, that Belinda had a large fortune, and, her parents being dead, was under the care of guardians, though ſhe did not live with them, but had lodgings in an adjacent ſtreet.

[34]Palamon was tranſported at this intelligence, as it ſeemed to promiſe him an eaſy acceſs to her acquaintance, and the privilege of viſiting her; which, probably, in thoſe early days of his paſſion was all he aimed at. His impatience, however, occaſioned him to go betimes to the maſquerade, that he might have an opportunity of examining every one that came in. He ſoon diſcovered Belinda, and was not long in convincing her, that he was the gentleman who made her ſo many compliments in the morning. This greatly flattered her vanity. She liſtened attentively to the aſſurances he gave her of his paſſion, and frequently let fall ſome words, as if they eſcaped her inadvertently, that might make him think ſhe would not be ungrateful, if he perſiſted in giving teſtimonies of a conſtant flame.

Palamon was tranſported to find the offer of his heart ſo well received; and made ſo good a uſe of the opportunity ſhe gave him of entertaining her, that he obtained her permiſſion to attend her home; and, as it was then too late for them to continue their converſation, to viſit her the next day in the afternoon.

Belinda, it is probable, had no other motive for entertaining Palamon, and receiving his addreſſes, than merely that of hearing herſelf praiſed, and giving pain, as ſhe imagined, to others of her admirers who were leſs frequently admitted. But, how dangerous it is to encourage an intimacy with [35] one of the other ſex, too many, poſſeſſed of a greater ſhare of diſcretion than Belinda, have experienced.—This unwary lady in meditating new arts to captivate her lover, became inſnared herſelf. In ſhort, Palamon ſucceeded.

Amaſina, all this while, loſt ground in his affection; ſhe every day ſeemed leſs fair, and whatever ſhe ſaid, or did, had in it a kind of aukwardneſs which, before, he was far from diſcovering; every thing was now diſpleaſing in her; if endearing, her fondneſs was childiſh and ſilly; and if more reſerved, ſhe was ſullen and ill-natured. One moment he was out of humour if ſhe ſpoke, and the next offended at her ſilence. He was continually ſeeking ſome pretence to find fault with the moſt juſtifiable conduct; and even vexed when he had nothing in reality to condemn.—Unhappy, but certain conſequences of a new attachment! which, not content with the injury it does, adds to it ill humour, and a wiſh for ſome occaſion to hate the object we no longer love.

The poor lady could not help obſerving this alteration in his behaviour; but, as ſhe was far from gueſſing the real motive, imputed it to ſome unlucky turn in his affairs; though of what nature ſhe could not imagine, they having had a large fortune ſettled on them at their marriage, beſides the reverſion of what his father ſhould die poſſeſſed.

For more than a whole year did ſhe combat his ill-humour with ſweetneſs, gentleneſs, and the moſt [36] obliging behaviour: and, though ſhe began to think herſelf loſt to his affection, bore even that afflicting thought with the moſt ſubmiſſive patience; ſtill flattering herſelf, that, if it were even ſo, he would one day reflect, that ſhe did not deſerve her ill fortune.

Jealouſy was, however, a paſſion ſhe was wholly unacquainted with: many beautiful women viſited at her houſe, and ſhe had never ſeen the leaſt propenſity in him to gallantry with any of them; ſo that ſhe rather imagined a diſguſt to the whole ſex was growing on him, than an attachment to any one in particular.

Thus did her innocence and unſuſpecting nature deceive her, till one day a female friend, more buſy than wiſe, opened her eyes to the true reaſon of her huſband's coldneſs. This lady, by means of a maid ſervant ſhe had lately entertained, who had lived with Belinda long enough to know the whole ſecret of her amour with Palamon, was made acquainted with all that paſſed between that guilty pair.—She learned from this unfaithful creature, that Belinda had been made a mother by Palamon; and that the child was diſpoſed of to a perſon who for a preſent of fifty guineas, had taken the ſole charge of it, ſo that it ſhould never appear to the diſgrace of the unnatural parents. Not the moſt minute circumſtance, relating to the affair, but was betrayed by this wretch, partly in revenge for her having been diſcarded, and partly to gain the [37] favour of her preſent lady, who, ſhe eaſily perceived, loved to hear news of this kind.

Amaſina would fain have treated this account as fabulous, and have perſuaded her friend to regard it only as a piece of malice in the reporter; but the other was poſitive in her aſſertion, and told her, that it was utterly impoſſible for ſuch a perſon to dreſs up a fiction with ſo many particulars, and ſuch a ſhew of truth.—"Beſides, added ſhe, if there were nothing in it, we might eaſily diſprove all ſhe has ſaid, by going to the woman who has the care of the child, and whoſe name and place of abode ſhe has told me."

Compelled at laſt to believe, ſhe gave for a while a looſe to her tears and complainings, but her good ſenſe as well as good temper, ſoon got the better of her paſſion; and, when her friend aſked her, in what manner ſhe would proceed, in order to do herſelf juſtice—What can I do? replied this charming wife, but endeavour to render myſelf more obliging, more pleaſant, and more engaging, if poſſible, than my rival; and make Palamon ſee, he can find nothing in Belinda, that is wanting in me?

"O Heaven! cried the lady, can you forgive ſuch an injury?"—"Yes, reſumed Amaſina, ſtifling her ſighs as much as ſhe was able, love is an involuntary paſſion."—"And will you not upbraid him with his ingratitude, and expoſe Belinda?" ſaid ſhe.—"Neither the one nor the other, anſwered Amaſina coldly; either of theſe methods would indeed [38] render me unworthy of a return of his affection; and I conjure and beſeech you, added ſhe, by all the friendſhip I flatter myſelf you have for me, that you will not make the leaſt mention of this affair to any one in the world."

Amaſina was no ſooner left alone, and at liberty to meditate more deeply on the ſhocking intelligence ſhe had received, than ſhe again began to fancy there was a poſſibility of its being falſe: the ſuſpenſe, however, ſeemed more dreadful to her than the confirmation could be, and ſhe reſolved to be fully convinced of the truth, if there were any means of being ſo.

The unhappy wife of Palamon, who ſoon became aſſured of his perſidy, determined to bear it with as much patience as ſhe was able; which was indeed ſufficient to render her behaviour ſuch, as made him poſitive in his own mind, that ſhe had not the leaſt ſuſpicion of the wrong he did her; and alſo compelled him very often to accuſe himſelf for being guilty of what he could not anſwer to his reaſon, though he had not reſolution enough to abandon Belinda, notwithſtanding that the levity of her conduct diſcovered the difference between a miſtreſs and a wife.

Whenever Amaſina reflected on this change in her huſband, as ſhe had little elſe in her mind, there was no part in the adventure appeared more ſtrange to her, than that a lady, born and educated in the manner ſhe knew Belinda was, and who had [39] ſo far yielded to temptation as to throw off all modeſty and honour, ſhould have ſo little regard for her innocent child, as to abandon it to miſeries ſhe knew not of what kind. This was a barbarity, ſhe thought exceeded the crime to which it owed its birth, and ſhe more readily forgave the injury done to herſelf, than that to the helpleſs infant.

The more ſhe reflected, the more ſhe was aſtoniſhed, that a woman ſhould act ſo contrary to nature; and, by often picturing to herſelf the woes to which this deſerted child might probably be expoſed, became at length ſo generouſly intereſted in its fate, as to form a reſolution of which few, beſide herſelf, would have been capable.

She had been informed, by her officious friend, both of the name and habitation of the woman with whom this little creature had been left; when, without making any perſon privy to her deſign, muffled herſelf up in her capuchin, and went in a hackney-chair to the houſe. The woman received her with a great deal of reſpect and kindneſs, imagining ſhe was come on the ſame buſineſs as Belinda.

The virtuous Amaſina bluſhed at being ſuſpected by this woman to be guilty of an act her ſoul ſhuddered at.—"I come not, ſaid the wife of Palamon, on the buſineſs you ſeem to think, though on one which equally requires your ſecrecy.—I have no unhappy infant to leave with you, but am come to eaſe you of one you have lately taken charge of.

[40]The woman looked much ſurprized to hear her ſpeak in this manner, and knew not well what anſwer to make; but Amaſina put an end to her ſuſpenſe, by telling her, that ſhe was in the ſecret of the lady, who left a child at her houſe at a certain time and who had given fifty guineas to be eaſed for ever of the trouble of it.—"I am, ſaid Amaſina, a near relation of the gentleman to whom the poor infant owes its being, and cannot conſent, that any thing which does ſo, ſhould be deſerted and expoſed. I therefore deſire, that if alive, you will let me ſee it. I will provide for it better than it can be poſſible that you ſhould do for the pittance left by the mother."

The woman affected to expatiate on the impoſſibility of her taking the care ſhe could wiſh to do, with children left on theſe terms; but that heaven knew ſhe did all ſhe could, and often laid put more than ſhe received.—She aſſured her, that the child ſhe enquired after was alive and a fine boy, but that he was with a perſon who indeed nurſed for the pariſh, who yet was a very good woman, and did her duty.

That may be, replied Amaſina, but I muſt have him removed; and, if you can provide another nurſe who can be depended on, I have a power from the father to ſatisfy you for your trouble, in a very ample manner. In the mean time, continued ſhe, putting five guineas into her hand, take this as an earneſt, and let the child be brought here to-morrow [41] about this time, and a new nurſe, whom you can recommend.

The next day, this excellent pattern of conjugal love took with her every thing proper for a child, whom ſhe was determined to make her own by adoption. She no ſooner ſaw the infant in his new nurſe's arms, than ſhe killed him with a tenderneſs little leſs than maternal; then, after having agreed upon terms, ordered him to be dreſſed, in her preſence, in the cloaths ſhe had brought; and, every thing being ſettled, returned home with a contentment of mind which words are too poor to expreſs.

Nor was this a ſudden ſtart of goodneſs and generoſity; for the more ſhe reflected on what ſhe had done, the greater was the pleaſure ſhe received. —She never let a week paſs without going to ſee her charge; and had he been in reality her own, her diligence could not have been greater.

By accuſtoming herſelf to perform the duties of a mother to the child of Belinda, ſhe began really to love him as ſuch; and what, at firſt, was only pity, converted by degrees into a tender affection. When Palamon was abroad, ſhe would often order him to be brought to her, and, ſending for her own ſon at the ſame time, divert herſelf with their ſmiles and antics. She was one day employed in this manner, when Palamon unexpectedly returned, and came directly into the room where they were.— Whatever indifference he had for his wife, he had always ſhewn the greateſt tenderneſs to her ſon; and [42] he now took him up in his arms and kiſſed him, as was his cuſtom to do. "Here is another little one, ſaid Amaſina, ſmiling, who alſo claims ſome portion of your kindneſs;" and at the ſame time preſented Belinda's child to him. "By what right, madam? replied Palamon in the ſame gay tone.— "As he is mine," reſumed his wife. "Yours!" cried he.—"Yes, anſwered ſhe, he is mine by adoption; and I muſt have you look upon him as yours likewiſe." "My complaiſance for you may carry me great lengths, ſaid he; but as I know you do nothing without being able to give a reaſon, I ſhould be glad to learn the motive of ſo extraordinary a requeſt."

"The infant you ſee, ſaid ſhe, in a more ſerious tone than before, and whom I have, in reality, taken under my care, owes its being to two perſons of condition; but, being illegitimate, the care of reputation prevailed over nature; and this innocent victim of an inconſiderate paſſion I found abandoned, either to periſh, or, ſurviving, to ſurvive but to miſeries worſe than death.—The thought was ſhocking to me, and I reſolved to ſnatch him from the threatening woes, and provide for him out of my private purſe, in ſuch a manner as not to make life hateful to him."

"An action truly charitable," ſaid Palamon, a little perplexed; "but this is not the reaſon I expected, ſince by the ſame rule your pity might be extended to hundreds, whom, doubtleſs, you may [43] find expoſed in the like manner. It muſt, therefore, be ſome plea more forcible than mere compaſſion that attaches you particularly to this child."

Amaſina, who had foreſeen what anſwer her huſband would make, was debating within herſelf, whether it would be beſt for her to evade, or to confeſs the truth of this affair; and, not being able to determine, appeared no leſs confuſed and diſordered than ſhe would have been, if about to make an acknowledgement for ſome great offence.— At laſt, "a plea there is, indeed, ſaid ſhe, but—;" here her voice and courage failed her, and ſhe was utterly incapable to give him the ſatisfaction he required.

Palamon was confounded beyond meaſure. Not knowing what to think of a behaviour ſo new, and which ſeemed to denote that ſhe laboured with a ſecret of ſome importance, he looked ſtedfaſtly on her for ſeveral minutes; and perceiving that ſhe changed colour, and had her eyes fixed on the earth, grew quite impatient, and cried out, "What plea? what myſtery?"

"A myſtery, replied ſhe, which I had much rather you ſhould gueſs at than oblige me to unravel.—Oh Palamon! continued ſhe, after a pauſe, is there no inſtinct in nature that can inform you, my affection for the father makes his offspring, of whomſoever born, dear to me?—I cannot hate Belinda ſo much as I love Palamon; and, while I [44] am performing the offices of a mother to this child, I forget the ſhare ſhe has in him—to remember what I owe to him as yours."

The reader's imagination muſt here ſupply the place of deſcription.—Impoſſible it is for words to give a juſt idea of what a huſband, circumſtanced like Palamon, muſt feel.—To have his faults thus palpably made known to her, whom he moſt deſired ſhould be ignorant of them—to receive the higheſt obligations where he could have expected only reſentment;—and to hear the detection of what he had done diſcovered to him by the injured perſon, in ſuch a manner as if herſelf, not he, had been the criminal!—his hurried thoughts, between remorſe, aſtoniſhment, and ſhame, left him not the power to reply.—He walked about the room in a diſordered motion, to vain endeavouring to recover preſence of mind, a thing ſo neceſſary on this occaſion. At laſt, throwing himſelf into an eaſy chair, juſt oppoſite to that in which his wife was ſitting, "Good God! cried he, am I awake!—Can it be poſſible there ſhould be ſuch a woman in the world!"

Amaſina could not ſee him in theſe agitations without a concern, which made her almoſt repent having occaſioned them.—She ran to him, and, throwing her arms about his neck, "My dear, dear Palamon, ſaid ſhe, let it not trouble you that I am in poſſeſſion of a ſecret which I neither ſought after, nor ever divulged. Conſider me as I am,—your wife,—and be aſſured you can be [45] guilty of no errors, which I ſhall not carefully conceal.—Judge of my ſincerity, continued ſhe, by my behaviour, which, you are ſenſible, has not in the leaſt been changed by my knowledge of this affair."

"O Amaſina! cried he, preſſing her tenderly to his boſom, I am indeed ſenſible how little I have deſerved ſuch proofs of your amazing goodneſs;— my ſoul overflows with gratitude and love;—yet how can I atone for my paſt crimes?"—"Mention them no more, interrupted ſhe, only let me ſhare in that heart, which my want of charms denies me the hope of wholly poſſeſſing."

He anſwered only in broken ſentences, but ſuch as teſtified what ſhe wiſhed to find in him more than the moſt eloquent ſpeeches could have done. Convinced that the victory gained over him was perfect and ſincere, ſhe would have known a tranſport without alloy, but for the tender pain it gave her to find ſo much difficulty in perſuading him to forgive himſelf.

Deſirous that ſhe ſhould have nothing, for the future, to apprehend from Belinda, he immediately wrote a letter to that lady; wherein he acquainted her, that, ſenſible of the injury he had done the beſt of wives, he was determined to purſue no pleaſures for the future in which ſhe did not participate. He repreſented to her the ſhame and folly of ſuch an intrigue in the moſt pathetic terms, adviſed her to think of living ſo as to regain that reputation which, he was obliged to confeſs he had contributed [46] to make her loſe; aſſured her that the reſolution he had made to ſee her no more, was not to be ſhaken by arguments, and begged ſhe would endeavour to follow his example, and forget all that had paſſed between them.

Though he deſired no anſwer, he received one, filled with the moſt virulent reproaches on himſelf, and mingled with many contempuous reflections on his wife. The firſt he was unmoved at; but the other totally deſtroyed all the remains of regard and conſideration he had for her. He tore the letter into a thouſand pieces, and, to ſhew this injurious woman the contempt and reſentment with which he had treated what ſhe ſaid, gathered up the ſcattered fragments, and ſent them back to her under a ſealed cover, but without writing a word.

Thus ended Palamon's amour with Belinda, and thus Amaſina received the happy reward of her generous and exalted conduct, by ever after poſſeſsing undivided the grateful heart of her beloved huſband.

MR. EGERTON.

Thank you, my dear Nancy. Your Amaſina is indeed a Heroine of the firſt order, and I will venture to aſſert that if you become ſuch a wife, you will be certain of having a tender and reſpectful huſband; beſide which, you will acquire the love and admiration of every good perſon; which in my opinion are the greateſt riches the world [47] can beſtow. I dare ſay You, Miſs Forreſter, think this lady acted very nobly.

MISS FORRESTER.

Yes, Sir; I do indeed. But, to confeſs the truth, I am almoſt afraid, if I had the ſame trial, I ſhould not poſſeſs the ſame prudence.

MR. FORRESTER.

Prudence! my dear—call it by ſome more elevated title. Her's was a virtue much more ſublime than prudence.

MR. EGERTON.

I have no doubt, but that both our daughters will endeavour to act, from motives as generous and ſuperior as were thoſe of Amaſina. We have numerous examples upon record, of ladies, who have equalled the greateſt actions of the greateſt men, whoſe names are the ornament of hiſtory, the honour of their ſex, and the delight of ſociety. Who can read the account of the ſiege of Wenſberg, in Germany, without feeling his heart expand towards the lovely fair? When the city could no longer reſiſt the arms of the emperor Conrad, and when circumſtances made it probable that little quarter would be ſhewn to the men, the women petitioned leave of the emperor to depart from the city and each to take with her what ſhe could carry. Imagine, my children, what was the ſurprize of the emperor and his army, to ſee them come forth, not bending beneath a load of gold and [48] ſilver, but each with her huſband upon her back. The emperor and all his ſoldiers, at leaſt all that had hearts, wept at the ſight; the women were adored, and the city was pardoned. Bodinus affirms, that Laurentius Medices was ſo affected, only by reading this ſtory, that he was reſtored to health, which he had long in vain expected from his phyſicians.

But ſuperior in magnanimity, and equal in affection, even to this, was the behaviour of Arria, the beloved wife of Paetus. This unfortunate man had joined in rebellion with Camillus, againſt that weak and wicked emperor Claudius Caeſar, and his attempts miſcarrying he was taken and ſent to Rome. The affectionate Arria, who reſolutely followed her huſband through all his fortunes, when ſhe was not permitted to attend him in the ſame ſhip, hired a fiſherman's bark, and expoſed herſelf to the dangers of ſeas and the ſeverities of the weather, in this frail veſſel, rather than forſake her Paetus. When they arrived at Rome, he was condemned to die by his own hand, and permitted to chuſe what death he liked beſt. It was now that the fortitude, as well as affection of the lovely Arria were diſcovered. Paetus was timid and dreaded death: Arria was afraid, leſt his timidity ſhould prompt him to ſomething unworthy of himſelf. She made him ſenſible that the eyes of preſent and future generations were upon him, ſhe deſcribed his duty, ſhe awakened his courage, and after embracing him, in a manner which love like her's [49] could alone inſpire, ſhe took the poniard, and with a ſmile of pity and of love, bidding him farewel, pierced her lovely boſom—then, while ſhe had ſtill the power to ſpeak, exclaimed, "O my Paetus, this wound is a pleaſant one, it is that only which thou art going to give that is painful to me!"

DIALOGUE IV.

MRS. EGERTON.

YOUR father, my dear girls, very kindly took occaſion yeſterday to make an eulogium on women, by introducing examples of ſome of our moſt illuſtrious ornaments. I am far from wiſhing to leſſen you in your own eſteem, I know that to have a proper idea of your own character and conſequence in ſociety, is one great inducement to act up to that idea. But this has its dangers; it may make us confident, proud and aſſuming: it may deſtroy that diſtruſt which gives caution, or may inſpire that arrogance which muſt diſguſt. It is my duty to remind you that, as there have been women dignified by their virtues, ſo have [50] there been others abhorred for their vices. This is a painful recollection, my children, but a neceſſary one. While our hearts are animated to connubial love, by the example of an Eleanor, who delighted to imbibe the poiſon that otherwiſe muſt have killed her huſband, let us mournfully remember there were ſuch women as Tullia and Meſſalina; leſt a too great portion of vanity ſhould deſtroy that emulation, which the example of the virtuous would otherwiſe incite.

The ſtory which I ſhall recommend to your attention, this afternoon, contains an unhappy inſtance of the power of vanity. It is told by the ſuffering perſon, and with a ſufficient degree of force to convince us ſhe had long felt it's effects and repented of her folly. I will read it to you myſelf, becauſe I would have you who are intertereſted in it, be particularly attentive.

COQUETRY, Or the Story of LADY WILDHAM.

BEWARE OF COQUETRY, ſaid the old lady of Wildham Hall, to her young niece; it is not only the moſt ungenerous, but the moſt dangerous folly, or rather vice, to which any woman can be addicted; it is deſtructive of its own purpoſes, and there is no ſurer way to make any man hate, [51] or at leaſt deſpiſe you, than firſt to encourage his addreſſes, and afterwards treat them with neglect or contempt: it is an injury, which of all others, man finds the greateſt difficulty in forgiving; conquer therefore your thirſt of praiſe, and while you are affable, take care not to ſeem particular. It was the want of this prudence that has rendered above half my life, one continued round of diſquietude, that has made me an acceſſary in deeds of blood, and that gave to me, inſtead of the youth whom I had an affection for, one who was the ſcourge of my inſincerity and duplicity. I would deſire you to relate your hiſtory (ſaid the young lady) but that I fear, as you ſay it was unfortunate, the recollection may give you pain. Your deſire ſhall be gratified, (replied her aunt) in hopes that you may profit by my miſconduct, and ſubſequent misfortunes.

You know, my dear, I was the only daughter of Sir Herbert Winworth, and I believe you have heard me ſay I received my education chiefly in the country, at Derby, the family ſeat being in the vicinity of that town. It is neceſſary to inform you, that my perſon and accompliſhments made me the toaſt and admiration of all the country gentlemen, eſpecially the youthful and unmarried ones. I converſed in Italian and French with eaſe and volubility, had a fine voice, and took great delight in my harpſichord. My underſtanding I believe was not contemptible, and I thought it prodigious. [52] With all theſe advantages, my vanity was boundleſs, my imagination romantic, and I was ſometimes almoſt fit to believe no man could be worthy of me, who had not killed a fiery dragon, and pulled the ſultan by the beard. You ſmile, my dear, but though my ideas might not be exactly theſe, they were very extravagant: no flattery could be too violent for me, and however I might pretend to diſbelieve, or to be diſpleaſed at hyperbolical praiſe and adulation, yet thoſe who had art enough to adminiſter ſuch potions, had penetration enough to perceive how delicious they were to my palate. Of all my admirers none had hitherto made ſo great a progreſs as Glanmore. Others praiſed my beauty, which was ſo univerſally ſpoken of that I never imagined it wanted any confirmation; but he told me my perſonal charms, like the glorious light of the meridian ſun, were ſeen even by idiots, when they preſumed to gaze, and which they could not do without feeling their immediate power; but as philoſophy alone had diſcovered the ſalubrious and hidden effects of that bleſſed luminary, ſo the charms of my wit, the elegance and propriety of my remarks, the keenneſs of my ſatire, the ſweet flow of my language, and the conviction that attended all my arguments and diſcourſes were beauties which he believed very few indeed were capable of properly attending to, and which he, however great his admiration might be, confeſſed himſelf an imperfect judge of. This groſs [53] flattery pleaſed me the more, becauſe young Glanmore was continually ſpoken of as the beſt ſcholar, and moſt ſenſible youth in the country.

My father, whoſe tenderneſs and love for me were equally viſible, and who, I believe, rated my accompliſhments as highly as any one, myſelf excepted, notwithſtanding his partiality, could not help obſerving the violence of my ruling paſſion. He beheld with anxiety the pleaſure I took in the ſociety of the moſt contemptible fops, and the freedoms I allowed them. He ſaw with pain the chagrin my temper was liable to if any man took the liberty of behaving with eaſe, and paying a proper regard to any other woman. He could not ſtop his ears againſt the continual egotiſm of my diſcourſe; and if praiſe was preſumed to be given to another object, he could not but obſerve how ready I was to introduce myſelf, and make a compariſon either to my own advantage, or by tenaciouſly diſpraiſing my abilities, when they had evidently the ſuperiority, to force others into a vindication of them, and violently to extort flattery. No one is ever ſo ſeverely ſatirical upon perſons of this character, as they are upon themſelves, their inordinate thirſt of adulation betrays them into a thouſand fooleries, and places them perpetually in numerous ridiculous ſituations, under which they ſhrink, and bluſh, for a moment, and generally, in order to extricate themſelves, commit ſome temporary blunder that heightens the ridicule. Be careful, therefore [54] my dear, never to introduce yourſelf into the diſcourſe, either by compariſon, or inſinuation, and whenever you obſerve ſuch a propenſity, check yourſelf very ſeverely, as knowing yourſelf guilty of a mental weakneſs, very unworthy of that fortitude of mind, which it is the greateſt happineſs to poſſeſs.

My father's admonitions, though given with the utmoſt gentleneſs, were exceedingly irkſome to me; I was unwilling to believe I had any one foible, and that perſon who ſpoke diſreſpectfully of coquettes was ſure to incur my diſpleaſure; nay, when I ſometimes had the courage to reaſon with myſelf concerning it, I could never be thoroughly perſuaded that I had one atom of the character in my compoſition. The picture ſtill was perfect, and all thoſe tints which a ſevere connoiſſeur might poſſibly think too glaring, with me gently glided off into ſhades of innocent gaiety, harmleſs raillery, generous emulation, and merited praiſe.

Glanmore, who not only from motives of love and intereſt, but likewiſe from pride, purſued the little advantages he had hitherto gained, became very aſſiduous in his endeavours to obtain me. There was a certain triumph, which would have gratified his vanity, even ſuperior to every other conſideration, which was that of winning the conſent of one who had rejected ſo many, and whom ſo many were daily wiſhing to poſſeſs. The torrent of adulation, which had been daily augmented from ſo many pretty ſtreams, had rendered me inſenſible [55] as yet of any ſincere and tender attachment: my father from motives which you will eaſily gueſs, was importunate with me to marry, and Glanmore teazed me exceedingly to give him permiſſion to obtain my father's conſent for our nuptials. I knew Sir Herbert wiſhed me to marry Lord Strangely, eldeſt ſon of the earl of Wildham, who had long paid his addreſſes to me, encouraged by the countenance my father gave him, although I had conſtantly ridiculed his paſſion, and contemned his love. Unfortunate for me that I did ſo: I have ſince ſuffered ſeverely for my injuſtice. I call it injuſtice, becauſe I think it not only weak, but ungenerous to treat any one with ſcorn becauſe they love. Our humanity ſhould inſtruct us not to add the ſting of contempt to the thorn of deſpair.

Although I felt no violence of affection for Glanmore, yet there was ſomething exceedingly pleaſing in his flattery and aſſiduity, and as his company was more agreeable to me than any other man's, I imagined that it muſt proceed from love, at leaſt I endeavoured to perſuade myſelf ſo, for I was very unwilling to ſuppoſe myſelf incapable of that paſſion, which at ſome intervals I almoſt began to ſuſpect: partly therefore from an imaginary affection, and partly from a ſuppoſition that Sir Herbert would not give his conſent, and that conſequently my promiſe would be no bar to my inclinations, if they ſhould happen to vary, I gave [56] Glanmore an aſſurance, if he could bring my father to approve of our union, my will ſhould not prove an interruption to his happineſs. He left me when I delivered this decree in his favour, with the moſt ardent proteſtations of his love, and rapturous praiſes of my condeſcenſion and goodneſs, and flew to find Sir Herbert, promiſing to leave nothing unattempted, that might prevail on him to comply with his deſires.

My lover's eloquence, contrary to my expectation, ſoon prevailed with my father. Glanmore told him that though it was true, his eſtate was not ſo extenſive, nor his rank in life ſo elevated as that of ſome others, who ſolicited the honour of becoming his ſon-in-law, yet he hoped his endeavours, when united with Sir Herbert's intereſt, might enable him to deſerve and procure a title, which, thus attained, he repreſented as being equally honourable to being born to one. Sir Herbert's anxiety for me, joined to a deſire of having me perfectly ſatisfied with the man whom I ſhould take for a huſband, together with Glanmore's abilities, made him eager for the conſummation of the nuptials, and by the conſent of all parties, they were accordingly appointed to be celebrated in a month, as I could not, without appearing childiſh and irreſolute, obtain a longer period. I was now introduced to all Glanmore's friends, who paid him the higheſt compliments upon his choice, and I began to conſider myſelf, not without frequent intervals of [57] doubt and fear, in ſome degree, his wife; while the increaſing tenderneſs of his manner plainly proved how happy the thoughts of this alliance had made Him.

One afternoon, when Glanmore came to pay me his uſual viſit, he brought a ſtranger from London, a friend of his who had come down to ſpend a fortnight with him, and introduced him to our family. Here, my dear Caroline, ſaid he, when he preſented him to me, be pleaſed for my ſake to know Sir Harry Moreton, a diſtant relation of mine. He is an infidel to the Cyprian goddeſs, continued he, laughing, and his amorous creed runs thus: "I believe not in the power of Cupid, and I deſpiſe his darts, &c." I turn him over into your hands, to puniſh him as you think proper, you will ſoon make a convert of him. Nay, anſwered I, if thoſe are your friend's tenets I deſpair: unbelievers in theſe days are as reſolute in the defence of their hereſies, notwithſtanding the badneſs of their cauſe, as the faithful themſelves, who have the light of revelation to guide them.

Madam, replied the ſtranger, although I never was, nor perhaps ever ſhall be ſo romantic as my friend Glanmore pretends to be, yet I can admire wit and beauty, without ſuperſtitiouſly adoring them, though I aſſure you I have ſeldom met ſo fine a ſubject for admiration as I behold at this inſtant.

[58]I curtſied, and Glanmore exclaimed, "Your humble ſervant, Mr. Admirer." When Glanmore and his friend were gone, I began to ruminate upon the behaviour of the latter: my pride was bleeding; I could not bear the reflection of Sir Harry's inſolent freedom, as I thought it. Neither could I help obſerving, that his admiration turned chiefly upon himſelf, and that he was the hero of every topic of converſation, wherein he bore a part. I perceived the abſurdity of ſuch behaviour, and could not avoid applying it to my own conduct; I called him a coxcomb, and recollection of paſt incidents, joined to my preſent wounded vanity, told me in a tone, ſomething louder than a whiſper, that I was little better than a coquette. I found an uneaſineſs attending the rememberance of him and his indifference, and began to ſuſpect he was to revenge upon me ſome part of the chagrin that I had inflicted upon others.

He came the next day with Glanmore, and notwithſtanding I took every opportunity of extorting compliments from him, and uſed every art I was miſtreſs of to heighten my charms, and awaken his attention, I found it impoſſible to fix it even for a moment upon any object but himſelf.

By repeated attacks, I found the only battery which could poſſibly be played, with any proſpect of ſucceſs, was flattery; I was weak enough to forget my former pride, and preſent engagements, and deſperate enough to reſolve if poſſible, let what would [59] be the conſequence, to make Sir Harry acknowledge my power, and bow to my charms. I ſoothed my imagination with the thought of how I would uſe him when once I had him in proper ſubjection.

It is in vain, my dear, to endeavour to deſcribe the meanneſſes to which pride made me ſubmit, nor can I tell you by what unaccountable means my mind became ſo infatuated, and my affections enſlaved ſo entirely to an object, too, ſo little worthy of them: yet, thus it was; and though it was impoſſible to accuſe him of either beauty, wit, or one exalted qualification of body or mind, I was unhappy when out of his ſight, and the thoughts of my approaching nuptials filled me with the moſt gloomy horror.

How can we account for theſe things? Why is it that we ſigh and wiſh ſo earneſtly for an object, not becauſe if is worthy of ſuch affection, but becauſe we cannot obtain it? And why when by fortune or induſtry we have gained what we deſire does it immediately become indifferent to us? My only reaſon for loving Sir Harry was, becauſe it ſeemed almoſt impoſſible for me to have him. I believe this is an error to which the human mind, however capacious, is ever in ſome degree ſubject, and though, as it is therefore indubitably a wholeſome law of nature, which prompts us to activity, yet we ſhould be careful not to increaſe it in young or weak [60] minds, by continually gratifying their deſires, and flattering their perſons, or actions; unleſs with great caution, and to excite emulation.

However conceited Sir Harry might be of his accompliſhments, he was not ſo blind to his intereſt as to be indifferent about his fortune; my weak behaviour, and his own confidence of perſonal merit, ſufficiently perſuaded him of the practibility of rivaling his friend, and as this was a point which did not in the leaſt deter him, it was not long before he anſwered my advances more warmly than I at firſt had any reaſon to expect. From one indiſcretion I proceeded to another, and my neglect, and even contempt, of the man to whom I had promiſed to give my hand, were ſo viſible, that they could not avoid alarming his jealouſy; though the approaching criſis, mine and my father's conſent, and above all the inſignificance of his rival, contributed greatly, I ſuppoſe, towards allaying thoſe fears. An accident however happened, which entirely confirmed Glanmore's ſuſpicions.

As I could not invent any plauſible pretext for breaking off the match, and as I was reſolved, at any rate, to gratify my preſent inclinations, I had conſented to a propoſal of an elopement made by Sir Harry, and which was to have been executed the very night preceding the day appointed for my marriage. The myſterious air which Glanmore obſerved the ſervants of Sir Harry to affect, and ſome preparations they were making, for they had [61] all received private orders, made him ſuſpect there was ſomething in agitation, which he had reaſon to dread, and which was neceſſary for him to diſcover. By bribes, and promiſes, he prevailed on one of them, whom he obſerved was more loquacious and ſignificant than the reſt, to repeat the orders he had received from Sir Harry; which were that Sir Harry's people were all to retire to their beds, ſooner than uſual, where, inſtead of undreſſing themſelves, they were to wait till within a quarter of one o'clock, and then if every thing was quiet in the houſe, and Glanmore's family all in bed, they were to come down without their ſhoes, and with as little noiſe as poſſible, take Sir Harry's poſt chariot round to the corner of Sir Herbert's garden wall, and wait for their maſter, holding themſelves in readineſs for a journey.

Glanmore's paſſions were ſufficiently alarmed by this intelligence: he had no room to doubt but that Sir Harry intended to carry me off by my own conſent. Tormented and diſtracted with jealouſy, hope, and fear, he at one time reſolved to come immediately, and after upbraiding me with my infidelity, acquaint my father with it alſo; then changing his intentions, he put his piſtols in his pockets to puniſh my lover for his perfidy. At laſt, however, he came to a reſolution to wait till night, and plant himſelf, and ſome friends whom he could rely on, in ſuch a ſituation as to be able to intercept us, if he found his fears confirmed, which [62] he could not yet thoroughly perſuade himſelf were true.

Various and afflictive were the tumultuous feelings of the parties concerned in the tranſactions of this unhappy night. Glanmore's conduct proved the greatneſs of his torment: Sir Harry's, I believe, was the moſt placid: he had not ſenſibility enough to produce any violent agitation of either pain or pleaſure. As for me, the nearer the time approached, the more irreſolute and diſtracted was my mind: I never paſſed ſo horrid an interval. Sometimes my imagination repreſented to me the agony of Sir Herbert at my breach of faith and capricious conduct; at others, I beheld Glanmore upbraiding me, in all the pangs of deſpair, and hatred for my duplicity: nay ſo intolerably was I oppreſſed with the inconſiſtency of my conduct, and the terror of my guilt, that I ſtarted up three times with an intention to deſtroy myſelf, but had not ſufficient reſolution. At length, the hour arrived, and Sir Harry entered, conducted by my maid, as had been pre-concerted: but ſo great an impreſſion had my fears made on me, that I wept, entreated, nay, at laſt abſolutely refuſed to go. My lover was not thus to be diverted from his intentions: he reaſoned, prayed, and at length ſwore he would not be ſo deceived, and catching hold of my arm, dragged me along with him; my fears of a diſcovery prevented me from taking courage to reſiſt; whilſt [63] his impetuous and violent conduct made me ſhudder at my own.

How ſhall I deſcribe the horror of the moment, when juſt as Sir Harry was handing me into the chaiſe, he was ſeized and intercepted by Glanmore! —"Traitor!" exclaimed the injured lover, trembling with rage, and fury in his aſpect, "forego your worthleſs prize, and ſatisfy my wrongs. As for you," ſaid he to Me, darting a look of wild deſpair and terror through my ſoul, "though I ſee my folly in conteſting a ſingle moment for ſo falſe, ſo light, ſo ungenerous a woman, yet, in your preſence, will I puniſh this inſignificant, this inſiduous coxcomb;" then giving his antagoniſt a piſtol, and telling him it was charged, without quitting his hold, bade him prepare to fire! I ſcreamed! I flew to get between them ere the dreadful exploſion! but in vain!—They both fired! they both fell!—

Good God! what tongue can tell, what pencil paint, what imagination can conceive, the wild, the tremendous deſpair of my countenance when, by the glimmering of the moon I beheld both my lovers weltering in their blood! I ſeized one of the piſtols, and with a violent blow laid myſelf ſenſeleſs for a moment on the earth; then ſtarting up, and giving a frantic ſcream, I tore my hair, and face, while the ſervants and friends of the fallen, ſtood petrified with horror, unable to determine whether what they beheld were real or no.

[64]The agitation my mind had undergone for ſome hours was ſo increaſed, by this ſhocking tranſaction, that I was carried home in violent hyſterics, which were ſucceeded by weakneſſes and faintings to ſuch a degree, that it was thought at one time my life was in great danger. The youth and ſtrength of my conſtitution, together with the almoſt miraculous news of the recovery of both the combatants, overcame my diſorder; the ball of each had fortunately taken place in the ſhoulder, and by that means eſcaped a vital part.

Ever after this dreadful night the image of Sir Harry was accompanied with pain and diſguſt, and Glanmore, inſtead of ever renewing his claim, was frequently heard to declare, that he deemed himſelf exceedingly happy in having eſcaped an indiſſoluble connexion with a woman who was capable of ſo much injuſtice and ingratitude: for indeed he had been a very warm and aſſiduous lover, and afterwards proved himſelf a tender and indulgent huſband.

We have ſince regarded each other with a ſigh, tho' I had far the greateſt reaſon, as my father, after this affair, peremptorily inſiſted upon my giving my hand to Strangely, who was now become earl of Wildham, and had renewed his addreſſes to me, but who, after his firſt tranſports, has continually upbraided me with my ſlights to him and crimes to others. Therefore I repeat, BEWARE OF COQUETRY.

MR. FORRESTER, (To his Daughter.)
[65]

You ſee, Julia, the effects of vanity and inconſtancy, which between them produce coquetry. I have not, at preſent, any reaſon to fear you ſhould become ſo weak as this lady was; however I would adviſe you, and all young ladies, to be cautious and particularly diſtruſtful of themſelves, in this point; as, if my obſervations have been true, it is the One in which they are moſt likely to err.

MR. EGERTON.

And give me leave to obſerve, my friend, vanity, which is the ſource of coquetry, and other follies in the ladies, is a moſt baneful antidote to the proſperity of Men likewiſe: it makes them commit the moſt ſilly actions, and frequently betrays them into irretrievable miſtakes. Rudolphus, a king of the Heruli, in a battle between his army and that of Tado, king of the Lombards, was ſo confident of ſucceſs, that he ſtaid feaſting, in his tent, contenting himſelf with ſending a perſon to an eminence, to obſerve the combat, and inform him when his troops ſhould win the day, telling him at the ſame time, he would behead him if he brought bad news. The conſequence of this vanity was, his army was defeated, and the meſſenger, afraid to return, left the fooliſh monarch to periſh by the ſword of the victors.

[66]But the inſtances of men betrayed to deſtruction by their own vanity are innumerable. This paſſion makes us as ridiculous, at ſometimes, as it does unfortunate at others. The king of Catona takes an oath, at his coronation, that it ſhall not rain unſeaſonably, neither ſhall there be famine or peſtilence during his reign. We think this very ſtrange; but what ſhall we ſay of the cuſtom of England, which, in this age of reaſon and philoſophy, obliges the monarch to call himſelf king of France, when all the world knows it to be falſe? The Cham of Tartary, is not more ridiculous or vain, who, when he has dined, cauſes it to be proclaimed by ſound of trumpet, that, now he has finiſhed His dinner, all the reſt of the kings of the earth have leave to begin theirs.

I met with a little ſatirical eſſay, on this ſubject, which I think to the purpoſe. Here it is; do you read it, Charles, and do you, my children, obſerve how the author deſcribes this paſſion to be the general weakneſs of humanity. Remark its different effects upon different diſpoſitions, make the application to yourſelves, and endeavour to avoid its influence.

[67]

VANITY, Or the VISION.

OF all the articles of vulgar faith perhaps none has greater influence than that of dreaming. Few old women are to be found who cannot give an immediate and copious explanation of all the freaks, vagaries, and inconſiſtencies which the mind, during her nocturnal labours, ſhall conceive.

Among the variety of dreamers in this world, the literary ones are not the leaſt conſpicuous. It is in vain that dreamers of this ſpecies ſhall with a ſerious face and long periphraſis, tell the readers how they became weary, and where and when they fell aſleep. Every body knows that theirs are waking dreams. I ſhall take the liberty to relate one of theſe which I have lately had.

I thought I was ſitting upon the croſs which is placed upon the top of St. Paul's, amuſing myſelf with contemplating the care, hurry, anxiety, and ambition, which were diſcoverable in the countenances of the crowd that were buſtling beneath me. As I was applauding myſelf for the ſagacity of my conjectures, and the ingenuity of my remarks, I began ſuddenly to wonder by what ſtrange means I was carried thither, and whence I derived the power and reſolution to behave with ſo much compoſure [68] in ſo perilous a ſituation: when turning my head, I beheld, at my right hand, a Being with wings to his ſhoulders, of a beauteous and moſt alluring countenance, and a radiant form. My ſurprize was ſo great that I found myſelf tumbling from the horrid precipice; but my preſerver caught me by the arm, and by his ſmiles and aſſiſtance, baniſhed my fears, and reinſtated me with ſafety on my ſeat.

"Mortal," ſaid he, "I am one of that order of ſpirits which, by men, are called Genii. My name is Hlalhlumhla, or, according to its ſignification in your language, the Vapour of Vanity. I am likewiſe called by ſome Glparhja, that is, the Principle of Action, alluding to the part I take in prompting men to hazardous and daring enterprizes. That you may have ſome knowledge of the power I poſſeſs, you ſhall, in part, feel its effects." Immediately as he ſaid this, he breathed in my face, and his breath was ſweeter than the meadow air while the hay is upon the ground. He had no ſooner done ſo, than I felt myſelf elated, after a ſurprizing manner: I believed myſelf capable of performing any thing, and was going to leap from the height where I ſat, confident of my ability, but was reſtrained by my protector, who, while he held me, touched my lips with his finger, and I inſtantly became ſenſible of my danger, and wondered at my temerity.

"Mighty Being," ſaid I, bending as I ſpoke, "I tremble at my preſumption; expoſe not thy [69] weak ſervant any more to ſuch temptation." "Liſten," ſaid he, and fear not: "I will inſtruct thee."

"Next to the great ſpirit, I am the moſt powerful. I am the firſt of created beings; all others worſhip me, and thoſe who affect the moſt to deſpiſe me hug me cloſeſt to their boſoms. Among men, none are ſo high or ſo low as not to feel my influence, and women pay me the moſt ſervile adoration. It is I who have made coblers kings, and kings coblers. I have breathed upon the ignorant, and they have become philoſophers, poets, painters, heroes, mathematicians. It is I who have inſpired men to build temples, and pull them down again. I accompanied Caeſar into Gaul, and Alexander to the banks of the Ganges. I levelled the Alps to Hannibal, preached againſt the fear of pain or poverty to the Stoics, and ſent Cincinnatus, with ſelf-ſatisfaction, to the plough. I gave virtue to Ariſtides and Epaminondas, made Lycurgus a legiſlator, and taught Pyrrhus * his prayers; and I was the daemon with whom Socrates boaſted of his familiarity. Nor is it eaſy to determine whether I have been the occaſion of moſt good or evil to mankind. I will cauſe thee to behold examples of each. The hiſtory of the actions of ſome of my votaries ſhall paſs in quick ſucceſſion [70] before thee; and I will enable thee to ſee and interpret."

As he ſaid this, he plucked a feather from his wing and drew it acroſs my eyes. The touch imparted power unexperienced before; and the greateſt diſtance, the moſt ſolid matter, or impenetrable darkneſs, could no longer conceal objects from my ſight or hearing.

"Behold," ſaid Hlalhlumhla, "yonder country gentleman, whom we will call Marius. He is walking in his garden, ſurrounded by his children, for whom he has a particular affection, as he has likewiſe for their mother. He has riches enough to ſatisfy his wiſh; he delights in the character which he deſerves—it is that of a good and worthy man. He deſires only the power to be uſeful—and he enjoys it. I have inſpired him with that portion of vanity which ſtimulates to virtue, and he is happy, he is beloved. Obſerve the change he is going to experience." The blue vapour iſſued from the mouth of the genius, and ran like lightning, to fulfil its deſtined courſe. It finds Marius reading that anecdote of Caeſar, that tells us he fetched a deep ſigh at beholding the ſtatue of Alexander. He immediately becomes thoughtful; ſerenity vaniſhes from his countenance, his ſteps are ſhort and interrupted; he reads the ſtory again, and feels every thing that is related of Caeſar. He entertains a vaſt opinion of his abilities, and wonders at the former inactivity of his temper. A vacancy happens in parliament [71] for a ſmall borough in his neighbourhood. The money flies among the electors, and he is returned. He hurries to town, ſwelled with ambition, eager for fame, and reads and loads his memory with Gazettes, ſpeeches and proteſts. Magna Charta, principles, patriotiſm, politics, ring an eternal change in his brain. He goes to the play, not for diverſion, but to ſtudy action and emphaſis. He labours to be an orator. Hark how he thunders in the ſenate; obſerve how he is feared, even while he is laughed at. He intrigues with the minority, he tampers with the miniſtry; he obtains a place, and he intrigues ſtill. His thirſt of preferment is inſatiable, and he is as troubleſome as unreaſonable. He threatens, ſoothes, cringes, is the firſt at levees, the laſt at cabals, flatters this lord's miſtreſs, and bows to that peer's valet; ſplaſhes through thick and thin, and delights to traverſe the dirty alleys of ambition. Health, virtue, content, all are ſacrificed. His wife deſirous of his company and delighting in his love, follows him to town, but enjoys them not. A lord in great power ſees her and becomes enamoured; makes large promiſes, and the abandoned wretch, her huſband, liſtens with avidity to the infamous propoſal, that flatters his ambition.—Hear him commanding her to ſubmit!— behold her tears, her prayers, her juſt reſentment of his wicked ſchemes! he expoſtulates, he entreats, he threatens—and ſee! the knife is lifted up!"

[72]I could no longer contain my emotion. I caught the genius by the hand, and tremblingly begged of him to allay the ſtorm which he had raiſed.

"I will indulge you," ſaid Hlalhlumhla, "tho' in the opinion of the world, I ſhall ruin his fortune, for he would certainly have made a ſhining character; he would have finiſhed whatever he had undertaken, and would have ſcrupled no means to attain his end."

"Let us leave Marius reſtored to reaſon, and the proper duties of a man, and turn our eyes to yonder garret. You ſee the miſerable wretch that fits ſhivering over the expiring embers, greedily devouring the morſel which his oeconomy ſaved from his laſt meal. Vanity is the ſource of his poverty. His father was a tradeſman who had ſaved a competency by his induſtry, but anxious to ſee his ſon make a figure in the world, he reſolved upon giving him a learned education, in which, he imagined, were included knowledge, riches, and power.—Accordingly the boy had Greek and Latin whipped into him; and after ſcanning hexameters and pentameters, and drudging through logic, rhetoric, and the reſt of the ſcholaſtic load, by which ordinary faculties, if they are obliged to carry it, become oppreſſed, and under which, common memories ſhrink; he, according to that portion of my influence which was given to him at his birth, began to be a coxcomb in verſe; and, after diſcovering that my and thy, ſure and pure, and, a few other inſignificant words would jingle, and that a certain quantity of ſyllables would [73] meaſure a line, he fancied himſelf a poet. The fruits of his father's induſtry were devoured by thoſe who paid the largeſt ſhare of tribute to his maudlin muſe. He wrote and publiſhed, and wrote again, and publiſhed again, and wondered at the world's ſtupidity. In proportion to the decreaſe of his finances was the increaſe of his malady. No province of poetry but has ſuffered an invaſion from his fury. He has at this time piled up under his bed, three epic poems, ſeven tragedies, thirteen farces, which he calls comedies, all with diſſertations, eſſays, apologues, prologues, epilogues, prefaces, advertiſements to the reader and dedications, ready manufactured; beſides ſatires, elegies, odes, paſtorals, &c. &c. without number. He ſubſiſts at preſent by collecting paragraphs for news-papers, and occaſionally filling up a vacancy in the Poet's Corner, which, "from his well heaped ſtore," he is enabled to do at a moment's warning.—I perceive by your countenance you commiſerate his caſe, and are deſirous I ſhould undeceive him, that the poor man might ſet up ſchool-maſter, or find ſome other rational method of employing his abilities in what the world would pronounce to be his proper ſphere: but this would be doing him a real injury. At preſent he is happy; he lives in continual hope that the period is at hand when he ſhall burſt like the ſun from behind a cloud (to uſe one of his favourite ſimilies) and aſtoniſh the world with the [74] efferveſcence of his rays. This hope is the cordial that makes the bitter pill of poverty palatable.

"Let us leave the poet," ſaid Hlalhumhla, and turn to the man in a general's Uniform, whom you ſee fitting yonder with a huge folio before him. He is reading that part of the Roman Hiſtory where the actions of Hannibal are celebrated: obſerve with what avidity his eyes run along the page, and the paſſions that uſurp each other in his countenance. He is come to the battle of Cannae; fifty thouſand men lie dead, without extorting a ſigh; but he feels all the rapture of a hero, or mankiller, at the ſtratagem of the daggers*, and ſighs only for an opportunity of gaining reputation himſelf, by the like innocent method. He has a great genius for war, and the active ſpirit with which I inſpired him, hurries his imagination "to ſearch for the bubble honour in the cannon's mouth." It is matter of joy to him when human ſlaughter is [75] thus legally committed by the ſword, to find that it has been dreadfully great in favour of the party whoſe commander attracts his admiration. A man without theſe ſentiments of ambition, or whoſe vanity is directed to other objects, would ſhudder with horror, and diſſolve in pity, ſhould he traverſe the field of blood, and view the herds of mangled bodies, and tortured dying wretches, who have all fell ſacrifices to ſatisfy the pride of one man, or to procure fame for another; and would almoſt curſe that pride, or that fame, which was unreaſonable enough to require, and wicked enough to delight in a ſacrifice ſo dreadful. But a man addicted to pity, according to our preſent mode of judging, is but ill qualified for a great king or a great hero. Theſe people are compoſed of very inflammable matter, and would rather ſee the earth deſolate, and the inhabitants cut away, than ſuffer the leaſt indignity, or not procure themſelves a great name. Yet ſuch a ſtrict regard have they for juſtice, that though the nations ſhall go to war becauſe they have a fit of the ſpleen, though the fineſt, the healthieſt, and ableſt men ſhall be choſen, and ſent to periſh in deſarts, ſtarve in garriſons, and expoſe their bodies to every inclemency of earth, ſeas, and ſkies, becauſe ſome other king or hero forgot one of their titles; yet I repeat, ſuch a ſtrict regard have they for juſtice, that ſhould a ſtarving wretch ſteal a loaf or a coat, becauſe he was hungry or naked, he ſhall [76] be hanged for thus diſturbing the peace and harmony which ought to ſubſiſt among men§.

Enough of the general," ſaid the genius, "I perceive a perſon whoſe hiſtory is a little extraordinary. Behold yonder ſhrivelled old fellow, his grey locks thinly ſhading his narrow face. It is Harpagus, the uſurer. That man, who is now worth ninety thouſand pounds, came to London without a ſhoe to his foot, or a ſhilling in his purſe. His thirſt of gain eaſily diſcovered itſelf by his care in ranſacking the ſweepings of the ſhop, where he found employment: the object at which his ambition aimed was pointed out by his frequently declaring, while a boy, that he did not fear being, ſome time or other, a very rich man; and his ability to gratify this vanity was evinced by his facility in turning pence into ſhillings, and ſhillings into pounds. His attention was ſo totally fixed to this one object, that thoſe paſſions which lead other men into expence, and moſtly become ſources of diſſipation to them, with him all contributed to increaſe his wealth, and promote his ultimate deſign. He fell in love—but [77] how? Not with beauty or virtue, not with a generous heart, or witty head.—It was with his maſter's ſiſter, a rigid virgin of ſixty-five, whoſe pounds ſterling out-numbered her grey hairs, and who, though her ill humours and antiquated habits were very weighty, could not, in his opinion, preponderate againſt the five-hundred annual prize, which ſhe drew from the old South Sea fund. His young companions laughed at him, but, when their extravagance ſent them to borrow money of him at fifty per cent. he laughed in his turn. Gaming was a vice to which his natural covetouſneſs addicted him; but here too the ſame paſſion that prompted preſerved him, and his cunning quickly made him diſcover the rooks, and taught him to feather his neſt with the pluckings of the pigeons . His life has been, with ſcarce a deviation, a life of rapacity and care. His ideas of juſtice were, and are, that he has a right to cheat every one who will let him, and if any man cheat him, he will hang him if he can. He never counted that man his friend whom he he did not get ſomething by, and he always proportioned the friendſhip to the gift: ſtill loving thoſe beſt who gave him moſt. When he ſet out in life, he thus ſaid to himſelf, 'How famous ſhould I be at my death if I could become richer than the 'ſquire [76] [...] [77] [...] [78] who is ſaid to be worth ſeven hundred and fifty pounds a year!' His vanity has increaſed with his wealth, and his hopes are all fixed at preſent on living long enough to make his ninety a plumb. Thus he has lived wretched, and will die miſerable, only to gain a pleaſure which he can never enjoy, namely, that of having people's admiration after his death, and for this purpoſe he willingly ſuffers their deteſtation while he lives. What will not vanity prompt men to undertake? It will ſet one man to build a pyramid, and ſend another half over the globe to meaſure it. It has not leſs influence in the placing of a patch, than in the diſpoſal of an army. It cauſes ſome to ſpend their lives in rioting and pleaſures, and others in cares, toils, and torments, and, what is more extraordinary, converts theſe very torments into pleaſures."

The genius was proceeding, when a ſudden fright ſeized me, and I fancied myſelf falling from the precipice. The terror that this occaſioned, awoke me with a ſtart, and when I came to myſelf, I drew this moral from my dream—It is better to do one good action that merits the applauſe of a benevolent heart, than twenty ſplendid ones, to catch the praiſe which a falſe judging world ſhall beſtow!

*
It is recorded of Pyrrhus, that he never prayed for encreaſe of wiſdom, wealth, or empire; he aſked only health—Was this moderation or vanity? Did it not imply, "Give me health, and I'll enſure the others?"
*
Towards the latter part of the battle of Cannae, when Hannibal, by the ſtratagem of the retreat, had cut the Roman infantry to pieces, the latter placed all their hopes in the cavalry of the allies, which yet remained unbroken; but to theſe Hannibal ſent 500 Numidian horſe, with daggers concealed under their coats of mail, and gave them orders to ſurrender priſoners of war, which they obeyed; and being, as was ſuppoſed, placed by the Romans in the rear, they drew their concealed daggers, when the action became hot in the front, and fell upon them with ſuch fury, that the Romans were put into irrecoverable confuſion.
§
Alexander the Great having taken a pirate, and being about to condemn him to death, firſt ſpoke to him thus: "Why," ſaid the hero, doſt thou trouble the ſeas?" "And why," ſaid the pirate, "doſt thou trouble the whole earth? I, with one ſhip, ſeek my adventures, and am called a pirate: thou, with vaſt armies, warreſt againſt the world, and art called an emperor. Where is the difference but in the name and means of doing miſchief?"
A rook, in the language of the gaming table, ſignifies a ſharper, and a pigeon one who is ignorant of their tricks, and is impoſed upon.

DIALOGUE V.

[79]
Mr. EGERTON.

OUR reading and converſation has been lately upon the effects of Selfiſhneſs, Benevolence and Vanity. I think, therefore, we cannot better elucidate theſe ſubjects, than by taking a view of Temperance, which if rightly underſtood and practis'd, will undoubtedly promote the virtues, and wean us from the vices of which we have been ſpeaking. I have often told you, and I muſt contine to remind you, my children, that almoſt all our wants are artificial. There is no wealth ſo enormous as not to leave the poſſeſſor poor, if he does not preſcribe bounds to his imaginary neceſſities. I ſcarcely need inform you, that the greateſt part of thoſe things, which among a certain deſcription of men are ſuppoſed abſolutely requiſite to exiſtence, are totally ſuperfluous; invented by caprice, claimed by folly, and too often obtained by injusſtice. I cannot better point out how unneceſſary theſe things are to real happineſs and true grandeur, than by deſcribing the temperance and ſimplicity which ſome of the nobleſt and moſt exalted characters of antiquity maintained.

[80]Ariſtides, one of the greateſt men Athens ever produced, lived in a ſtate of the moſt rigid temperance, and paid ſo little regard to wealth, that when he died he was obliged to be buried at the ſtates charge; yet no perſon can ſuppoſe, were hiſtory ſilent on the ſubject, that he who had ſo often, and ſo eſſentially contributed to the proſperity of the commonwealth, wanted opportunities of enriching himſelf. This was a ſtill greater virtue in him, becauſe his origin was poor and mean, and therefore he was the more likely to be tempted by wealth, which is too often ſuppoſed to include power, fame and all thoſe qualities at which men ſo eagerly graſp. His acknowledged juſtice procured him to be elected treaſurer of the public money, and his inflexible adherence to oeconomy in this truſt, occaſioned Themiſtocles to accuſe him of malverſation, for which ſuppoſed crime the giddy multitude condemned him in a ſevere fine. For Themiſtocles, though a great man, wanted the virtues of Ariſtides, and was angry becauſe he was prevented from plundering the public. This ſentence, however, was reverſed by the wiſer part of the citizens, and Ariſtides was elected to the ſame office for the following year. Angry at the treatment he had received, and reſolved to ſhew the Athenians their folly, he neglected to examine the accounts of thoſe Who had the expenditure of the public money, and pretended to diſapprove of his former rigor. Theſe people who had benefited by his connivance began [81] then to extol him to the ſkies, and intereſted themſelves that he might continue in his office; but on the day of election, juſt as they were going unanimouſly to put him in nomination, Ariſtides roſe, with indignation in his countenance, and addreſſed them thus: "Oh Athenians, I am more aſhamed of the honour you intend me this day, than of the ſentence you paſſed againſt me laſt year; and it is with concern and ſorrow I ſee, that it is more meritorious with you to oblige ill men, than faithfully to diſcharge a truſt. When I managed your treaſure as became an honeſt man, I was treated like a villain; but now that I have left it to the diſcretion of theſe public robbers, I am proclaimed a moſt excellent perſon and an amiable patriot."

Neither was the temperance of Ariſtides leſs conſpicuous as a judge, than in his former capacity. As he was ſitting one day to decide a cauſe between two private perſons, one of them endeavoured to influence him, by beginning to relate the many injuries his antagoniſt had in his life done Ariſtides, when he immediately interrupted him by ſaying, "Tell me friend, what injuries he has done to You, for it is your cauſe, and not mine, that I ſit here to determine upon."

I might quote numberleſs inſtances of a like nature, not only of Ariſtides, but of Phocion, Pelopidas, Epaminondas, Fabricius, and many others, the examples of all of whom prove that temperance is the virtue of a truly great man, and that [...] [82] either when it tends to enervate the mind, or to bring the ſlighteſt dependance, or diſgrace upon the receiver, ſhould always be rejected with poſitive and unremitted firmneſs. Vulgar and narrow minded men are dazzled with the ſplendor of riches, the wiſe deſpiſe them, except as they afford the means of doing good. When Timagoras returned to Athens, from his embaſſy to Artaxerxes king of Perſia, one Epicrates, a porter, who had been in the menial train of Timagoras, and had enriched himſelf by the king's preſents, propoſed in an aſſembly of the people, that the Athenians inſtead of electing nine archons or governors, ſhould chuſe twelve poor citizens and ſend ambaſſadors to Perſia, in order to be enriched by the gifts of Artaxerxes. The abſurdity of this piece of low cunning was ſo exceedingly evident that it ſet the whole aſſembly a laughing.

The following ſtory of the Salutiferous Fountain is entirely applicable to the preſent ſubject.

INTEMPERANCE, Or the Journey of AZIBAH, in ſearch of the Salutiferous Fountain.

TOWARDS the concluſion of the twelfth year of the reign of Hallam, monarch of Indoſtan, Ozmah, captain of the palace guards, came into the chamber of [...], the ſon of Hedan, near the time of the [83] ſecond prayer, and ſaid: "Azibah, ſon of Hedan, I wiſh the command I am going to execute, may prove advantageous to thee. Give me thy ſabre, and follow me to the ſultan; for ſuch is his pleaſure." The moment Azibah heard theſe words, he fell proſtrate, and, after imploring the protection of the Prophet, ſaid to Ozmah, put thy hand upon my head; the Sultan is maſter of my life, and I am his ſlave! At the ſame time he delivered up his ſabre and followed him. At the bottom of the ſtairs, ten guards were poſted, who environed Azibah, and conducted him into the preſence of Hallam.

The monarch had with him Serah, general of his forces, and Naran, chief of the Imans. Ozmah preſented him Azibah's ſword, and ſaid: Light of the faithful, Azibah, without the leaſt reſiſtance, hath ſubmitted himſelf to thy orders: may thine enemies imitate his example. Though Azibah, was not conſcious of having offended, yet his ſpirits were ſeized with terror: he, however, armed himſelf, ſo as to prevent any appearance of it, in his countenance. As ſoon as the Sultan ſaw Azibah at his feet, he ſaid, "Son of Hedan, let us fall down before Him, who never dies." Theſe words increaſed the terror of Azibah. The Sultan, the General, the Iman, the Captain of the Guards, kneeled down, bowed their faces towards the ground, and glorified the Prophet. Azibah, uncertain of his fate, thus implored the protection [84] of Mahomet: "If my reſolutions were ſincere when I went to pay honour to thy ſhrine, and to bedew with my tears the holy mount Arafat; if I have made it hitherto the chief delight of my mine eyes, to read over the divine book, be now my ſupport. The computation of my days will ſoon perhaps expire. I already ſee the dark and frightful angel ready to receive me. Remember the faith I repoſe in thee. There is only one God, and thou art his Prophet."

Prayer being ended, the Sultan roſe up; and, turning towards Azibah, ſaid, "Son of Hedan, I have reſolved upon making thee undertake a long voyage; bow down thine head."—"Father of Muſſelmen," anſwered Azibah, "the voyage will be certainly long, and without return, which we muſt all expect to make at different times. May the moſt mighty and merciful God multiply thy years." Having pronounced theſe words, he ſtretched forth his neck to meet the fatal ſtroke. The Sultan drew the ſabre, and extended his arm; but inſtead of ſevering Azibah's head from his body, he returned the blade into its ſheath. Such unexpected clemency drew from the aſſiſtants loud acclamations of joy. Azibah again opened his eyes, which darkneſs, the forerunner of death, had already cloſed: and Hallam, with a pleaſant aſpect, embraced him. Having placed him between Naran and Serah, over-againſt his ſopha, he made ſigns for Serah to ſpeak to him.

[85]"My lord, ſaid Serah, I have talked with a man, who was three hundred and forty years old, who had ten more to live. He was oppreſſed with chains, in the King of Golconda's camp, after his defeat; and the victory you obtained, over that Prince, gave this perſon his liberty. I detained him three days, which hardly ſufficed to relate the revolutions he had ſeen, during the courſe of his long life. I did not think proper to keep him any longer, ſo I gave him ten roupees, with liberty to go where he pleaſed. He was a native of Bengal, and was called the old-man of that place. His eyes were much ſunk, his voice was clear, his hair and beard nicely combed out, and as white as ſnow. Though his viſage was full of wrinkles, it was enlivened with a florid red, and eaſily might one diſcover in it that gaiety which naturally accompanies perfect health. Being aſked, what means he uſed to attain ſo very advanced an age; he told me his father, who lived till he was three hundred and fifty years old, had bequeathed three doſes of the water brought from the iſland of Borico, by virtue of which, he had been thrice reſtored to his former youth. I cautiouſly deſired him to tell me, in what part of the world this iſland was, and whether it was permitted to obtain any of the water of this fountain of life. He proteſted, he could not anſwer either of the queſtions, and that he had ſeveral times propoſed the ſame demands to his father, but never could be ſatisfied in them. I then ſtrenuouſly preſſed him to inform [86] me, by what means his father had found out ſo ſurpriſing a water: he always made anſwer, it was a preſent from VICHNOU, a god to whom he had for a long time ſacrificed to. This, my Lord, was all I could gather from the old man. So fabulous a concluſion did not a little contribute to make me deſpiſe him; for, after what manner ſoever I queſtioned him, he ſtill perſiſted in the ſame ſtory."

The Sultan, perceiving Serah had done ſpeaking, looked ſtedfaſtly on Azibah, and ſaid to him: "Son of Hedan, if the voyage I ſeemed to threaten thee with, could not make thee afraid, why ſhouldeſt thou dread going to the iſland of Borico in my ſervice?" "Moſt potent of Kings," anſwered Azibah, "I fear none on earth but thee. This inſtant, I will depart to ſearch every corner of the world, and, if I fail to bring thee the water thou deſireſt, then ſever my head from my body, and end the life of a creature, no longer worthy to live." The Sultan, having ſtrictly charged all preſent to conceal the ſecret, ordered Naran to provide every thing neceſſary for the journey.

The next morning, as ſoon as Aurora had withdrawn the curtains of the eaſt, and painted the mountain tops with glowing purple, Azibah left the city of Agra, and joined a caravan, going to Cambaye. He had no equipage, and his dreſs but ordinary, though he carried about him, in gold and jewels, more than the value of a common city. He generally let the company paſs on before him, that he might enjoy the greater liberty of reflecting on [87] the method of executing his commiſſion. He was extremely penſive, for he was perſuaded of the impoſſibility of ſucceſs, and, therefore, looked upon the expedition, as a baniſhment. "I am going, ſaid he to himſelf, to wander I know not whither, in ſearch of a fountain which has, perhaps, no exiſtence. And, even if it have, I am entirely ignorant of the country in which it is ſituated; and am now, perhaps, travelling the direct oppoſite way." Theſe diſcouraging thoughts, however, at laſt, began to give way to more pleaſing ſenſations, and he determined either to find the fountain, or convince himſelf that all ſearch was in vain. He had not travelled three days, with the caravan, before he perceived he was not the only perſon who had avoided company to indulge reflection. A young man, well mounted, of a very agreeable aſpect, ſeemed to be much in the ſame melancholy mood as he himſelf was.

To meet with companions in misfortune, alleviates our grief. Azibah was greatly pleaſed to find an aſſociate in affliction, and determined to make him acquainted with the nature of his journey. Azibah approached him, and, after a ſhort converſation on general ſubject, ſaid to him, "Sir, I perceive that your ſpirits are oppreſſed by the hand of affliction: mine are alſo in the ſame condition. Let us therefore mutually impart to each other the cauſes, from which our afflictions flow; perhaps each may derive advantage from the counſel of the other." To this, Sebah, (which was the [88] name of the young man) readily conſenting, Azibah acquainted him with the commands he had received from the Sultan; intimating, at the ſame time, that he looked upon the fountain of Borico, as a mere chimera.

Sebah liſtened with attention to Azibah's relation, and after a minute's ſilence, ſaid, "Sir, I have accidentally acquired ſome knowledge of the ſituation of that famous fountain, which I ſhall gladly impart to you. I am the ſon of Rephan, a phyſician, well known in Sciras. And I need not acquaint you, that all the youths of that city delight in dancing, or playing on ſome inſtrument. One evening, when the heats of the ſeaſon rendered the night more pleaſant than the day, I left my father's houſe, to enjoy the refreſhing breeze, and played on a flagelet, as I paſſed along the ſtreets. In my return home, I heard the window of a ſpacious houſe open, and, directing mine eyes towards the place, I ſaw, by means of the light of the moon, which was then ſhining in her greateſt ſplendor, a moſt beautiful lady, who ſeemed to liſten to my muſic very attentively. Pleaſed with the adventure, I ſtood ſtill [...] continued playing, till ſhe withdrew; which wa [...] [...]ot till ſome conſiderable time after I firſt ſaw her. I took particular notice of the houſe, determining to return the ſucceeding evening; but, juſt as I reached home, an arrow paſſed whizzing by my ear; I ſtarted, and looking back, perceived a man making towards me, armed with a bow in [89] his left-hand, and a long javelin in his right. As he approached, he cried out, "Traitor! though I have miſſed thee once, I ſhall be more fortunate a ſecond time!" Seeing him alone, I took courage, drew my ſabre, and, having happily parried his thruſt, gave him two wounds in the breaſt. He inſtantly dropped, and begged his life; telling me, he was ſon to the Baſhaw of Sciras. I immediately ſent a ſurgeon to his aſſiſtance; but, knowing I had every thing to fear from the fury of his father, I ſtayed no longer in the city, than to provide myſelf with a horſe and money.

I followed the high-road, till nature, overwhelmed with fatigue, required repoſe, when I quitted it, and took a path between two mountains, the end of which terminated in a wood. Alighting, and tying my horſe to the branch of a cedar, I laid myſelf down at the foot of a large palm-tree, and ſlept till Aurora viſited the earth with her enlivening beams. On my waking, I was much ſurpriſed to hear the voice of a man ſpeaking in the following manner:

"Now is the precious hour, child, that the genii appear under different forms to Princes who delight in executing juſtice, and to tyrants who deſerve puniſhment. O child! couldeſt thou, as clearly as I, look into the events of this moment, then wouldeſt thou behold ſome employed in the dark ſhades of Mezanderan, to drive the lions and tygers from their dens, in defence of the innocent in oppreſſion; [90] and admire the facility of others, in rendering the hydras and griffins tame and familiar."

I had no longer patience to liſten to ſo ſtrange a diſcourſe, without being curious to ſee the perſon that delivered it. Advancing ſoftly, from one tree to another, I came to a pretty thick grove of laurels, where, concealing myſelf, I had the advantage of diſcovering, without being perceived, a grave old man, dreſſed in a long brown robe, and a young maid ſitting near him, in a blue veil, which covered every part of her, except her face and hands. Her eyes were modeſtly fixed on the old man, whom ſhe ſeemed liſtening to, with great attention. I ſhewed myſelf, and by that means interrupted their converſation. At my appearance, the young maid drew her veil over her face, and the old man aroſe and met me. "You behold, ſaid I, a traveller diſtreſſed by hunger and fatigue, compelled to crave your aſſiſtance." "By Ali! replied he, thou art moſt heartily welcome; the ſages were never unhoſpitable. The charity I ſhew you, will ſerve as a new inſtruction for my daughter. Go, refreſh yourſelf in our retreat, we will join you in an hour." He ſhewed me, at the ſame time, a little path, which conducted me, after ſeveral turnings, into a grotto.

Though the entrance was very narrow and obſcure, yet it was ſufficiently light within, and contained ſeveral apartments. A ſlave, to whom I declared my diſtreſs, and the charitable intention of his maſter, ſet before me raiſins, piſtachoes, freſh [91] dates, white bread, and an excellent liquor from the palm-tree. Whilſt I was employed in ſatisfying the cravings of nature, I deſired him to go in ſearch of my horſe, deſcribing, as well as I could, the place where I left it. The ſlave accordingly departed; and, after I had eaten and drank ſufficiently, my curioſity prompted me to viſit every corner of ſo romantic a habitation. The moſt remote cavity of the grotto formed a cabinet, filled with books, taliſmans, and figures of all kinds of plants and animals. Here I amuſed myſelf for ſome time, and caſting my eyes towards the farther part of the cavity, I ſaw, againſt the rock, the following inſcription, in letters of gold: "Reader, whoever thou art, that haſt been favoured to approach this ſecret receſs of the ſages, ponder this, and be wiſe. Reverence the moſt High, ſeek wiſdom, love mercy, and be a ſhield of defence to the innocent.—Then ſhall thy years be prolonged, unaſſiſted by the waters of Borico; nor ſhall any plagues or misfortunes approach thine habitation." While I was attentively peruſing this inſcription, the old man approached me, ſaying, "Son, let the precepts of that writing be engraven, in living characters, on the table of thy memory." I thanked him for his kind advice, and deſired him to explain what was meant by the waters of Borico. "My ſon, ſaid he, in the kingdom of Sofala, in Africa, is a large lake, in the midſt of which are ſeveral iſlands, and particularly one much larger than the reſt, called [92] Borico. In this iſland is a fountain, whoſe nature is endued with the amazing property of reſtoring youth to thoſe who drink of it. On the borders of this fountain grow many beautiful trees, which fill the air with a delightful fragrance, and are always loaded with the moſt delicious fruits. But the paſſage to this fountain is guarded by leopards, ſo that it is almoſt impoſſible to approach it."

The old man having finiſhed his explanation of this myſtery, after returning him my thanks for his kindneſs and hoſpitality, I took my leave of him, mounted my horſe, and, after wandering a long time through unknown parts, I had the good fortune to join this caravan, and to find in it a companion in misfortunes. Azibah liſtened with the utmoſt attention to Sebah's narrative, being agreeably ſurpriſed at ſo unexpected a diſcovery, and determined to direct his courſe to Africa, in ſearch of the fountain of Borico.

At their arrival at Cambaye, Sebah was informed, that the Baſhaw's ſon was not only recovered from his wounds, but alſo become his friend. On hearing this agreeable news, Sebah ſet out on his return to Sciras, and Azibah, having procured a ſhip, ſailed for the coaſt of Africa. After a long and tedious ſearch through uninhabited deſerts, he had the good fortune to diſcover the lake, in the midſt of which the iſland Borico was ſituated. Being arrived at the ſide of the lake, he prevailed on ſome fiſhermen to carry him to the iſland. They did all in their [93] power to diſſuade him from ſuch a raſh attempt, by aſſuring him that it was only inhabited by wild beaſts, from which it would be impoſſible for him to eſcape. Theſe reaſons were loſt on Azibah, he perſiſted in his reſolution; and the fiſhermen, finding it in vain to oppoſe him, landed him on the iſland.

Here he wandered, ſeeking in vain the ſalutiferous fountain. Deſpairing of ſucceſs, he ſet himſelf down in a valley, and fell aſleep. When he awaked, he beheld a beautiful lady dreſſed in the habit of the country, approaching him; who, with a great deal of ſweetneſs, aſked him what he ſought. He acquainted her with the commands of the Sultan, and the reaſons which induced him to come thither in ſearch of the fountain. "Since you conſult me, anſwered ſhe, it will be your own fault, if you do not ſucceed. As you go out of this valley, you will find a cryſtal ſtream flowing from a beautiful fountain, and diſcharging itſelf into a large river, not far diſtant from its ſource. At the bottom of the fountain you will find a little blue pebble, which you muſt not fail to take up; then follow the ſtream, till you arrive at the river, and direct your courſe along the bank of it, till it divides itſelf into two branches, and forms an iſland, or rather garden, in the middle of which is the ſalutiferous fountain. Over an arm of the river, there is a marble bridge; its paſſage is defended by twenty-ſeven leopards. Before you come in [94] ſight of them, put the little blue pebble in your mouth, and paſs boldly over the bridge, for the pebble will render you inviſible. When you approach the fountain, take up what water you intend, and return immediately. But be careful not to eat of the fruits of luxuriant trees growing on the margin of the fountain." The lady, after uttering theſe words, difappeared; and Azibah took the path ſhe directed.

The fountain, the pebble, the river, the bridge, and the leopards preſented themſelves ſucceſſively to his view. As he entered the garden, he was ſaluted with an odour inexpreſſibly raviſhing, proceeding from the flowers and fruits, which it produced in the greateſt profuſion. Near the margin of the ſalutiferous fountain was a tree eminently taller than the reſt, loaded with fruit of ſo enchanting an aſpect, that even imagination itſelf can hardly paint any thing ſo beautiful. Azibah, unable to withſtand the temptation, took the pebble but of his mouth, plucked off the fruit, and began to eat. The taſte was delicious and enchanting; but, alas! the pleaſure was but of ſhort duration. The leopards now caſt their furious eyes upon him, made towards him with incredible ſwiftneſs, and were juſt on the point of tearing him to pieces, when the lady, who had before directed him, ſuddenly appeared. At her preſence, theſe fierce creatures returned to their ſtation, and Azibah proſtrated himſelf at her feet, endeavouring to expreſs his repentance and gratitude. "You are now, [95] ſaid ſhe, loſt to all hopes of ſucceſs; acknowledge your fault, and ſpend the remainder of your life in ſolitude." Having ſaid this, ſhe took him by the hand, and, after conducting him beyond the bridge, charged him to return the ſame way that he came, and to put the pebble in its place, as he paſſed by the fountain; which he had no ſooner done, than the whole vaniſhed from his ſight; neither bridge, river, nor fountain were any longer viſible; and, to add to his aſtoniſhment, he found himſelf on the top of the mountain of Arafat.

Thus was the unfortunate Azibah, through his own folly, diſappointed, when he thought the object, he had purſued through ſo many difficulties, within his reach. And hence we ſhould learn to govern our paſſions and appetites; for, if we ſuffer them to prevail, all our reſolution, aſſiduity, and perſeverance, in any undertaking, will be rendered abortive. Health, honour, and reputation will be ſacrificed to the gratification of ſome mean and unworthy paſſion; and, like Azibah, for the momentary pleaſure of taſting one delicious morſel, loſe the ſalutiferous waters of Borico.

MR. EGERTON.

You ſee in this tale, my children, the effects of intemperance painted in an ingenious though romantic manner; and the lives of the illuſtrious men I pointed out to you before, will convince you of the neceſſity of its oppoſite, in obtaining true renown.

MRS. EGERTON.
[96]

And that it may come ſtill more forcibly to your boſoms, here, William, do you read this account given by an Engliſhman, one of ourſelves, who has very pathetically deſcribed, from his own experience, both the one and the other.

WEALTH and its CONSEQUENCES.

I WAS the ſecond ſon of a wealthy gentleman, who reſerved the bulk of his fortune for my elder brother, ſo that my only proviſion was a tolerable education, and a commiſſion in the army: but being ſoon weary of a ſoldier's life, I ſold out at the commencement of the preſent American war, and though my fortune ariſing from that ſale was but inconſiderable, I pleaſed myſelf with the idea of independence, and determined to enjoy it, by living within my income. Take away ſuch a determination, and there can be no true independence in the moſt affluent circumſtances.

My father had by this time reſigned his breath; I had no parental home to which I could retire, and therefore ſet up my reſt in a country town, where I had been formerly quartered with my regiment, and had made ſome agreeable acquaintances. There I paſſed my time according to my heart's deſire.—I fiſhed, fowled, and hunted with the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who entertained me in their houſes with [97] the moſt cordial hoſpitality. I walked, I chatted, I danced, and played at cards with their wives and daughters. Delightful excurſions and amuſing parties of pleaſure were planned and executed every day. The time ſtole away inſenſibly: I knew no care; I felt no diſorder; I inherited from nature a vigorous conſtitution, a happy ſerenity of temper, and was diſtinguiſhed among my friends as the beſt humoured fellow in the world.

In the midſt of theſe enjoyments, my heart was touched by the amiable qualities of a young lady, who was content to unite her fate with mine, contrary to the inclination, and without the conſent of her father, who poſſeſſed a very large fortune. He reſented her marriage with ſuch perſeverance of indignation, as never to admit her into his preſence; nor even at his death forgave her for the ſtep ſhe had taken. His diſpleaſure, however, affected us the leſs, as we found happineſs in our mutual paſſion, and knew no wants, for my wife inherited from an aunt a legacy of eighteen hundred pounds, the intereſt of which, together with my little income, was ſufficient to anſwer our deſires.

We found great ſatisfaction in contriving plans for living ſnug upon our income, and enjoyed unſpeakable pleaſure in executing the ſcheme to which we had given the preference. Chance preſented us with an opportunity to purchaſe a ſmall, though neat and convenient houſe, with about twenty acres of land, in an agreeable rural ſituation, and there our [98] time was parcelled out in a ſucceſſion of taſks, for improving a large farm that we rented, and cultivating a ſweet little garden, laid out on a gentle ſlope, the foot of which was watered by a branching rivulet of pure, tranſparent water. Although heaven had not thought proper to indulge us with children, we were favoured with every other ſubſtantial bleſſing, and every other circumſtance of rural oeconomy proved a ſource of wealth and ſatisfaction.

The labours of the field, the little domeſtic cares of the barn-yard, the poultry, and the dairy, were productive of ſuch delights as none of your readers, except thoſe who are enamoured of a country life, will conceive. I cannot remember thoſe peaceful ſcenes of innocence and tranquillity without regret; they often haunt my imagination, like the ghoſt of departed happineſs. Within the boſom of this charming retreat we lived, in a ſtate of uninterrupted enjoyment, until our felicity was invaded by two unexpected events, at which, I am afraid, we ſhall always have cauſe to repine. My nephew, who had ſucceeded to my father's eſtate, died of the ſmallpox; and a few weeks after this incident, my wife's only brother broke his neck in leaping a five barred gate; ſo that we found ourſelves, all at once, in poſſeſſion of a very opulent fortune, and violently tranſported from that ſituation for which our tempers had been ſo well adapted.

In the firſt flutter and agitation of mind, occaſioned by this unhoped for acceſſion, we quitted our [99] romantic ſolitude, and ruſhed into all the pageantry of high life. Thus irreſiſtibly carried away by the vortex of diſſipation, we grew giddy in a whirl of unnatural diverſions; we became enamoured of tinſel liveries, equipage, and all the frippery of faſhion. Inſtead of tranquillity, health, a continued flow of ſatisfaction, and a ſucceſſion of rational delights, which we formerly derived from temperance, exerciſe, the ſtudy of nature, and the practice of benevolence, we now taſted no pleaſure but what conſiſted in the gratification of idle vanity, and were toſſed for ever on a ſea of abſurd amuſements, by ſuch loud ſtorms of riot and tumult, as drowned the voice of reaſon and reflection, and overwhelmed all the beſt faculties of the ſoul. We deſerted nature, ſentiment, and true taſte, to lead a weary life of affectation, folly, and intemperance: our ſenſes became ſo depraved, that our eyes were captivated with glitter, and our ears with clamour; while our fancy dwelt with pleaſure on every gew-gaw of gothic extravagance. We entertained gueſts whom we deſpiſed; we viſited friends whom we did not love, and invited company whom we could not eſteem. We drank wines that we could not reliſh, and ate victuals which we could not digeſt. We frequented concerts which we did not underſtand, plays which we did not like, and diverſions which we could not enjoy. Our houſe might have been termed the Temple of Uproar. Card tables were the ſhrines, and the votaries [100] ſeemed agitated by the daemons of envy, ſpite, rage, vexation, and deſpair. In a word—all was farce and form. All was a phantaſm, and a hideous dream of incoherent abſurdities.

Theſe pleaſures, like brandy to a dram-drinker, have loſt their effect; we have waked from the intoxication, to a due ſenſe of our miſerable condition; for the vigour both of mind and body is quite impaired. With reſpect to each other, we find ourſelves in a ſtate of mutual diſguſt; and all the enjoyments of life we either taſte with indifference, or reject with loathing. For my own part, I am overwhelmed with what the French call Pennui, a diſtemper for which there is not a name in the Engliſh language. It may be underſtood, however, from the following lines of the poet—

Thee, too, my Paridel, ſhe ſaw thee there,
Stretch'd on the rack of a too eaſy chair;
And heard thy everlaſting yawn confeſs,
The pains and penalties of idleneſs.

It is not a common vacancy of thought, or an ordinary languor of the nerves, that I labour under, but a confirmed imbecillity of mind, and a want of reliſh, attended with a thouſand uneaſineſſes, which render life almoſt inſupportable. I ſleep without refreſhment; I am fatigued without labour; I am ſcarce riſen when I wiſh the day was done; and when night comes, I long for morning. I eat without appetite, and drink without exhilaration: [101] exerciſe affords no ſpirits; converſation no amuſement; reading no entertainment, and diverſion no pleaſure. It is not from affectation, but an acquired inſenſibility, that I ſee Falſtaff without a ſmile, and The Orphan without emotion. I endeavour to kill the time by ſhifting continually the ſcene of diſſipation, but I am cloſe purſued by diſguſt: all is diſappointment, inſipid, nauſeous, or ſhocking. My temper is grown ſo fretful and peeviſh, that I quarrel by turns with my ſervants and myſelf; even ſhe who was once the delight of my eyes, and the joy of my heart, is now become the ſubject of perpetual diſquiet. I harbour wiſhes which I dare not approve: my heart palpitates with paſſions which I am aſhamed to avow. I am tormented by a thouſand petty grievances, which riſe like angry tumours, from the ebullitions of a ſoured diſpoſition; and incidents that would move the mirth of other men, are to me productive of choler and anxiety.

I have given this account of myſelf, as a leſſon which I fear mankind will not learn, as a warning of dangers into which, whenever they have an opportunity, they will too eagerly ruſh. I ſpeak this generally, for I confeſs I am not without hope, that ſome very, very few, may be wiſe enough to profit by my example, and either be happy in mediocrity, or employ the redundancies of riches to better purpoſes, than in ſupplying the fooliſh and incoherent whims and caprices of faſhionable folly.

DIALOGUE VI.

[102]
MR. EGERTON.

I HAVE frequently ſpoken to you, my children, of the many examples which hiſtory affords of thoſe who have become eminent by their great qualities. I have endeavoured to divert while my aim has been to inſtruct; and in giving you ſometimes real, and ſometimes fictitious ſtories, have taught you what you ought to do and ſuffer in your future commerce with the world, without exhibiting the forbidding countenance of a dry and harſh preceptor. It is my wiſh to continue this practice, to inſpire you with the ardor of emulation, and to convince you, from facts, that virtue is its own reward. It has been my cuſtom too, in order to diverſify the ſcene, to let you indulge, occaſionally, in the wild fictions of romance; for I have long obſerved of myſelf, that I can ſtill read the moſt romantic tales, if ingeniouſly connected, with a fort of ſurprize and curioſity, that lead me inſenſibly beyond the limits of nature, and tranſport me into a kind of enchanted land, in which, for a time, I take up a delightful abode. I am ſenſible that with young people, of your age, this effect is much ſtronger. The vagaries of fancy, like "the poet's eye in a fine fit of phrenzy rolling, traverſe the heavens and earth, embodying forth the forms of [103] things unknown, and giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name." Theſe, if not permitted too often, ſo as to blunt the imagination by a too repeated appeal to probability, are ſome of the happieſt deluſions of life.

Eaſtern tales are, many of them, of this ſort; but there is this difference between them: thoſe which are compoſed at preſent, by modern authors, generally are intended to convey a particular moral, whereas the old ones, I mean the Arabian Nights, the Perſian Tales, &c. mean only to amuſe. Theſe latter, it is true, do likewiſe inculcate morality; they cannot avoid it; all human events do the ſame; but then it is in a diffuſe and different way. I make no ſcruple of reading the former kind in this little ſociety, becauſe they promote my plan; the others, for the reaſons I have juſt given, I uſe more ſparingly, and only for the ſake of variety. This is not the firſt time, my children, I have hinted to you, that I think it proper to explain myſelf thus, that you may not have reaſon to ſuppoſe I act capriciouſly. I fit among you in the ſacred character of Father, Guide, and Inſtructor. Nature, reaſon, and cuſtom, have allotted me a certain portion of power, and I wiſh to convince you, that it is my endeavour, as well as my duty, to employ that power in promoting your preſent and future proſperity.

As I was looking through the Perſian Tales this morning, in order to ſee if I could find any thing proper for our evening-meetings, I met, among [104] other things, with the voyage of Aboulfaouaris, in which, though intermixed with the familiar incidents of real life, there is an air of invention and ſublimity that has ſometimes a grand effect. It is rather long: you had better, therefore, two or three of you, read by turns, and then tell me if you are of my opinion. As I obſerved before, there is ſeldom any ſole and particular moral to be gained from this kind of ſtories; the virtue, however, that is moſt conſpicuous in the following narrative, as well as the neceſſity of that virtue in the ſituations deſcribed, is Fortitude.

FORTITUDE, Or the ſingular Adventures of ABOULFAOUARIS, ſurnamed the GREAT TRAVELLER. PART I.

I AM the ſon of a maſter of a ſhip of Baſra, and my name is Aboulfaouaris. My father, ever ſince my infancy, made me attend him in the voyages he made in the Indian ſeas: ſo that, at twelve years old, I knew a great many of the iſlands that lie in the vaſt extent of them. He grew wealthy, employed his money in trade, and in leſs than ten years became one of the richeſt merchants of Baſra.

One day he ſaid to me, ſon, I have an important account to ſettle with my correſpondent at the iſle [105] of Ceylon: I am reſolved to ſend you into that country to make an end of the affair. Whatever regret I might have to leave my father, the deſire I had of ſeeing the famous city of Serendib made me accept the commiſſion he offered me with joy: indeed I had been there before, but was not then advanced enough in years to make obſervations on its beauty. I ſet out in a ſhort time, and embarked in the port of Baſra.

We had the good fortune to reach Ceylon without any miſchievous accident. The firſt thing I did was to enquire for my father's correſpondent. There was no body in the city of Serendib who did not know Signior Habib: he was one of the richeſt traders of all the iſland, and a very honeſt man. He gave me ſuch a reception, as I might expect from the beſt friend my father had.

As he perfectly underſtood buſineſs, and meant to do nothing but what was juſt, we finiſhed our accounts in a few days. At leiſure hours I viewed the rarities of the city, which are numerous: I inſtructed myſelf in the laws of the people, their occupations and government. In ſhort, at the end of five or ſix weeks, my affairs being over, and my curioſity fully ſatisfied, I prepared for my return, and waited not long for an opportunity. A veſſel of Surat, which had arrived at Serendib to exchange goods, was ready to put to ſea, and I was to embark in her.

[106]The day before my departure, as I was returning to my hoſt about noon, a lady paſſed by, finely ſhaped, richly cloathed, and followed by a ſlave, who carried ſome things that ſhe had been buying. A thick veil ſcreened the beauty of her face, but I was ſtruck with the grandeur of her air, and the majeſty of her mien. I ſtopt to conſider her, and could not forbear crying out in my tranſport; What a lovely creature! ſhe is without doubt the king's miſtreſs. She ſtopt with ſome ſurpriſe, and looked upon me very earneſtly; then continued her walk, without appearing to be either pleaſed or diſpleaſed with the freedom I had taken. I pauſed a good while, reflecting on the circumſtance; and, much agitated by the emotions ſhe had cauſed in me, began to feel what I had never felt before.

Wholly filled with this idea, a ſlave accoſted me. I remembered to be the ſame that followed the lady: and the ſight of him redoubled my concern: What would you have with me, friend? ſaid I. Sir, anſwered he, with great reſpect, I have orders to deſire you to follow, where I ſhall have the honour to conduct you. If you come from your miſtreſs, replied I, altogether amazed, I ſhall ſubmit to her commands; I will readily obey them, whatever fate is prepared for me. My miſtreſs, anſwered the ſlave, hath not intruſted me with her intentions; but if you comply with her requeſt, I cannot believe you will repent it.

[107]In vain did I repreſent to myſelf that I was to ſet off next day, and ought to think of nothing but my departure. I followed the ſlave in ſpite of all that might happen; he led me through unfrequented ſtreets, till we came to a palace: then conducted me to a ſpacious apartment, magnificently furniſhed, and deſired me to wait. I was too much affected to buſy myſelf about any thing I ſaw; I thought of nothing but the miſtreſs of the palace.

At laſt ſhe appeared, and I found her as beautiful as her ſhape had promiſed: her jewels and dreſs added to her charms, which, indeed, had little need of their aſſiſtance. I was confounded — ſhe perceived it and ſmiled; then placed herſelf upon a ſofa, like a little throne, while her women ranked themſelves upon the right and left.

Come near young gentleman, ſaid ſhe, with great ſweetneſs; you ſeem to be a ſtranger: I will venture to tell you, that the ſtars incline me to wiſh you well. Should you render yourſelf deſerving of my good opinion, I may give you leave to aſpire to pleaſe me.

Ah, my ſultaneſs! cried I, throwing myſelf at her feet, do I underſtand you right? To what pitch of fortune are you pleaſed to raiſe a ſtranger, who hath no other merit than to acknowledge you adorable? So much the better, ſaid ſhe, interrupting me, the favour will be the greater, the [...] believe you merit it. Inform me of w [...] country you [108] are, what your birth, and upon what account you came to Serendib.

I fully ſatisfied her curioſity; but when I ſaid I was to go on board the next day, in order to return home, ſhe diſcovered great concern. What, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, hare you a deſign to depart ſo ſoon? Hath not the fineſt iſland of the Indies, charms enough to detain you longer? Princeſs, replied I, the city of Serendib, without doubt, can engage eyes more difficult to pleaſe than mine; but what wonders ſoever are to be ſeen within the compaſs of theſe walls, I ſhould withdraw myſelf without difficulty, if this day had not offered to my ſight what is more capable of detaining me. You no longer continue then, replied the lady ſmiling, in the reſolution of a ſudden departure? After the glorious hopes, anſwered I, that you give me reaſon to conceive, think you, my queen, that I can have other inclinations than what you are pleaſed to inſpire me with?—You cannot fail, ſaid ſhe, with ſentiments like theſe, to pleaſe me.

Having ſaid this, ſhe bade me ſit down on the ſofa: I made ſome difficulty, till ſhe ſaid my refuſal would diſpleaſe her. She then informed me her name was Canzada; that ſhe was daughter to one of the prime viſiers of the king of Ceylon; that the death of her father had given her the right to diſpoſe of herſelf; that the firſt lords of the country had paid her their addreſſes, but that ſhe was yet diſengaged. She told me likewiſe that my perſon [109] had ſtruck her; that her father had amaſſed immenſe riches; and that it would be my own fault if I refuſed to ſhare them with her.

I returned my acknowledgments to her in the moſt ſubmiſſive terms. Our converſation was interrupted by the arrival of twelve ſlaves, who preſently covered the table with the moſt exquiſite fruits. Canzada made me ſit down by her: we began to eat, and ſhe helped me to the moſt excellent. The variety and delicacy of the wines anſwered to that of the proviſions: they ſparkled in cups of cryſtal, but animated me much leſs than the looks of the lady, who, preſenting a cup to me with a ſmiling air, kindled a flame in my heart, which increaſed every moment.

During the repaſt, her converſation was very lively; the pleaſantry of her humour added new graces to it. Every time that ſhe offered me wine, her beautiful lips taſting firſt, rendered it ſtill more delicious; I took the cup with tranſport, and as I drank the liquor, ſwallowed the ſweet poiſon of love.

At the end of the repaſt, Canzada's women divided themſelves into two companies; ſome ſinging, others dancing. While they were chanting their ſoft airs, the eyes of Canzada and mine ſpoke in dumb language the moſt tender and delicate ſentiments.

Night coming on, I would have taken leave of the lady: how, ſaid ſhe to me, with an air of diſſatisfaction, do you think of leaving me? After the [110] aſſurances you have given me of having no other will than mine, could I expect ſo ill a compliment? For a man in love, your impatience ſeems very ſurpriſing. Ah madam! cried I, how ill you interpret the ſentiments of my heart! This reception, of which I appear not to know the value, raiſes the ſofteſt ideas in my ſoul. I fear to abuſe your favours, and you ſhould rather pity me for the conflict I feel in offering to quit you. You deſerve little pity, replied ſhe, for a conflict you might have avoided; ſuch an over-diſcretion is to be ſuſpected; I would not adviſe you to think it meritorious. How, madam, ſaid I, could I flatter myſelf that you had deſtined me to paſs the night in your palace?

In the midſt of all the ſatisfaction her goodneſs had procured me, I could not deny but that I was uneaſy. I related to her the reception that my hoſt had given me at my arrival at Serendib, repreſenting to her that he was moſt certainly in great uneaſineſs concerning me.

Canzada agreed that I ought to ſend to Habib, but ſhe would not permit me to go myſelf: ſhe only gave me leave to write to him, but at the ſame time forbade me to give him the leaſt hint of my adventure. Her diſtruſt was ſo great, that ſhe dictated the letter; and I could only acquaint him, that ſome important buſineſs had retarded my departure, and deprived me of the happineſs of ſeeing him for ſome days, and that I deſired he would be under no apprehenſions on my account.

[111]Pleaſed that I had put off my departure, ſhe led me into the ſeveral apartments of her palace, and ſhewed me a magnificence that ſeemed worthy of a prime viſier. When the hour of reſt came on, ſhe conducted me to an apartment prepared for me. She left me, and was no ſooner gone, but ſlaves, who were commanded to attend me, brought every thing that was proper for the occaſion, and put me to bed.

When I found myſelf alone, and at liberty to reflect ſeriouſly on this adventure, I ſaid to myſelf, What will all this come to? How richly this palace is furniſhed! Can I ever hope to be poſſeſſed of the lady? No, Aboulfaouaris, no; this was never deſigned for thee; ceaſe to flatter thyſelf: theſe are ſnares which fortune hath laid, and thou wilt preſently find them vaniſhing like a dream, and deceiving thee in thoſe ideas of greatneſs and pleaſure, which thou imagineſt are reſerved for thee.

This thought failed not to diſturb me. In a minute after, I fancied it was wrong to alarm myſelf; that Canzada could have no intereſt to deceive me, and therefore that I ought not to ſuſpect her kindneſs: that the behaviour of her people had appeared to me very ſincere and natural; and that I had obſerved, by her eyes, ſhe was touched with a real paſſion for me: ſo that ſometimes repoſing an entire confidence in her, and ſometimes giving way to my fears, like a veſſel agitated by two contrary winds, I paſſed the whole night without a moment of reſt.

[112]Break of day ſurpriſed me, while I was yet reflecting with great concern on what had employed me in the night: the ſun ſhone into my apartment, and made the rich furniture glitter: dazled by the brightneſs, I looked upon the palace as one of thoſe enchanted caſtles, where magic art, getting the conqueſt of nature, boaſts the vaſt extent of its power. I got up, and preſently the ſlaves hearing me walk, came into the room with magnificent robes; I took one of green ſilk, embroidered with gold, the work and deſign of which pleaſed me infinitely.

I was no ſooner dreſſed, than Canzada came to aſk me if I had reſted well; her impatience of ſeeing me again would not ſuffer her to wait till I could go to find her in her own apartment. I anſwered, that I had paſſed the night in a manner that ought to haſten the moment of my happineſs. She replied, ſmiling, that ſhe would be more fully informed of my ſincerity, before ſhe made a further progreſs of ſuch conſequence to her quiet.

I remained eight days in Canzada's palace, and was treated with the reſpect due to a king. The lady ſhewed a particular regard for me; ſhe refuſed me no ſigns of tenderneſs and complaiſance that I could deſire of her, compatible with virtue.

One day, when we were walking in the garden, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, I flatter myſelf that you love me; in this confidence, I am at laſt reſolved to compleat your wiſhes; to give you, with my [113] perſon, the free diſpoſal of my wealth. — After this, can you refuſe me any thing? Ah madam! ſaid I, interrupting her, with all the marks of real gratitude, this doubt is injurious to my paſſion. Speak! were it my life, it would be glory enough to ſacrifice it to the leaſt of your deſires. That which I ſhall aſk, replied the lady, will be a favour beſtowed on you, if you love me, as I would fain believe. Explain yourſelf then, cried I, it is too much to be kept in ſuſpence. The favour I have to aſk you, ſaid ſhe, is to ſecure my repoſe and happineſs. Promiſe! ſwear to me an eternal conſtancy! and to prevent the chagrin of ſeeing ourſelves ſeparated, join the gift of your hand to that of your heart. Let us be linked together by the ſacred tie of marriage.

Though the beginning of Canzada's diſcourſe had filled me with joy, her laſt words produced a quite contrary effect. Though ſhe had behaved with the ſtricteſt decorum, yet I never imagined ſhe thought of marriage, for ſhe was of the ſect of the Guebres, who are the ancient Perſians that adore the fire, and I a Mahometan; ſo that ſhe raiſed in me an extraordinary aſtoniſhment. I was diſturbed, I grew pale, I reddened, I caſt down my eyes; confuſion and perplexity took poſſeſſion of thoſe cheeks, on which joy was revelling but the moment before.

The lady, who obſerved me with attention, eaſily penetrated the cauſe of my diſorder. I could not have believed, ſaid ſhe, with a fierce and diſdainful [114] air, that ſuch a propoſal would have been ſo diſagreeable to you; I rather expected tranſports of joy from you, than this confuſion. What, is it a diſhonour to have me for your wife? Madam, anſwered I, I know the value of that glorious degree, to which your bounty would raiſe me, but Heaven hath placed an invincible obſtruction in the way; and if you ſee trouble and confuſion cover my face, it is becauſe I mourn in ſecret my misfortune, which will not permit me to accept of an offer, which otherwiſe would crown my glory and happineſs.

I imagined, replied ſhe, that my rank was the ſole obſtacle to your good fortune. When I debaſed myſelf to you, I thought I had removed all difficulties: but tell me, purſued ſhe, what is that obſtacle that you take to be ſo invincible. My religion, replied I. How can I break through the command, which prohibits us to marry a wife, who is no follower of Mahomet. I am not leſs ſcrupulous in my religion than you, replied Canzada, and would not for an empire marry with a Mahometan. I deſigned, therefore, to make you renounce the falſe doctrine of your prophet, and oblige you to embrace the ſect of the Guebres. I reckoned upon your worſhipping the fire and the ſun. In ſhort, that you would abjure your own religion to follow mine. I confeſs, I promiſed myſelf, to have made it a merit in the eyes of the god we adore, to make a convert of the perſon whom I loved, even to the degree of delivering up to him all my treaſure; but [115] you deny me the advantage of ſuch a merit, and, deſpiſing the tender I make you of a large fortune, rather than conſent to marry me, you become the moſt ungrateful of all men.

Theſe laſt words, and the tone in which Canzada pronounced them, increaſed my confuſion, and furniſhed new occaſion to ſtir up her reſentment againſt me. She loaded me with reproaches, and ſhed tears, which pierced my heart every inſtant: how formidable was ſhe in this condition to a lover who was willing to preſerve his virtue! my own grief, and that which ſhe felt, deprived me almoſt of my ſenſes. Alas! there wanted but little to conquer me, and I had without doubt ſacrificed all to her tears, if, ſecretly inſpired by Mahomet, I had not received from the grand prophet the aſſiſtance I wanted: but I remained firm in my reſolution, and obſerved the precept of my religion.

Canzada was much aſtoniſhed that an adherence to my faith was capable of making me renounce the poſſeſſion of her and her riches. She had heard of ſome Muſſulman leſs ſcrupulous than myſelf, and my firmneſs grieved her much; nevertheleſs, cheriſhing yet hopes that at the end I ſhould yield, ſhe would not take my refuſal for a final anſwer. The injuſtice and cruelty of your proceedings, ſaid ſhe to me, ought before now to have tired my patience; I bluſh that I am ſtill ſo weak as to have the leaſt inclination for you. However, I will yet believe you will change your opinion; I give you [116] eight days ſtill to determine: you ſhall have no cauſe to reproach me, that I give you not time to conſider: but, if after that, you take not a reſolution of doing what I require of you; if you perſiſt to render yourſelf unworthy of my bounty, expect all the moſt rigorous reſentment an enraged woman can inflict.

At theſe words ſhe left me with an air that might convince me, ſhe would effectually come to the laſt extremity, if I did not reſolve to marry her. I was left in the moſt deplorable condition imaginable. Nothing was equal to my conſternation. I could ſee no hopes that I could be happy, unleſs I would abjure Mahometaniſm. And could I reſolve on that? charming Canzada, cried I to myſelf ſighing, I may no longer raiſe my deſires to your enjoyment. But though I have loſt the hopes of poſſeſſing you, it is not in my power to ceaſe loving you; at what diſtance ſoever you are from me, you will be the ſovereign of my heart.

I paſſed the eight days that were given me in lamenting the good fortune I had once conceived hopes of; but I had courage enough not to alter my reſolution. Canzada perceiving at the end of the time ſhe had preſcribed that I was not yet in the proper diſpoſition, granted me eight days more; and, to contribute on her part to the victory ſhe deſigned to gain, ſhe made uſe of her moſt powerful charms. In ſhort, ſeeing the time elapſe again, without having gained any advantage, ſhe ſent for [117] me. I was conducted into the moſt ſtately apartment of the palace: She waited for me in the midſt of her women, upon a throne raiſed a few ſteps from the floor, and had more the air of a ſevere judge, than of a compaſſionate miſtreſs.

I approached trembling, and could ſcarce make uſe of my ſenſes. She ordered her women to leave the room. Well, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, have your reflections inſpired your ſtubborn heart with ſentiments that are worthy of me? I was ſtruck to the very ſoul, and fainted at the foot of the throne.

Canzada deſcended from the throne, and was buſy to help me. I perceived it when I came to myſelf, and opening my eyes, fixed them on the lady. Ceaſe, madam, ſaid I, with a low voice, ceaſe to concern yourſelf for a wretch, who is not worthy your care. It is true, ſaid ſhe, interrupting me with ſome emotion, that I have reaſon to complain of you; but it is your own fault. Forget your injuſtice, and accept an advantage you cannot too much cheriſh.

Alas! madam, cried I, in an accent of grief and deſpair, what can I gain by your love on ſuch cruel conditions as you propoſe to me? When I am the reward of your compliance, replied the lady, ought you to balance any conſiderations againſt ſo great an acquiſition? Would you have me believe, that there is ſomething dearer to you than myſelf? You are dearer to me than all things, replied I; but can [118] I be worthy of you, if I have the weakneſs and cowardice to fully my honour by renouncing my religion—. Peace, peace, perfidious man, cried ſhe, interrupting me with the utmoſt paſſion: Make uſe no more of your falſe reaſons to juſtify pretences that would not diſquiet you, had you really loved me. But go, thou art unworthy of my favours. I am at length reſolved; and leave thee to thy own ingratitude.

At theſe words, which much agitated me, ſhe ſtood ſilent: Then re-aſſuming her ſpeech with an air of coldneſs, which confeſſed no leſs rage than the accent in which ſhe ſpoke: Aboulfaouaris, purſued ſhe, never let me ſee you more; wait my orders; you ſhall ſoon be acquainted with what I determine concerning your fate. In ſpeaking thus, ſhe left the apartment with an emotion equal to mine; but we were moved with quite different paſſions.

I then knew what I had to apprehend from the diſpoſition in which I found things. If at times I was ſo paſſionate a lover, as to think with pleaſure of dying by the hands of the object beloved; at others, the love for life made me think of means to eſcape. But how ſhould I obtain my end? I was kept always in ſight, and the lady's orders were all exactly performed. Nor could I ever find means to inform my hoſt of the place where I was.

Every day I expected to hear what ſentence ſhe had paſſed upon me, and three weeks elapſed without hearing any thing. The incertainty in which I [119] lived, had ſomething in it more terrible than any ſentence they could pronounce. I deſired to have an end put to this ſuſpence, let what would be the conſequence.

In ſhort, the moment I wiſhed for came. As I was riſing to dreſs myſelf one morning, after having ſpent a night more troubleſome than uſual, five or ſix of Canzada's ſlaves entered my chamber. They conducted a number of people, habited otherwiſe than thoſe of Serendib; he who appeared to be the chief of theſe ſtrangers, looked upon me ſome time with attention; and at laſt gravely broke ſilence, and bid me follow him. He ſaid this with an air, which made me conclude that I muſt obey him.

We croſſed the palace, and when we were got to the gate, I aſked one of my conductors, whither they pretended to carry me. That you will know in time, anſwered he; but we are expreſly forbid to tell you. Theſe men conducted me to the port; I embarked with them; they preſently got ready; and we ſet ſail.

When we were out at ſea, the maſter of the ſhip informed me, that he was of the kingdom of Golconda, that Canzada had given me to him for a ſlave, and that he was charged particularly never to grant me liberty to return to Baſra; he ſaid no more, nor aſked me any queſtion about that lady. This gave me room to judge, that ſince ſhe had hid from him her affections for me, and the affront of my refuſing her, ſhe had engaged him to promiſe, [120] that he would not inform himſelf of the reaſons ſhe had to rid her hands of me.

Such was the revenge of Canzada; whom I cannot accuſe of rigour. She puniſhed me too mildly for the crime that I had been guilty of. When I reflected, however, that I ſhould return no more to my father, or my country, my ſlavery became inſupportable. I afflicted myſelf much at firſt; but making a virtue of neceſſity, I ſtudied to ſerve my maſter faithfully, who was a very good man, and did not want ſenſe. I was not ſatisfied merely to do what he ordered me, I endeavoured to prevent his deſires, and found from time to time he was more and more pleaſed with me.

MRS. EGERTON.

I think, Mr. Egerton, this lady, though a virtuous one, was far from being ſufficiently circumſpect in her behaviour.

MR. EGERTON.

It is very true, my love; but we muſt make an allowance for eaſtern manners: Had ſhe acted ſo imprudently in England, her virtue would not only have been ſullied, but her reputation would have been loſt, however innocent ſhe might in reality have been.

MISS FORRESTER.

I think too, Sir, conſidering how violently ſhe was in love, ſhe acted rather cruelly, to ſend her lover into ſlavery.

MR. EGERTON.
[121]

Perhaps ſo, but in this again we muſt make an allowance for cuſtoms and countries. Her lover, you hear, thought his puniſhment a mild one.

CHARLES EGERTON.

But I thought, Sir, you taught us to expect ſomething of the marvellous. I think this is tolerably probable for an eaſtern tale.

MR. EGERTON.

Have patience, and proceed.

The ADVENTURES of ABOULFAOUARIS. PART II.

WE ſailed round the Iſland of Ceylon to come northward into the Gulph of Bengal, and were juſt ready to enter the Gulph, when the moſt violent ſtorm aroſe that was ever ſeen in thoſe ſeas. We wanted a full ſouth wind to carry us to the northward; but a north weſt wind drove us directly ſouth-eaſt, quite contrary to our intended courſe for Golconda. We were driven we knew not whither; the ſtorm wearied the art of the mariners; who ſeeing themſelves in danger, quitted their labour, and left the veſſel to the pleaſure of the winds and waves.

This wind laſted fifteen days, with ſuch impetuoſity, that it carried us ſix hundred leagues out of [122] our courſe. It changed at laſt, and filled us with joy; but we were diſturbed by an adventure ſo very extraordinary as ſcarcely to appear credible.

We were on the point of the Iſle of Java, on the eaſt ſide, when we perceived near us a man ſtruggling againſt the waves, to keep himſelf from ſinking. He kept faſt hold of a plank, that ſupported him, and made ſigns to us to come and help him. Compaſſion is commendable, but ſometimes very dangerous; as you will underſtand by the ſequel.

We hoiſted out our boat, and brought him aboard. He appeared to be about forty years old; of a monſtrous ſhape; his head large, his hair ſhort and thick, his mouth exceſſively wide; his teeth appeared long, and very ſharp: his arms nervous, his hands large, and on each finger a long crooked nail. His eyes, which I had done wrong to omit, reſembled thoſe of a tiger, and he had a flat noſe, with very open noſtrils. His whole phyſiognomy was ſhocking, and he had a ſullen air, capable of changing into terror that compaſſion with which he at firſt inſpired us.

When he was brought to Dehaouſch the maſter, he ſaid, Sir, I owe my life to you; I was upon the point of periſhing without your aſſiſtance. It is true, replied the maſter, you had been preſently drowned, if you had not had the good fortune to meet us.—It is not the ſea which I feared, anſwers the man, ſmiling; I could live whole years in the water without hurt. That which torments me moſt [123] is a devouring hunger, that gnaws me; for it is almoſt twelve hours ſince I have eat. Do me the favour to bring me ſomething to repair my loſt ſtrength after ſo long a faſt—never mind after what manner—I am far from nice.—I eat every thing.

We looked upon one another, and judged that the danger he had been in had undoubtedly diſturbed his ſenſes, which was alſo the maſter's opinion, who, conceiving that he had full occaſion to eat, ordered as much as would ſerve ſix perſons; with cloaths to cover him. As for cloaths, ſaid the ſtranger, I need none, I go always naked. But decency, replied Dehaouſch, will not let you ſtay with us in the condition you are in. Ho! replied the other rudely, you will ſoon accuſtom yourſelves to the ſight.

This brutal anſwer confirmed us in the opinion, that he was not in his ſenſes. His hunger preſſed, and he was impatient to eat. He fell to kicking the hatches, grumbled, and rolled his eyes dreadfully. At length he ſaw what he wanted, fell upon it with a greedineſs that ſurpriſed us; and in a moment diſpatched it.

When he had eaten up all the proviſion that had been brought him, with an air of authority he bid us bring more. The maſter of the veſſel, willing to ſee the event, ordered that he ſhould be obeyed, but this ſecond ſervice was ſoon ſwallowed; and he demanded more to eat, when one of the ſlaves of [124] the ſhip, provoked with the inſolence of the brute, was going to treat him as he deſerved; but the ſavage laid his two hands on his ſhoulders, and tore him to pieces with his ſharp nails. In a moment no leſs than fifty ſabres were lifted up againſt him, to revenge this horrid murder. Each man ſtruck at him with all the reſolution and boldneſs he was able; but we perceived, with dread, that our enemy had a ſkin as impenetrable as a diamond: our ſabres broke or turned their edges, without being able to make an impreſſion. One man that was the moſt eager againſt him he laid hold on, with an aſtoniſhing force, and tore him to pieces before our eyes.

When we found our ſabres uſeleſs, and that we could not wound him, we fell all together upon him to throw him into the ſea; but he was immoveable: for, beſides prodigious ſtrength, he ſtruck his crooked nails into the wood of the hatches, and kept his hold, like a rock in the midſt of the waves. Far from being diſmayed at our attempt, he told us, with a ſour ſmile, my friends, you have undertaken an ill buſineſs; I have reduced thoſe who were as untractable as yourſelves. If you continue to oppoſe my will, I ſhall uſe you all I have done your two comrades.

Chilled with fear we made no further reſiſtance. A third time we fetched him ſomething to eat, he ſat down to table, and as ſoon as he obſerved that we were at laſt determined to ſubmit, he became good humoured. He now ſeemed ſorry that we had [125] forced him to what he had done; and told us very calmly, that he eſteemed us for the ſervice we had done him, in taking him out of the ſea, where he muſt have died of hunger in a few hours: that he wiſhed there would come ſome other veſſel well ſtored with proviſions, becauſe he would then throw himſelf aboard her, and trouble us no farther. He laughed and jeſted like a common man, and we ſhould have found him very diverting, if circumſtances would have permitted us to reliſh his pleaſantry.

In ſhort, he made a fourth meal, and then abſtained two hours from eating. During this interval, he aſked us, one after another, about our country, cuſtoms, and adventures. We hoped that the fumes of indigeſtion would riſe to his brain, and waited with impatience till ſleep ſhould overpower his ſenſes, that we might throw him ſuddenly into the ſea. This hope was our only reſource; for though we had had ever ſo much proviſion in our ſhip, at his way of eating, he would have devoured it in a little time. But, alas! we flattered ourſelves with vain hopes. This wretch, as if he had penetrated our deſigns, informed us he never ſlept. The quantity that I eat, ſays he, reſtores the weakneſs of nature, and ſerves inſtead of reſt.

We underſtood with grief this ſad truth. We deplored our ill fortune, and the maſter deſpaired of ever returning to Golconda, when on a ſudden the air appeared darkened, a tempeſt ſeemed gathering, and we were the more glad of it, becauſe a ſtorm [126] would afford us hopes of ſaving ourſelves. Our veſſel might daſh againſt a rock as we came in ſight of ſome iſland, where we might by ſwimming, perhaps, get rid of the monſter; who undoubtedly had promiſed himſelf, after he had eaten up all our proviſions, to devour the crew.

We wiſhed therefore for a violent tempeſt, and even prayed to heaven that we might ſink. But we were deceived; for what we took for a gathering of clouds and vapours, was only one of the largeſt rokhs that was ever ſeen in thoſe ſeas. This monſtrous bird came ſouſe down impetuouſly upon the deck, and ſnatched off our enemy from the midſt of the ſhip's crew, who had no time to arm himſelf againſt ſuch a ſurprize. We were not aware ourſelves of it till ſome moments after, when the bird was mounted in the air with his prey.

We then ſaw an extraordinary combat; the man finding himſelf ſuſpended in the air by the talons of a winged monſter, which he felt the ſtrength of, began now to defend himſelf. He had his hands at liberty; he ſtruck his hooked nails into the body of the rokh, and, at the ſame time, ſetting his teeth upon his breaſt, he fell to devouring the fleſh and feathers, when the bird made ſuch a hideous cry, as rent the air around; and to revenge itſelf, ſtruck out both the eyes of its enemy with one of its talons. Though blinded he quitted not his hold, but the rokh collecting together the remainder of ſtrength in death, pierced his head with one ſtroke [127] of the beak; ſo that both fell down dead into the ſea.

Thus we find that it was written upon the table of predeſtination, that we ſhould be delivered from this dangerous monſter. As ſoon as we ſaw ourſelves rid of him, we could not enough admire our good fortune, and were ſorry for the death of the rokh who had delivered us. We continued our voyage, and entertained ourſelves with this adventure. Having now a conſtant favourable wind, after ſeveral days ſail, we diſcovered land. On the firſt notice of it we took the altitudes, and found that we were on the weſt point of the Iſle of Java, which, with the eaſt of the Iſle of Sumatra, forms the entrance into the Streights of Sonde, not far from the City of Bantam. Overjoyed at this diſcovery, we crowded our ſails; and in a little time arrived at Bantam.

There we took in freſh proviſions, and ſet ſail for Batavia. As ſoon as Dehaouſch had finiſhed his affairs there, we ſailed towards the kingdom of Golconda, where we arrived in about a month's navigation from the Iſles of the Sonde.

My patron was received in the capital where he reſided with a general applauſe, for he was beloved by every body.

After a thouſand and a thouſand careſſes from his family, he preſented me to his wife and daughter, as a ſlave for whom he had a particular regard, and prayed them to take in good part the ſervices I ſhould [128] render them. In a little time I acquired great reputation with them. The other ſlaves, far from being jealous, appeared pleaſed to ſee me ſo well treated. It is true that I procured them the beſt uſage I could, and often occaſioned them to be better rewarded than they deſerved.

In ſhort, the friendſhip that Dehaouſch had for me increaſed ſo much that he ſaid to me one day; Aboulfaouaris, for I had neither hid from him my name nor my country, you cannot but have taken notice that I have ever diſtinguiſhed you from the reſt of my ſlaves. At the firſt inſtant that I ſaw you, I took a fancy to you, and I have ſpared nothing to ſoften the rigour of your ſlavery: I deſign to give you yet greater marks of my affection. You have ſeen my daughter; there is not, perhaps, a more beautiful girl in Golconda. You ſhall marry her; I have ſounded her upon this ſubject, and find you are not diſpleaſing to her.

I was ſo ſtunned at this propoſition, that it was not difficult for him to judge the news was not very agreeable to me. How! ſaid he, does what I propoſe diſturb you? Is the advantage of being my heir, with the enjoyment of Facrinniſſa, ſo very inconſiderable, that it cannot raiſe the ambition of a ſlave? Sir, anſwered I, the honour of being your ſon-in-law would be ſufficient to tempt me, were you a Muſſulman as I am; but you are a Heathen.— If you have no other obſtacle but that, replied my maſter, we ſhall ſoon agree; for I am reſolved to [129] turn Mahometan, and my daughter is in the ſame reſolution: In ſpite of the prejudices with which our Gentile prieſts have filled my mind, I am weary of paying divine honours to oxen and cows: I have too much reaſon not to acknowledge it to be a wretched ſuperſtition, and I think there is a ſupreme Being above all other deities; therefore, my ſon, accept my propoſal, without ſcruple or delay.

Though Facrinniſſa was lovely, and the proffer advantageous; and though, on the ſcore of my religion, I had nothing to reproach myſelf with in marrying my maſter's daughter, I had ſtill a reluctance to this marriage, which could be no more than the effect of my remembrance of Canzada. However, I was ſo far maſter of myſelf, as to ſay nothing of it to my patron, who, believing that I conſented, as I made no oppoſition to it, went to carry the news to his wife and daughter.

I had preſently a converſation with Facrinniſſa, who appeared ſo gay and contented, that I could not help thinking that my perſon pleaſed her. Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, my father hath made choice of you for my huſband, and I doubt not of your generoſity towards the promoting of my good fortune, though at the loſs of your own. You are not deceived in me, fair lady, anſwered I, there is nothing that I will not do for the charming Facrinniſſa. Hear me, replied ſhe, and you ſhall underſtand the ſervice I require of you. I love the ſon of a merchant of Golconda, and I am paſſionately beloved [130] by him: he hath aſked me of my father ſeveral times, who always refuſed him, becauſe of an ancient grudge which is kept up betwixt our families. I would have you marry me, and, the day after our marriage divorce me, as through anger; afterwards feign as if you would take me again, and then chuſe my lover for your hulla. I underſtand you, ſaid I, you only deſire that I ſhould marry you to deliver you up to him whom you love: very well, madam, I agree to do ſo: how difficult ſoever it will be to yield up the poſſeſſion of ſuch an object, I think myſelf capable of ſo great a ſelf-denial. But what will my maſter ſay? You are not ignorant of the obligations I have to him. Surpriſed at my conduct, he will not fail to reproach me. What ſhall I anſwer? Let not this give you any uneaſineſs, replied ſhe, follow exactly the advice I ſhall give you, and I promiſe you my father will not complain of you.

Upon the faith of this promiſe, I aſſured her that I was diſpoſed to promote her love after the manner that ſhe deſired. Charmed with this aſſurance, ſhe preſſed her father to haſten the marriage, which was celebrated in a few days—ſhe abjured her religion beforehand, and embraced Mahometaniſm. All I obtained from my union with Facrinniſſa, was obliging the lady to renounce her idolatry ſooner than ſhe would otherwiſe have done. Lovely as ſhe was, I ſacrificed the rights of a huſband to the honour of keeping the promiſe I had given; and looked upon her only as a pledge entruſted with me, which [131] I was obliged honourably to reſtore. I was not long charged with it. A few days after our marriage I divorced her. My maſter, as I had foreſeen, aſtoniſhed at my proceeding, came to my houſe: for you muſt know, that the very day we were married, we lived in a houſe by ourſelves. He aſked me for what reaſon I had divorced Facrinniſſa? I anſwered him, that I found ſhe had a paſſion for another, and that not being willing to poſſeſs a woman againſt her inclinations, I had repudiated her. He laughed at my niceneſs, and told me that his daughter would by degrees love me better. In ſhort, he exhorted me to take her again, and I pretended I would. I will go into the city, ſaid I to him, find out a hulla, and bring him this night before the cady: to-morrow we will renew our nuptials, in hopes of better ſucceſs.

My patron returned home ſomething better ſatisfied; he left to me the care of chuſing a hulla, and the reſt of the ceremony. I went and found out Facrinniſſa's lover, and they were married before me by the cady's lieutenant. They paſſed the night together. The next day the hulla refuſing to divorce his wife, I went to my maſter's houſe, and diſſembling a grief I never felt, told him that the hulla, contrary to what he had promiſed me the day before, refuſed to divorce the lady.

We ought to know who this hulla is, ſaid Dehaouſch; if he is poor, I have reputation and money enough to take my daughter from him. During [132] the time he was ſpeaking, the nayb or cady's deputy came in, and ſaid; "Sir, I come to inform you that the hulla, whom your ſon-in-law hath choſen, is the ſon of Amer, the merchant; therefore your daughter is loſt as to her firſt huſband, for the ſecond is reſolved never to part with her. I know very well that Amer is not your friend, but I would adviſe you to be reconciled to him in favour of this marriage, and forget the hatred you have ſo long borne towards him."

The nayb, not contented to exhort my patron to an accommodation with the family of his new ſon-in-law, offered to ſpeak himſelf to Amer, and ſpare nothing to make them friends. Dehaouſch reaſoned properly in this affair, and therefore was not hard to be reconciled; and the lieutenant finding Amer in the ſame diſpoſition, eſtabliſhed between the two fathers a perfect underſtanding. But the beſt of all was, my patron, prepoſſeſſed that I was the victim of this reconciliation, pitied me, and, by way of recompenſe, gave me a large ſum of money, with liberty to return to Baſra.

Thus was Facrinniſſa freed from a huſband for whom ſhe had no affection, and married to her lover. As ſoon as I ſaw their good fortune ſecured, I went from Golconda, and joining myſelf to ſome people who were going to Surat, got to the ſeaſide, embarked in a veſſel that preſently ſet ſail, and we had a happy voyage. The next day, finding no ſhipping ready to go for Baſra, I was obliged to ſtay at Surat.

[133]The city of Surat is too agreeable, and too full of curioſities, for one to be weary of it in a ſhort time. I went ſometimes to the public baths, which are very fine, and where there is better attendance than in any other place in the world. I walked about the city and avenues, and in the many delightful gardens that are open to all ſorts of people.

One day a man ſomewhat advanced in years met me at the turn of an alley, ſaluted me very civilly, and we joined converſation. He appeared frank and ſincere, told me that he was a Gentile, and that he had in the road of Surat a veſſel belonging to him, in which every year he made a voyage. To be equally free with him, I told him that I was a Mahometan, and related to him my adventures.

He ſeemed ſo ſenſible of my misfortunes, as to ſurpriſe me. I obſerve my ſon, ſaid he, that you are aſtoniſhed to ſee me take part in your afflictions: but, beſides that I am naturally compaſſionate, I muſt tell you that I have a great friendſhip for you, though you are not of my religion. I am concerned at the dangers you have run through; and ſhould you tell them to your own father, he could not feel himſelf more ſenſible of them than I am. O young man! cried he, how fortunate that I came to walk in theſe gardens! your converſation is agreeable to me, and every moment increaſes the affection I have conceived for you; let us go into the city and lodge together; I am old and rich; have no child; and will make you my heir. At [134] theſe words, he took me in his arms, and embraced me with the tenderneſs of a father.

I thanked him for theſe offers of kindneſs, on his part, and made him lively proteſtations of gratitude on mine. In ſhort, the reſult was, that he conducted me to his houſe, which was one of the fineſt in Surat. When the porter opened the gate, I perceived, inſtead of a court, two parterres, with a profuſion of flowers, divided by a large walk made of a compoſition as hard and beautiful as marble. The walk led us to a fine building, where the furniture, though not rich, was elegant; the hangings and the ſofas were of painted linen, the figures admirably wrought, and the linen exquiſitely fine.

The old man invited me to bathe with him in a large baſon of tranſparent water, which ſerved to refreſh him, as well as to fulfil the duties of his religion. The ſlaves attended us with the fineſt linen: we afterwards ſat down to a table, covered with proviſions, ſerved up in china; and drank of a palm wine called Taray, extremely delicious.

At the end of our repaſt, my hoſt ſaid, I will truſt you with a ſecret that ſhall convince you of my great kindneſs for you. I am in five days time to go from the port of Surat to an iſland which I viſit every year, and you ſhall go along with me. In that iſland, which is uninhabitable, for it is full of tigers, there are two hundred pits that produce pearls of an extraordinary ſize. This is only known to myſelf. The captain of a veſſel, to whom I was once a [135] favourite ſlave, diſcovered this treaſure to me, and informed me how I ſhould approach theſe pits in ſpite of the wild beaſts.

Certainly, ſaid I, the captain did well in teaching you this ſecret, for the tigers are likely to give but an ill reception to ſtrangers. It is eaſy, replied he, to drive away the moſt furious. We muſt go aſhore in the night with lighted torches; the ſight of fire frights them, and will make them fly from us. We will go then, and take from thoſe precious ſources a large quantity of pearl, and ſell it at our return into this city: the money we ſhall get, added to what I have already hoarded, will make a conſiderable fortune for you after my death.

To convince me of the truth of what he ſaid, he took me into his cloſet, and ſhewed roupees of gold and ſilver, lying in prodigious quantities. Well, ſaid he, does this appear worth your attention? Have you any diſlike to the voyage? I anſwered, I had not; but begged leave to write to my father of my arrival at Surat, and the reaſons which detained me. My hoſt conſented, and undertook that it ſhould be delivered to my father.

I truſted my letter to the care of Hyzoum, which was the Gentile's name, and we embarked at the port of Surat: we ſet ſail, and after having been three weeks at ſea, without any accident, we ſaw the little deſart iſland, which my friend told me was that where our buſineſs lay; we moored there, and waited for night that we might land. Hyzoum ordered his [136] ſailors to remain aboard, and advanced into the iſle with no body but myſelf. We had each of us a lighted torch, with a number of them under our arms, and bags to put the pearl in. We looked for the pits, by the light of our torches, and we had not ſearched long before we diſcovered one of the deepeſt. Deſcend, my ſon, ſaid he; I doubt not but here are fine pearls. I deſcended by a rope, which he held, and felt pearl under my feet. I filled the bag; the old man pulled it up, opened the ſhells, but could find nothing in them but pearl ſeed; he returned the bag again, and ſaid, The pearls of this pit are not yet in a condition to be taken. Cover them with earth, which will make them grow, and next year we will come and take them.

He drew me up by the rope, and we went to another pit, in a large mountain that roſe in the midſt of the iſland. The ſhells here were ſingularly beautiful. I filled the bag ſeveral times, which the old man drew up, and emptied. Then turning to me, laughing, ſaid, "Farewel, young man, I thank you for the good ſervices you have done me."—O father, anſwered I, take me from hence—Thou art very well where thou art, replied the traitor; lie down upon the pearls, and take thy reſt. I bring hither every year a young Muſſulman like thee. Thou haſt nothing to do but to pray to thy prophet. If he be able to work miracles, as thou imagineſt, he will not forſake a man ſo zealous, and ſo ſtrict to his religion. He ſpoke theſe words, and left me miſerable.

[137]O wretched Aboulfaouaris, ſaid I to myſelf, to what misfortunes hath Heaven condemned thee? What haſt thou done to deſerve this cruel fate? But why do I complain of a misfortune I have brought upon myſelf? Ought not I to have diſtruſted a perfidious idolater? His exceſſive fondneſs! ought I not to have ſuſpected it? But O unprofitable regret! What avails it now to blame myſelf for a fault which I am going too dearly to pay for, and which it depended not on me to avoid? Alas! it was my fate to fall into this abyſs, and the ſame power which brought me in, can take me out again.

This reflexion ſuffered me not to give way to deſpair. I paſſed the night in running about the bottom of the pit, which ſeemed of vaſt extent. I found myſelf treading upon bones, and I gueſſed that others had periſhed miſerably in this precipice. The thought, however, did not diſcourage me. Supported by our great prophet, who undoubtedly inſpired me, I advanced boldly to an aperture, whence iſſued a frightful noiſe. I ſtopt to hearken, and, liſtening with an attentive ear, thought I underſtood the cauſe of the noiſe. I was not deceived in my conjecture: it was the fall of ſeveral waters from the ſea, which penetrating into the mountain by divers clefts, met together in this place. I concluded from thence that they communicated with the ſea by ſome large ſtream, by which I might paſs. I threw myſelf in, and, almoſt ſuffocated, the waters took away my ſenſes, dragged me along with them, [138] and caſt me on the ſea-coaſt by a crevice that was in the mountain.

When I regained my ſenſes, and perceived the place through which the waters had brought me out to day-light, I proſtrated myſelf on the ſhore, to thank Heaven for my deliverance, and addreſſed Mahomet in theſe terms: "O Prophet of the Faithful, Favourite of the Moſt High, I have more need than ever of thy aſſiſtance. To what purpoſe haſt thou delivered me from the deep abyſs into which I was caſt, if I am to be left a prey to the wild beaſts of this iſland, or if hunger muſt put an end to my life?"

Full of faith, after this prayer, I aroſe and walked about the iſland, but ſaw nothing of Hyzoum's ſhip; that traitor had ſoon ſet ſail. Though I was not without fear that the tigers would devour me, I yet ſaw none; but ſoon perceived a large veſſel paſſing near the iſland, and unfolded the linen of my turban to make a ſignal for them to come to me. Thoſe on the deck obſerved me, ſent out a boat, and I was taken aboard.

Judge of my joy, when I found in the captain of the ſhip an intimate friend of my father's, and ſaw by the dreſs of the crew that they were all inhabitants of Baſra. I related to them the adventure that brought me to the iſland, and they heard me attention. They uttered a thouſand imprecations againſt the old man, and I aſked the captain after my father, and about matters that related to my family. [139] After this our diſcourſe fell again on the traitor Hyzoum, when the ſhip's company were deſirous of making a deſcent upon the iſland to ſearch the pits. We were too many to fear the tigers, we had no need of lighted torches; and if my perfidious old fellow took that precaution, it was becauſe he would have no body partake with him in the pearls. We then caſt anchor, and went aſhore, without waiting for the night. Armed with darts and ſabres, to defend ourſelves from the wild beaſts, we deſcended by turns into the pits, where we found pearls in abundance. Innumerable was the quantity of ſhells we took up. It employed three days compleat to open them, and to divide the pearls; and there fell ſo much to every one's ſhare, that all were ſatisfied.

MR. EGERTON.

Well, friend Charles, what is your opinion of the marvellous by this time?

CHARLES EGERTON.

Oh dear, ſir, I think it a charming pretty ſtory.

MR. EGERTON.

I knew you would. I remember how much I, at your age, delighted in reading Gulliver's Travels, without in the leaſt ſuſpecting the real intention of the author. The paſſion of ſurpriſe has a very powerful and pleaſing effect upon all minds: the only difference ſeems to be, that it is much more difficult [140] to raiſe when experience has preſcribed bounds to the imagination.

NANCY.

But pray, ſir, what is the meaning of a hulla?

MR. EGERTON.

Why, my dear, among the eaſtern nations there is a perfect freedom of divorce, on condition that the huſband returns the wife to her family, with her portion entire: and as people there, as well as here, ſometimes fall out, and are afterwards ſorry for it, haſty divorces occaſionally take place: but in order to prevent the abuſe that might ariſe from the caprices of whim or paſſion, the laws will not permit a man to take a woman again whom he has repudiated, unleſs ſhe is firſt married, and then divorced by another. When, therefore, a huſband repents of his raſhneſs, in putting away his wife, he prevails on a friend, or hires a needy perſon, to marry the woman, and divorce her the next day, which perſon is called a hulla. Let us return to our traveller.

The ADVENTURES of ABOULFAOUARIS. PART III.

We now ſet ſail for Serendib to ſell our painted callicoes of Surat, and buy cinnamon. We were ſailing merrily, when all of a ſudden a furious tempeſt aroſe, which drove us out of our courſe, we [141] knew not whither, for ſix days together. On the ſeventh the ſky was clear, but neither pilot nor captain could tell where we were. We knew not what to think, or what to do; and, in ſpite of all our endeavours, the veſſel was drawn by violence towards a mountain, which we diſcovered on the eighth day.

This mountain was of great extent, and prodigious height; very ſteep, and, what ſtrangely ſurpriſed us, bright and ſhining like poliſhed ſteel. An old ſailor, with a profound ſigh, cried out, "We are loſt! I have formerly heard talk of this place. It is fatal to all ſhips that come near it; ſo that if once you arrive at the foot of the mountain, you are detained there as by a charm; and are never more able to ſtand out to ſea, or to get away from it."

At this relation of the old mariner, the whole crew were immoderately afflicted. Alas! ſays one, what are we the better for having found the pearls, if we muſt loſe them and our lives too? Why, ſays another, could none among us know the danger we were in? A third made the air echo with his complaints and lamentations; and a fourth, falling upon his knees; implored the Prophet's aſſiſtance. With reſpect to myſelf, touched more with the affliction with which they were all ſeized, than at the dangers that threatened us, I ſaid to the captain, "Why ſhould we, ſir, thus cowardly ſubmit to ſorrow? rather let us ſeek ſome means to extricate ourſelves out of this difficulty. As for me, I have naturally courage. Whether [142] Mahomet may have this moment inſpired me or not, I am no ways diſmayed at the condition to which we are reduced. As ſoon as we arrive at the foot of the mountain, let us endeavour to gain the top of it. Mounting together, we may perhaps find a recompence for our misfortunes.

The captain, who was not the leaſt fearful among us, anſwered, that he would, in complaiſance, do what was propoſed; but that he had no hopes that we ſhould ſave ourſelves. Mean while our veſſel arrived at the foot of the mountain: the captain and I threw ourſelves into the boat; we gained the land, began to climb the hill, and, not without difficulty, got to the top.

Here, with ſurpriſe, we ſaw a green dome, large and high: upon it a column of ſteel; towards the bottom of which was hung in chains of gold, a ſmall drum made of aloe-wood, and a crooked ſtick. Above the drum hung a ſquare piece of ebony, upon which were theſe words, written in letters of gold: "If any ſhip is ſo unfortunate as to be drawn to this mountain, ſhe can never put to ſea again, except after the following manner. One man of the ſhip's company muſt give three ſtrokes with the crooked ſtick upon the drum. At the firſt ſtroke, the ſhip will get a bow-ſhot diſtance from the mountain: at the ſecond, ſhe will be out of ſight; and at the third, will be found in the very route ſhe ſhould be in; but the man who ſtrikes the drum, muſt voluntarily remain behind, and conſent to let the reſt be gone."

[143]When we had read this inſcription, which appeared to us a taliſman, we returned aboard to inform the crew of our diſcovery. Every one was raviſhed to know that there was a way for deliverance; but no body would be the victim. The meaneſt ſailor refuſed to ſacrifice himſelf for the reſt. Well then, ſaid I, I will remain here; I am willing to be an offering for you all, provided you will promiſe me, that when you get from hence you will go to Baſra; that you will tell my father the news, and faithfully deliver into his hands all the pearls which have fallen to my lot.

At this diſcourſe, they ſolemnly beſeeched Heaven to ſhipwreck them, if they punctually performed not what I deſired of them. The captain aſſured me, as well as the reſt, that if I had the reſolution to ſtay behind, they would return to Baſra without going to Ceylon. He expreſſed alſo ſome concern at loſing me; but I could eaſily perceive he was glad to get out of danger. In ſhort, I embraced the crew, and bade them all a long farewel. They ſet me aſhore, and I aſcended alone to the top of the mountain. Advancing towards the dome, I took the crooked ſtick in my hand, ſtruck the drum, and our veſſel departed from the mountain. I ſtruck again, and at the ſecond ſtroke I loſt ſight of her. I ſtruck the third time; and then remained under the dome ready to conſummate my ſacrifice, and undergo the fate reſerved for me.

I failed not again to addreſs myſelf to the Prophet, and, ſecure in his protection, advanced boldly [144] into the mountain, which was above two leagues in extent. After an hour's travel, I perceived a decrepit old man. He had a bald head, a long white beard, and hollow eyes. He ſeemed to be drawing his laſt breath, was ſitting upon a ſtone at the door of a little houſe, and had a ſhort ſtick in his hand. I ſaluted him reſpectfully, and aſked him to tell me, why the veſſels which paſſed at a certain diſtance from the mountain were drawn to it in ſpite of themſelves; and who the author of the taliſman was, by virtue of which they were carried to ſea again.

The old man raiſed himſelf up, and returned my ſalute, leaning upon his ſtaff, while his head ſhook with weakneſs. He told me, that the ſhips were drawn towards the mountain by the force of the currents: that, as to the taliſman, which conſiſted in the drum, he knew not who made it; but if I were curious to know the myſtery, I muſt continue my road, and that I ſhould meet his brother, who was much older than he, and who could give me ſome light into the matter. I preſently took leave of him, and found indeed a ſecond old man, but he appeared to be more vigorous; for he had only begun to grow grey, and one would have thought him rather the ſon than the ſenior brother of the other. I aſked him, as I had done the firſt, if he knew who it was that had made the taliſman. No, replied he, I know not who it was; if any one can tell you, it is undoubtedly my elder brother, whom you will find on the road a little further.

[145]I continued to march on, and preſently perceived a man digging. He had not a grey hair on his head, and appeared much too ſtrong to be older than the other two I had ſeen before. Father, ſaid I, I have met with two old men who have bantered me. I deſired them to tell me who was the author of the taliſman on the mountain. They ſaid they knew not, but that they had an elder brother who could inform me. The old man ſmiled at theſe words, and anſwered, my ſon, they told you the truth, they are both younger than I am.

If this anſwer of the third old man ſurpriſed me, that which he added ſtill increaſed my wonder. They call us, ſaid he, the three old men of the mountain: the firſt that you met is much the youngeſt; he is not above fifty years old. The reaſon of his being ſo worn out and decrepit is, becauſe he had a bad wife and children, who gave him a great deal of uneaſineſs. The ſecond is ſeventy-five, and he is ruddier and ſtronger than the other, becauſe he had a good wife, and no children: as for me, I am more vigorous than my brothers, though I am paſt a hundred, becauſe I would never marry.

As to the taliſman, purſued he, the author of which you deſire to know, I have heard it ſaid in my youth, that it was compoſed by a great Indian cabaliſt, and that is all that I know of it. I aſked him afterwards, if I was near any country inhabited. Yes, anſwered he, you need but follow the road [146] which you are in, and you will preſently come to a vaſt plain, which bounds another mountain, at the foot of which there are two paths, one on the right, and the other on the left hand. Follow the former; it will lead you to a great city, which hath a very fine port. Take care not to follow the left hand path, for that will carry you into a wood, where dwell very wicked men, the deſcendants of a monſtrous race of giants: they are cannibals, and have women who come to the confines of their territories, and endeavour to entice all paſſengers by their arts and blandiſhments to follow them into their country.

I thanked the old man for the information he gave me, and was reſolved not to neglect his cautions. When I had croſſed the plain, I took the road on the right hand, and it brought me, as he ſaid, to a very large city, well peopled. The ſtreets and the houſes were beautiful, and the port full of ſhipping. I gueſſed there muſt be a great trade, and I was not deceived. I ſaw ſhips that came from the kingdom of Canara and Viſapour loaded with pepper; others filled with the ſpices of Cananor, and ſome with cinnamon. I ſaw merchants of all countries. As I was buſy in obſerving the port, a man came up to me. We looked upon and knew one another. It was Habib, my father's correſpondent at Serendib. After we had embraced ſeveral times, Who would have thought, cried he, that I ſhould have met Aboulfaouaris here? What fatal adventure forced [147] you to leave Serendib without bidding me farewel, without giving me notice of your departure; and by what unexpected good fortune are you reſtored to me?

I told him my adventure with Canzada, and what had happened to me ſince. On his ſide, he informed me, that he had a ſhip in the port; that he was come to ſell cinnamon, that he had diſpoſed of his cargo, and that in twenty-four hours he hoped to be gone. I expreſſed to him the joy I had to find him again. He conducted me on board his ſhip, and the ſame day we ſet ſail for Serendib. I was overjoyed to return thither, and you may think that Canzada was the principal cauſe of the pleaſure that I conceived to myſelf of ſeeing that city again. We arrived after a ſhort voyage, becauſe we had all along a favourable wind.

I was very impatient to learn news of Canzada, whom I could not forbear loving, though I had no great reaſon to be pleaſed with the treatment ſhe had given me. I went out one morning from Habib's, with a deſign to ſpare no pains to get what intelligence I could of her, when a kind of ſlave ſtopped me in the ſtreet; Sir, ſaid he to me, do you remember me? No, anſwered I, but yet your face is not altogether unknown to me; I have a confuſed idea of having ſeen you, but cannot ſay where. I know you well, replied he, you are a Muſſulman; you are called Aboulfaouaris; I had the honour to wait on you during your abode with the princeſs Canzada, [148] to whom I was, and ſtill am, a ſlave. It was I that by her order went to find out your maſter Dehaouſch, into whoſe hands you were delivered. I was ſorry to be put upon that office, and I beg you would believe I was.

My heart leaped with joy at the ſlave's diſcourſe. My dear friend, ſaid I to him, making him accept of a diamond ring, inform me, I conjure you, in what condition is the princeſs, who is always dear to me, in ſpite of her rigours: Is ſhe in the ſame ſtate in which I left her? No, ſir, replied the ſlave, her affairs are much altered within theſe two months: the king of Ceylon made her eſpouſe an old lord of the court, who was in love with her. She could not help obeying; ſhe is married.

The grief I expreſſed at this news was ſo ſevere, that the ſlave appeared touched at it. I am ſorry, ſaid he, that the marriage of my miſtreſs ſhould give you ſo much trouble: It is your own fault; why would you not renounce your Prophet? You would then at this time have enjoyed the fineſt woman in the world, and an immenſe treaſure. Had I been in your place, I would not have taken ſo much time to conſider as you did: the firſt day, the firſt hour, the firſt minute, I would have determined to do whatever Canzada had deſired me. From how much affliction might you have exempted both yourſelf and her! For after your departure ſhe fell ſick, and had like to have loſt her life.

[149]I know not, continued he, whether I ſhould tell her, that you are come to Serendib; I fear it will renew the grief which ſhe ſo long cheriſhed, and which is not yet diſpelled. On the other ſide, I ſee you ſo much afflicted, that I cannot reſolve to deprive you of all conſolation. I promiſe you then, that this day my miſtreſs ſhall know that I have ſeen you. One of her women ſhall tell her, that you repent of your paſt conduct, and that if you could make amends for it, you would not heſitate a moment at renouncing Mahomet's doctrine for her ſake. No, no, cried I, take care that you promiſe nothing that I ought not to do, though it were in my power to obtain the princeſs at the price. Tell her only that I am in deſpair for having loſt her, and to underſtand that ſhe is diſcontented with her condition.

The ſlave ſwore, that he would exactly perform the commiſſion I charged him with; then left me, and I remained in a ſtate of mind equally mixed with joy and grief. If the change of Canzada's condition afflicted me, I felt ſome joy when I came to think that ſhe might ſtill perhaps have ſome affection for me. Flattered with ſo agreeable an idea, I waited every day for the ſlave's coming to inquire for me at Habib's, where I had told him I lodged; but my expectation was vain; one entire month paſſed, and I heard no news of Canzada.

[150]I gueſſed then that the ſlave had made a wrong judgment of his miſtreſs's ſentiments; that the lord ſhe had married was beloved by her; or, in ſhort, that the lady's virtue had triumphed over the inclination ſhe had for me. Full of this laſt thought, which I had the vanity to think well grounded, I retired to a fine country-houſe which my father's correſpondent had, three quarters of a league from the city of Serendib.

I employed my time in walking, or, more properly, in muſing as I walked, on the object that inflamed me. One day I was got inſenſibly a good way from Habib's houſe, and paſſing along the river-ſide, came to a magnificent pagod, which was built on the bank. After having admired the ſtructure, I ſuddenly gave attention to what ſeemed very deſerving of it. I ſaw ſeveral Gentoo prieſts, who were erecting a ſort of hut with reeds, and other combuſtible matters. I went and aſked what they were doing. One, amongſt the reſt, anſwered; certainly you have not been long at Serendib, or you would not aſk me this queſtion. Are you ſuch a ſtranger to the cuſtom of the Gentoos, as not to know that this is the place appointed for funerals? It is here that we burn dead bodies; here that the wives, ſacrificing themſelves to the manes of their huſbands, acquire immortal glory. One of the principal lords of the court of Serendib is dead, his body is to be burnt on the river's ſide five or ſix hours hence, and his faithful ſpouſe will be conſumed [151] in the very flames which are to reduce him to aſhes.

Having never ſeen this ceremony, I reſolved to be a witneſs of it. I could not help deploring the bigotry of theſe idolaters, whoſe ſacrilegious piety conſecrates rage and madneſs; or, rather, I laid the blame on their prieſts, of whom I had heard much at Surat. This horrible cuſtom is continued amongſt the Gentoos.

Near the hour that this deteſtable execution drew nigh, the fields were filled with people; ſome on foot, ſome on horſeback, and others on palanquins, and preceded by ſlaves, carrying ſtandards, or blowing the trumpet. The governor of Serendib was mounted on an elephant, in the midſt of ten or twelve perſons, ſitting under a tent, which was raiſed on the back of the animal. In two or three hours, there were above thirty thouſand perſons about the pagod and the hut. Not willing to let any circumſtance of this ceremony eſcape my curioſity, I pierced the croud, and got as near the funeral pile as it was poſſible. Twenty prieſts, who had each of them a book, began all to pray while in waiting for the victim.

It was almoſt night when ſhe arrived. She was mounted on a white horſe richly capariſoned, crowned with flowers, and followed the corpſe of her huſband, which ſix men carried on a ſtately palanquin. Twelve women, adorned with jewels, bracelets, and great rings of gold and ſilver, attended her; [152] they had all long hair, with necklaces of pearl, fine pendants in their ears, and crowns of gold, with plates of ſilver enriched by rubies, which covered one half of the face. Muſicians followed the women ſlaves. Her parents and friends came next ſinging and dancing, to ſhew their felicity in having, ſome for a relation and others for their friend, ſo generous a woman.

With the aſſiſtance of two prieſts ſhe diſmounted, and was conducted to the banks of the river, where the body of her huſband was brought; ſhe waſhed it from head to foot; and then delivered it to the prieſts, who carried it into the hut upon a ſtraw mat covered with ſulphur. She roſe up, without undreſſing herſelf, went near to the pile, walked ſeveral times round it, and beheld the preparations that were making for her ſacrifice with great intrepidity. She embraced her parents and friends, who preſently retired; ſhe was embraced by her women ſlaves, diſſolved in tears; to whom ſhe gave liberty, and diſtributed the jewels and ornaments with which ſhe was dreſſed. When ſhe took off the ſilver plate, which covered half her face, and which, till then, had hindered me from knowing her, gueſs at my aſtoniſhment, when I diſcovered Canzada. All nature reverſed at once, could not have more ſurpriſed me.

Great God! ſaid I to myſelf, can I believe my eyes? May I not doubt of what I ſee? Is it really Canzada who is going to ſuffer ſo cruel a death? [153] The grief I was in, would not ſuffer me to ſee the ſacrifice performed; I left her in the hands of the prieſt, who having exhorted her to render herſelf worthy, by her conſtancy, of the happineſs that attended her, they put her into the hut, and preſented to her, according to cuſtom, a lighted torch, to ſet fire to it herſelf. I flew towards Habib's country-houſe, in a diſpoſition of mind not to be deſcribed. Diſturbed, forlorn, I knew not what I did; I turned every moment my eyes towards the place of ceremony, and the flames of the pile which I ſaw riſing in the air, rent my heart aſunder.

At laſt I arrived there: he aſked the cauſe of the diſorder which appeared in me: I told it him, and my generous friend anſwered me tear for tear. I am ſurpriſed, ſaid he, that Canzada would periſh to follow an old lord, whom ſhe did not love. Why, ſaid I, was it then in her power to have ſurvived him? Are not the wives here obliged to burn themſelves with the bodies of their huſbands? No, replied Habib, they are not conſtrained to ſacrifice themſelves: on the contrary, the governor of the city, by the king's order, cauſes the widows that ſeek this death to come before him: he interrogates them upon the reaſons of ſo fatal a deſign, and endeavours to perſuade them to deſiſt from it. In ſhort, he grants them leave to die, only when they abſolutely demand it of him.

Canzada, purſued he, was very willing to die, perſuaded, as all women are, who ſacrifice themſelves, [154] that ſhe ſhould procure to herſelf, by a glorious and voluntary death, an eternal happineſs. Beſides, ſhe may have been urged on, by the honours that are paid to thoſe miſerable victims after their death; for their memories here are held in veneration; even ſtatues are erected to them among thoſe of the pagods. In a word, they are regarded as deities; and this, no doubt, is what inſpires our women who demand death, with that fortitude which makes them look upon the preparation of their ſacrifice without changing colour.

Theſe reflections of Habib raiſed others in me. I repreſented to myſelf, that if Canzada had loved me as much as I loved her, ſhe would not have been ſo ready to deſtroy herſelf; that ſhe would have made me the propoſal, that if I would marry her on conditions which I had rejected, ſhe would not ſacrifice hreſelf; that ſhe ought to have put me to this proof, which undoubtedly, however, would have very much perplexed me.

Sir, ſaid I to Habib, whatever reaſons I have to forget Canzada, I deſpair of ever doing it; I cannot ſtay at Serendib after what has happened, give me leave to return to Baſra. My hoſt conſented; we returned to Serendib the next morning, and the firſt thing I did was to inquire for a ſhip that was to go from thence to any part of India: I was informed that one of Surat, laden with callicoes, was juſt arrived in the port, and that her cargo would ſoon be old off. I reſolved to make uſe of this opportunity, [155] and waiting for the day of my departure, I led a very melancholy life with Habib. Whatever care my friend took to overcome my diſtreſs, he could not conquer it; he ſpared nothing to compaſs his end; not a day paſſed, in which he did not find out ſome new diverſion, and every meal we ate he accompanied with dancing and concerts.

One day as I was ſitting thus in miſery, a ſlave came to ſpeak with me in private. He was the ſame that I met on my arival here, who had made me fair promiſes, which he had not performed. Sir, ſaid he, I proteſt it is not my fault that you have not ſeen me ſooner; my miſtreſs forbad me to ſpeak to you again, and I dared not diſobey her. She was a princeſs of heroic virtue, and would have no further to ſay to you: not content to be faithful to a huſband ſhe did not love, ſhe gave herſelf to the flames, to gain the veneration of the Gentoos: but let us leave her to the enjoyment of a happineſs ſhe dearly bought, and come to the buſineſs that has brought me hither. I am, at preſent, a ſlave to another lady, not leſs fair than Canzada, and who loves you more: I underſtand you are upon the point of embarking for Surat; but before your departure, I would adviſe you to make uſe of the good fortune that preſents itſelf.

I was more ſurpriſed than pleaſed at the ſlave's diſcourſe. Friend, ſaid I, it is with grief that I find myſelf reduced to be ungrateful to the favourable ſentiments your new miſtreſs hath conceived for me: [156] the image of Canzada is always in my thoughts, and leaves me little reliſh for new adventures. The lady whom you ſerve muſt pardon me, if I refuſe her favours. Having never ſeen her, my indifference can be no offence.

It muſt be confeſſed, replied the ſlave, that I am not fortunate in my negotiations; I am certain, however, you would be charmed with her, whatever obligations you may have had to Canzada. You are miſtaken, ſaid I, you are uſed to judge wrong of the emotions of the heart; you imagined that your former miſtreſs loved me ſtill, and deſired nothing more than my arrival at Serendib. You are in the right to reproach me thus, ſaid the ſlave; but upon this occaſion, be aſſured that I am certain of what I advance; give me leave only to come for you this night, and take you to the place appointed. No, ſaid I, no, I cannot prevail with myſelf to believe you; I know women too well, to put her upon trial. What a vexation would ſhe be in, ſhould ſhe find that I cannot love her. In vain did the ſlave aſſure me ſhe would hearken to reaſon, and not impute to me as a crime my conſtancy to Canzada. I refuſed to ſee her: and perſuaded myſelf I ſhould hear no more either of the ſlave or the lady; but he found me out again at night, and brought me a letter, which contained the ſubſtance of what follows: "The converſation you have had with my ſlave, gives me pleaſure; it increaſes the impatience I had to ſee to you; and if [157] you be ſo really concerned about Canzada as you appear to be, both you and I ſhall preſently be better ſatisfied with each other."

This myſterious language gave me room for much ſpeculation. I could not reſiſt the deſire I had of clearing up the matter: I followed the ſlave, who conducted me to a ſmall houſe, and led me into a very plain lodging, where he left me, ſaying, he would acquaint the lady I was there. I did not wait long for her—ſhe came—but oh! think what confuſion I was in, when I beheld the Princeſs Canzada herſelf, whom I ſuppoſed to be reduced to aſhes!

Aboulfaouaris's auditors ſtood amazed: He perceived it, ſmiled, and continued his relation.

I believed it, at firſt, to be an apparition. The features of a woman, the moſt dear to me in the world, put me in as great diſmay, as a real ſpectre could have produced; ſhe obſerved my confuſion, and could not forbear laughing. Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, 'twas not to frighten you that I deſired to ſee you; 'tis not Canzada's ſhade you ſee, 'tis ſhe herſelf: Your ſurpriſe indeed has ſome foundation. We cannot diſcover on a ſudden, a perſon whom we believed to be dead, without much emotion; but I will diſpel your fear, by convincing you that I yet live.

She then told me, that ſhe had bribed the Chief Prieſt, and in what manner that pious perſon had ſaved her from the flames, for a conſiderable ſum of [158] money. He cauſed a paſſage to be made privately under ground by the other prieſts, whom he entruſted with the ſecret. The funeral pile was erected over that ſubterranean paſſage, into which, ſaid ſhe, I deſcended, after having ſet fire to the reeds that conſumed nothing but my huſband's body. The night being come, and the ſpectators retired, the Chief Prieſt himſelf conducted me to this houſe that I had hired before-hand.

But, my Princeſs, ſaid I, why deceive the people by a pretended death? Why feign to follow your aged huſband? They forced you not to die with him; you might have ſpared that diſſimulation. No, replied the lady, I found myſelf under the neceſſity of doing what I have done; you will be convinced of this truth, when I tell you that I have a deſign to join my fate to your's, to abjure idolatry, and to go to Baſra with you, and profeſs the religion of Mahomet. It muſt have been your prophet himſelf that inſpired me with this great enterpriſe. My relations now believing me dead, I can without fear leave Serendib, and unite my lot to your's. This was the motive that urged me to an action, that not only amazes you, but, without doubt, aſtoniſhes the world; for they well know, that I never loved the old Lord whom I married in obedience to the King. They imagine that the vanity of paſſing for a heroine, and having a ſtatue among the pagods, induced me to die with my huſband; but reaſon, or perhaps my love for you, made me reflect maturely on ſo ſuperſtitious a ſacrifice.

[159]And is it then, my Queen, ſaid I, in favour of Aboulfaouaris, that you have employed this ingenious ſtratagem? Was it to live with me, that you reſolved to go from Ceylon? Is it to crown me with joy that you reſolve to follow the doctrine of our great prophet? Oh beautiful Canzada! at this moment you make me the happieſt of men.—I threw myſelf at her knees, and embraced them with tranſport. Riſe up, Aboulfaouaris, ſaid ſhe, I doubt whether you have reaſon to boaſt ſo much of your happineſs; Canzada is no longer ſo precious a conqueſt: Alas! I am not now miſtreſs of all the riches I gave you with my heart: I have given the beſt part of them to the prieſts that ſerved me; and I paid dear to the Governor of Ceylon, for his permiſſion to devote myſelf to the flames with my deceaſed huſband.

At theſe words, which gave me ſo fair an occaſion to declare my love, I looked on her with tenderneſs, and ſaid, how unjuſt, my charming Canzada, are you to ſuſpect me of not having ſentiments as free from ſelf-intereſt as your own! When in the ſtately palace, where you detained me, you expoſed your treaſures to my view, I call Heaven to witneſs, my heart was ſet on you alone.

She told me, that my ſentiments were ſuch as ſhe deſired; that ſhe was not ſtript of all, and that ſhe had jewels enough ſtill to make her a fortune, wherewith I ſhould have reaſon to be content. She ſpoke of the miſchiefs ſhe had occaſioned me, and [160] ſaid, ſhe had ſufficiently atoned for them by her grief. We agreed after this, to go for Baſra as ſoon as poſſible. I took leave of my landlord, conducted her that night to the harbour, and embarked with her, and ſome faithful ſlaves who carried her jewels.

We arrived at Surat without the leaſt danger, and found there a Baſra ſhip that was returning home. We made uſe of the occaſion, and, as if Heaven were willing to let us know that it favoured us, we arrived at Baſra with the moſt fortunate expedition.

No joy could equal that of my father when he ſaw me again. After our firſt embraces, I preſented Canzada to him, whoſe quality needed no boaſt: Her noble air and her beauty confeſſed at full what ſhe was. He received her with the higheſt tokens of eſteem, and conceived for her all the tenderneſs of a father. When he had heard her ſtory, which I related to him in the terms of a paſſionate lover, I then gave him an account of my travels. He afterwards informed me, that he had received my pearls from the Captain, who had taken charge of them.

My father and I conducted the lady to the Cady, to whom ſhe abjured her idolatrous faith, before many witneſſes. He then aſked her, if ſhe conſented that I ſhould be her huſband? She anſwered, that it was the deareſt deſire of her heart; and upon that anſwer the Judge married us. My father, to [161] celebrate our nuptials, invited our relations and friends to a ſplendid feaſt and great rejoicings, which laſted ſix days together.

DIALOGUE VII.

MR. EGERTON.

BEFORE we read our long ſtory yeſterday, I told you, children, that the moral moſt conſpicuous in it was the value and neceſſity of Fortitude. I ſhall now take occaſion to continue that ſubject, by pointing out to you the beauty and worth of this ineſtimable virtue. You muſt have patience, if I ſeem prolix.

That it is the duty of a man to be equal to all fortunes, is a doctrine that cannot be too ſtrongly inculcated: And the reaſons why he ſhould be ſo, are ſo plain, ſo conſpicuous, that when I look round, and ſee all the world, with very few exceptions, ſhrinking from the moſt trifling degrees of pain, grieving at inſignificant accidents, and deſponding beneath common misfortunes, I am amazed.

Let us but reflect, that the utmoſt malice of fate can do nothing more than deprive us of life, and [162] that the longeſt life muſt very ſoon inevitably end; and what will there remain for us to fear? Beſides, if the evils that afflict us be in our own power to remove, to grieve would be ridiculous, as well as puſillanimous; and if they be not, but are without remedy, to be terrified, or ſink under them, is equally ſo. How many people make their lives miſerable, by a continued round of falſe alarms? Every occurrence in the day is a misfortune. If they cut a finger, they mourn over it; if their head ach, they are going to die; and if the apothecary ſends a draught, the taſte is ſo nauſeous, that, after tormenting themſelves with irreſolute attempts to force it down, they fling it away. At night, when they ſhould reſt from their cares, and enjoy a temporary death, the reality of which appears horrible, they cannot ſleep, for the dread of thieves or fire; never conſidering that it were better to be robbed or ſuffer almoſt any puniſhment, than live in the fear of that puniſhment.

Oh! my children, I would have you deſpiſe the puſillanimity that would diſcompoſe a feature while you ſwallow a potion, or ſtretch forth a limb to have a wound dreſſed. Be aſſured, that pain decreaſes in proportion as it is defied, and becomes horrible as the fear of it is indulged; and remember likewiſe, that it is impoſſible to be happy, much leſs magnanimous, till you are maſters of your own fate, till you can behave with equanimity under all fortunes; that is, till you are ſuperior to fear.

[163]It is only thoſe opportunities where the poſſeſſion of fortitude is apparent, that diſcover the truly great man. What a noble, what a ſuperior magnanimity, did Fabricius ſhew before Pyrrhus! The command he had obtained over himſelf, his unſhaken ſteadineſs, and the reliance he could place on it, was ſo great, that it was aſtoniſhing. He was ſent Ambaſſador from the Romans, to treat with Pyrrhus concerning the ranſom, or exchange, of priſoners. At their firſt interview, Pyrrhus, who had heard, from Cineas, a great character of Fabricius, preſt him to receive a valuable preſent in gold; not with a view to engage him in any thing diſhondurable, but as a pledge of friendſhip and hoſpitality. This he peremptorily refuſed. The next day, Pyrrhus had a mind to make another eſſay on him, by endeavouring to aſtoniſh, or rather to terrify him. He knew Fabricius had never ſeen an elephant; he commanded, therefore, one of the largeſt, compleatly armed, to be placed behind ſome curtains in the room where they were to confer. Upon a ſignal given, the curtains were ſuddenly drawn, and the elephant raiſing his trunk over the head of Fabricius, made a moſt horrid bellowing. The Roman, without the leaſt ſign of terror or ſurprize, turned and looked at the beaſt; then addreſſing Pyrrhus, with a ſmile, ſaid, "Sir, neither could your money yeſterday, nor your monſter to-day, make the leaſt impreſſion on me."

[164]The year following, when Fabricius was Conſul, and at the head of the army, an unknown perſon came to the camp, and delivered him a letter from the King's chief Phyſician, who offered to take off Pyrrhus by poiſon, and, in that way, end the war, without farther hazard to the Romans, provided they would give him a reward proportionate to his ſervice. Fabricius, enraged at the villainy of the Phyſician, after bringing the other Conſul to be of the ſame opinion, ſent diſpatches to Pyrrhus immediately, to warn him of his danger. His letter ran thus:

"Caius Fabricius, and Quintius Emilius, Conſuls of the Romans, to Pyrrhus the King; health."

"You ſeem to have made a very ill judgment both of your friends and enemies. You will underſtand by the encloſed letter, which was ſent to us, that you are at war with honeſt men, and truſt in knaves and villains. We have not diſcovered this to you to inſinuate ourſelves into your favour, but leſt your ruin might bring a reproach upon us; as if we had ended the war by treachery, when we were not able to do it by our courage and our virtue."— Do not your hearts glow, my children, at heroiſm like this? Will you not remember, will you not emulate, ſuch actions?

I ſhall cite a few more examples of the dignity of Fortitude, that you may perceive how reſpectable, how ſuperior it makes men, and in what a glorious ſanctity it preſerves their characters to the lateſt poſterity.

[165]Caracalla the emperor, that cruel and inexorable tyrant, began his reign by murdering his brother Geta in the arms of his mother, to whom he had fled for refuge. Papinian was at that time a civilian in Rome, of the greateſt eſtimation. To him Caracalla applied, in order to be vindicated by his writings: but Papinian, diſregarding his own life, intrepidly replied, "It is eaſier to commit a parricide than to juſtify it." For which anſwer he was beheaded, it is true; but who does not revere the magnanimous, the virtuous Papinian, that had the fortitude to defy death, rather than, by a deſpicable, a wicked compliance, incur the contemptuous curſe of poſterity, only to prolong a ſhort and ignominious exiſtence?

Of all nations, indeed, whether ancient or modern, the Romans appear to have poſſeſſed the moſt ſublime, unremitted, and ſtupendous fortitude. Porſenna, when he beſieged Rome, had defeated the Romans, who were flying in the greateſt conſternation, and were purſued by the enemy to the bridge, over which both victors and vanquiſhed were about to enter the city in the confuſion. All appeared loſt, when Horatius Cocles, who had been placed there as a centinel, oppoſed himſelf to the torrent of the enemy, and aſſiſted only by two more, for ſome time ſuſtained the whole fury of the aſſault, till the bridge was broken down behind him. When he found the communication thus cut off, plunging with his arms into the torrent of the Tiber, he ſwam [166] back victorious to his fellow-ſoldiers, and was received, honoured, and rewarded by his countrymen, as the ſaviour of Rome.

Still, however, Porſenna was determined upon taking the city; and though five hundred of his men were ſlain in a ſally of the Romans, he reduced it to the greateſt ſtraits, and turning the ſiege into a blockade, reſolved to take it by famine. The diſtreſs of the beſieged ſoon began to be inſufferable, and all things ſeemed to threaten a ſpeedy ſurrender, when another act of fortitude and bravery, ſtill ſuperior to that which had ſaved the city before, again promiſed its deliverance.

Mutius, a youth of undaunted courage, was reſolved to rid his country of an enemy that ſo ſorely continued to oppreſs it; and, for this purpoſe, diſguiſed in the habit of an Etrurian peaſant, entered the camp of the enemy, reſolving to die, or to kill die king. With this reſolution, he made up to the place where Porſenna was paying his troops, with the ſecretary by his ſide: but miſtaking the latter for the king, he ſtabbed him to the heart, and was immediately apprehended and brought into the royal preſence. Upon Porſenna's demanding who he was, and the cauſe of ſo heinous an action, Mutius, without reſerve, informed him of his country and his deſign, and, at the ſame time, thruſting his right hand into the fire burning upon an altar before him, "You ſee, cried he, how little I regard the ſevereſt puniſhment your cruelty can inflict upon me, A [167] Roman knows not only how to act, but how to ſuffer. I am not the only perſon you have to fear. Three hundred of the Roman youth, like me, have conſpired your deſtruction, therefore prepare for their attempts." Porſenna, amazed at ſo much fortitude, had too noble a mind not to acknowledge merit, though found in an enemy. He therefore ordered him to be ſafely conducted to Rome, and offered ſuch conditions of peace, as were accepted.

Modern times likewiſe, my children, afford numerous examples of heroic virtue and inflexible perſeverance in right. I will ſelect one, and a noble inſtance it is, from the hiſtory of our own country.

When our great Henry V. was Prince of Wales, he, led aſtray by youthful paſſions, aſſociated himſelf with the vicious and diſſolute. One of his ſervants, or rather companions, was apprehended for felony, and brought to the bar of the King's Bench, where the chief juſtice, Gaſcoign, was then ſitting. The prince heard of this tranſaction, and, inflamed by the miſrepreſentations of his lewd aſſociates, flew raging into the court, where his ſervant ſtood arraigned, and commanded him to be unfettered and ſet at liberty. The judge endeavoured to repreſſ this outrage, and appeaſe the prince, by exhorting him to pay a proper reſpect to the ancient and eſtabliſhed laws of the land; and, if he wiſhed to exempt his ſervant from puniſhment, to apply to the king, his father, who alone held the power of a legal reprieve. But the prince, indulging his paſſion, inſtead [168] of liſtening to this very proper remonſtrance, proceeded to uſe force for the releaſe of the priſoner. The judge, foreſeeing the dangerous conſequence of ſuch a flagrant breach of the conſtitution, elevated his voice, and in a bold authoritative tone, commanded the prince, on his allegiance, to leave the priſoner and depart the place. The prince, inflamed beyond all bounds flew with his drawn ſword to the judgment-ſeat, while no one dared to moleſt him, though all dreaded the event. The judge alone ſeemed undiſturbed, and ſuperior to paſſion. Without ſhrinking, with the ſame unaltered countenance, the ſame tone of voice, the ſame cool, undaunted, but unimpaſſioned deportment, "Sir, ſaid he to the prince, recollect yourſelf—I ſit here the repreſentative of the King, your ſovereign Lord and Father—In his name I charge you to deſiſt from your diſobedient and unlawful enterprize—Learn to give a good example to thoſe who ſhall hereafter become your own ſubjects, and for this preſent contempt and diſobedience, go YOU now to the priſon of the King's Bench, whereunto I commit you, until the pleaſure of the king, your father, ſhall be known." The prince, convinced of his enormity, aſhamed of his intemperance, and ſtruck with the ſedate and awful fortitude of the judge, threw down his ſword, bowed to the magiſtrate, and voluntarily went to priſon. "Bleſſed be God," ſaid Henry IV. when he heard of this tranſaction "Bleſſed be God who hath given me a [169] judge that dares adminiſter juſtice, and a ſon that dares revere the laws."

I might relate a thouſand anecdotes, and adduce a thouſand hiſtories, all tending to illuſtrate the doctrines I have been teaching: I ſhall, however, quit this ſubject, after having read to you two letters, both written from and to eminent men. The firſt from Plutarch to the Emperor Trajan, and the other from Sir Walter Raleigh to Prince Henry. I need make no comments. They both ſpeak the dauntleſs language of men reſolved to diſcharge their duty; eſpecially the latter.

PLUTARCH'S LETTER TO TRAJAN.

SINCE your merits and not your importunities have advanced you to the empire, permit me to congratulate your virtues, and my own good fortune. If your future government prove anſwerable to your former worth, I ſhall be happy. But if you become worſe for power, your's will be the danger, and mine the ignominy of your conduct. The errors of the pupil will be changed upon his inſtructor. Seneca is reproached for the enormities of Nero, and Socrates and Quintilian have hot eſcaped cenſure for the miſconduct of their reſpective ſcholars. But you have it in your power to make me the moſt honoured of men, by continuing what you are. Perſevere in the command of your paſſions, and make virtue the ſcope of all your actions. If you follow theſe inſtructions, then will I glory in my having [170] preſumed to give them: if you neglect what I offer, then will this letter be my teſtimony, that you have not erred through the counſel and authority of Plutarch.

Sir WALTER RALEIGH'S LETTER to Prince HENRY, eldeſt ſon of JAMES I.

May it pleaſe your Highneſs,

THE following lines are addreſſed to your Highneſs, from a man who values his liberty and a very ſmall fortune, in a remote part of this iſland, under the preſent conſtitution, above all the riches and honours that he could any where enjoy under any other eſtabliſhment.

You ſee, Sir, the doctrines that are lately come into the world, and how far the phraſe has obtained, of calling your royal father God's Vicegerent; which ill men have turned both to the diſhonour of God, and the impeachment of his Majeſty's goodneſs. They adjoin vicegerency to the idea of being all-powerful, and not to that of being all-good. His Majeſty's wiſdom, it is to be hoped, will ſave him from the ſnare that may lie under groſs adulations: but your youth, and the thirſt of praiſe, which I have obſerved in you, may poſſibly miſlead you to hearken to thoſe charmers who would conduct your noble nature into tyranny. Be careful, O my prince! hear them not, fly from their deceits; you are in the ſucceſſion to a throne, from whence no evil can be [171] imputed to you, but all good muſt be conveyed from you.

Your father is called the Vicegerent of heaven: while he is good, he is the vicegerent of heaven. Shall man have authority from the Fountain of good to do evil? No, my prince: let mean and degenerate ſpirits, which want benevolence, ſuppoſe your power impaired by a diſability of doing injuries. If want of power to do ill, be an incapacity in a prince, with reverence be it ſpoken, it is an incapacity he hath in common with the Deity. Let me not doubt bat all pleas, which do not carry in them the mutual happineſs of prince and people, will appear as abſurd to your great underſtanding, as diſagreeable to your noble nature.

Exert yourſelf, O generous prince, againſt ſuch ſycophants in the glorious cauſe of liberty; and aſſume ſuch an ambition worthy of you to ſecure your fellow-creatures from ſlavery; from a condition as much below that of brutes, as to act without reaſon, is leſſ miſerable than to act againſt it. Preſerve to your future ſubjects the divine right of being free agents: and to your own royal houſe the divine right of being their benefactors. Believe me, my prince, there is no other right can ſlow from God. While your Highneſs is forming yourſelf for a throne, conſider the laws as ſo many common places in your ſtudy of the ſcience of government; when you mean nothing but juſtice, they are an eaſe and help to you. This way of thinking is what gave men the glorious [172] appellation of Deliverers and Fathers of their country; this made the ſight of them rouſe their beholders into acclamations, and mankind incapable of bearing their very appearance, without applauding it as a benefit. Conſider the inexpreſſible advantages which will ever attend your Highneſs, while you make the power of rendering men happy the meaſure of your actions. While this is your impulſe, how eaſily will that power be extended.

The glance of your eye will give gladneſs, and your every ſentence have a force of bounty. Whatever ſome men would inſinuate, you have loſt your ſubjects when you have loſt their inclinations. You are to preſide over the minds, not the bodies of men; the ſoul is the eſſence of the man, and you cannot have the true man againſt his inclinations. Chooſe therefore to be the King or the Conqueror of your people; it may be ſubmiſſion, but it cannot be obedience that is paſſive.

I am, SIR,
Your Highneſs's moſt faithful ſervant, WALTER RALEIGH.
MR. EGERTON.

You will never think you admire this letter enough, my children, when you come thoroughly to underſtand the pernicious doctrine it was intended to combat. The divine right of kings was the deſtruction of the houſe of Stuart; and, but for [173] very peculiar circumſtances, amazing exertions, and prodigious abilities, muſt have been the deſtruction of the conſtitution of England.

DIALOGUE VIII.

MR. EGERTON.

I GAVE you many examples in our laſt converſation of the ſublime nature of Fortitude; I ſhall now give you a tragical inſtance of a contrary kind. As I ſo thoroughly explained myſelf upon this ſubject yeſterday, we will proceed immediately to the ſtory, and I have no doubt, children, but you will readily perceive the application.

TREACHERY, Or the HISTORY of MOSES GOLEMUS, General to SCANDERBEG THE GREAT, King of Epirus.

AMONG all the heroes of ancient or modern ſtory, there are none whoſe courage, wiſdom, and good fortune, have been more conſpicuous than Scanderbeg's. King only of a ſmall ſtate and a handful of people, at a time when the Turkiſh empire flouriſhed in all its ſplendor and all its ferocity; [174] when Europe and Aſia trembled at the multitude and valour of its troops, Scanderbeg nobly aſſerted and maintained his independence, braved the fury of the Turk, vanquiſhed his armies, and diſgraced his victories. Amurath the Second, after various ſieges and battles, died in Epirus, before the walls of Croia, curſing his ignominious fate, which after ſo many ſplendid conqueſts had ſent him thus diſhonourably to expire; baffled by a prince whoſe territories, with reſpect to extent, might rather be compared to the gardens of Amurath's ſeraglio, than to the Ottoman empire. Mahomet, his ſon and ſucceſſor, the famous conqueror, who took Conſtantinople, and made the Chriſtian world tremble, never could ſubdue Scanderbeg. Armies after armies invaded Epirus, and were all either deſtroyed, or obliged ſhamefully to retreat; for of all the various battles and ſkirmiſhes Scanderbeg was engaged in, and they were almoſt innumerable, he loſt but one.

Mahomet, who from repeated experiments and reiterated defeats, began at length to deſpair of ſubduing Scanderbeg by open war, endeavoured to corrupt his generals. None among thoſe was more renowned than Moſes Golemus. This man had been with Scanderbeg in all his wars, was acquainted with all his, reſources, all his ſtratagems, and beloved by all his ſoldiers. His valour and conduct had often been proved, and always to his honour; no man doubted his love to his country, or his loyalty to his prince, whoſe confidence he fully poſſeſſed. [175] Moſes, who as a commander was ſecond only to Scanderbeg, lay with a ſtrong garriſon in Dibra, a frontier town of Epirus, when Mahomet commanded the governor of Sfetigrade to endeavour, by every means within his power, to ſubvert the loyalty of Moſes. Sfetigrade was a town which the Turks had long held in Epirus. This governor, who from the known character of Moſes had little hope of ſucceſs, was yet obliged to make the attempt, in obedience to the commands of the ſultan. For this purpoſe he ſent a Chriſtian, an inhabitant of Sfetigrade, whom he had won to his intereſts by large gifts, to negotiate with Moſes. The meſſenger he choſe was a ſubtle man, plauſible and diſcerning, and inveſted with full powers to make the moſt advantageous propoſals to Moſes, and to paint the eſteem the ſultan had for him and his abilities in the moſt flattering colours. He came to Dibra, and, under pretence of ſtate ſecrets, gained a private audience of Moſes, to whom, in the name of Mahomet, he offered whatever dignities the ſultan could beſtow. By the ſame authority likewiſe he demanded how he, who was known to be ſo great a captain, equal at leaſt, if not ſuperior to Scanderbeg, could condeſcend to ſerve ſo petty a prince. The meſſenger ſhewed him how eaſy it would be for him, if he had a proper confidence in his own capacity, to dethrone Scanderbeg, by cauſing a revolt in Epirus, and putting himſelf at the head of the Turkiſh armies. Moſes, who, till this fatal moment, [176] had lived in the full enjoyment of content and acknowledged worth, ſunk before the treacherous attacks of flattery and ambition. He diſmiſſed the meſſenger without a poſitive anſwer, but with ſufficient reaſon to hope for ſucceſs.

After the departure of the meſſenger, a thouſand troubled thoughts aroſe in the hitherto peaceful mind of Moſes: his mirth was turned into melancholy; the chearfulneſs of his countenance vaniſhed; diſtracting fears and haughty wiſhes were his ſolitary companions, and an imaginary kingdom the idol he ſecretly adored. Several diſcerning people obſerved this ſudden change, and ſome of his friends aſked him concerning the buſineſs of that ſecret meſſenger; to whom he replied, that he was a perſon from whom he received private intelligence of matters that concerned the good of the ſtate. This anſwer was ſatisfactory, for who could once think of diſtruſting Moſes?

It happened about this time, when the loyalty of Moſes had been ſufficiently overthrown by various negociations and ſplendid promiſes from the Turk, that Scanderbeg arrived before the walls of Belgrade, the only defeat he ever experienced from the Mahometans. This was what Moſes deemed the proper opportunity to declare himſelf, this was the moment to ſubvert his friends and ſoldiers from their allegiance. For this purpoſe, when the news arrived at Dibra he pretended at firſt to be greatly afflicted, and with many words to lament the misfortune of [177] Scanderbeg, and the miſeries of Epirus, taking care at the ſame time to deſcribe the great power of Mahomet, and to endeavour to fill the minds of his hearers with diſtruſt and fear. To his intimates he was more ſincere; he related to them the mighty promiſes of Mahomet, the honours he would confer on all thoſe who ſhould be inſtrumental to a revolt, and the great eaſe with which it might be then effected. He was heard by them with aſtoniſhment and pity, but, to their glory be it remembered, without ſucceſs: he, therefore, thought it ſafeſt to fly, which he did, accompanied only by a few of the loweſt and moſt diſorderly of the common ſoldiers, and after procuring ſafe conduct from the governor of Sfetigrade, arrived at Conſtantinople, when he was joyfully received and greatly careſſed by Mahomet.

When Scanderbeg firſt learnt the news of the revolt of Moſes, ſo great had been his opinion of his fidelity, that he ſtood ſpeechleſs with aſtoniſhment. After a little reflection, however, and finding the fact really to be ſo, he, with true dignity, endeavoured to palliate inſtead of magnifying the crime: he remembered the former virtues and ſervices of Moſes, and ſaid, his temptations had been ſuch as might cauſe a truly great and conſtant man to err; he would not liſten to thoſe who appeared willing to aggravate the offence, but ſaid, he only wiſhed that all treaſon and ill fortune were fled with Moſes out of Epirus; he remembered the loyalty of thoſe [178] whom Moſes had tried to ſeduce, and rejoiced in the faith and love of his ſubjects.

Though Mahomet gladly received the fugitive Epirot, he was not at firſt without ſuſpicion; he knew the former ſtratagems of Scanderbeg and of Moſes; he dreaded a counterplot, and refuſed, for ſome time, to liſten to the ſolicitations of Moſes, who was eager to put himſelf at the head of the Turks, and invade his promiſed kingdom: after, however, having placed ſpies upon him, and having watched him himſelf, and diſcourſed with him upon the mode of conducting the war in Epirus, and finding him devoted to ambition, and eſtranged from Scanderbeg, he gave him the command of fifteen thouſand horſe, which was all Moſes deſired for this conqueſt, and ſent him againſt the foe that Mahomet moſt hated and moſt feared. The ſoldiers appointed for this ſervice were but half willing to go; they dreaded the fatal country of Epirus; they remembered how many Turks had gone there, never to return; they thought the preſent army far too ſmall, though ſuperior to that of Scanderbeg; and nothing gave them hopes of ſucceſs, but the great opinion they had of their commander.

Thus furniſhed, with a fine army, and every warlike appointment, Moſes ſet forward to carry deſolation into the land of his nativity, and to oppoſe his former deareſt friend, the ſovereign he once had loved and aſſiſted with all his powers. [179] Scanderbeg, who was informed of his route, met him upon the frontiers of his kingdom, determined to give him fair and open battle; for he knew Moſes was too intimately acquainted with the ſtratagems by which he had formerly beat the Turks, and likewiſe with the whole face of the country, to be ſubdued by policy. The battle was long and deſperate; both commanders did every thing that could be expected from their courage and experience; they fought with the moſt daring intrepidity, and directed with coolneſs and determined fortitude: at length the valour and fortune of Scanderbeg prevailed, the Turks were routed, and a terrible ſlaughter enſued. In vain did Moſes exhort them by his words and his example to continue the fight; the arms of Scanderbeg and the ſcimitars of his illuſtrious ſoldiers, who were an army of heroes, carried death at every ſtroke, and gave deciſive victory. Eleven thouſand of the Mahometans were left upon the field, and the reſt eſcaped, conducted by Moſes through mountainous paſſages, with which he was perfectly acquainted. This ſudden and entire defeat lowered his character ſo much in the opinion of the Turks, that they held him afterwards in the utmoſt deriſion. He could by no perſuaſions prevail on the remainder of his troops to accompany him in an attempt upon Dibra, where he ſtill hoped he had friends, and by whoſe help he thought ſtill to occaſion a revolt. Finding no remedy, he marched them back to Conſtantinople with a heavy heart and a dejected countenance, [180] deſpiſed by the Turks and threatened by the ſultan, who, had it not been for the advice of his viziers, who ſhewed him the impolicy of ſuch a meaſure, would have put him to death.

Of ſo little eſtimation was he now become in the Ottoman court, that his allowance was ſcarcely ſufficient for his maintenance; and though he appeared to bear his misfortunes patiently, he was inwardly ſo afflicted, that he could neither eat nor drink: the remembrance of his former treaſon was continually before his eyes, and the diſgrace he ſuffered at the Turkiſh court, tormented him with intolerable grief. He was conſcious of having done every thing in his power in the late battle; and the frowns of Mahomet, who eſtimated abilities by events only, filled him with a ſecret indignation. Sometimes he thought of eſcaping from Conſtantinople, and throwing himſelf upon the clemency of his prince, whom he knew to be of a noble and forgiving nature; but when he recollected the extent of his ingratitude, he was ſtruck with ſhame. However, after an afflicting ſtruggle of contending paſſions, he at laſt reſolved to ſubmit to the mercy of Scanderbeg, rather chooſing to ſtand the chance of ſuffering the deſert of his crimes in his own country, than to have the deriſion of a people he deſpiſed. He accordingly fled to Dibra. When the ſoldiers beheld their old governor thus deſpondent and repenting, they forgot the evils he had been the occaſion of, and moved with compaſſion, received him [181] with tears and friendly embraces, and brought him to Scanderbeg, who lay encamped not far from them. The manner in which Moſes approached him was awful and humiliating. He put his girdle round his neck, in token of his deſerts, as was the cuſtom of the Epirots, and with the moſt ſenſible contrition fell upon his knees before Scanderbeg, who was walking in the front of his tent. Scanderbeg, as benevolent in peace as terrible in war, raiſed him from the earth, embraced him, and, as a certain token of forgiveneſs in Epirus, kiſſed his cheek. He did not ſtop here; he cauſed all his lands and riches to be reſtored, re-inſtated him in all his former truſts and employments, and, by open proclamation, commanded that no man ſhould hereafter mention the treſpaſs.

After this Moſes ſerved Scanderbeg in his wars with ſtill greater zeal and aſſiduity, than he had formerly done; but happening in a ſkirmiſh, contrary to the advice of Scanderbeg, to purſue a flying party of Turks too far, he fell into an ambuſcade, was taken priſoner, carried to Conſtantinople, and, by the command of Mahomet, put to a cruel death; a fate which in all probability he would never have ſuffered, had he never been a Traitor.

MRS. EGERTON.

Poor Moſes! what a pity it is ſo great a man ſhould have left the paths of virtue.

HARRY EGERTON.
[182]

I am ſure, mamma, that Turk Mahomet was a cruel good for nothing man.

CHARLES EGERTON.

Ay, brother, but what a brave hero Scanderbeg was. I love him becauſe he was ſo courageous.

NANCY EGERTON.

And I love him becauſe he was ſo merciful.

CHARLES EGERTON.

Yes, ſiſter, ſo do I love him for that too; but if he had not been brave, you know he would not have had the power to be merciful.

MR. EGERTON.

But do not forget, my children, that the misfortunes of Moſes ſprang from his want of fortitude; had he poſſeſſed that, he would have deſpiſed the ambition which prompted him to renounce every tie of friendſhip, gratitude, and love for his country: he would have remembered that true greatneſs neither conſiſts in titles or power, but in an inflexible perſeverance in doing right. As a continuation of the ſame ſubject, we will read the tale of Amurath, a moſt ingenious, original, and ſublime fable; the moral of which is, that no man can be happy, till he has the reſolution to liſten attentively to the ſilent dictates of truth and reaſon.

[183]

CONSCIENCE, Or the STORY of AMURATH.

AMURATH, ſultan of the Eaſt, the judge of nations, the diſciple of adverſity, records the wonders of his life: let thoſe who preſumptuouſly queſtion the ways of Providence, bluſh in ſilence and be wiſe; let the proud be humble and obtain honour; and let the ſenſual reform and be happy.

The angel of Death cloſed the eyes of the ſultan Abradin my father, and his empire deſcended to me in the eighteenth year of my age. At firſt my mind was awed to humility, and ſoftened with grief; I was inſenſible to the ſplendor of dominion, I heard the addreſſes of flattery with diſguſt, and received the homage of dependant greatneſs with indifference. I had always regarded my father not only with love but reverence; and I was now perpetually recollecting inſtances of his tenderneſs, and reviewing the ſolemn ſcene, in which he recommended me to Heaven in imperfect language, and graſped my hand in the agonies of death.

One evening, after having concealed myſelf all day in his chamber, I viſited his grave: I proſtrated myſelf on his tomb; ſorrow overflowed my eyes, and devotion kindled in my boſom. I felt myſelf ſuddenly ſmitten on the ſhoulder as with a rod; and looking up, I perceived a man whoſe eyes were piercing as light, and his beard whiter than ſnow. "I [184] am, ſaid he, the Genius Syndarac, the friend of thy father Abradin, who was the fear of his enemies and the deſire of his people; whoſe ſmile diffuſed gladneſs like the luſtre of the morning, and whoſe frown was dreadful as the gathering of a tempeſt: reſign thyſelf to my influence, and thou ſhalt be like him." I bowed myſelf to the earth in token of gratitude and obedience, and he put a ring on the middle finger of my left-hand, in which I perceived a ruby of a deep colour and uncommon brightneſs. "This ring, ſaid he, ſhall mark out to thee the boundaries of good and evil; that, without weighing remote conſequences, thou mayeſt know the nature and tendency of every action. Be attentive therefore to the ſilent admonition: and when the circle of gold ſhall, by a ſudden contraction, preſs thy finger, and the ruby ſhall grow pale, deſiſt immediately from what thou ſhalt be doing, and mark down that action in thy memory, as a tranſgreſſion of the Rule of Right: keep my gift as a pledge of happineſs and honour, and take it not off for a moment." I received the ring with a ſenſe of obligation which I ſtrove to expreſs, and an aſtoniſhment that compelled me to be ſilent. The Genius perceived my confuſion, and turning from me with a ſmile of complacency, immediately diſappeared.

During the firſt moon I was ſo cautious and circumſpect, that my pleaſure in reflecting that my ring had not once indicated a fault, was leſſened by my doubts of its virtue. I applied myſelf to the public [185] buſineſs. My melancholy decreaſed, as my mind was diverted to other objects; and, leſt the youths of my court ſhould think that recreation was too long ſuſpended, I appointed to hunt the lion. But though I went out to the ſport rather to gratify others than myſelf, yet my uſual ardour returned in the field; I grew warm in the purſuit, I continued the chace, which was unſucceſsful, too long, and returned fatigued and diſappointed.

As I entered the ſeraglio, I was met by a little dog that had been my father's, who expreſſed his joy at my return, by jumping round me and endeavouring to reach my hand: but as I was not diſpoſed to receive his careſſes, I ſtruck him in the fretfulneſs of my diſpleaſure ſo ſevere a blow with my foot, that it left him ſcarce power to crawl away, and hide himſelf under a ſofa, in the corner of the apartment. At this moment I felt the ring preſs my finger, and looking upon the ruby, I perceived the glow of its colour abated.

I was at firſt ſtruck with ſurpriſe and regret; but ſurpriſe and regret quickly gave way to diſdain. "Shall not the ſultan Amurath, ſaid I, to whom a thouſand kings pay tribute, and in whoſe hand is the life of nations, ſhall not Amurath ſtrike a dog that offends him, without being reproached for having tranſgreſſed the Rule of Right? My ring again preſſed my finger, and the ruby became more pale: immediately the palace ſhook with a burſt of thunder, [186] and the Genius Syndarac again ſtood before me.

"Amurath, ſaid he, thou haſt offended againſt thy brother of the duſt; a being who, like thee, has received from the Almighty a capacity of pleaſure and pain: pleaſure which caprice is not allowed to ſuſpend, and pain which juſtice only has a right to inflict. If thou art juſtified by power in afflicting inferior beings, I ſhould be juſtified in afflicting thee: but my power yet ſpares thee, becauſe it is directed by the laws of ſovereign goodneſs, and becauſe thou mayeſt yet be reclaimed by admonition. But yield not to the impulſe of quick reſentment, nor indulge in cruelty the forwardneſs of diſguſt, leſt by the laws of goodneſs I be compelled to afflict thee; for he that ſcorns reproof, muſt be reformed by puniſhment, or loſt for ever."

At the preſence of Syndarac I was troubled, and his words covered me with confuſion: I fell proſtrate at his feet, and heard him pronounce with a milder accent, "Expect not henceforth that I ſhould anſwer the demands of arrogance, or gratify the curioſity of ſpeculation: confide in my friendſhip, and truſt implicitly to thy ring."

As the chace had produced ſo much infelicity I did not repeat it, but invited my nobles to a banquet, and entertained them with dancing and muſic. I had given leave that all ceremony ſhould be ſuſpended, and that the company ſhould treat me not as a ſovereign but an equal, becauſe the converſation [187] would otherwiſe be incumbered or reſtrained; and I encouraged others to pleaſantry, by indulging the luxuriancy of my own imagination. But tho' I affected to throw off the trappings of royalty, I had not ſufficient magnanimity to deſpiſe them. I enjoyed the voluntary deference which was paid me, and was ſecretly offended at Alibeg my viſier, who endeavoured to prevail upon the aſſembly to enjoy the liberty that had been given them, and was himſelf an example of the conduct that he recommended. I ſingled out as the object of my raillery, the man who alone deſerved my approbation: he believed my condeſcenſion to be ſincere, and imagining that he was ſecuring my favour, by that behaviour which had incurred my diſpleaſure; he was, therefore, grieved and confounded to perceive, that I laboured to render him ridiculous and contemptible: I enjoyed his pain, and was elated at my ſucceſs; but my attention was ſuddenly called to my ring, and I perceived the ruby change colour. I deſiſted for a moment; but ſome of my courtiers having diſcovered and ſeconded my intention, I felt my vanity and my reſentment gratified; I endeavoured to waſh away the remembrance of my ring with wine; my ſatire became more bitter, and Alibeg diſcovered yet greater diſtreſs. My ring again reproached me; but I ſtill perſevered. The viſier was at length rouſed to his defence; probably he had diſcovered and deſpiſed my weakneſs: his replies were ſo poignant, that I became outrageous, and deſcended from raillery to [188] invective: at length diſguiſing the anguiſh of his mind with a ſmile, "Amurath, ſaid he, if the Sultan ſhould know, that after having invited your friends to feſtivity and merriment, you had aſſumed this authority, and inſulted thoſe who were not aware that you diſdained to be treated with the familiarity of friendſhip, you would certainly fall under his diſpleaſure." The ſeverity of this ſarcaſm, which was extorted by long provocation from a man warmed with wine, ſtung me with intolerable rage; I ſtarted up, and ſpurning him from the table, was about to draw my poignard; when my attention was again called to my ring, and I perceived with ſome degree of regret, that the ruby had faded almoſt to a perfect white.

But, inſtead of being reſolved to be more watchful againſt whatever might bring me under this ſilent reproof, I comforted myſelf, that the Genius would no more alarm me with his preſence. The irregularities of my conduct increaſed almoſt imperceptibly, and the intimations of my ring became proportionably more frequent, though leſs forcible, till at laſt they were ſo familiar, that I ſcarce remarked when they were given and when ſuſpended.

It was ſoon diſcovered that I was pleaſed with ſervility; ſervility therefore was practiſed, and I rewarded it ſometimes with a penſion and ſometimes with a place. Thus the government of my kingdoms was left to petty tyrants, who oppreſſed the people to enrich themſelves. In the mean time, I filled my ſeraglio [189] with women, and abandoned myſelf to ſenſuality. But I had not yet ſtained my hands with blood, nor dared to ridicule the laws which I had neglected to fulfil.

My reſentment againſt Alibeg, however unjuſt, was inflexible, and terminated in the moſt perfect hatred; I degraded him from his office; but I ſtill kept him at Court, that I might imbitter his life by perpetual indignities, and practiſe againſt him new ſchemes of malevolence.

Selima, the daughter of this prince, had been intended by my father for my wife: and the marriage had been delayed only by his death: but the pleaſure and the dignity that Alibeg would derive from this alliance, had now changed my purpoſe. Yet ſuch was the beauty of Selima, that I gazed with deſire; and ſuch was her wit, that I liſtened with delight. I therefore reſolved, that I would, if poſſible, ſeduce her to voluntary proſtitution; and that when her beauty ſhould yield to the charm of variety, I would diſmiſs her with marks of diſgrace. But in this attempt I could not ſucceed; my ſolicitations were rejected, ſometimes with tears, and ſometimes with reproach. I became every day more wretched, by ſeeking to bring calamities on others; I conſidered my diſappointment as the triumph of a ſlave, whom I wiſhed but did not dare to deſtroy; and I regarded his daughter as the inſtrument of my diſhonour. Thus the tenderneſs, which before had ſhaken my purpoſe, was weakened; my deſire [190] of beauty became as ſelfiſh and as ſordid an appetite as my deſire of food; and, as I had no hope of obtaining the complete gratification of my luſt and my revenge, I determined to enjoy Selima by force, as the only expedient to alleviate my torment.

She reſided by my command in an apartment of the ſeraglio, and I entered her chamber at midnight by a private door, of which I had a key; but with inexpreſſible vexation I found it empty. To be thus diſappointed in my laſt attempt, at the very moment in which I thought I had inſured ſucceſs, diſtracted me with rage; and inſtead of returning to my chamber, and concealing my deſign, I called for her women. They ran in pale and trembling: I demanded the lady; they gazed at me aſtoniſhed and terrified, and then looking upon each other, ſtood ſilent: I repeated my demand with fury and execration, and to enforce it, called aloud for the miniſters of death they then fell proſtrate at my feet, and declared with one voice, that they knew not where ſhe was; that they had left her, when they were diſmiſſed for the night, ſitting on a ſofa penſive and alone; and that no perſon had ſince, to their knowledge, paſſed in or out of her apartment.

In this account, however incredible, they perſiſted without variation; and having filled the palace with alarm and confuſion, I was obliged to retire without gaining any intelligence by what means I had been baffled, or on whom to turn my reſentment. I reviewed [191] the tranſactions of the night with anguiſh and regret, and bewildered myſelf among the innumerable poſſibilities that might have produced my diſappointment. I remembered that the windows of Selima's apartments were open, and I imagined that ſhe might that way have eſcaped into the gardens of the ſeraglio. But why ſhould ſhe eſcape who had never been confined? If ſhe had deſigned to depart, ſhe might have departed by day. Had ſhe an aſſignation? And did ſhe intend to return, without been known to have been abſent? This ſuppoſition increaſed my torment; becauſe, if it were true, Selima had granted to my ſlave that which ſhe refuſed to me. But all theſe conjectures were uncertain, I determined to make her abſence a pretence to deſtroy her father.

In the morning I gave orders that her father ſhould be ſeized and brought before me; but while I was yet ſpeaking he entered, and proſtrating himſelf, thus anticipated my accuſation: "May the ſultan Amurath, in whoſe wrath the angel of death goes forth, rejoice for ever in the ſmiles of heaven! Let the wretched Alibeg periſh; but let my Lord remember Selima with mercy; let him diſmiſs the ſlave in whom he ceaſes to delight." I heard no more, but cried out, "Dareſt thou to mock me with a requeſt, to diſmiſs the daughter whom thou haſt ſtolen! Thou whoſe life, that has been ſo often forfeited, I have yet ſpared! Reſtore her within one hour, or affronted mercy ſhall give thee up."

[192]"Oh! ſaid he, let not the mighty ſovereign of the Eaſt, ſport with the miſery of the weak. If thou haſt doomed us to death, let us die together."

Though I was now convinced that Alibeg believed I had confined Selima, and decreed her death, yet I reſolved to perſiſt in requiring her at his hands; and therefore diſmiſſed him with a repetition of my command, to produce her within an hour, upon pain of death.

My ring, which during this ſeries of events, had given perpetual intimation of guilt, which was always diſregarded, now preſſed my finger ſo forcibly, that it gave me great pain, and compelled my notice. I immediately retired, and gave way to the diſcontent that ſwelled in my boſom. "How wretched a ſlave is Amurath to an inviſible tyrant! A being, whoſe malevolence or envy has reſtrained me in the exerciſe of my authority as a prince, and whoſe cunning has contrived perpetually to inſult me, by intimating that every action of my life is a crime! How long ſhall I groan under this intolerable oppreſſion? This accurſed ring is the badge and the inſtrument of my ſubjection and diſhonour: he who gave it, is now, perhaps, in ſome remote region of the air; perhaps he rolls ſome planet in its orbit, agitates the ſouthern ocean with a tempeſt, or ſhakes ſome diſtant region with an earthquake: but wherever he is, he has ſurely a more important employ than to watch my conduct. Perhaps he has [193] contrived this taliſman, only to reſtrain me from the enjoyment of ſome good, which he wiſhes to withhold; I feel that my deſires are controuled; and to gratify theſe deſires is to be happy." As I pronounced theſe words I drew off the ring, and threw it to the ground with diſdain and indignation: immediately the air grew dark; a cloud burſt in thunder over my head, and the eye of Syndarac was upon me. I ſtood before him motionleſs and ſilent: horror thrilled in my veins, and my hair ſtood upright. I had neither power to deprecate his anger, nor to confeſs my faults. In his countenance appeared a calm ſeverity, and he pronounced theſe words: "Thou haſt now, as far as is in thy power, thrown off humanity, and degraded thy being; thy form therefore ſhall no longer conceal thy nature, nor thy example render thy vices contagious." He then touched me with his rod, and, while the ſound of his voice yet vibrated in my ears, I found myſelf in the midſt of a deſart, not in the form of a man but of a monſter, with the fore parts of my body like a wolf, and the hinder parts like a goat. I was ſtill conſcious to every event of my life, and my intellectual powers were continued, though my paſſions were irritated to frenzy. I now rolled in the ſand in agonies not to be deſcribed; and now haſtily traverſed the deſert, impelled only by the vain deſire of flying from myſelf. I now bellowed with rage, and now howled in deſpair; this moment I breathed execrations [194] againſt the Genius, and the next reproached myſelf for having forfeited his friendſhip.

By this violent agitation of mind and body, the powers of both were ſoon exhauſted: I crawled into a den which I perceived near me, and immediately ſunk down in a ſtate of inſenſibility. I ſlept; but ſleep, inſtead of prolonging, put an end to this interval of quiet. The Genius ſtill terrified me with his preſence; I heard his ſentence repeated, and felt again all the horrors of my transformation. When I waked, I was not refreſhed: calamity, though it compelled me to admit ſlumber, can yet exclude reſt. But I was now rouſed with hunger; for hunger, like ſleep, is irreſiſtible.

I went out in ſearch of prey; and if I felt any allevation of miſery beſides the hope of ſatisfying my appetite, it was in the thought of tearing to pieces whatever I ſhould meet, and inflicting ſome part of the evil which I endured; for though I regretted my puniſhment, I did not repent of my crimes: and as I imagined Syndarac would now neither mitigate nor increaſe my ſufferings, I was not reſtrained, either by hope or fear, from indulging my diſpoſition to cruelty and revenge. But while I was thus meditating the deſtruction of others, I trembled, left by ſome ſtronger ſavage I ſhould be deſtroyed myſelf.

In the midſt of this variety of torment, I heard the cry of dogs, the trampling of horſes, and the ſhouts of the hunters; and ſuch is the love of life, [195] however wretched, that my heart ſunk within me at the ſound. To hide myſelf was impoſſible, and I was too much enfeebled either to fly or reſiſt. I ſtood ſtill till they come up. At firſt they gazed on me with wonder, and doubted whether they ſhould advance: but at length a ſlave threw a net over me, and I was dragged to the city.

I now entered the metropolis of my empire, amidſt the noiſe and tumult of the rabble, who the day before would have hid themſelves at my preſence. I heard the ſound of muſic at a diſtance: the heralds approached, and Alibeg was proclaimed in my ſtead. I was now deſerted by the multitude, whoſe curioſity was diverted by the pomp of his proceſſion; and was conducted to the place where other ſavages are kept, which cuſtom has conſidered as part of the regalia.

My keeper was a black ſlave, whom I did not remember ever to have ſeen, and in whom it would indeed have been a fatal preſumption to have ſtood before me. After he had given me food, and the vigour of nature was reſtored, he diſcovered in me ſuch tokens of ferocity, that he ſuffered me to faſt many hours before I was again fed. I was ſo enraged at this delay, that, forgetting my dependance, I roared horribly when he again approached me: ſo that he found it neceſſary to add blows to hunger, that he might gain ſuch an aſcendancy over me, as was ſuitable to his office. By this ſlave, therefore, I was alternately beaten and famiſhed, till the fierceneſs [196] of my diſpoſition being ſuppreſſed by fear and languor, a milder temper inſenſibly ſtole upon me; and a demeanour that was begun by conſtraint, was continued by habit.

I was now treated with leſs ſeverity, and ſtrove to expreſs ſomething like gratitude, that might encourage my keeper to yet greater kindneſs. His vanity was flattered by my ſubmiſſion; and, to ſhew as well his courage as the ſucceſs of his diſcipline, he ventured ſometimes to careſs me in the preſence of thoſe whoſe curioſity brought them to ſee me. A kind of friendſhip thus imperceptibly grew between us, and I felt ſome degree of the affection that I had feigned. It happened that a tyger which had been lately taken, brake one day into my den while my keeper was giving me my proviſion, and leaping upon him, would inſtantly have torn him to pieces, if I had not ſeized the ſavage by the throat, and dragged him to the ground: the ſlave preſently diſpatched him with his dagger, and turned about to careſs his deliverer; but ſtarting ſuddenly backward, he ſtood motionleſs with aſtoniſhment, perceiving that I was no longer a monſter, but a dog.

I was myſelf conſcious of the change which had again paſſed upon me, and leaping out of my den, eſcaped from my confinement. This transformation I conſidered as a reward for my fidelity, and was, perhaps, never more happy than in the firſt moments of my eſcape; for I reflected, that as a dog my liberty was not only reſtored, but inſured; I was [197] no longer ſuſpected of qualities which rendered me unfit for ſociety; I had ſome faint reſemblance of human virtue, which is not found in other animals, and therefore hoped to be more generally careſſed. But it was not long before this joy ſubſided in the remembrance of that dignity from which I had fallen, and from which I was ſtill at an immeaſurable diſtance. Yet I lifted up my heart in gratitude to that Power, who had once more brought me within the circle of nature. As a brute I was more thankful for a mitigation of puniſhment, than as a king I had been for offers of the higheſt happineſs and honour. And who, that is not taught by affliction, can juſtly eſtimate the bounties of Heaven?

As ſoon as the firſt tumult of my mind was paſt, I felt an irreſiſtible inclination once more to viſit the apartments of my ſeraglio. I placed myſelf behind an emir, whom I knew to have been the friend of Alibeg, and was permitted to follow him into the preſence. The perſons and the place, the retroſpection of my life which they produced, and the compariſon of what I was with what I had been, almoſt overwelmed me. I went unobſerved into the garden, and lay down under the ſhade of an almond-tree, that I might indulge thoſe reflections, which, though they oppreſſed me with melancholy, I did not wiſh to loſe.

I had not been long in this place, before a little dog, which I knew to be the ſame that I ſpurned from me when he careſſed me at my return from [198] hunting, came and fawned at my feet. My heart now ſmote me, and I ſaid to myſelf, "Doſt thou know me under this diſguiſe? Is thy fidelity to thy lord unſhaken? Cut off as I am from the converſe of mankind, haſt thou preſerved for me an affection, which I once ſo lightly eſteemed, and requited with evil? This forgetfulneſs of injury, and this ſteady friendſhip, are they leſs than human, or are they more?" I was not prevented by theſe reflections from returning thoſe careſſes that I received; and Alibeg, who juſt then entered the garden, took notice of me, and ordered that I ſhould not be turned out.

In the ſeraglio I ſoon learned, that a body, which was thought to be mine, was found dead in the chamber; and that Alibeg had been choſen to ſucceed me, by the unanimous voice of the people. But I gained no intelligence of Selima, whoſe apartment I found in the poſſeſſion of another, and for whom I had ſearched every part of the palace in vain. I became reſtleſs; every place was irkſome; a deſire to wander prevailed; and one evening I went out at the garden gate, and, travelling till midnight, I lay down at the foot of a ſycamore-tree, and ſlept.

In the morning, I beheld with ſurpriſe a wall of marble that ſeemed to reach to heaven, and gates that were ſculptured with every emblem of delight. Over the gate was inſcribed in letters of gold, "Within this wall liberty is unbounded, and felicity complete: nature is not oppreſſed by the tyranny [109] of religion, nor is pleaſure awed by the frown of virtue. The gate is obedient to thy wiſh, whoſoever thou art: enter therefore, and be happy."

When I read this inſcription, my boſom throbbed with tumultuous expectation: but my deſire to enter was repreſſed by the reflection that I had loſt the form, in which alone I could gratify the appetites of a man. Deſire and curioſity were notwithſtanding predominant: the door immediately opened inward; I entered, and it cloſed after me.

But my ears were now ſtunned with the diſſonance of riot, and my eye ſickened at the contorſions of miſery: diſeaſe was viſible in every countenance, however otherwiſe impreſſed with the character of rage, of drunkenneſs, or of luſt. Rape and murder, revelling and ſtrife, filled every ſtreet and every dwelling.

As my retreat was cut off, I went forward with timidity and circumſpection; for I imagined, that I could no otherwiſe eſcape injury, than by eluding the notice of wretches, whoſe propenſity to ill was reſtrained by no law; and I perceived too late, that to puniſh vice is to promote happineſs.

It was now evening; and that I might paſs the night in greater ſecurity, I quitted the public way, and perceiving a houſe that was encircled by a mote, I ſwam over to it, and choſe an obſcure corner of the area for my aſylum. I heard from within the ſound of dancing and muſic: but after a ſhort interval, was alarmed with the menaces of rage, the [200] ſhrieks of terror, and the wailings of diſtreſs. The window of the banqueting room flew open, and ſome veniſon was thrown out which fell juſt at my feet. As I had eaten nothing ſince my departure from the ſeraglio, I regarded this as a fortunate accident; and after the pleaſure of an unexpected repaſt, I again lay down in expectation of the morning, with hope and fear: but in a ſhort time many perſons ruſhed from the houſe with lights, and ſeemed ſolicitous to gather up the veniſon which had been thrown out; but not being able to find it, and at the ſame time perceiving me, they judged I had devoured it. I was immediately ſeized and led into the houſe: but as I could not diſcover, that I was the object either of malignity or kindneſs, I was in doubt what would be the iſſue of the event. It was not long before this doubt was ſolved; for I ſoon learned from the diſcourſe of thoſe about me, that I was ſuſpected to have eaten poiſon which had been intended for another, and was ſecured, that the effect might either remove or confirm the ſuſpicion. As it was not expected that the poiſon would immediately operate, I was locked up in the room by myſelf, where I reflected upon the cauſe and event of my confinement with inexpreſſible anguiſh, anxiety, and terror.

In this gloomy interval, a ſudden light ſhone round me, and I found myſelf once more in the preſence of the genius; I crawled towards him trembling and confounded, but not utterly without hope. [201] "Yet a few moments, ſaid he, and the angel of death ſhall teach thee, that the wants of nature cannot be ſupplied with ſafety, where the inordinate appetites of vice are not reſtrained. Thy hunger required food: but the luſt and revenge of others have given thee poiſon." My blood grew chill as he ſpake, I diſcovered and abhorred my folly: but while I wiſhed to expreſs my contrition, I fell down in an agony; my eyes failed me, I ſhivered, was convulſed, and expired.

That ſpark of immaterial fire which no violence can quench, roſe up from the duſt which had thus been reſtored to the earth, and now animated the form of a dove. On this new ſtate of exiſtence I entered with inexpreſſible delight; I imagined that my wings were not only a pledge of ſafety, but of the favour of Syndarac, whom I was now more than ever ſolicitous to pleaſe. I flew immediately from the window, and turning to the wall through which I had entered, I endeavoured to riſe above it, that I might quit for ever a place in which guilt and wretchedneſs were complicated in every object, and which I now deteſted as much as before I had deſired. But over this region a ſulphureous vapour hovered like a thick cloud, which I had no ſooner entered, than I fell down panting for breath, and had ſcarce ſtrength to keep my wings ſufficiently extended to break my fall. It was now midnight, and I alighted near the mouth of a cave, in which I thought there appeared ſome faint glimmerings of [202] light. Into this place I entered without much apprehenſion; as it ſeemed rather to be the retreat of Penitence, than the receſs of Luxury: but left the noiſe of my wings ſhould diſcover me to any hateful or miſchievous inhabitant of this gloomy ſolitude, I entered in ſilence and upon my feet. As I went forward, the cave grew wider; and by the light of a lamp which was ſuſpended from the roof, I diſcovered a hermit liſtening to a young lady, who ſeemed to be greatly affected with the events which ſhe was relating. Of the hermit I had no knowledge; but the lady I diſcerned to be Selima. I was ſtruck with amazement at this diſcovery; I remembered with the deepeſt contrition my attempts upon her virtue, and I now ſecretly rejoiced that ſhe had rendered them ineffectual: I watched her lips with the utmoſt impatience of curioſity, and ſhe continued her narrative.

"I was ſitting on a ſofa one evening after I had been careſſed by Amurath, and my imagination kindled as I muſed. Why, ſaid I aloud, ſhould I give up the delights of love with the ſplendor of royalty? Since the preſumption of my father has prevented my marriage, why ſhould I not accept the bleſſings that are ſtill offered? Why is deſire reſtrained by the dread of ſhame? And why is the pride of virtue offended by the ſoftneſs of nature? Immediately a thick cloud ſurrounded me; I felt myſelf lifted up and conveyed through the air with incredible rapidity. I deſcended, the cloud diſſipated, [203] and I found myſelf ſitting in an alcove, by the ſide of a canal that encircled a ſtately edifice and a ſpacious garden. I ſaw many perſons paſs along; but diſcovered in all either ſomething diſſolute or wretched, ſomething that alarmed my fears or excited my pity. I ſuddenly perceived many men with their ſwords drawn, contending for a woman, who was forced along irreſiſtibly by the crowd, which moved directly towards the place in which I was ſitting. I was terrified, and looked round me with eagerneſs to ſee where I could retreat for ſafety. A perſon richly dreſſed perceived my diſtreſs, and invited me into the houſe which the canal ſurrounded. Of this invitation I haſtily accepted with gratitude and joy: but I ſoon remarked ſeveral incidents, which filled me with new perplexity and apprehenſion. I was welcomed to a place, in which infamy and honour were equally unknown; where every wiſh was indulged without the violation of any law, and where the will was therefore determined only by appetite. I was preſently ſurrounded by women, whoſe behaviour covered me with bluſhes; and though I rejected the careſſes of the perſon into whoſe power I was delivered, yet they became jealous of the diſtinction with which he treated me. My expoſtulations were not heard, and my tears were treated with merriment: preparations were made for revelling and jollity; I was invited to join the dance, and upon my refuſal, I was entertained with muſic. In this dreadful ſituation, I ſighed thus [204] to myſelf: "How ſevere is that juſtice which tranſports thoſe who form licentious wiſhes, to a ſociety in which they are indulged without reſtraint! Who ſhall deliver me from the effects of my own folly? Who ſhall defend me againſt the vices of others?" At this moment I was thus encouraged by the voice of ſome inviſible being: "The friends of Virtue are mighty; reject not their protection, and thou art ſafe." As I renounced the preſumptuous wiſh which had once polluted my mind, I exulted in this intimation with an aſſurance of relief, and when ſupper was ſet before me, I ſuffered the principal lady to ſerve me with ſome veniſon; but the friendly voice having warned me that it was poiſoned, I fell back in my ſeat, and turned pale: the lady enquired earneſtly what had diſordered me; but inſtead of making a reply, I threw the veniſon from the window, and declared that ſhe had intended my death. The maſter of the table, who perceived the lady to whom I ſpoke change countenance, was at once convinced, that ſhe had indeed attempted to poiſon me, to preſerve that intereſt which, as a rival, ſhe feared I ſhould ſubvert. He roſe up in a rage, and commanded the veniſon to be produced; a dog that was ſuppoſed to have eaten it was brought in: but before the event could be known, the tumult was become general; and my rival, after having ſuddenly ſtabbed her patron, plunged the ſame poignard in her own boſom.

[205]"In the midſt of this confuſion, I found means to eſcape, and wandered through the city in ſearch of ſome obſcure receſs, where, if I received not the aſſiſtance which I hoped, death at laſt might ſecure my perſon from violence, and cloſe mine eyes on thoſe ſcenes, which, wherever I turned, filled me not only with diſguſt but with horror. By that benevolent power, who, as a preſervative from miſery, has placed in us a ſecret and irreſiſtible diſapprobation of vice, my feet have been directed to thee, whoſe virtue has participated in my diſtreſs, and whoſe wiſdom may effect my deliverance."

I gazed upon Selima, while I thus learned the ardor of that affection which I had abuſed, with ſentiments that can never be conceived but when they are felt. I was touched with the moſt bitter remorſe for having produced one wiſh that could ſtain ſo amiable a mind; and abhorred myſelf for having uſed the power which I derived from her tenderneſs, to effect her deſtruction. My fondneſs was not leſs ardent, but it was more chaſte and tender; deſire was not extinguiſhed, but it was almoſt abſorbed in eſteem. I felt a paſſion, to which, till now, I had been a ſtranger; and the moment love was kindled in my breaſt, I reſumed the form proper to the nature in which alone it can ſubſiſt, and Selima beheld Amurath at her feet. At my ſudden and unexpected appearance, the colour faded from her cheeks, the powers of life were ſuſpended, and ſhe ſunk into my arms. I claſped her to my breaſt, and [206] looking towards the hermit for his aſſiſtance, I beheld in his ſtead the friendly genius, who had taught me happineſs by affliction. At the ſame inſtant Selima recovered. "Ariſe, ſaid Syndarac, and look round." We looked round; the darkneſs was ſuddenly diſſipated, and we perceived ourſelves in the road to Golconda, and the ſpires of the city ſparkling before us. "Go, ſaid he, Amurath, henceforth the huſband of Selima, and the father of thy people! I have revealed thy ſtory to Alibeg in a viſion; he expects thy return, and the chariots are come out to meet thee. Go, and I will proclaim before thee, Amurath the Sultan of the Eaſt, the Judge of Nations, the Taught of Heaven; Amurath, whoſe ring is equal to the ring of Solomon, returns to reign with wiſdom, and diffuſe felicity." I now lifted up my eyes, and beheld the chariots coming forward. We were received by Alibeg with ſentiments which could not be uttered, and by the people with the loudeſt acclamation: Syndarac proclaimed our return in thunder, that was heard thro' all the nations of my empire; and has prolonged my reign in proſperity and peace.

For the world I have written, and by the world let what I write be remembered: for to none who hear of the Ring of Amurath, ſhall its influence be wanting. Of this, is not thy heart a witneſs, thou whoſe eye drinks inſtruction from my pen? Haſt thou' not a monitor who reproaches thee in ſecret when thy foot deviates from the path of virtue? [207] Neglect not the firſt whiſpers of this friend to thy ſoul; it is the voice of a greater than Syndarac, to reſiſt whoſe influence, is to invite deſtruction.

DIALOGUE IX.

MRS. EGERTON.

LET us now, my children, relax a little from the ſevere virtues and too daring crimes of men, and take a view of the conduct of ſome women, who have been remarkable, by their behaviour, under circumſtances of oppreſſion, peril, and temptation.

MR. EGERTON.

True, my dear, it will give variety. We will begin, if you pleaſe, with the ſtory of Count Alberti. I ſhall forbear to ſay any thing beforehand of the moral it inculcates, becauſe I would not deſtroy the effect the relation will probably have on your ſenſibility.

FIDELITY and CONJUGAL AFFECTION; or the Story of Count ALBERTI, as related by Mr. EVERARD, in Letters to his Friend. From the Italian.

Dear Sir,

THE pleaſure I always take in writing to you, wherever I am and whatever doing, in ſome meaſure [208] diſpels my preſent uneaſineſs; an uneaſineſs, cauſed at once by the diſagreeable aſpect of every thing round me, and the more diſagreeable circumſtances of the Count Alberti, with whom you were once acquainted. You remember him one of the gayeſt, moſt agreeable perſons at the court of Vienna, at once the example of men, and the favourite of the fair ſex. I often heard you repeat his name with eſteem, as one of the few that did honour to the preſent age, as poſſeſſed of generoſity and pity in the higheſt degree, as one who made no other uſe of fortune but to alleviate the diſtreſſes of mankind. This gentleman, ſir, I wiſh I could ſay is now no more; yet too, unhappily for him, he exiſts but in a ſituation more terrible than the moſt gloomy imagination can conceive. After paſſing through ſeveral parts of the Alps, and having viſited Germany, I thought I could not well return home without viſiting the quickſilver mines at Idria, and ſeeing thoſe dreadful ſubterraneous caverns, where thouſands are condemned to reſide, ſhut out from all hopes of ever ſeeing the chearful light of the ſun, and obliged to toil out a miſerable life, under the whips of impious taſk-maſters. Imagine to yourſelf a hole on one ſide of a mountain, of about five yards over; down this you are conveyed in a kind of bucket, more than a hundred fathom, the proſpect growing ſtill more gloomy, yet ſtill widening as you deſcend. At length, after ſwinging in terrible ſuſpence for ſome time in this precarious ſituation, [209] you reach the bottom, and tread on the ground, which, by its hollow ſound under your feet, and the reverberations of the echo, ſeems thundering at every ſtep you take. In this gloomy and frightful ſolitude, you are aſſiſted by the feeble gleam of lamps, here and there diſpoſed, ſo as that the wretched inhabitants of theſe manſions can go from one part to another, without a guide. And yet let me aſſure you, that though they, by cuſtom, could ſee objects diſtinctly by theſe lights, I could ſcarce diſcern, for ſome time, any thing, not even the perſon who accompanied me, to ſhew theſe ſcenes of horror. From this deſcription, I preſume, you have but a diſagreeable idea of the place, yet let me aſſure you that it is a palace, if we compare the habitation with the inhabitants. Such wretches my eyes never before beheld. The blackneſs of their viſages ſerves to conceal the horrid paleneſs, cauſed by the noxious qualities of the mineral they are employed in procuring. As they in general conſiſt of malefactors condemned for life to this taſk, they are fed at the public expence; but conſume little proviſion, for they loſe their appetites in a ſhort time, and commonly in about two years expire, from a total contraction of all the joints of the body. In this horrid manſion I walked after my guide for ſome time, pondering on the ſtrange tyranny and avarice of mankind, when I was accoſted by a voice behind, calling me by my name, and enquiring after my health with the moſt cordial affection. [210] I turned, and ſaw a creature all black and hideous, who approached me, and with a moſt piteous accent crying, "Ah, Mr. Everard, do not you know me?" Good God! what was my ſurprize, when, through the veil of his wretchedneſs, I diſcovered the features of my old and dear friend Alberti. I flew to him with affection, and, after a tear of condolence, aſked how he came there? To this he replied, that having fought a duel with a general of the Auſtrian infantry, againſt the emperor's command, and having left him for dead, he was obliged to fly into one of the foreſts of Iſtria, where he was firſt taken, and afterwards ſheltered by ſome banditti, who had long infeſted that quarter. With theſe he had lived for nine months, till by a cloſe inveſtiture of the place in which they were concealed, and after a very obſtinate reſiſtance, in which the greater part of them were killed, he was taken and carried to Vienna, in order to be broke alive upon the wheel. However, upon arriving at the capital, he was quickly known, and ſeveral of the aſſociates of his accuſation and danger witneſſing his innocence, his puniſhment of the rack was changed into that of perpetual confinement and labour in the mines of Idria, a ſentence, in my opinion, a thouſand times worſe than death. As Alberti was giving me this account, a young woman who ſeemed to be born for better fortune, came up to him: the dreadful ſituation ſhe was in was not able to deſtroy her beauty, and even in this [211] ſcene of wretchedneſs, ſhe ſeemed to have charms to grace the moſt brilliant aſſembly. This lady was in fact daughter to one of the firſt families of Germany; and having tried every means to procure her lover's pardon without effect, at laſt reſolved to ſhare thoſe miſeries, which ſhe could not relieve. With him ſhe accordingly deſcended into theſe manſions, from whence few of the living return; with him ſhe was contented to live, forgetting the gaieties of life; with him to toil, deſpiſing the ſplendor of opulence; ſatisfied with the conſciouſneſs of her own conſtancy.

I am, dear Sir, Your's, &c.
MISS FORRESTER.

Indeed, madam, this is a very melancholy ſtory.

MRS. EGERTON.

Yes, my dear Miſs Forreſter, it is a melancholy ſtory, and what is worſe, it is a fact and not a novel.

NANCY EGERTON.

Well, but mamma, here is another letter that will, perhaps, tell us ſomething more about theſe unhappy lovers.

MR. EGERTON.

It will, my dear. The next letter is the ſequel.

[212]

LETTER II.

Dear Sir,

MY laſt to you was expreſſive, and, perhaps, too much ſo, of the gloomy ſtate of my mind. The deplorable ſituation of the worthy man deſcribed in it, was enough to add double horror to the hideous manſion. At preſent, however, I have the happiness of informing you, that I was ſpectator of the moſt affecting ſcene ever beheld. Nine days after I had written my laſt, a perſon came poſt from Vienna to the little village, near the mouth of the great Shaft. He was ſoon after followed by a ſecond, and then by a third. The enquiry was after the unfortunate count. Happening to overhear the demand, I gave them the neceſſary information. Two of theſe were the brother and couſin of the lady, the third was an intimate friend and fellow-ſoldier to the count. They came with his pardon, which had been procured by the general with whom the duel had been fought, and who was perfectly recovered from his wounds. I led them with an expedition of joy down to his dreary abode, preſented to him his friends, and informed him of the happy change in his circumſtances. It would be impoſſible to deſcribe the joy that brightened upon his grief-worn countenance, nor was the young lady's emotion leſs vivid at ſeeing her friends, and hearing of her huſband's freedom. Some hours [213] were employed in repairing the appearance of this faithful couple; nor could I, without a tear, behold him taking leave of the wretched companions of his former toil. To one he gave his mattock, to another his working cloaths, to a third his little houſhold utenſils, ſuch as had been neceſſary to him in that ſituation. We ſoon emerged from the mine, when he once again reviſited the light of the ſun, which he had totally deſpaired of again ſeeing. A poſt-chaiſe and four was ready the next morning to take them to Vienna, where, as I am informed by a letter from himſelf, they arrived. The Empreſs has again taken him into favour; his fortune and rank are reſtored, and he and his fair partner have now the pleaſing ſatisfaction of feeling happineſs with double reliſh, as they once knew what it was to be truly miſerable.

I am, dear Sir, Your's, &c.
MR. EGERTON.

I am happy, methinks, to ſee you all ſo much affected.

NANCY EGERTON.

Oh dear, ſir, this is a charming ſtory.

MRS EGERTON.

I confeſs it has given me great pleaſure, particularly in one circumſtance, which, perhaps, you were not all equally attentive to.

NANCY EGERTON.
[214]

What was that, mamma?

MRS. EGERTON.

Why, my dear, from the firſt letter, I was ſecretly very much diſturbed, becauſe I had reaſon to fear that the young lady, whoſe conjugal fidelity I am ſure you all admire, was not the wife of Count Alberti. How happy am I to find my ſuſpicions were ill-founded! How reſpectable, how elevated was the conduct of that lady! Oh, my children, I would rather a thouſand times ſee you, like her, devoted martyrs to duty and virtue, than to behold you emperors and queens.

MR. EGERTON.

The amiable virtues of this lady cannot certainly be either ſpoken or thought of too highly. But this is not all, children. As I moſt earneſtly deſire you to imitate ſuch bright examples of goodneſs, ſo likewiſe I would wiſh you to emulate thoſe who, joining induſtry to genius, have become famous by their talents. To be active is ſo natural and ſo neceſſary to us, that we cannot be idle and be happy. Beſides, it is our indiſpenſible duty, while we live in ſociety, to contribute, by every means in our power, to the benefit of that ſociety. The peaſant who tills the earth that we may eat, and the artizan who labours for our convenience, are truly reſpectable citizens; much, more ſo, my [215] children, than thoſe weak, narrow-minded perſons, who, from the induſtry, abilities, or rapacity of their forefathers, find themſelves in the poſſeſſion of accidental wealth and unmerited honour. Whoever ſuppoſes that his power, his riches, or his rank, exempt him from labouring to promote the general good, becomes uſeleſs, contemptible, and vicious. Such adventitious aids give the means of becoming more eminently beneficial; and no one can be a good or a worthy man, who does not aſſiduouſly employ the advantages he poſſeſſes for the public good. I am tranſported almoſt beyond myſelf, my children, when I ſpeak or think on this ſubject. Patriotiſm, that is, the love not only of that particular country where we were born, or exiſt, but of all countries and of all men, is ſuch a noble, ſuch a ſuperb virtue, that I would wiſh you all to encounter any danger, to brave any torture, rather than betray the cauſe of humanity, of liberty, and the rights of men. To underſtand theſe rights, to make them known, and to guard them, with a determined hand, ſacred from violation, ſhould be the inexorable reſolution of thoſe, who, by their opulence, have the leiſure to ſtudy, and the means to protect.

But I have been inſenſibly led from the ſubject I intended to introduce; which was an account of Louiſa Darbach, a woman famous for her genius. Your mother wiſhed to give you more examples of conſpicuous women. However, as I am advanced [216] thus far in deſcribing a duty ſo eſſential to the character of a good citizen, as that of true patriotiſm, I am ſure I ſhall have her approbation of my endeavours to enforce this duty.

Numerous are the examples which both antient and modern hiſtory furniſh of this virtue: from theſe I will ſelect two, which, in my opinion, are conſpicuouſly great. The firſt is the behaviour of Regulus, a man famous for the purity of his intentions and the integrity of his heart.

Regulus was ſuppoſed to be the beſt and moſt conſummate warrior that Rome could, in that age, produce. He was profeſſedly frugal and ſevere, but leſs auſtere to others than to himſelf; he only reprehended thoſe faults, which he would have died rather than have committed. His patriotiſm was ſtill greater than his temperance: all the private paſſions ſeemed extinguiſhed in him, or they were all ſwallowed up in one great ruling affection, the love of his country. In the firſt Punic war, he and Manlius were ſent by the Romans into Africa, to invade the territories of the Carthaginians, with the largeſt fleet that had ever failed from an Italian port: this was met and engaged by another of the enemy's, equally, if not more, powerful. The battle was obſtinate and deſperate; the Roman general, however, triumphed; he took fifty-four of the enemy's ſhips, and diſperſed the reſt. The conſequence was, an immediate deſcent upon the coaſt of Africa, [217] and the capture of the city Clupea, together with twenty thouſand men, who were made priſoners of war. Manlius was then remanded back to Italy by the ſenate, and Regulus ordered to remain and proſecute his victories in Africa; and when his conſulſhip was expired, he was continued general under the title of Proconſul. Happy in the approbation of his country, Regulus perſevered in his efforts and his ſucceſſes, and led his forces along the banks of the river Bagrada.

And here an incident happened, which, as it was very extraordinary, I ſhall ſtop to relate. While he was waiting the approach of the Carthaginians, a ſerpent of enormous ſize attacked his men as they went for water, and ſeemed as if reſolved to guard the banks of the river. It was a hundred and twenty feet long, with ſcales impenetrable to any weapon. Some of the boldeſt troops went up at firſt to oppoſe its fury, but they ſoon fell victims to their raſhneſs, being either killed by its devouring jaws, or cruſhed to pieces by the windings of its tail. The poiſonous vapour that iſſued from it, made it ſtill more formidable; and the men were ſo much terrified at its appearance, that they aſſerted they would much more joyfully face the whole Carthaginian army. For ſome time it ſeemed uncertain which ſhould remain maſters of the river, as from the hardneſs of its ſcales no ordinary efforts could drive it away. At laſt Regulus was obliged to make uſe of the machines employed in battering [218] down the walls of cities. Notwithſtanding this, the ſerpent, for a long time, withſtood all his efforts, and deſtroyed numbers of his men; but at length a very large ſtone, which was flung from an engine, happened to break its ſpine, and deſtroyed its motion. By theſe means the ſoldiers ſurrounded and killed it. Regulus, not leſs pleaſed with his victory than if he had gained a battle, ordered its ſkin to be ſent to Rome, where it continued to be ſeen in the time of Pliny.

After this he engaged the Carthaginians, defeated and cut off ſome of their beſt troops, and took above eighty of their towns; while they, in deſpair, were obliged to ſend to Lacedemon for a general capable of oppoſing Regulus; at the ſame time diſpatching ſome of the principal men of the ſtate to him, to ſue for a peace.

The Roman general had long wiſhed to terminate the war, and go back to his native country. He had even ſent to the ſenate ſome time before, demanding a ſucceſſor, and leave to return, in conſequence of an account he had received, informing him that his ſteward who cultivated his farm, which conſiſted but of ſeven acres, was dead, and that his ſervant had ſtolen all the inſtruments of huſbandry that were uſed in its cultivation. He informed the ſenate, that while he was leading on the armies of the ſtate, his wife and children were in danger of wanting bread, and that his little domeſtic affairs required his preſence at home. The ſenate upon [219] this ordered his wife and children a ſufficient maintenance, furniſhed his farm with proper inſtruments of huſbandry, at the public expence, and gave him orders to continue at the head of the army.

The negociation for peace between the nations not ſucceeding, the Carthaginians committed the war to the care of Xantippus, the Spartan general, a man of conſummate knowledge in the art of war: and Regulus was at laſt, after all his victories, defeated and taken priſoner. And now was the time in which the virtues of Regulus ſhone forth with ſtill ſuperior luſtre. The affairs of the Carthaginians after this battle became more ſucceſsful, but ſtill they were deſirous of a peace, and made new propoſals, not doubting but they ſhould obtain better terms than thoſe inſiſted on before by the Romans. They therefore reſolved to ſend to Rome to accompliſh this buſineſs, or at leaſt to procure an exchange of priſoners. For this purpoſe they ſuppoſed that Regulus, whom they had now for four years kept in a dungeon, confined and chained, would be a proper ſolicitor. It was expected that, being wearied with impriſonment and bondage, he would gladly endeavour to perſuade his countrymen to a diſcontinuance of the war, which only prolonged his captivity. He was accordingly ſent, with their ambaſſadors, to Rome, but with a promiſe, previouſly exacted from him, to return in caſe of being unſucceſsful. He was even given to underſtand, [220] that his life depended upon the ſucceſs of his expedition.

When this old general, together with the ambaſſadors of Carthage, approached Rome, numbers of his friends came out to meet him, and congratulate his return. Their acclamations reſounded through the city, but Regulus refuſed, with ſettled melancholy, to enter the gates. It was in vain that he was intreated, on every ſide, to viſit once more his little dwelling, and ſhare in that joy which his return had inſpired. He perſiſted in ſaying, that he was now but a ſlave belonging to the Carthaginians, and unfit to partake in the liberal honours of his country. The ſenate aſſembling without the walls, as uſual, to give audience to the ambaſſadors, Regulus opened his commiſſion, as he had been directed by the Carthaginian counſel, and their ambaſſadors ſeconded his propoſals. The ſenate were, by this time, themſelves weary of a war which had been protracted above eight years, and were no way diſinclinable to peace. It ſeemed the general opinion, that the enmity between the two ſtates had continued too long; and that no terms ſhould be refuſed, which might give not only reſt to the two nations, but liberty to an old brave general, whom the people reverenced and loved. It only remained for Regulus himſelf to give his opinion, who, when it came to his turn to ſpeak, to the ſurprize of all the world, gave his voice for continuing the war. He aſſured the ſenate, that the Carthaginian reſources [221] were now almoſt exhauſted, the populace harraſſed out with fatigues, and their nobles with contention: that all their beſt generals were priſoners with the Romans, while Carthage had none but the refuſe of the Roman army: that not only the intereſt of Rome, but its honour was alſo concerned in continuing the war, for their anceſtors had never made peace till they were victorious.

So unexpected an advice not a little diſturbed the ſenate: they ſaw the juſtice of his opinion, but they alſo ſaw the danger he incurred by giving it: they ſeemed entirely ſatisfied of the expediency of prolonging the war; their only obſtacle was, how to ſecure the ſafety of him who had adviſed its continuance: they pitied as well as admired a man who had uſed ſuch eloquence againſt his private intereſt, and could not conclude upon a meaſure which was to terminate in his ruin. Regulus, however, ſoon relieved their embarraſſment, by breaking off the treaty, and riſing in order to return to his bonds and confinement. It was in vain that the ſenate and all his deareſt friends intreated his ſtay; he ſtill refuſed their ſolicitations. Maria, his wife, with her little children, filled the city with her lamentations, and vainly implored to be permitted to ſee him: he ſtill obſtinately perſiſted in keeping his promiſe; and though ſufficiently apprized of the torture's that awaited his return, without embracing his family, or taking leave of his friends, he departed, with the ambaſſadors, for Carthage.

[222]When the Carthaginians were informed of their ill-ſucceſs, and the reaſon of it, by their ambaſſadors, their rage and diſappointment rendered them inexorably furious; and Regulus died, as he expected, by the implacable hand of ſtudied torment and lingering cruelty.

MISS FORRESTER.

Good Heavens! I pity his wife and children!

CHARLES.

I admire his reſolution.

WILLIAM.

And I almoſt envy his fame. He will never be forgotten. I may die, and, perhaps, in a very little time, nobody will remember I ever lived.

MR. EGERTON.

I approve your emulative ſpirit, William, but beware that it does not take an improper turn. 'Twere ſupreme happineſs rather to ſink into eternal oblivion, than to be remembered for our vices or our crimes. There is another thing, my children, which I wiſh you to remark; the patriotiſm of Regulus extended only to his own country; it was not that universal philanthropy which I am endeavouring to inculcate. The love of our country ſhould make us freely devote our lives and fortunes [223] to protect it from the tyranny of ambitious magiſtrates, or the aſſaults of rival nations; but it ſhould never inſtigate that partial and oppreſſive ſpirit, which luſts for dominion, and triumphs only to extirpate. The advice of Scipio Naſſica was not only humane, but it was wiſe. Cato, the cenſor, and many other Roman ſenators were perpetually engaging the people to deſtroy Charthage. Scipio bade them beware of that pernicious counſel; "eraſe Carthage, ſaid he, and where ſhall Rome find a rival? her military diſcipline muſt either become feeble by diſuſe, or be exerciſed to her own deſtruction." This prophecy was afterwards too fatally fulfilled.

WILLIAM.

Indeed, Sir, I think the deſtruction of Carthage reflects infamy on the Romans, inſtead of glory.

MR. EGERTON.

Ay, William, it is one among the many black and indelible ſpots in the annals of human nature.

I ſhall now, my children, introduce a patriot to you, ſuperior even to Regulus, though never likely to be ſo celebrated; a poor Armenian, who beheld the wiſdom, knowledge, and arts of the Europeans, and the comparative ignorance of his own country, with an anxiety of patriotiſm that raiſes him to the very firſt rank of men. But I will not attempt to give you the character of my hero; I am unequal [224] to the taſk; his own letters will do it more effectually than the eloquence of an angel. He was a foreigner, and there are conſequently defects in his ſtile, which the intent and ſpirit of them will induce you to overlook. His firſt letter was addreſſed to the Earl, now Duke, of Northumberland, who patronized and recommended him to the late Duke of Cumberland, by whom he was ſent to ſtudy in the academy at Woolwich; his ſecond to Prince Heraclius, his ſovereign. Now read them, William; and learn, my ſons, endeavour, my children, to catch a portion of his divine ſpirit.

PATRIOTISM: Or the Letters of AMEEN, the Armenian.

LETTER I.
My Lord,

I preſent you the ſpecimen of my writing I promiſed. It is too bold, I am afraid, to make myſelf the ſubject, when I write for your lordſhip; but forgive, my lord, the language of a ſtranger: I have been in too low condition to know how to write proper to your lordſhip; but you ſpeak to me more kind and humble than mean people; ſo I am encouraged. I have very good deſigns, and I have ſuffered very much hardſhips for them. I think your lordſhip will not deſpiſe a perſon in a mean condition, for thinking of ſomething more than livelihood; I have, with a good will, thrown behind me a very eaſy livelihood for this [225] condition, mean as it is; and I am not troubled if I can carry my point at laſt. As long as I can remember my own family, and I remember my great grandfathers, they have been always ſoldiers, and always did remember Chriſt, though they were torn out of their country of Armenia, by Shaw Abbas, and planted in Hamadan. After their captivity they were ſoldiers likewiſe. Two of my uncles did ſpill their blood in the ſervice of Kouly Kan: my father was his ſlave for many years; but he was at laſt forced to fly into India, becauſe this tyrant had ſharpened his battle-ax againſt his own army more than upon his enemies. Soon after my father ſent for me to Calcutta, in Bengal, where he is a merchant. There I ſaw the fort of Europeans, and the ſoldiers exerciſe, and the ſhipping, and that they were dexterous and perfect in all things. Then I grieved within myſelf for my religion and my country, that we were in ſlavery and ignorance, like Jews, vagabonds over the earth; and I ſpoke to my father upon all this; becauſe our fathers did not fight for their country; but I underſtood that the Armenians in the mountains were free, and handled arms from their childhood; and that thoſe under Patriarch, who are ſubject to the Turks and Perſians, did not want courage; but they are all ignorant, and fight only with a wild and natural fierceness, and ſo they have no order, and do nothing but like robbers. And I reſolved I would go to Europe to learn art military, and other ſciences [226] to aſſiſt that art; and I was ſure that if I could go into Armenia, like an European officer, I may be uſeful at laſt in ſome degree to my country; but my father did not liſten to me, for God did not give him underſtanding in theſe things. I could not bear to live like a beaſt, eating and drinking, without liberty or knowledge:—I went to captain Fox, of the ſhip Walpole, and kiſſed his feet hundred times, to let me work for my paſſage to Europe, before he Would bend to me; but he did at laſt admit me; and I came to England with much labour; but it did not grieve me when I thought of my country: I entered myſelf with my little money into Mr. Middleton's academy: I had the honour to tell your lordſhip ſo before: I was firſt a ſcholar, and, when my money was gone, I was a ſervant there for my learning; but he was broke, and I loſt every thing. I went into the ſtreet to work for my bread, for I could not bear to go about wagging a tail at people's doors for a bit of meat. I will not grieve your lordſhip with the miſery which I went through; I do not want to be pitied. I got ſervice at laſt as a porter with one Mr. Robarts, a grocer in the city: in this time I carried ſometimes burthens of near two hundred weight upon my back, and paid out of my wages to learn ſome geometry, and to compleat myſelf in writing, and juſt to begin a little French; but becauſe, my lord, I almoſt ſtarved myſelf to pay for this, and carried burthens more than my ſtrength, I hurted myſelf ſo that I could not work any longer; [227] ſo that I was in deſpair, and not care what become of me: but a friend put me to write with one Mr. Webſter, an attorney in Cheapſide, which for a little time got bread; but I was reſolved, in deſpair, to go again to India, becauſe nobody would put out his hand to help me to learn; and my uncle ſent 60 pounds to governor Davis to carry me back. I am afraid I am too troubleſome in my accounts to your lordſhip; but we people of Aſia cannot ſay little in a great deal, like ſcholars. Now I met by chance ſome gentlemen who encouraged me, and gave me books to read, and adviſed me to kiſs colonel Dingley's hands, and ſhew my buſineſs to him. He was a brave ſoldier, took me by the hand, ſpoke to his own ſerjeant, an honeſt man, to teach me manual exerciſe, and gave me Bland's Military Diſcipline, and promiſed to help me to learn gunnery and fortification; but I was again unfortuned; for when light juſt began to come to my eyes, he died, and I was like before, except that I knew a little of manual exerciſe, and read ſome of the Roman hiſtory; could learn no more nor live. I was broke to pieces, and bowed my neck to governor Davis, to go over to my friends, without doing any of theſe things I ſuffered for. I am in this net at preſent; but I am happier than all mankind, if I can meet any great man who can prevail upon governor Davis to allow me ſomething out of the money he has only upon condition that I return to blindneſs once again; that I may go through evolutions with the recruits, and learn [228] gunnery and fortification, and if there is war, to go one year as a volunteer. If governor Davis writes, that I have a great man here my protector, my father, who looks upon me as a perſon run away and forſaken, will make me an allowance to learn. If I could clear my own eyes, and ſerve my country and my religion, that is trod under the foot of Muſſulman, I would go through all ſlavery and danger with a glad heart; but if I muſt return, after four years ſlavery and miſery, to the ſame ignorance, without doing any good, would break my heart, my lord, in the end. I beg pardon, I have experience of your lordſhip's goodneſs, elſe I would not ſay ſo much; I would not receive, but return; and I want nothing but a little ſpeaking from the authority of an Indian governor to my friends. I have always been honeſt. Thoſe I have been ſlave to will ſay I am honeſt. Mr. Grey truſted me.

Here is a ſort of ſtory nothing but your lordſhip's good nature can make tolerable. I am much obliged to your lordſhip for your patience. I ſhall be very proud of giving your lordſhip all the proof in my power, how much I am, &c.

JOSEPH AMEEN.
LETTER II. To the moſt ſhining, moſt chriſtian, King HERACLIUS, of Georgia and Armenia.
[229]
My King,

ALL things that have been made, from the beginning of the world to this day, are by the will of God, according to the New Teſtament. All things were made by Him; and without Him was not any thing made that was made. God created the heaven and the earth, the ſea and the land; and it is He that made you king over two nations, Armenians and Georgians. Glory be to God the Father of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, that made you defender and protector of thoſe Chriſtian nations, and of their faith, who have been many hundred years under the hands of Perſian unbelievers; and being now delivered by the mighty hands of your majeſty, the ſame God will alſo, I hope, deliver thoſe Chriſtians, who are under the hands of Othomans; for there is no difficulty in the mighty hands of God; and whoſoever truſt in Him, ſhall not be aſhamed. It was He that delivered Iſrael, by the hand of the prophet Moſes, out of the hands of Pharaoh, and fed them with manna, according to the holy Pſalms, which faith, Men did eat the bread of angels. May the ſame God preſerve and ſtrengthen the wriſt of your majeſty, to defend us from the encroachment of barbarians! Amen.

[230]Again, having heard the ſame of your majeſty's brave conqueſt, by which you have poſſeſſed the two ancient kingdoms of Armenia and Georgia, and that they are at preſent under your majeſty's protection, being deſirous, from the readineſs of my ſoul, to offer your majeſty my ſervice, which I hope you will make no difficulty to accept, as money is far from the deſire of your majeſty's ſervant, who wiſhes nothing but to ſerve him who has the rule over his nation; for, while I am here, I want nothing: I have a great friend here, and that great friend is my protector; and that protector is the ſon of the king of England. If it pleaſe your majeſty to inſtruct me of your will and pleaſure, that I may petition to this great prince, in order to obtain leave to co [...]nd to ſerve you as an European officer, according to my low abilities; and that I may teach your ſoldiers to fight like Europeans, who are very well known to your majeſty, that with a few men they overcome many.

Your majeſty has heard of the German nation, who, with no more than twenty thouſand men, are able to give battle to a hundred thouſand Mahometans, or Turks, enemies to the Chriſtian nations. I would alſo acquaint your majeſty, how it is, or by what means, that the European nations are ſuch conquerors, and ſo brave warriors. It is a rule among them, that whoever is deſirous to become a warrior, firſt, he is obliged to enter himſelf into the houſe of exerciſe, which they call it [231] here, an academy to learn or to ſtudy, four or five years, the art of war, that is to ſay, to learn the art of building ſtrong caſtles, the like of which are not to be found in all Aſia; and alſo the art of managing great guns in ſuch a manner, as none of our fortifications could ſtand before them for three days; likewiſe, the manner of encamping with judgment, and the way of ranging of the ſoldiers, ſo that they are like a wall of iron, not to be broken; and, after having thoroughly compleated his ſtudy in that art, leaves the place, goes and offers himſelf and his ſervice to his prince or king, thereby becomes an officer, or fighter for his king and country; and by long experience perfects himſelf in that great art; for the art of war here is not to be underſtood eaſily; it contains many things difficult to be known, and very much preferable to the practice of Turks and Perſians. See, O mighty king, it is not by ſtrength of arm, that theſe nations are called conquerors, but by wiſdom and art. Here every thing is by art and wiſdom; for without wiſdom the land is not land; and the nations that dwell therein are blind and unhappy. According to the Old Teſtament, which faith, God made the heaven and the earth by his infinite wiſdom; therefore God loveth wiſdom for this reaſon. I ſay, whoſoever followeth wiſdom, he is dear, or beloved of God; for from wiſdom proceedeth all manner of goodneſs; alſo, a man is not mighty without wiſdom, nor wiſe without righteouſneſs. The ancient Romans, who were [232] ſo great, gave laws, and ſubdued all nations of the world: this was by art and wiſdom, before our Saviour, although they were heathens and idolaters; but they were virtuous, and lived in good morals. Another example, Peter the Great, of Ruſſia, who could not be ſo great a warrior, and his country could never have been ſo bleſſed, and flouriſhed, had not he come over here to learn wiſdom, who, when he was in Holland, ſerved in a place of ſhip-building, like one of the labourers, and humbled himſelf therein: whoſoever humbleth himſelf ſhall be exalted, &c. And when he returned into his own country, he was full of all manner of wiſdom, by which he made himſelf father, as well as lord and king, over his country. Theſe are things which have made the people of Europe to be conquerors, and to be eſteemed more wiſe than all the nations upon the face of the earth; for amongſt them are learned men, who ſtudy the way in which God has made all things according to their nature, by which they are able to do things of great wonder and uſefulneſs. They ſend likewiſe into every part of the world, at a great expence, for to learn all things that are produced upon or under the earth, by which they are increaſed in wiſdom and riches; their cities are very great, their people are very happy, not being afraid of famine or dangers, and they are under excellent laws, by which no man is ſuffered to do wrong to another, though he is weak or poor. But this nation, this great and mighty nation, O my [233] king! where I live, is not only a great and wiſe nation, but alſo deſtroyers of the devourers of mankind. I am ſurpriſed to ſee, that even the ſheep in this country reſt in quietneſs without the leaſt fear of wolves. May the great God grant your majeſty's ſubjects to follow their examples, to grow wiſe and conquerors, under the wiſdom and courage of your majeſty, to whom God grant long life, to trample your enemies like duſt under your feet.

May it pleaſe your majeſty to know who your ſervant is, that raiſes his head to ſpeak to you, and takes pains to know theſe things with much labour, for your majeſty's ſervice, to whom God grant victory. The name of your ſervant is Emin, the ſon of Joſeph, the ſon of Michael, the ſon of Gregory, who is deſcended from Emin, who, in the day when Armenia was broke under the battle-axe of Shaw Abbas, was Minbaſhy in his country; but he was made captive, with others, and was carried into Perſia, and placed at Hamadan; from him your majeſty's ſervant is come, and he is called of his name, being born at Hamadan; but our captivity was grievous under the Perſians, who, ſince Mahometaniſm, which is well known to your majeſty, are grown quite barbarians, not being ſo civilized as they were in antient times, (according to the hiſtories I have read in this bleſſed iſland) ſo that my father flew from Hamadan, in the time of Shaw Thamas Kouly Kan, into India, to a place called Calcutta, where the Engliſh have a fort, and ſoldiers, [234] and a great trade, though their country is ſeven months voyage from Bengal; there my father made himſelf a merchant to this day; and would have made me ſuch as himſelf, but I did not ſubmit to him; for I enquired of my fathers from my infancy, the reaſon why we were perſecuted by infidels? and why we did reſide ſo contemptibly amongſt lawleſs nations? but they made me no anſwer, and my heart was grieved, and I had none to comfort me in my griefs; for I ſaid, the ants that creep upon the earth have a king, and we have not; and the nations of all countries make their laugh upon us, alſo perſecuting, ſaying to us, that you are maſter-leſs; you have no king of your own, and that you reſemble the Jews ſcattered upon the face of the earth; you have no love for one another; you are without honour; and by the diſunity of your nation, all the nations inſult you; you are contemptible, and without zeal; and you are as great lovers of money, as the heathens did love their gods. I could not bear all theſe reflections, whilſt I grieved, and found none to heal me. I obſerved watchfully the Europeans, their wiſe cuſtoms, and their ſhipping, far better both for ſailing and for war, than the ſhips of the Indians; and above all, the practice of their ſoldiers, who, if they were thouſands of men, by one word of command from their officers, inſtantly all together move and act, as if they were one man. Then I thought in my mind, that it was God that had put it in my heart to think on all [235] things. Therefore, I ſpoke not to my father, but had hopes in my heart, that if I went to England, I ſhould learn the art of war, and I was encouraged, for I then heard a little, and not much of your majeſty's name, until I came here, where I learned that your majeſty was eſtabliſhed in your kingdom, and had routed a great army of Perſians. See! O my king, what great thing the wiſdom is, by which this nation know our country better than we do; and that this nation are awake, and we are aſleep. On board the ſhip I worked like a ſailor; and afterwards, when I came here, was ſo reduced, that I was forced by hunger, to offer myſelf to ſale upon the Exchange, to be ſent into the new world. Oh! my king, do not pity Me; no, not even at that time when you hear, or ſee me ſacrificed in your ſervice, but pity thoſe ſervants of Chriſt, who deſerve pity; but the omnipotent God ſaved me by the hands of an Engliſhman; and the ſame God who heard the crying of my heart, did put it into the heart of a generous nobleman, who is one of the pillars of the throne of England, to aſſiſt me. He made me right in the counſel of my heart; he made me known to the ſon of the king of England; he ſent me to the place of education, where I learnt the art of war, according to wiſdom.

My ambition is to lay my knowledge at the feet of your majeſty, and to ſerve you in the beſt of my ability. For know, O my king, that what is not built on knowledge, though it is very ſtrong and [236] lofty, is as if it were built upon ſand; therefore, my purpoſe is, to go well inſtructed into your majeſty's ſervice, and to carry with me men ſkilful in all things, (if you give me encouragement,) to ſtrengthen and poliſh your kingdom, like the kingdoms of Europe: for you have a good country, and command over many brave men; and if you could gather the Armenians, a rich and trading people, who are ſcattered to the eaſt, and the weſt, and the north, and the ſouth, under the protection of your majeſty's arms in your own country, no kingdom in the eaſt would be like your kingdom, for riches and glory. May the eternal God, the Father of our Lord Jeſus Chriſt, ſharpen your ſcymitar upon all your enemies, and ſtrengthen the wriſt of your majeſty's right hand, to protect our diſtreſſed nation, according to the wiſhes and labours of your ſervant.

NANCY.

I declare I find myſelf exceedingly intereſted in this poor man's fate. Did he ſucceed, ſir? Did he contribute to enlighten his nation, and to ſpread that knowledge which he had ſuffered ſuch hardſhips to acquire?

MR. EGERTON.

I don't know, my dear; I wiſh I could inform you. I would give any thing to know the ſucceſs of his labours. Alas! I am afraid he would find but few of his countrymen actuated by the ſame diſintereſted and patriotic ſpirit.

CHARLES.
[237]

And did he write thoſe letters himſelf, ſir?

WILLIAM.

Yes, brother; you ſee here in a note, that the letter to the Duke of Northumberland is printed from the original in Ameen's own hand-writing, the character remarkably fair, and even mercantile, and the other is tranſlated from the Armenian.

DIALOGUE X.

MR. EGERTON (To Mrs. Egerton.)

WE will now, my dear, return, if you pleaſe, to the ſubject you propoſed, and read the account of Mrs. Louiſa Darbach, or rather Louiſa Karſch, for that is her name by her laſt huſband, and the one by which ſhe is known among the literati of Germany.

MRS. EGERTON.

With all my heart, my dear; and I think it a-propos, as there ſeems to be ſome affinity between your poor Armenian and Madam Darbach. They [238] both poſſeſſed a perſeverance which no difficulties could overcome; both were ſuperior geniuſes, and both were protected and patronized by the great, and they both deſerved patronage.

MR. EGERTON.

Yes, yes; a writer like our friend Plutarch would draw a number of parallel circumſtances. When I intended to introduce this ſubject to you, my children, I purpoſed to inform you of the great eſtimation, in which learning and learned men have ever been held, and this I ſhall now reſume. As a ſpur to your induſtry in this particular, I muſt inform ſuch of you as have not made the obſervation yourſelves, that to be illiterate now among people of a certain rank, is to be deſpiſed. I would by no means perſuade you to become writers, unleſs you feel an irreſiſtible impulſe, and find that thoſe whoſe judgment is eſtabliſhed approve your efforts, and encourage you to proceed. Then, if with energy and genius you can by your writings warm the heart, and incite it to virtue, I know no character more uſeful, more reſpectable, or which I would rather ſee you aſſume. But this is a difficult taſk, and only to be accompliſhed by a few.

The juſt renown which has been acquired by the exertions of genius, affords a pleaſing retroſpect to the emulative mind. Barbarians, kings, and conquerors, have given the moſt honourable teſtimonies of reſpect to learning. "I dwelt, faith Martinius, [239] in the city of Venxus, when it was ſacked by the Tartars. I fixed over the faireſt gate of my houſe a red paper, long and broad, with an inſcription, ſignifying, HERE DWELLS THE EUROPEAN DOCTOR OF THE DIVINE LAW.—At the entrance of the great hall I placed my largeſt and beſt bound books, my mathematical and optical inſtruments, &c. by which means I not only eſcaped the violence and plunder of the common ſoldiers, but was careſſed by the Tartarian viceroy."

When Alexander the Great found among the ſpoils of Darius a caſket of ineſtimable workmanſhip, embelliſhed with gold, pearls, and precious ſtones, he kept it as a caſe for the works of Homer.

When Menander, the comic poet, travelled between Egypt and Macedon, he was attended by ambaſſadors and a fleet, the kings of theſe places thinking they could never do him ſufficient honour.

Magdalene, wife of Lewis XI. of France, when ſhe ſaw Alanus faſt aſleep, who was an old hard-favoured, but learned man, ſhe approached ſoftly and kiſſed him. The ladies that attended her laughed, but ſhe replied, "It is not his perſon I bear this reverence and reſpect to, but the divine beauty of his ſoul."

Theſe kind of inſtances, my children, are almoſt innumerable: however, I ſhall only cite another, and that, becauſe it contains a pathetic deſcription of the death of a moſt extraordinary and celebrated man. This was Archimedes, the mathematician, [240] who by the profundity of his knowledge, and the inexhauſtible reſources of his imagination, defended the ill-fortified city of Syracuſe againſt a moſt powerful fleet and army. This city was deemed indefenſible, and its riches were known to be immenſe; the Romans ſat down before it, therefore, with the expectation of a ſpeedy ſurrender and prodigious plunder. Archimedes alone ſuſpended its fate. He deſtroyed their men: he demoliſhed their ſhipping. He ſo united the powers of mechaniſm, that he raiſed their veſſels into the air, and then let them daſh to pieces by the violence of their fall. He made uſe of burning-glaſſes, which, at the diſtance of ſome hundred yards, ſet the Roman ſhips and wooden towers on fire. At laſt, however, the town was taken, on a great feſtival, by ſurprize, and the inhabitants put to the ſword. Previous to the ſaccage, Marcellus, the Roman general, had given ſtrict orders to ſpare Archimedes, but cruel and inexorable deſtiny had otherwiſe decreed. A Roman ſoldier had broke into his houſe, with his ſword drawn, and demanded who he was. Archimedes, intent probably upon ſome new diſcovery, and anxious to preſerve a mathematical figure, which he had drawn in the duſt, inſtead of anſwering the ſoldier's queſtion, called out to him not to ſpoil his circle. The warrior underſtood not circles; he thought himſelf ſcorned, and ran Archimedes thro' the body!

Let us now return to Louiſa Darbach.

[241]

EMULATION. An Account of Madam LOUISA DARBACH, a famous German Poeteſs.

THIS prodigy in the literary world was born in the year 1722, upon the borders of Lower Sileſia, between Zulichau and Croſſen, at a ſmall hamlet called Nammer. Her father, being a brewer and alehouſe-keeper, was the principal of ſeven poor inhabitants, but died whilſt ſhe was ſtill a child, not above ſeven years old. Her grandmother's brother, an old man of good underſtanding, who lived in Poland, had taken her home to his houſe a few months before this happened, and taught her to read and write. This is the uncle to whom one of the poems in the printed collection is addreſſed. She continued with him about three years, and then returned to her mother. The misfortunes which conſtantly attended her, until ſhe was near forty, began at this period. Her firſt employment was the care of her infant brother; but ſhe ſoon quitted that, in order to attend upon three cows, which was her parent's whole ſtock. The firſt ſigns of her natural inclination to poetry had then juſt made their appearance, by an uncommon deſire to ſing. She knew a hundred church hymns by heart, and ſung them at her work, or whilſt watching the cattle. Her inclination ſoon prompted her to write verſes, [242] but ſhe does not at preſent recollect any part of that firſt eſſay of her uncultivated genius, which was accidentally aſſiſted by a neighbouring ſhepherd, who, although ſeparated by a ſmall river, continued nevertheleſs to lend her a few books. Robinſon Cruſoe, the Aſiatic Baniſe, a German romance, and the Arabian Nights Entertainment, compoſed the whole of her library. She read theſe with great pleaſure, and her time paſſed away very agreeably. But this happineſs was ſoon at an end, being obliged to return to her former attendance upon children; with which, and other laborious employments of a ſervant, ſhe reached her ſeventeenth year. Her next ſtep was matrimony; and the huſband her mother provided her, being a wool-comber by profeſſion, obliged her to prepare all the wool which he uſed; beſides which ſhe had the whole buſineſs of the houſe to manage, and could find no time to indulge her natural propenſity to writing verſes and reading, except a few hours on a Sunday, but took that opportunity to write down the poems ſhe had compoſed at her work. After having been married nine years, ſhe was releaſed from this drudgery by the death of her huſband; but her mother ſoon engaged her to another, who was much worſe than the former. This was the moſt unfortunate part of her whole life, as ſhe felt with this ſecond huſband all the hardſhips of an unhappy marriage, and great poverty. But even in theſe circumſtances nature had a ſurprizing influence over the genius of our [243] poeteſs. She got to the ſight of ſome poems written by a clergyman, named Schonemann, who is well known at Berlin to have been at times affected, after a violent fever, with a ſort of madneſs, during which he always ſpoke and preached in verſe: although the bulk of this extraordinary man's performances rather indicated a diſordered imagination, than the inſpiration of the Muſes; our poeteſs found nevertheleſs in thoſe ſhe ſaw ſomething which greatly excited her genius.

She now became more deſirous than ever to follow the natural bent of her diſpoſition, but wanted both time and opportunity: ſhe was, however, at laſt encouraged by ſeveral perſons to proceed, and particularly by Profeſſor Meyer, of Halle, who was no otherwiſe acquainted with her, than by having ſeen one of her poems. In gratitude to her firſt patrons and benefactors, who were chiefly inhabitants of Tranſtadt, in Poland, the place where ſhe then reſided, ſhe mentions their names in the preface. M. Korber, of Great Liſſa, was the firſt who committed any of her performances to the preſs. Theſe productions of her genius were only ſmall ſparks of that half-extinguiſhed fire, which the Muſes had kindled in her. The King of Pruſſia's victories gave her force to overcome all obſtacles, and the flames which had till then been ſmothered, blazed out at once. She removed to Great Glogau in the year 1755, with her huſband and children, and gaining admittance to a bookſeller's [244] ſhop, read many poetical and other performances with much pleaſure, but without any order or ſettled plan. The uſe Mrs. Darbach has made of this curſory reading, and how eaſily ſhe retained the moſt material parts, appear throughout her poems. She has only read a few books, and thoſe with great expedition; but any perſon unacquainted with the real fact, would naturally imagine the contrary. The remarkable war which ended in 1764, and her ſovereign's exploits, diſplayed at large the poetical genius of this extraordinary perſon. The battle of Lowoſchutz gave occaſion to her firſt triumphant ode; and ſhe ſoon afterwards peruſed the military ſongs of a Pruſſian grenadier, ſome of Ramler's odes, and Mrs. Unzer's poems. Her ſubſequent productions on the occaſion of the King of Pruſſia's victories, plainly ſhew the effect they had upon her, and are proofs of a poetical genius already come to maturity. Our poeteſs continued ſtill, however, oppreſſed with poverty; but Providence was pleaſed at laſt to releaſe her from her very deplorable ſtate, under which few would have been able to have ſupported themſelves. Baron Cottwitz, a Sileſian nobleman, who has long been celebrated for many amiable qualifications, became acquainted with her in 1760, as he was travelling through Glogau. His charitable diſpoſition pitied her diſtreſs, relieved her from it, and carried her to Berlin. She ſoon became acquainted with ſeveral men of learning, and judges of poetry: her genius then [245] ſhewed itſelf in the greateſt luſtre; ſhe was univerſally admired; and it is now her happineſs to be careſſed at the court of a prince, whoſe characteriſtic it is, to be at once the judge and patron of genius. Moſt of the poems in the preſent collection have been compoſed ſince, and fully explain her character, and the latter occurrences of her life. To the above account, it may not be improper to add a few remarks concerning Madam Darbach's genius, made by the editor in the preface to the collection of her poems, from whence our narrative is taken, and likewiſe a ſpecimen of the poems themſelves, to illuſtrate theſe remarks.

Plato, in his diſcourſe called Io, lays it down as the character of a true poet, that he delivers his thoughts by inſpiration, himſelf not knowing the expreſſions he is to make uſe of. According to him, the harmony and turn of the verſe produce in the poet an enthuſiaſm, which furniſhes him with ſuch thoughts and images, as in a more compoſed hour he would have ſought for in vain; who, without deſign, without art, and without inſtruction, is arrived at a wonderful perfection in the art of poetry, and may be placed among poets of the firſt claſs. It is from this cauſe ſhe has been more ſucceſsful in ſuch pieces as ſhe has written whilſt her imagination was warm, than in thoſe that ſhe has compoſed coolly, deliberately, and in leiſure hours. The latter always bear ſome marks of art, and betray the abſence of the Muſes. Whenever our authoreſs is [246] in a particular manner ſtruck by any object, either in her ſolitary hours, or when ſhe is in company, her ſpirits immediately catch the flame; ſhe has no longer the command of herſelf; every ſpring of her ſoul is in motion; ſhe feels an irreſiſtible impulſe to compoſe, and with an amazing quickneſs commits the thoughts to paper, which the Muſe inſpires her with; and, like a watch juſt wound up, as ſoon as her ſoul is put into motion by the impreſſion the object has made on her, ſhe expreſſes herſelf in poetry, without knowing in what manner the ideas and figures riſe in her mind. Another and more nice obſervation of Plato is, that the harmony and turn of the verſe keep up the inſpiration. Of this truth likewiſe our authoreſs is a living inſtance. No ſooner hath ſhe hit upon the tone, as ſhe calls it, and the foot of the verſe, but the words go on fluently, and ſhe is never at a loſs for thought or imagery. The moſt delicate turns of the ſubject and expreſſion ariſe in her mind while ſhe is yet writing, as if they were dictated to her. Of her extempore performances, we have an excellent ſpecimen in that beautiful ode ſacred to the memory of her deceaſed uncle, the inſtructor of her infancy, written in the year 1761, at a time when ſhe happened to be engaged in company of the firſt rank at Berlin. It conſiſts of eight ſtanzas, of ſix lines each, of which the third and ſixth have nine ſyllables, the other ten. It ſeems while ſhe was in this ſelect company, ſhe was touched by a ſudden reflection, [247] with a keen ſenſe of the great difference between her preſent condition, and her ſituation in the early part of her life; and of the great obligation ſhe had been under to the good old man, who, by his attention to her underſtanding, had laid the foundation of her preſent happineſs. Overcome with a ſenſe of this happineſs, and with a heart replete with gratitude, ſhe could contain herſelf no longer, but, before all the company, poured forth the over-flowings of her ſoul (it muſt have been a very affecting ſcene) nearly in the following words:

"Ariſe from the duſt, ye bones that reſt in the land where I paſſed my infant years. Venerable ſage, re-animate thy body. Ye lips that once fed me with the honey of inſtruction, be eloquent."

"Oh thou bright ſhade, look down upon me from the top of Olympus: behold, I am no longer following the cattle in the fields: obſerve the circle of refined mortals that ſurround me; they all ſpeak of thy niece's poems: Oh liſten to their converſation!"

"For ever flouriſh the bread lime, under whoſe ſhade I was wont to cling round thy neck full of tenderneſs, like a child to the beſt of fathers, whilſt thou wert repoſing thyſelf on the moſſy ſeat, tired as the reaper with the fatigues of a ſultry day!"

"Under yon green arched roof I uſed to repeat to thee twenty paſſages in praiſe of God ſupreme, though they were much above my comprehenſion; and when I aſked thee the meaning of many a dark [248] ſentence in the Chriſtian ſacred records, good man, thou didſt explain them to me."

"Like a divine in ſable veſt, who from the lofty pulpit points out the way that leads to life; ſo thou didſt inform me of the fall of man and the covenant of grace, and I, all raptures, ſnatched the words from thy lips with eager kiſſes."

"Thou inhabitant of ſome celeſtial ſphere, behold the ſilent tear of joy! may it often roll down my cheeks! If thou canſt ſpeak, dear ſhade, tell me, didſt thou ever conceive any hopes of my preſent fortune and honour, at the time when my eyes were ſucceſſively engaged in the reading of books every day more improving?"

"When at thy ſide, on ſome roſy bank, I ſat weaving into chaplets for thy temples the flowers my little hands had gathered, and looking up to thee ſmiled filial love, did thy ſoul then preſage the good things that are now come to paſs?"

"Mayeſt thou be cloathed with threefold radiance, and mayeſt thou be refreſhed with the emanations of divine complacence more than the ſouls of thy companions. May every drop of temporal pleaſure with which my cup of joy overflows, be rewarded unto thee with continual draughts from the ocean of eternal beatitude!"

MR. EGERTON.

Well, children, what is your opinion of Madam Louiſa Darbach?

MR. WILLIAM.
[249]

I think her a prodigy, ſir.

NANCY.

And ſo I believe we all do. For my part, though I have ſo many inſtructors, and am taken ſo much pains with, I am afraid I ſhall never be half ſo great a genius.

MR. EGERTON.

Nay, but, my dear, you ſhould never encourage that kind of idea. Neither do I mean you ſhould be vain. You ſhould not arrogantly ſay, you ſee nothing extraordinary in ſuch a perſon: I would have you admire, but not deſpond. While you wonder you ſhould ſay, 'I will likewiſe endeavour to become famous by my virtues and my talents; I will emulate what I find every body approves.'

FANNY.

Yes; but, papa, as far as I find by this, one can't be a poeteſs unleſs one has a Muſe: now I don't know what that is; I never ſaw one in my life that I know of, nor do I know where one can get ſuch a thing—Lord, mamma, what makes you all laugh at me ſo?

MR. EGERTON.

We laugh, my dear, more at the writer who has led you into this error, than at you. The Muſe which he talks ſo familiarly of, as if it were a real [250] perſonage ſtanding at Madam Darbach's elbow, and telling her what to ſay next, is an imaginary lady that never had any exiſtence. The expreſſion, however, is become very common, though it is very inaccurate. It only ſignifies, that the perſon thus aſſiſted by what is called the Muſe or Muſes, has a more lively fancy, with greater feelings and facility of compoſition, than others.

MR. CHARLES.

I have heard you ſay, ſir, when you have been ſpeaking of French poetry and French critics, that notwithſtanding they are continually talking ſo much about nature, truth, and probability, their tragedies and comedies are exceedingly improbable and unnatural, becauſe they make their characters ſpeak extempore in rhime, but from this account of Mrs. Darbach ſhe has that power.

MR. EGERTON.

Yes, Charles; but theſe is one thing I muſt guard you againſt, which is, that there is a natural propenſity in man, when he is ſpeaking of any thing uncommon, to exaggerate, rather than to ſimply relate facts. I cannot aſſert that it is ſo in this inſtance; but if Mrs. Darbach felt the inſpiration ſhe ſpeaks of, that is, if in the midſt of a large company ſhe was ſenſible of no reſtraint, but was able to burſt forth all at once into a ſtrain of extempore poetry, connected in the ſubject, and regular in the [251] compoſition, her talents are indeed miraculous. There are extempore poets among the Italians, the Spaniards, and other nations, whoſe language is ſmooth, and where almoſt every word ends with a vowel: but the compoſitions of the very beſt of theſe, from every account I have heard, would be very dull and inſignificant, if committed to writing. The German tongue, like the Engliſh, is bold, irregular, abounding with conſonants, and requiring great art and nicety, before it can be adapted to the purpoſes of poetry, ſo as to give pleaſure. I can readily ſuppoſe the imagination peculiarly warm at ſome moments, teeming with imagery, and overflowing with words and ideas; but the inſtant you lay it under the reſtraint of certain rules, intricate and ſevere in their own nature, you diſturb its connexions, by dividing its attention. And as to the pretended inſpiration ſpoken of, I think it a chimaera: I mean, that inſpiration which ſeems to inſinuate a poet can make beautiful verſes in a kind of dream, and without knowing what he is doing. I ſpeak this, children, that you may not be diſcouraged by compariſons: that you may not conclude you want abilities, becauſe you find them unequal to miracles. However, I would recommend Mrs. Darbach to you, as a very noble example of Emulation.

MRS. EGERTON.

We will now leave this amiable woman, and reverſe the picture; for as we wiſh, my children, to [252] ſhew you the honours that are paid to abilities, when virtuouſly exerted; ſo likewiſe it is incumbent on us to deſcribe the melancholy cataſtrophe of the vicious. It is true, there are inſtances, too many perhaps, of wicked people, who apparently flouriſh while they live, and have the happineſs to be forgotten when they are dead: but only imagine, my children, what muſt the feelings of thoſe people be, whoſe only hope is that men may not diſcover their crimes at the preſent, and that their memories may ſink into oblivion in future! Conſider this, and conſider the calm thoughts, the ſweet content, and the delightful retroſpect of the good, the homage that is paid to them both living and dead, with the certain aſſurance of having every thing to hope, and nothing to fear; conſider theſe things, and you cannot help being virtuous. But come, let us hear the hiſtory of Bianca.

PRIDE. The extraordinary Hiſtory of BIANCA, a Venetian Lady, from the French of M. DE LA LANDE.

ABOUT the end of the fifteenth century, Thomas Buona Venturi, a young man of Florence, of a creditable family, but without fortune, went to live with a merchant of the ſame country, who had ſettled at Venice. The merchant's houſe was over-againſt the back-door of one that belonged to [253] a noble Venetian, whoſe name was Barthelemi Capello. In the houſe of Capello there was a young lady of great beauty, whoſe name was Bianca. She was watched with great circumſpection, but Buona Venturi frequently ſaw her at the window. He had not the leaſt hope of an interview, yet by a natural, and almoſt neceſſary impulſe, he did all that could be done in ſuch circumſtances, to amuſe her, and expreſſed the paſſion with which ſhe had inſpired him. He was young and amiable; ſhe very ſoon ceaſed to be indifferent; and after long negociation, the particulars of which are not related, the lovers found means to accompliſh their wiſhes. Bianca went every night after the family were retired and aſleep, to the chamber of Buona Venturi, in the merchant's houſe, by means of the little back-door, which ſhe left a-jar, and by which ſhe returned before day, without being ſeen by any body. After this had continued ſome time, cuſtom made her leſs cautious, and one night ſhe ſtaid with her lover till the morning was farther advanced than uſual: it happened that a baker's boy, who, according to the cuſtom of the country, was taking bread from a neighbouring houſe to carry it to the oven, perceived the little back-door by which Bianca had come out, to be a-jar, and ſuppoſing it to be left open by accident, ſhut it. The young lady came a few minutes afterwards, and found it faſt; in the conſternation and diſtreſs which this accident produced, ſhe returned to the houſe ſhe had juſt quitted, and knocking ſoftly [254] at the door, was let in by her lover. Gratitude and love inſtantly determined him to ſacrifice every thing to her ſafety; he immediately quitted his ſituation, and retired with the lady to the houſe of another Florentine, where they remained hidden with the utmoſt care and precaution, till they found an opportunity of eſcaping to Florence. At Florence he had a little houſe in Via Larga, near St. Mark's, and over-againſt a convent of nuns, of the order of St. Catherine. To this little dwelling he retired with his wife, and lived ſome time in great privacy, for fear the republic of Venice ſhould, at the ſolicitations of Capello, cauſe him to be purſued. Francis Maria, the great duke of Tuſcany at this time, was a native of France, the ſon of Coſmo the Firſt, and father of Mary de Medicis. He had married Jane of Auſtria, daughter of the emperor Ferdinand, and widow of the king of Hungary. She was a princeſs of high eſtimation, but being at this time paſt her youth, the duke neglected her for other women. One of the officers of his court was the confident of his pleaſures, who had a wife not leſs zealous to render herſelf uſeful than himſelf. The arrival of the fair Venetian was known at Florence, and the rumour of her adventure and her beauty, excited a ſtrong deſire in the Duke to ſee her, to which the great privacy of her life contributed not a little. He uſed every day to walk before the houſe to which ſhe had retired, and as ſhe had no amuſement but looking out of the window, it was not long before his [255] curioſity was gratified. She was indeed half veiled, but he ſaw enough to judge of her beauty, of which he became violently enamoured. His confidante perceiving his paſſion to be unſurmountable, began to concert meaſures for the gratification of it, and engaged his wife to aſſiſt in the project. The miſfortunes which Bianca had already ſuffered, and thoſe to which ſhe was ſtill expoſed, gave this good woman a pretence to inſinuate that ſhe had ſomething of importance to communicate to her, and for that purpoſe invited her to dinner. Buona Venturi was ſome time in ſuſpence whether he ſhould ſuffer Bianca to accept the invitation; but the rank of the lady, and the need in which he ſtood of protection, at length got the better of his caution and doubts. Bianca was received with the moſt flattering kindneſs and attention; was prevailed upon to relate the ſtory of her diſtreſs, and was heard with an appearance of the moſt tender concern; obliging offers were made her, and preſſed with ſo generous a friendſhip, that ſhe could not refuſe to accept of ſome preſents from the lady. The duke, informed of the ſucceſs of the firſt viſit, hoped that he might be preſent at the ſecond. Another invitation was immediately ſent to Bianca, and after new marks of eſteem and regard, new pity of her misfortunes, and new praiſes of her beauty, ſhe was aſked if ſhe had no deſire to make her court to the grand duke, who, on his part, was impatient to become acquainted with her, having already found an opportunity to ſee [256] and admire her. Bianca had not fortitude and virtue to reſiſt this new honour, which, though ſhe at firſt affected to refuſe, her crafty ſeducer diſcovered, by her eyes, that ſhe wiſhed to be urged to accept. Juſt at this criſis it was contrived that the grand duke ſhould come in, without any appearance of deſign; and Bianca was charmed with the modeſty of his addreſs, the warmth of his praiſe, and the liberality of his offers. Other viſits ſucceeded, and a familiarity inſenſibly came on; ſome preſents which ſhe could not refuſe from her ſovereign, improved the duke's advantage; and the huſband himſelf did not think it prudent to break a connexion which might be at once innocent and advantageous. The duke was not likely to ſtop ſhort in ſo good a road; he gained new influence over the wife by advancing the huſband, and at laſt accompliſhed his wiſhes ſo much to the ſatisfaction of all parties, that, as the Italians expreſs it, he and Bianca and Buona Venturi, made a triangulo equilatero. The huſband ſoon became familiar with his new condition, and removed with his wife to a houſe in the fine ſtreet that leads to a bridge over the Arno, called Trinity Bridge. This houſe is ſtill ſtanding; it is diſtinguiſhed by the arms of Medicis ſurmounted by a hat, and belongs at preſent to the Ricardi family. Buona Venturi ſolaced himſelf for the loſs of Bianca, by forming new connexions, and aſſociated with the nobility of the country; but a change of fortune ſo ſudden, and ſo great, rendered him inſolent, overbearing, [257] and preſumptuous even in his behaviour to the duke himſelf, and created him ſo many enemies that he was at length aſſaſinated near the bridge that led to his houſe. The duke and his new miſtreſs were not much afflicted at this accident. She totally loſt her reſerve and timidity, and appeared in public with a magnificent equipage, ſetting honour and ſhame at defiance. Jane, the grand dutcheſs, was extremely mortified at the conduct of her huſband, and provoked by the pride of her rival, yet ſhe ſuppreſſed both her grief and reſentment, which, however, ſecretly ſubverted her conſtitution, and at length put an end to her life. The death of the grand dutcheſs opened new views to the ambition of Bianca, who had acquired an aſcendancy over the Duke, which rendered him wholly ſubſervient to her will, and ſhe now exerted all her art to induce him to marry her. The cardinal Ferdinand de Medicis, who was next heir to the dukedom if his brother ſhould die without iſſue, oppoſed this marriage in vain, and Bianca, in a ſhort time was made grand dutcheſs of Tuſcany. After ſome time ſhe became very deſirous of a child who might ſucceed the grand duke in his dominions; ſhe cauſed maſſes to be ſaid, and aſtrologers to be conſulted, but theſe, and many other expedients proving ineffectual, ſhe reſolved to feign a pregnancy, and introduce a ſpurious child, of which ſhe would at leaſt have the honour. To aſſiſt her in the execution of this project, ſhe applied to a cordelier of the monaſtery of Ogni Sancti, who [258] readily undertaking the affair, ſhe feigned tranſient ſickneſs, nauſeas, and other ſymptoms of pregnancy; took to her bed, received the compliments of the court, and the duke himſelf expreſſed great ſatisfaction upon ſo happy an event. Her pretended reckoning being up, ſhe ſuddenly alarmed her people in the middle of the night, complained of labour pains, and enquired impatiently for her confeſſor. The cardinal, who ſuſpected the artifices of his ſiſter-in-law, had her ſo diligently watched, that he knew all her motions; as ſoon as he was informed that her confeſſor was ſent for, he repaired to her anti-chamber, in which he walked to and fro, repeating his breviary. The dutcheſs hearing he was there, ſent him a meſſage, intreating that he would retire, becauſe ſhe could not bear that he ſhould hear the cries which might be forced from her by her pains. The cardinal anſwered, "let her highneſs think only of her own buſineſs as I do of mine." As ſoon as the confeſſor arrived, the cardinal ran to him, crying out, "welcome, welcome, my dear father, the grand dutcheſs is in labour, and has great need of your aſſiſtance;" at the ſame time catching him in his arms, and embracing him, he perceived a jolly boy, juſt born, which the good father had got in his ſleeve. He inſtantly took the child from him, and cried out loud enough to be heard by the dutcheſs, "God be praiſed, the princeſs is happily delivered of a ſon;" at the ſame time ſhewing him to all that were preſent. The grand dutcheſs, enraged almoſt [259] to diſtraction at this inſult and diſappointment, determined to be revenged on the cardinal, and the grand duke, whoſe paſſion had ſuffered no abatement, ſoon gave her an opportunity. They were all three on a country party, at Poggio a' Caino, and eat at the ſame table. The cardinal was extremely fond of blanc-manger, and the dutcheſs procured ſome that was mixed with poiſon, and had it ſerved up. The cardinal, who had many ſpies about her, was informed of it. He ſat down at table, however, as uſual, but notwithſtanding the moſt preſſing ſolicitations of the dutcheſs, he would not touch the blanc-manger. "Well, ſaid the Duke, if the cardinal will not eat, I will;" and immediately took ſome into his plate. The dutcheſs not being able to prevent his eating it without diſcovering her crime, perceived herſelf to be undone for ever; and to avoid the reſentment of her brother-in-law, the cardinal, ſhe ate the remainder of the poiſoned diſh herſelf, and died with her huſband.

MR. EGERTON.

So died a grand dutcheſs, truly deſerving the miſerable cataſtrophe her crimes involved her in. Compare, my children, this wretched lady's conduct with that of the counteſs of Alberti, Louiſa Darbach, or a thouſand other women, conſpicuous for their virtues, and behold the difference. Imagine [260] the coroding paſſions, doubts, jealouſies, and anxieties of the one, and the calm content and ſecret happineſs of the other, and you will, none of you, ever indulge the leaſt inclination to vice.

MRS. EGERTON.

I have ſo good an opinion of you all, my children, that I think I ſcarce need point out to you the errors of this unhappy woman's conduct. Had ſhe not indulged her firſt irregular deſires, her life might have been innocent, and her end happy.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
Notes
*
Romeo and Juliet.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4345 The family picture or domestic dialogues on amiable and interesting subjects By Thomas Holcroft pt 1. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6220-1