CvA B I N E T. OR, A COLLECTION OF CHOICE THINGS COMPRISING THE BEAUTIES OF AMERICAN MISCELLANIES LJST THIRTY YEARS BY A CITIZEN OF NEW-^ORK >■ — -x - x - x NEW-YORK : PRINTED BT FAN8HAW & CLAYTON No. 10 ClifF-street. 1S15. ADVERTISEMENT In offering this interesting work to an enlightened public, but little need be said in its r-ecommendation. The compiler has employed his leisure hours for the last twenty years in transcribing, for his own amuse- ment, eveiy miscellaneous production that he deem- ed worthy of preservation ; and has, in this manner, collected a mass of entertaining, instructive, and use- ful matter. Although this selection was not originally intended for publication, yet, at the request of a num- ber of his friends, he has been induced to prepare it for the press, and he trusts that it will be found worthy of their support. CONTENTS, Federal Procession 9 Vicissitudes of Fortune 53 The Good Uncle 95 Discovery of a Murderer 112 Chaubert, the Misanthropist 120 The Impressed Seaman 130 The Moor 158 The Welch Cottage 175 The Reparation .* 184 Youthful Imprudence 195 Hamet and Berard, or, The Three Thieves 208 Exaicnple better than Precept 216 Abosaber the Patient 234 The Robbers 24^ Bhazad the Impatient 260 The Humane Highland Rebber 207 Progress of Vice 272 Bounty Rewarded, or the Worthy Soldier 277 Eugenio, or the Adventures of a Soldier ....... 284 Description of a Dinner 292 Slavery . , 298 Filial Piety . 300 Particulars of the Life of Mary Brown 305 The Influence of Riches 308 On Society 316 A True and very Remarkable Story 323 A Reiparkable Instance of Filial Piety 327 The Generous Pedlar 330 Affecting Anecdote of the late Charles Churchill .... 333 The Gamester 340 Tbo Instability of Human Greatness , . 344^ A Remarkable Courtship , . . 345 Horatio and Emma ^48 Anecdote of Montesquieu 353 The Mutton Chop -. ... 358 A Country Night's Reflections 359 Mendoza and Cornelia 361 Humorous Letter 365 The True Gamester 368 On Riches 370 The Three Dreamers ,371 The Ungrateful Guest 373 A Good Story 375 The Mask 377 Chinese Justice . 381 The Humours of a Wet Sunday 382 Anecdote 386 Reward of Villany 387 Tragical Account of a Courtezan who Murdered her Husband 389 Horrid Instance of Depravity 394 An ingenious way of raising Money ......... 395 Resignation 396 Indian Retaliation 397 Extraordinary Love Letter 399 A Guilty Conscience its own Punishment , . 402 The Real Philosopher . 403 Apple Du!Uj lings 405 Ludicrous Anecdote 406 The Storm 409 Singular Memoirs of Pat O'Connor 410 Delicate Benevolence 413 Humorous Instance of Strong Superstitious Credulity . . . 414 Singular Examination before a Justice of the Peace . . . 418 Envy Rewarded . 420 The Desperate iliover 421 Anecdote of Marescbal Catinat 423 Virtue and Vice .... ^^i^ 425 I A Striking Inst-inrG of Courage* , . . . « . . 4.26 7 Singular Case of a Murder 428 Spanish Cruelty 4^9 The Shipwreck 43O Instance of Courage in two Boys . 433 The Devil Cheated by a Shepherd 435 Filial Piety 437 Anecdote of a Miser 441 Anecdote of the late Dr. Young 443 The Force of Nature 444 A Pious Fraud 445 Account of a Remarkable Dream 44(5 A Murderer discovered 447 7 THE CABINET, OR, A COLLECTION OF CHOICE THINGS. FEDERAL PROCESSION, IN HOKOUR OE TUB CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES. To testify the animated joy of the citizens of New- York, upon finding the federal constitution of govern- ment ratified by a sufficient number of states to make it operative, it was determined, that on the 23d day of July, 1788, they should so appear in pro- cession, as to demonstrate to the world the pleasure that, in consequence of this event, had pervaded all ranks and degrees of the community. The day having been more than once postponed, in the interesting hope that this state, then in conven- tion, would likewise accede to the union, the com- mittee of arrangements found it impossible any lon- ger to oppose the patriotic ardour of their fellow-citi- zens. It was remembered, however, that the great object of exultation was not the ratifying of the con- stitution by any one particular state, but the already present existence of an era in the history of man, great, glorious, and unparalleled, which (^pens a va- 10 •iiety of new sources of happiness, and unbounded prospects of national prosperity ! The adoption of the federal plan bj this state, though not then expected to be immediate, was, however, with certainty con- sidered among those events which time, increasing light, and an overruling Providence, would bring to our view. About 10 o'clock, 13 guns were fired from the federal ship Hamilton^ being the signal for the pro- cession to move ; the different bodies of which it was composed, having already collected from their various places of meeting. It now set out from the fields, proceeding down Broadway to Great Dock Street, thence through Hanover Square, Queen, Chatham, Division, and Arundel Streets ; and from thence through Bullock Street to Bayard's house, in the folloAving order : Horsemen with trumpets. Company of artillery^ and field piece. After these, the whole procession was marshalled into ten divisions, each of which was preceded by a white flag, borne to the honour of the ten states that had then acceded to the new constitution. FIRST DIVISION. Foresters ivith axes, Columbus in his ancient dress, on horseback, re- presented hy Captain Moore. 11 Foresters with axes, ^c. A plough, drawn by six oxen, conducted by Nicho- las Cruger, Esq. in a farmer's dress, supporting the farmer's arms ; a flag, with a wheat sheaf on the field, on the hand of which was inscribed, " O For- tunati Agricola /" over which Avas a rising star. Two men sowing grain. A harrow, drawn by two oxen and two horses, con- ducted by Mr. John Watts, in a farmer's dress. A number of gentlemen farmers, with every im- plement of husbandry, displayed in a pleasing man- ner. A new invented threshing machine, (which will thresh and clean seventy-two bushels of grain in a day,) conducted by Baron Poelnitz, and other gen-^ tlemen farmers, dressed proper, grinding and thresh- ing grain. United States arms, borne by Col. White, on horse- back, supported by the Cincinnati ; the horse beau- tifully caparisoned, and led by two boys in a white uniform. A number of gardeners with aprons on, and vari- ous implements of husbandry. A band of music. Tailors. A flag, ten by eleven feet, field sky blue, a fine landscape, Adam and Eve represented naked, ex- cepting fig leaves for aprons, nearly in full stature, 12 in a sitting posture ; motto, " And they sewed tig leaves together ;" the United States forming a chain, or links, upon a large circle, in order as they adopted the constitution, and the names of each state in the middle ; in the centre of the circle, " Majority." The sun beaming forth its rays upon those states that have acceded to federal measures. Rhode Island in mourning. General Washington nearly in full stature, holding a parchment in his hand, with this inscription, " The federal constitution." The fede- ral eagle, with its wings expanded, soaring towards the sun : the whole hung in a large frame, with golden knobs at the tops of the poles ; carried by two standard bearers, and supported by two men, one upon each side of the flag, with fine blue and white cord, and elegant tassels in their hands. The flag preceded by a committee of six, three and three, joined together by white handkerchiefs, with buiT and blue sashes, and blue and buff cockades ; followed by Mr. John Elliot, President, with a blue and buff sash and cockade ; two of the committee, with buff and blue sashes and cockades, on each side of the President ; followed by the rest of their branch, all wearing blue and buff cockades. The order closed by Mr. John Banks, Vice President, with a sash and cockade like the President's, and two of- ficers, with buff and blue sashes and cockades ; three flank officers, as adjutants, dressed in sashes and cockades, with white rattans in their hands. The sashes and cockades emblematical of the staff uni- form of the American army. ]S Measurers of Grain, An eifisign with a flag, representing the head oi* General Washington in the centre, ornamented with thirteen stripes and thirteen stars, wdth this motto ; " His Excellency General Washington ;" on the oppo- site side, the head of Col. Hamilton, beautifully painted; in the centre, a device representing the mea- sures used in the business, on one side of which was inscribed, in capitals, '^ Equity,-' surrounded with these lines : " Federal measures, and measures true, *' Shall measure out justice to us and to you.'' Two ships, one discharging salt, and the other taking in grain ; a store, with a merchant in front, viewing, ^vith a spy-glass, a French ship entering the harbour under full sail ; on the reverse, the same, ex- cept the Mayor of the City in the place of Col. Hamilton. The order headed by Mr. Van Dyke. Millets — No return. Inspectors of Flour — No return. Bakers. Headed by two masters, Messrs. JohnQaackinfcos, 'and Frederick Stymes. Ten boys, dressed in white, with blue sashes, each of them carrying a large rose, decorated with various coloured ribands. Ten journeymen, dressed in white, with blue sashes, carrying implements of the craft. 14 A stage, drawn by two bay horses decorated. Four masters, with the federal loaf, ten feet long, twenty-seven inches in bread'th, and eight inches in heighth, with the names in full length of tlie ten states which have ratified the constitution, and the initial letters of the other three. A flag, representing the declension of trade under the old confederation. Motto, " When in confusion I was made, " Without foundation was I hiid ; " But hope the federal ovens may " My sinking frame full well repay." * On the reverse, the representation of their trade in a flourishing situation, with two ovens. Motto, " We are well built, both sound and tight, " We hope to serve the ships in sight, " With the best bread, bak'd with good flour, " When congress have the federal power." In the centre, the spread eagle and crown, holding on the left the old confederation, on the right, the new constitution ; Fame, with her trumpet, over it ; followed by eighty masters, journeymen, and apprentices, with white aprons. Bretvers, A standard, carried by Mr» Samuel Boyer, orna- mented with the brewers arms, proper, barley sheaves and porter casks, encircled with hop vines ; crest, an eagle with extended wings, holding a thermometer in his beak. Motto, "Home brewed." The federal brewery ; a horse and dray loaded, in full speed to 15 Bunkers Hill ; and other devices suitable to the occasion. Messrs. A. Lispenard, Appleby, and Matlack, with each an elegant gilt mashing oar in hand, and barley- heads in their hats, followed by two horses and drays, ornamented with hop vines and barley. First dray loaded with a store cask, containing three hundred gallons of ale, a porter cask and barrel ; on the top of the large cask was fixed a ton, with a hving Bac- ehus, a very handsome boy, of eight years old, dress- ed in flesh coloured silk, sewed tight round, from his chin to his toes ; a cap, ornamented with hop vines and barley, a silver goblet in his hand, drinking anc^ huzzaing the whole day with the greatest cheerful-! ness, performing his part to admiration. Below him^ sat Silenus, attendant on Bacchus, on a porter hogs- head. Motto, " Ale, proper drink for Americans." Second dray, loaded with porter casks and hop bags, followed by brewers and maltsters, with mash- ing oars, malt shovels, &c. twenty in number, orna- mented with barley and hop vines in their hats. Distillers-^No return. SECOND DIVISION. Coopers, Thirteen apprentice boys, thirteen years of age, dressed in white shirts, trowsers, and stockings, the trowsers drawn at the ancle with a green riband, their hats ornamented with thirteen pillars, coloured green and white, with ten branches springing from them, representing the ten states which have adopted the constitution, decorated with an oak branch and 16 green riband; a keg carried under the left arm^ slung with a broad green ribanc*/, with a bow of the same, green and white on their right shoulder, round their right arms a green and white riband with a bo iv ; each boy carrying a w/hite oak branch in his rig;ht hand, and wearing wh*/te leather aprons. Head- efi by Mr. Peter Stoutenburgh, carrying a small flag, rnih the Coopers' coat of arms. Motto, " Love as brethren." Forty-two apprentices, dressed clean, with a green oak branch in their hats, and carrying a branch in their right hand. The stage, drawn by four bay horses, dressed with ribands, and decorated with green oak bows. On the stage was erected a standard, with a flag ten feet square, representing trade and commerce : a federal cooperage ; Coopers at different kinds of work ; the Coopers' coat of arms. Motto, " Love as brethren." Workmen at work on the stage, Mr. John Post, mas- ter. On the stage, a cask that had been put up dur- ing the session of the convention at Philadelphia, and which wanted repair ; but notwithstanding one of the best workmen belonging to the branch was in- dustriously employed great part of the time of the procession, it Avas found impracticable : this branch, considering this emblematical of the old confedera- tion, determined to make a new cask, representing the new constitution, which was done accordingly, while the procession was marching. Next the stage was one hundred and tiiirty-cight masters and journeymen coopers, their hats decorated with green oak boughs, carryuig an oak branch in 17 iheir right hand, the rear brought up by Mr. Daniel Dunscomb, carrying a small flag, the same as in front. The order conducted by two masters, wearing green and white cockades, and each carrying a green hoop- pole, with the leaves left on the upper end. Butchers. Headed by Mr. Jotham Post, Alexander Fink, Jo- seph Lovel, and Jacob J. Arden ; a flag of fine linen, neatly painted, displayed ; on the standard, the coat of arms, viz. three bullock's heads, two axes cross ways, a boar's head, and two garbs, supported by an ox and a lamb ; motto, " Skin me well, dress me neat, *' And send me 'board the federal fleet." A slaughter-house, with cattle drest, and killing ; a market, supported by ten pillars, one pillar partly up ; under it was written, " Federal market support- ed by ten," in gold letters. Federal Butchers ; a ship, with smaller vessels. The standard carried on a stage drawn by four bright bay horses, dressed with ribands ; a boy dressed in white rode and conducted each. On the stage, a stall, neatly finished; two butchers and two boys on the stage at work, splitting the lambs, &c. followed by one hundrgd of the branch, drest with clean white aprons, and steels on ; a band of music ; tw o banners, with the proper coat of arms ; motto, " Federal Butchers ;" one in the front, sup- ported by Mr. William Wright ; one in the rear, sup- ported by Mr. John Perin. A capital bullock, of a thousand weight in his quarters, roasted whol§ by 18 the Butchers for the honour of the day, was present- ed to the procession in general. Tanners mid Curriers, Arms on th e flag : Azure, a flesher, . and a curry- ing-knife ; or, crest, a bull's head, horned ; or, sup- porters, on the dexter side, a Tanner in his frock and trowsers, holding in his dexter hand a Tanner's skimmer, proper ; on the sinister, a Currier in his working dress, apron turned up, holding in his sinis- ter hand a cunying-knife, proper ; a sun rising from beneath the union flag. Motto, " By union we rise to splendour." Behind all, an oak tree. SkinnerSj Breeches Makers^ and Glovers, Headed by Messrs. Alsop Hunt, Benjamin Gatfield, James Mathers, Leonard Rogers, and James Hays ; a flag of cream coloured silk, borne by James Mott and John Peal, supported by Henry Frederic and Jacob Grindlemeyer ; coat of arms, a pair of breech- es and three gloves, supported by two rampant bucks ; crest, a buck's head ; a green field, with a ewe and two lambs, one lying down, the other standing. Motto, " Americans, encourage your own manufactures ;" followed by thirty-one of the trade, in buckskin waist- coats, faced with blue silk, breeches, gloves, and stockings, with a buck's tail in their hats. To these, Mr. W. Thompson, the parchment manufacturer, at- tached himself, with a standard of parchment, and the inscription, " American manufactured." w THIRD DIVISION. Cordwainers, Headed by Mr. James M'Creadj, who supported a small flag representing the arms of the craft : mot- to, " Federal Cordwainers ;" followed by twelve masters, representing twelve states. * A stage, drawn by four white horses, with two po- stilions in livery ; a shop on the stage, with ten men diligently prosecuting their business, emblematical of the ten states that have adopted the constitution, %^ith colours extended over the whole length of the shop, representing, in front, his Excellency General Washington coming out of the state house at Phila- delphia, and presenting the constitution to Fame ; she receiving it standing in her Temple, and ready to proclaim it to an astonished world ! On the reverse, a full view of our own harbour, with the amval of a ship with Crispin, who is joyfully received by St. Tammany. Then followed the main body, three hundred and forty men, Mr. Anthony Bolton in the rear, with a email flag, as in front. FOURTH DIVISION. Carpenters. Four masters, with each a rule in his hand ; \ ice President, with a blue riband at his breast, with a scale and dividers, and a drawing square in his hand : secretary and treasurer, with a green sash and archi- 20 tect book in their hands ; the apprentices in sections, each bearing a white wand of five feet long in his hand ; the standard borne by eight journeymen with red sashes ; representing, under the standard of the Uni- ted States, a portraiture of General Washington ; mot- to, " Freedom's favourite Son." Two Corinthian pillars, supporting a pediment half finished, expressive of the yet unsettled state of the union ; under this, thir- 'teen pillars gilt, united by one entablature, with a purple riband : ten of them bearing the names of the atates in the order of their adopting the new consti- tution. A motto on the frieze, " The love of our country prevails ;" in the pediment, a shield ; mottof , " Honour God." The journeymen in sections ; the masters in sec- tions ; the President with a blue riband at his breast, with scale and dividers, and a star or union on his left breast, and a drawn square in his hand. Four masters, with two feet rules in their hands, two hun- dred and two rank and file. Furriers. Messrs, Lot Merkel, and John Siemon, carrying a white valuable fox-skin, manufactured ; followed by an Indian, properly accoutred, with the dress and ha- biliments of his nation, as just coming out of the woods, loaded with various kinds of raw^ furs, as i( bringing them for sale ; followed by journeymen, each of them carrying furs and manufactures, the produce of this country. Likewis.e, a horse, with two beai's, each sitting on a pack of furs, led by an Indian in a beaver blanket and round hat with black feathers, fol- lowed hj two journeymen funiers in their working habits, with master aprons, their coats trimmed with black martins, their hats decorated with black feathers and white cockades. A red flag;, on which a tyger, as large as life, was displayed, and above it a large muff of real ermine, as an emblem of the craft ; followed by two journey- men in like habits as the first. In the rear of these, came Mr. Lyon Jonas, dressed in a superb scarlet blanket, and an elegant cap, ornamented with a beau- tiful plumage, smoking the Indian pipe and toma- hawk. Hatters. Preceded by ten men in their working dresses, orna- mented with blue sashes, and carrying bows, decora- ted with blue ribands. The flag, displaying the em- blems of the branch, on a blue field, supported by two masters. Journeymen and apprentices, followed by masters, being sixty in number, with blue cockades and blue aprons, headed by Mr. Walter Bicker. Perukemakers and Hairdressers^ To the number of forty-five. Standard and flag. The arms, a wig in quarters, and three razors on the top of the arms. The amicable society of peruke - makers. Motto, " May we succeed in our trade, and the union protect us." Two small flags on a barber's pole, ten links in each, emblematical of the ten adopting states. 22- Artificial Florists. Rear of the fourth division brought up by the Arti- ficial Florists, carrying a white flag, ornamented on the edges with artificial flowers, with thirteen blue stars, three of which drooping, representing the three states that had not adopted the constitution, supported bj two boys in white, with blue sashes, and their heads set ofi" with feathers. Motto, " Floreati America.^^ FIFTH DIVISION. Whitesmiths^ Carrrjdng an elegant pedestal of open scroll-work, supporting the arms of the trade, Vulcan's arm and hand-hammer. Motto, in gold, " By hammer and hand, « All arts do stand." Below, the name of the trade, embellished with gold ornaments in swags of laurel ; a highly polished finished lock was herein likewise exhibited, with a key at entrance. Over the same a bell rung continu- ally during the procession, and at the top a finished jack, kept likewise in motion by the wind ; followed by the masters singly, then two wardens, masters, jour- neymen, and apprentices, all with bkie cockades. Cutlers. Two master cutlers, wearing breastplates, and drill- bo^vs in their hands, and green silk aprons, embellish- ed with the company's arms, richly painted, bound with red riband. 23. Four journeymen ^vith green baize aprons, bound with red riband, and the company's arms. Four apprentices, with green baize aprons, bound with red riband. Confectioners. Bacchus's cup, made of sugar, richly ornamented, four feet six inches in circumference ; round the gob- let's edge the inscription, " The Federal Confection- ers," the letters of different colours ; sugar-plumbs in the cup ; the federal cake, ornamented with preserved fruit, made and carried by Mr. Pryor. Stone Masons. Flag ; on the front an elegant plan of tiie President's (of Congress) house ; at a distance was displayed a remote* view of the temple of fame, supported with thirteen pillars, ten finished, and three unfinished; over the temple these words inscribed : " The foundation is firm, the materials are good, *♦ Each pilJar cemented with patriot's blood." Over the centre of the flag a spread eagle ; below the temple, a gentleman, and a stone mason showing him a draught of the temple; between ihe president's house and the temple, a grove of trees, and an elegant walk. On the reverse, an elegant figure of the master ma- son ; over his head was displayed the American flag, with the mason's coat of arms ; at a distance a mason's shop in a shade of trees, a man at work in it; at a lit- tle distance, two men cutting stone ; near thebottom 24 of the flag a man sawing marble, with a number of blocks and tools of all kinds lying round. The order, consisting of thirty-two, headed by Mr. George Lindsay and William M^Kinney. Bricklayers^ Preceded by Mr. John M^Comb, one hundred and two in nvuTiber, supporting a flag, representing, under the colours of the United States, a medallion of His Excellency General Washington, encircled with laurel: in the centre, the bricklayers arms. Motto, " In God is all our trust." Over the arms, a riband, written, " The Amicable Society of Bricklayers," all in gold letters ; on the lower part of the flag, a building with scaffold- ing, and men at work, attended with labourers. The whole painted on white silk. Painters and Glaziers^ Flag. A view of a street with a number of buildings, one nearly painted, and a man in the attitude of painting, on a ladder, the front of a house ; a ship, and a man painting the stern ; a pillar with ten stripes circular ; above the pillar the union flag, standing on the plat- form, supported by ten pillars, three pillars lying down underneath; in the two upper corners, two men in each, at difl*erent work, painting and glazing ; in the centre of the two, the arms of the painters and gla- ziers. Arms, or, three shields gule ; on the first a ham- mer, proper*, in the second a diamond; in the third a lederkin ; on the two upper shields a rule ; in the centre of the field a paint pot and brush; crest, a glass cap ; supporters, on the dexter side, a man hold- 2& ing a pillar and pencil ; on the sinister, a man holding a sash frame. Motto, '' May we Succeed." Over the two poles that supported the banner, a scroll, sur- mounted with a star; this motto, ''May Trade Flou- rish and Industry be Rew arded." Cabinet-makers, Headed by Messrs. Carmer, Rucker, and Anderson. Robert Carter bearing the arms of the profession, followed by thirty apprentices, four abreast; twenty journeymen in the same order. Stage draw^n by horses, on which, duringthe march, a cradle and table were completed; on the stage, colours fixed, representing a furniture w^arehouse, where the different species of their craft were dis- played. Motto, " Unity with Fortitude." Sixteen master w orkmen, four and four, closed the order. Windsor aiul Rush Chair-makers, Headed by Messrs. Thomas and William Ash, of the Windsor, and Jacob Smith and Mr. Dow, of the Rish chair manufactory, follow^ed by sixty men, with green and red cockades in their hats, emble- matical of their business ; the standard, borne by two men, representing a large manufactory shop, with a number of workmen at w^ork; m front of the shop, a view of the river, several vessels bound to different parts, taking in chairs ; boys carrying them to the whai-ves; in one corner, the American union; in the other, the chair-maker's arms ; a turning lathe, and two Windsor chairs properly emblazoned. Motto, "• Free Trade." 4 26 " The Federal states in union bound ; " O'er all the world our chairs are found." hory Turner'^s and Musical Instrument Makers^ Headed by Mr. Ahasuerus Turk, and other masters of the above business, two and two. They bore a beautiful standard ; in the upper part was the figure of Apollo, (the god of music,) sitting in the clouds, play- ing on a lyre ; round his head were brilliant rays of gold. In a festoon, from Apollo to the corners, and down the sides, hung the different instruments of music, in the manner of trophies. Underneath Apollo was America, standing hand in hand with Eu- rope, Asia, and Africa, emblematical of love and friendship with all the world. " Divine Apollo strikes his sacred lyre, " Our breath he fills with true federal fire; " All nature smiles on this auspicious day, " W^hen love and friendship joins the new sera." Motto, " Federal Musical Instrument Makers." Drum-makers. A flag ; drum-makers arms ; two drums in the tw© corners; a sheaf of flax in the centre at top; a lamb underneath ; on the left of the arms, an oak tree ; on the right, a man leaning on the arms, repre- senting the drum-maker. Motto, " Federal Drum- makers." « Tho' peaceably inclin'd we are, " Let us prepare, lest there be war ; *" Our enemies may overcome, " Should we neglect the federal drum." m Upholsterers^ Accompanying the federal chair of state, a most elegant exhibition, each carrying a banner ornamented with fringe, painted to represent the different articles of their business. Ten of these were topped with brilHant stars, and three with stars obscured in differ- ent degrees. The federal chair was carried upon a handsome stage, covered with the richest carpet; over it stood a magnificent canopy, nineteen feet high, overlaid with blue satin, decorated with beautiful fes- toons, fringe, &:c. and various emblematical figures. On the right stood a comely lad, in the character of Liberty, suitably dressed, and bearing her staff and cap, with a roll of parchment, inscribed, " Federal Constitution, 1788." On the left, another, in the cha- racter of justice, carrying the sword and balance. On the back of the chair were seen two angels elevating a laurel wreath, with this motto, ^' The reward of vir- tue," and on its top stood the bird sacred to Minerva. On the highest part of this beautiful canopy stood the American eagle^ with expanded wings, supported by a globe representing the United States ; a variety of other emblematical circumstances might be noted, such as two watchful tygers, in a recumbent posture, intimating the necessary union of strength and pru- dence. On the front of the stage, a banner, represent- ing Fame in a flying posture, carrying the constitu- tion, was supported by one in the habit of a native American, but richly decorated with feathers, plumes, &c. The motto, " May the Federal Constitution br supported by Liberty and Justice." 28 Lace and Fringe-weavers^ Bearing orange colours, elevated on a gilt standard, ornamented bj their oAvn manufactory: the device, an angel holding out a scroll vs^ith the words, " Federal Constitution," and underneath, " O never let it perish in your hands, " But piously transmit it to your children." Paper Stainers, A flag displayed, representing a piece of paper of a verditure blue ground, printed with a figure of Gen- eral Washington, with the words " New- York Manu- facture," in blue letters, on a gold ground, borne by Mr. John Colles, attended by an apprentice in a coat and cap of paper laced with bordering, and others carrying decorated tools. In the centre of the flag an oval figure, including ten golden stars, for the ten ra- tifying states ; and on the exterior, three stars in sil- ver, representing the states that have not acceded to the constitution. On the borders of the flag, "Under this constitution we hope to flourish." Civil Engineers^ Carrying a design for erecting a dock for building and repairing men of war and other large vessels. SIXTH DIVISION. Shipwrights^ Flag, In front alarge oak tree, a ship in frame, with pieces of timber lying promiscuously. Noah's ark above, 29 with the motto, " The bulwark of a nation." On the extended corner, an eye. Blacksmiths and Nailors, A flag with two smiths' shops represented ; in one, a number of men forging an anchor; in the other, men shoeing a horse and making nails. Their coat of arms, three hammers crowned ; over which was seen an eagle ; under, the words, " The new constitution." Between the two shops, a large anchor. Motto, " Forge me strong, finish me neat, " I soon shall moor a federal fleet." A man with his arm extended, with a hammer in it, with this motto : " By hammer in hand " AH arts do stand." The number, one hundred and twenty, in order, head- ed by Mr. John M^Bain. During the march the black- smiths exerted themselves in the federal cause. They began and almost completed an anchor upon the stage, besides making a number of other articles, as hooks and thimbles, horse-shoes, nails, &c. Ship Joiners, A flag, with their arms ; in the field various instal- ments of the craft displayed, crested with a ship, and ornamented. Motto, "Our merchants may venture to ship without fear, '.' For pilots of skill shall the Hamilton steer. *'This Federal ship "will our commerce revive, " And merchants, and shipwrights, and joiners shall thrive : I so '* On the ocean of time she's about to set sail, " Fair Freedom her compass, and Concord thf; gale." Boat Builders. Headed by two masters. Barge rowed bj proper bargemen in proper dress. Flag, field, thirteen stars and stripes; a print of His Excellency General Washington, and under him a boat building, axe and addice across, and drawing knife and plane. Motto, " Accept, great chief, that share of honour's praise, " A grateful people to your merit pays ; " Verse is too mean your virtues to display, " And words toe weak our meaning to convey." The Block and Pump-makers Finished a pump, turned three dozen sheaves and pins, made thirteen blocks, sheaved and pinned com- plete, on the stage, during the procession. A flag, with thirteen different kinds of blocks painted in an oval form, a pump boring in the centre. Motto, " May our industry ever recommend us to employ- ment under the Federal Government." A ship off the stocks, with only her lower masts in. ..Motto, " Block me well, my spars sheave neat, " And join me to our Federal fleet." Sail-makers. A stage drawn by four horses, on which was dis- played their Hag, representing the flag of the United States ; directly below, the ship New Constitution, 81 under full sail ; in the centre of the flag, Colonel Ha- milton, the new constitution in his right hand, and the confederation in his left ; Fame, with a trumpet, and laurels to crown him ; under, this motto : " Let steadiness our steps pursue, " May justice be our guide ; " The Federal plan we keep in view, "We fall if we divide." Below this, on the left, the inside of a sail-loft ; the master workmen cutting out sails, with men at work. On the right of this, a view of a river ; a ship at an- chor, representing Commerce ; a boat taking in sails to carry on board ; the outside of a sail-loft, at which men are reefing sails. During the procession was finished on the stage, a ship's fore-top- mast-stay-sail, a steering-sail cut out, on which was sewed about fifty-six yards, which was performed by four men in white shirts and trowsers, their sleeves tied up with blue riband. The remainder of the branch (thirty- seven in number) followed the stage, carrying in their hands yards and measure lines, &c. the boys dressed in canvass vests and trowsers, a blue sash tied round their waists, and a pine branch in their hats, with blue ribands ; in the branch ten stars, in honour of the ten states that have adopted the constitution. Headed by Mr. George Warner. Riggers. The whole number, forty-one, with blue ribands in their hats, two drummers and fifers, a flag with thir- teen stripes and thirteen stars, and a ship just from the m carpenters, with men heaving her foremast in with the windlass, and a rigging-loft on the wharf, with seven men at work, three of them serving a rope ; one with a bowl of punch, drinking success to the new constitu- tion. A cartman, with a cart load of rope at the loft door; Fame, with a trumpet, sounding " Federal Rig- gers ;" the motto, " Fit me well^ and rig me neat, " And join me to the Federal fleet." On the other side, a ship almost finished, with men at work aloft ; likewise, a rigging-loft, with men at work. A cartman taking out a gang of rigging from the loft : the motto, " Now I am rigg'd both neat and strong, " And joined to the federal throng." The standard borne by Mr. Richard Clark, SEVENTH DIVISION. Federal Ship Hamilton . A frigate of thirty-two guns, twenty-seven feet keel and ten feet beam, Avith galleries, and every thing complete and in proportion, both in hull and rigging ; manned with upwards of thirty seamen and marines, in their different uniforms ; commanded by Commodore Nicholson, and drawn by ten horses. At the hour appointed for the procession to move, thirteen guns were fired from the ship as a signal for marching. She then got under way, with her topsails :^-trip, and courses in the brails, proceeding in the ss centre of the procession. When abreast of Beaver- street, she made the proper signal for a pilot, by hoisting a jack at the fore -topmast-head, and firing a gun. The pilot boat appeared upon her weather quarter, the frigate threw her main-topsail to the mast ; the boat hailed, and asked the necessary ques- tions ; the pilot was received on board, and the boat dismissed. The frisrate then filled, and moved abreast of the fort, where the crew discovered the president and members of congress. She immediately brought to, and fired a salute of thirteen guns^ which was followed by three cheers, and politely answered by the gentlemen of congress. The procession then moved ; when the ship came opposite to Mr. Con- stable's, the crew discovered at the window Mrs. Edgar, who had generously honoured the ship with the present of a suit of silk colours ; immediately they manned ship and gave three cheers. When she arrived abreast of the Old -slip, she was saluted by thirteen guns from his Most Catholic Majesty's packet, then in the harbour, which was politely returned. She then made sail, and proceeded through Queen-street to the fields, when squalls came on, and the wind ahead, she beat to windward by short tacks, in which the pilot displayed his skill in navigation, heaving the lead, getting ready for stays, putting the helm alee, by bracing and counter bracing the yards, kc. In the fields, she had to descend several hills, in raising which she afforded a delightful prospect to the spec- tators, her topsails appearing first, and then her hull, in imitation of a ship at sea ; exhibiting an appear- 5 34 ance beyond description splendid and majestic. When she arrived at her station abreast of the dining tables, she clued up her topsails, and came to, in close order with the rest of the procession, the officers going ashore to dine. x\t four o'clock she gave the signal for marching, by a discharge of thirteen guns, Avhen the procession moved by the lower road. The man- ner in which the ship made her passage through the narrow part of the road was highly interesting and satisfactory, being obhged to run under her foretop- sail, in a squall, and keep in the line of procession ; this was accomplished with great hazard, by the good conduct of the commander, and the assiduity of the seamen and pilot; she arrived at her moorings abreast of the Bowling-Green at half past five; amidst the acclamations of thousands ; and the different orders in procession, as soon as they were dismissed, honour- ed her with three cheers, as a mark of approbation for the good conduct of the commodore and his crew. Pilot- Boat J Eighteen feet in length, and four feet in breadth, commanded by Mr. Edward Wilkinson, with four lads; embellished with two Hags, representing the light-house, Highlands, Staten-lsland, and the sea ; ships going in and out, the pilot boats attending them ; drawn on a wagon by two horses. . Pilots. Marine Society. * President with a gold anchor at his left breast, sus^ S5 peiided by a blue riband, and two vice-presidents, treasurer, secretary, and attorney. Standard bearer, \vith a white silk flag, representing a ship cast on shore ; a dead body floating near her ; a woman and children in great distress, lamenting the sad catas- trophe, are consoled by Hope, leaning w ith one hand on a large anchor, and pointing with the other to charity, who holds a chart, inscribed, " New- York Marine Society ;" in the upper part, handsomely or- namented, is WTitten, " Marine Society, state of New - York;" in the low^er, in gold letters, the society's motto, " To Charity add Knowledge." Former officers — Standing Committees^ Society, and strangers; master^ of vessels, four abreast. Printers^ Bookbinders^ and Stationers^ Preceded by Messrs. Hugh Gaine, and Samuel Loudon, on horseback. The standard alternately supported by Messrs. Bryce, Carroll, Harrison, and Purdy. A handsome stage, drawn by four horses. Upon the stage, the federal printing-press complete ; cases, and other typographical implements, with press-men and compositors at work. During the procession, many hundred copies of a song and an ode, adapted to the occasion, w^ere struck off, and distributed, by Messrs. A. M'Lean and J. Russel, among the mul- titude. A small flag on the top of the press, on which was 36 inscribed the word " Publius," in gold letters. Mr. John Loudon, representing a herald, mounted on the back of the press, dressed in a flowing robe, and a cap, on which were written the words, " The Liberty of the Press ;" with a brazen trumpet in the right hand, proclaiming, " The epocha of Liberty and Jus- tice," pending from the mouth of the trumpet. In the left hand, a parchment scroll, representing the new constitution. The master Printers, Booksellers,^ and Bookbinders, with their journeymen and appren- tices, four abreast, following the stage. Description of the Standard. Fame, blowing her trumpet, and supporting the medallion of his excellency Doctor Franklin; Liber- ty attending, holding her cap over his head; the electric fluid darting from below ; on the upper cor- ner, the union flag, and Stationers' arms ; and below,, the bible and federal constitution, representing the religious and civil constitution of our country. Mottos, 1st. " Ars artium omnium conservatrix.^^ 2d. " May the liberty of the Press be inviolably preserved, as the palladium of the constitution, and the centinei of freedom." And surrounding the medallion of his excellency Doctor Franklin, the following words : " Wliere liber- ty dwells, there is my country." EIGHTH DIVISION. Cartmcn. A cart painted red with the words, " Federal cart," in white letters ; ornamented with green boughs, and 37 (IraAvn by an elegant bright bay horse, neatly capari- soned, and "Union" inscribed under each ear ; driven by Mr. Edward Fowler, dressed in a white frock and overalls, with a blue sash and white bow. On the cart was erected a standard, with a broad flag: one side representing Murray's wharf, Stewart and Jones's store, and three vessels discharging and taking in car- goes ; carts passing and repassing ; the harbour ; a view of Long-Island ; the rising sun; a vessel under sail, named the " Federal Ship Hamilton ;" a coat of arms ; motto, " By this we live," in yellow letters- On the reverse, Jones's wharf and storehouses, with a view of the river, Long-Island, horses and carts, the rising sun, and federal ship; over which, on both sides, were thes^ lines : " Behold the Federal Ship of fame, " The Hamilton we call her name ; " To every craft she gives employ, " Sure cartmen have their share of joy." Followed by three hundred cartmen, each wearing a laurel in his hat, and conducted by Messrs. T. Amer-- man, A. Mattiny, J. Demeroy, and W. Furman. Horse Doctor. Walter Gibbons, horse-doctor, dressed in an ele-- gant half shirt, with a painted horse on his breast, a balling iron in the horse's mouth, and the Doctor put- ting a ball of physic down his throat, with implements of farriery ready for use. Over the horse w^ritten, " Federal Horse Doctor." At the bottom, " Physic." On his back a horse skelejton, the doctor examining So u the head; over his head, " Federal HorDe Doctorj'^ at bottoirij " Dissection." Mathematical Instrwnent Makers, In an oval compartmentj encircled Yvith ten stars, a Hadley's quadrant, telescope, azimuth compass, and time -glass, with suitable decorations. Motto, " Trade and Navigation;" supported by Mr. Thomas Biggs. Carvers and Engravers, The Carvers and Engravers (united) were led by Messrs. Richard Davis and Peter Maverick ; the ban- ner supported by R. B. Davis. On the banner, which was of silk, bordered wdth an elegant fringe, of jVme- rican manufacture, were displayed the arms of the United States, viz. a chief, azure on thirteen pieces, argent and gules. In the centre was placed an es- cutcheon, parted, proper, pale. Argent, a chevron, or, between two gravers in chief, proper, a copper-plate on a sand bag in base, proper, for Engravers. Ar- gent, a mallet and gouge, proper, for Carvers. Motto, " Arte et Lahore.'^'' This banner was suspended by the two upper ends to a gilt staff, which w^as crowned by a circle, two feet diameter, of thirteen stars, ten of which were gilt, three ungilt. In the centre the Ame- rican eagle soaring. On a carved riband, between the banner and the stars, this motto, " Nous hrillerone ious Men tot.^^ Coach and Coach- Harness-Makers. A stage in front, drawn by ten black horses, three postilions dressed in yellow, and jockey caps trimmed yellow. Four workmen on'the stage at work in the different branches. The flag extended on the stage, representing a coach-maker's shop, with doors open ; hands at work ; a coach finished. At the door, a ves- sel lying at the wharf, taking on board carriages for ex- portation. Over the shop, the union flag ; over the ship the nine federal members from this county. In the cen- tre, the coach and coach-harness-makers' arms, on a blue field, three open coaches, supported by Liberty on one side, holding in her left hand the cap of liberty, on the other side by Peace, holding in her right hand a cornucopia of plenty ; Fame, blowing her trumpet over their heads ; motto, " The Federal star shall guide our car." A genteel green monument, sup- ported by ten pillars, with an union in the centre. Crest on the top of the arms, an eagle soaring from a globe. Coppersmiths^ Headed by Messrs. Asher Myers and Charles White. A standard, emblematical of the branch. Motto, *' May the labour of the industrious be crowned with success." Founders'^ Colour, Furnace, sand-trough, two pillars, an urn, cannon, two moulds. Motto, "May the Founders, through principles of Amity, agree in Unity." Tin-plate 'icorkers. Headed by Messrs. Kempton, Hardenbrook, and 40 other masters, followed hj their journeymen and ap- prentices, with white cocSades, emblematical of their business ; their standard borne by two of their profes- sion, exhibiting a square ; on one side, the Federal Tin Manufactory; on the other, the Federal Tin Warehouse ; in the square are raised ten pillars, with lamps to each, lighted, emblematical of the ten states that have adopted the constitution. On each of the ten pillars is a different article of tin manufactory ; in front is a view of the river ; the federal man of war appears, and shows the poop lantern ; at a great dis- tance appears a light-house, and a ship in the ofTmg. The ship of war shows the federal flag of ten stripes. On the manufactory are inscribed the words " Federal Constitution," and "When three more pillars rise, " Our union will the world surprise." Peivterers, Bearing an orange-coloured silk flag, on which was elegantly painted the United States' colours ; under- neath which, the pewterers' arms, supported by two miners, holding burning lamps in their hands. Motto, " Solid and pure," in gold letters ; on the front part of the flag, the words, " Society of Pewterers," with the representation of a Pewterer's workshop, in which the different branches were at work, and some of their work finished. Above this were the following lines. vi:5. " The federal plan, most solid and secure, '^ Americans their freedom will ensure : 41 ^' AH arts shall flourish in Columbia's l^d, *' And all her sons join as one social band." Gold and Silversmiths, A gold Federal Eagle on the top of the standard. The goldsmith's emblematical arms on white silk, em- blazoned, the crest representing justice, sitting on a helmet, holding in one hand the balance, in the other the touchstone ; the arms supported by two savages, the field quarterly, or, two eagles' heads cross'd, azure, two cups inverted between two gold buckles ; the motto, " Justice is the Queen of Virtues." The sup- porters resting on a globe, representing the United States. Standard supported by the four senior gold- smiths, followed by twenty-five. Potters. A flag, on which was represented specimens of stone and earthen-ware. A stone-ware kiln in full flame, with different parts of both branches. A stage drawn by two horses, three hands at work, turning a number of vessels of diff*erent forms. Motto on the flag, " The Potter hath power over the clay." The Chocolate-makers^ Device. The old Constitution represented by the naked body of a man, denoting Congress, without power, with thirteen heads, looking diff*erent ways, showing the clashing interest of the states in union, with these lines : " When each head thus directing, '' The body naught pursues j 6 42 " But when in one united, *' Then energy ensues." The ten men, well dressed, representing the ten states, supporting the head of a man, representing the new constitution united in a federal head. Across the loins of the naked man, in a circle, a scroll from the right hand to the left, pointing with the fore finger to a rising sun, and the federal head, with these lines in it : " In all creation my like is not, " Adopt the new, and let me be forgot. " Behold how beams yon bright and rising sun, " O happy era ! tyranny is fled ; " Since federal government is now begun, " United in one presidential head." On the pedestal on which it stands are these words, " The Old Constitution." Beneath, a hand-choco- late-mill, with two men grinding chocolate. On the opposite side of the flag, thirteen stripes, representing that no alteration can dissolve the federal compact entered into by the first congress, when they declared independence. Tobacconists^ Headed by Mr. Dennis M^Ready, displaying a white silk flag, on which was elegantly painted, gilt, (encompassed by thirteen tobacco plants,) their arms, on a superb shield. Motto, " Let brotherly love con- tinue.'' Their flag was preceded by thirteen boys, dressed in white, with blue ribands each carrying a hand of tobacco with eleven leaves bound close to- 4S gether ; then followed the masters and journey men. to the number of forty-five. Dyers, Headed by John Morrison and Robert Dodds. Journeymen, apprentices ; arms, three madder bags. Motto, " Give gloiy to God." Brushmakers, Headed by Messrs. Cooper and Watson, carrying a white flag, decorated with ribands, representing the brushmakers' arms. Motto, " May love and unity support our trade, " And keep out those who would our rights invade." Joined by journeymen and apprentices, each wearing their aprons, and canying, upright, a large brush, called a Turk's head, on staffs twelve feet long. Tallow- Chandlers, A flag with thirteen stripes ; under these the figure of General Washington, with these words over him, " The illustrious Washington, may he be the first pre- sident of the United States." At the opposite end was placed the figure of Col. Hamilton. Between the two, the coat of arms of the branch, over which were placed thirteen candles, with the name of the state each represents ; those representing the ratifying states were all burning, and united in one common flame. At the top of the flag, New-York and North- Carolina were lighted, but not joining the rest. K 44 Saddlers^ Harness^ and IVhip-makers, SaddlerSj to the number of twentj-four. Mr. J. Young, Mr. Henry Broadwell, and Mr. J. Amory, the principal whipmaker. Then followed their emblematical figure of their profession ; an elegant horse, decked with a bun hun- ter saddle, and rich scarlet furniture, with broad gold lace round the whole, and ornamented with embroi- dered tassels, making a very brilliant appearance. The bridle was grand, and displayed much taste in the ornaments. The horse was led by a groom, dressed in character, carrying an elegant whip, and attended by two black boys as ostlers. The other masters and journeymen following in the rear. NINTH DIVISION. The gentlemen of the bar in their robes, two and two, preceded by the sheriff and coroner. In the centre of their body, the constitution of the United States, elegantly engrossed on vellum, and decorated with ribands, emblematical of the union, was borne by John Lawrence, Esq. counsellor at law, sup- ported by John Cozine and Robert Troup, Esqrs. counsellors at law. Ten students at law followed, singly, bearing in order the ratifications of the consti- tution by the several states as they came into the union. The rest two and two. The Philological Society, The secretary, bearing a scroll, containing the prin- ciples of a federal language. .,,« 45 Vice-president and librarian ; the latter carrying Mr. Home Tooke's Treatise on Language, as a mark of respect for the book, which contains a new disco- very, and as a mark of respect for the author, whose zeal for the American cause during the late war sub- jected him to a prosecution. Josiah Ogden Hoffman, Esq. the president of the society, wath a sash of white and blue ribands. The standard bearer, Mr. William Dunlap, with the arms of the society, viz. Argent, three tongues gules, in chief, emblematical of language ; the improvement of which is the object of the institution. Chevron, or, indicating firmness and support, an eye, emblematical of discernment, over a pyramid, or rude monument, sculptured with Gothic, Hebrew, and Greek letters. The Gothic on the light side, indicating the obvious origin of the American language from the Gothic. The Hebrew and Greek upon the reverse, or shade of the monument, expressing the remoteness and ob- scmity of the connexion between those languages and the modern. The crest, a cluster of cohering magnets, attracted by a key in the centre, emblematical of union among the members of the society in acquiring language, the key of knowledge, and clinging to their native tongue in preference to a foreign one. The shield, ornamented with a branch of the oak, from which is collected the gall used in making ink, and a sprig of flax, from which paper is made ; supported on the dexter side by Cadmus, in a robe of Tyrian purple, bearing in his right hand leaves of the Rish, or flag papyrus^ marked with Phoenician characters. 46 representing the introduction of letters into Greece^ and the origin of writing. On the sinister side, by Hermes, or Taaut, the inventor of letters, and god of eloquence, grasping his caduceus, or wand. Motto, " Concedat Laurea Lirigue^^^ expressive of the supe- riority of civil over military honours. The flag, em- bellished with the Genius of America, crowned with a wreath of thirteen purple plumes, ten of them starred, representing the ten states which have ratified the constitution. Her right hand pointing to the Philo- logical Society, and in her left a standard, with a pen- dant, inscribed with the word " Constitution." The members of the society in order, clothed in black. University, A flag, emblematical of science, motto, " Science and Liberty mutually support and adorn each other." Supported by a standard bearer, preceding two large globes. The President and professors, in their aca- demical habits, followed by the students, bearing dif- ferent kinds of mathematical and astronomical instru- ments : after these moved the medical students, and the instructors of schools. Merchants and . Traders, The merchants and traders were preceded by John Broome, Esq. president of the chamber of commerce, and William MaxweJl, Esq. vice-president of the bank, in a chariot, together with William Laight, Esq. sec- retary to the chamber, on horseback, bearing a stan- dard with an oval field, surrounded by thirteen stars. 47 • The field, a Merciiiy standing on the shore, holding in his hand the arms of the city, suiTounded by the emblems of commerce ; motto, " Non nobis nati so- lum^^'^ not born for ourselves alone. The spear termi- nating in an American eagle, gilt, bearing on his breast the arms of the United States. TENTH DIVISION. Physicians, Strangers, and Gentlemen. Porters, A blue flag, with thirteen stripes, on one of which was inscribed, "September 17th, 1787." Thirteen stars on the field, on a standard supported by two porters, with the w^ords " ten to three, we carry it." Under the stripes, " stands, we stand — falls, we fall," Artillery and Field Piece. The line of procession, containing nearly five thou- sand people, extended upwards of a mile and a half. The march was slow and majestic, and the general appearance of the scene as far surpassed every one's expectation, as mere description must fall short of it. While numberless crowds were pressing on every side, the doors and windows of houses were thronged by the fair daughters of Columbia, whose animated smiles and satisfaction contributed not a little to com- plete the general joy. As this splendid, novel, and interesting exhibition moved along, an unsuspected silence reigned throughout the city, which gave a solemnity to the whole transaction suited to the sin- •48 gular importance of its cause. No noise was heard but the deep rumbling of carriage wheels, with the necessary salutes and signals. A glad serenity en- livened every countenance, while the joyous expecta- tionof national prosperity triumphed in every bosom. The whole body having arrived at Bayard's house, were disposed in a line, and reviewed ; after which, the varied insignia of the procession being left upon the fields, the citizens were conducted to their seve- ral dining tables. Here they were honoured by the company of congress, of many foreigners of distinc- tion, and the patriotic and respectable clergy of the city. The two principal sides of the building provided for this entertainment, consisted of three large pavi- lions, connected by a colonnade of about one hundred and fifty feet front, and forming two sides of an ob- tuse angle ; the middle pavilion majestically rising above the whole, terminated with a dome, on the top of which was a figure of Fame with her trumpet, proclaiming a new era, and holding in her left hand the standard of the United States, and a roll of parch- ment, on which was inscribed, in large characters, the three remarkable epochs of the late war ; indepen- dence, alliance with France, peace. At her side was the American eagle, with wings extended, resting on a crown of laurel, placed on the top of the pedestal. Over six of the principal pillars of this colonnade were placed small escutcheons, inscribed with the cyphers of the several powers in alliance with the United States, viz. France, Spain, Sweden, Pnissia, 49 Holland, INIorocco; and over these were displayed the colours of these respective nations, which added greatly to the brilHancy of the entablature, already beautifully decorated with festoons and branches of laurel. The extremities of this angle were joined by a table forming part of a circle, and from this ten more colonnades were extended, each four hundred and forty feet in length, as the rays of a circle, the whole having one common centre, viz. the centre of the middle pavillion, where sat the president of congress. At the extremity of each colonnade was a pavilion nearly similar to the three before mentioned, having their outside terminated in a pediment crowned with escutcheons, on which was inscribed the names of the ten states which had then ratified the constitution. The whole of the colonnades were adorned mth cur- tains elegantly folded, and with wreaths and festoons of laurel every where dispersed. In the area contained within the angle first des- cribed, was placed the music, but so disposed as not to intercept the prospect from the seat of the presi- dent, through the whole length of the ten colonnades above mentioned. This noble and beautiful edifice, erected in less than five days, covered a surface of ground of eight hundred and eighty-feet by six hun- dred, and was calculated to accommodate six thou- sand persons. The taste and genius of Major L'Enfant, so often displayed on other public occasions, and to whom the city is indebted for the design and execution, appear- ed in the present instance to have derived additional 7 50 brilliancy from the dignity of the object on which it Was employed. Dinner being ended, the following toasts were drank : 1st. The United States. 2d. The states which have ratified the new consti- tution. ; 3d. The convention of the state of New- York ; may they soon add an eleventh pillar to the federal edifice. 4th. General Washington. 5th. His Most Christian Majesty. 6th. His CathoHc Majesty. 7th. The States General of the United Nether- lands. 8. The friendly powers in Europe. 9. The patriotic framers of the present national constitution. 10. The memory of those heroes who have fallen in defence of American liberty. 11. Success to agriculture, manufactures, and the sciences. 12. May trade and navigation flourish. 13. The day ; may the union of the states be per- petual. After each of which, ten cannon were fired ; and in order to diffuse the joy to all classes of citizens, an ample proportion of the entertainment was detached to the prisoners in jail. The repast ended, the procession returned in the $ame manner to its place of setting out; and the ci- tizens were dismissed by half past five o'clock. 51 In tlie transactions of this day, a variety of circum- stances might be noted, upon which the reflections of the patriot, the politician, or the philosopher, might dwell with pleasure. A procession inexpressibly magnificent, formed not to gratify the pride or ambi- tion of an individual, but to manifest to the world the attiichment of a people to a government calculated to secure and perpetuate their civil and religious liberties ; the mutual confidence and joy of the va- rious orders of the community ; all narrow and bigot- ted distinctions lost, and absorbed in that noblest of passions, the love of country ; the glorious hope, the emulous and patriotic zeal ; the dignified and un- sulUed harmony of the day ; and, it may be added, the uninstructed ingenuity of the American mechanic, unfolding itself in the invention of his emblems and motto. But what most excited surprise in persons unac- quainted with the character of iVmerican yeomanry, was to see a numberless multitude, in view of a tempt- ing collation, not only adhering to every rule of deco- i*um, unawedby a single bayonet or espontoon ; but, though under the influence of public passions, verg- ing to enthusiam, peaceably, at an early hour, retiring without a single instance of rudeness or impertinence. To conclude this account of a transaction which will long be remembered, and which reflects infinite honour upon the mild genius of our government, and the inhabitants of this city. Instead of the tro- phies of w ar, and of captives in chains, which graced the triumphs of antiquity, we here behold the plough. 52 the ship, and all the implements of useful arts. The wreath of martial glory was exchanged for the gar- land of peace ; and instead of the painful sensations, which in a humane and liberal mind would be ex- cited by the triumphal entry of a conqueror, reeking from the blood and slaughter of thousands of his fel- low men, the hearts of all the spectators anticipated with rapture the return of concord, of pubhc and private justice, of individual happiness, and national glory, the constant attendants of a wise, free, and effi- cient system of government. By order of the committee of arrangements, RICHARD PLATT, Chairman. 53 THE VICISSITUDES OF FORTUNE. Those who have lived some considerable time in the world, must have remarked the strange vicissi- tudes of fortune. Persons of the greatest intrinsic me- rit, and highest accomplishments, sink at once from ease and affluence to penury and sorrow ; and others rising as suddenly from the very dregs of the people, to splendour, rank, and honours. The changes often attend one and the same person, so that no one can have any certainty of continuing long in the present state. Yet such is the force of innocence and virtue, that those who possess them will find comfort in the greatest abasement ; whilst those who are destitute of those consolations, will not enjoy the most flattering gifts of fortune with ease and content. The truth of these remarks will be evinced by the following true history : At the age of fifteen, Lydia Morton lost a dear and tender mother, who had instilled into her only sun i- ving child, the principles of virtue and honour, found- ing them on the firmest basis, rational piety. Her af- fectionate father, who had spared neither pains nor expense to procure for his darling Lydia every accom- plishment befitting a female, when he lost his wife, transferred the whole sum of his love and regard to his daughter, and seemed to redouble his care and ^4 affection. As he was but forty years old when he be- came a widower, it was thought by many that he would console himself for the death of one wife by the arms of another. To this he was strongly urged by many of his friends: but no, said he, clasping his Lydia in his arms, this is the only wife I will ever embrace; she is my child, my friend, and my wife. No, my darling ! no stepm^other shall ever frown on the child of my dear dead Maria ; thy tender father will supply her place, and add the mother's attention to his own. Lydia, although she felt her loss most severely, yet received great comfort from those endearing ex- pressions of her surviving parent : they mutually strove to diminish each other's sorrow, and so far suc- ceeded, that in the space of six months, though they never ceased from a tender remembrance of Mrs. Mor- ton, yet resignation to the will of heaven produced a calm that bordered on happiness. One whole year had the father and daughter lived, comforts to each other ; for one whole year the hours and days had passed in tranquillity, and Lydia thought her happiness secure, when ^he was destined to feel the common lot of human nature, a reverse of fortune, and aggravated sorrow. Mr. Morton was the younger brother of a noble fa- mily, and having received, at his father's death, a younger brother's portion, had employed it in com- merce. His integrity had procured him many friends, and his industry had beer, so crowned with success, that be had lodged six thousand pounds in the funds O^J' lor his clear liytlia. This sum, with what he hoped to accumulate by commerce, (in the exercise of which he still continued,) and mi2;ht leave her at his death, he thoug:ht would enable him to expect, at her mar- riage, a settlement that might secure an independence during her life. As she had now passed her sixteenth year, and was both beautiful and accomplished, he , seriously thought of a proper husband for her. Seve- ral he had recommended, but resolved never to let her give her hand without her heart accompanied it Though she sincerely esteemed some of them, there was not one but w^hat was indifferent to her in the light of a husband. She had not yet seen any man that had touched her heart, and she felt not the least inclina- tion to alter a condition in which she Avas happy. Mr. Morton had a brother. Sir Robert Morton, who possessed the family estate and title, and was two years older than Lydia's father. He had led a life of pleasure, that had prevented him from thinking of marriage ; and, indeed, having constantly consorted with the worst part of the female sex, he had contract- ed such a bad opinion of the whole, that he would- never venture on a wife. His excesses and debauch- eries had brought on a premature old age, and ren- dered him so emaciated and debilitated, that he was advised to go over to Lisbon, to try if the salutary air of that city would restore that health which he had wantonly destroyed. It might have had that good ef- fect if Sir Robert had not, on the shghtest cessation of illness, plunged again into intemperance. The stamina of life were totally destroyed, and after two Ob years residence in Lisbon, his physicians plainly told him to settle his affairs, for he had not a month to live. Although for some years Sir Robert had been smooth- ing the path for the approach of death, yet when he found it so near he was greatly shocked. He wrote in haste to his brother, told him the fatal news, and requested him to come to him with the utmost speed, Mr, Morton, as next heir, thought it highly neces- sary to obey the summons. As the pursuits of the two brothers had been very different, they had had little intercourse but by letters for above ten years : yet they retained a brotherly affection for each other ; Mr. Morton had frequently remonstrated to Sir Robert on his course of life, but his representations had no effect ; absorbed in pleasure, the baronet regarded his brother as an honest, wellmeaning fellow, w^ho was destitute of spirit, and whose notions of life had been contracted by trade. Hasty as the summons was, Mr. Morton could not obey it without making some arrangements. In re-' spect to his business, that was quickly settled ; it was left in the hands of Mr. Spencer, a gentleman of about sixty, whose abilities and integrity had been proved by sixteen years residence in the house, and whom Mr. Morton had lately taken into the firm. But in regard to Lydia, the arrangement was not so easy. As Mr. Morton intended to be absent no longer than whilst he could settle every thing after Sir Robert's death, he did not choose to take her with him, more especially as it was then the dead of winter, and he feared the voyage would be tempestuous ; nor did he 57 wish to leave her in his own house, as she would there have no companion of her own sex ; there being no female in the house except servants. He therefore resolved to place her with his late wife's sister, a woman of about fifty, who had been some years the widow of a Mr. Tyrrel, a gentleman of six hundred a year, which she held as a guardian to her son, then a young lad in the college. Mrs. Tyrrel had alw ays expressed the greatest af- fection for her niece ; and Mr. Morton, thinking he should give pleasure to both, committed Lydiato her care without the least reluctance. He made his will, which he left, sealed, in the hands of Mr. Spencer, and embarked the fourth day after he had received his brother's letter. It would be superfluous to say that the parting of a father and daughter, who had never before been se- parated, and tenderly loved each other, was affecting; Lydia melted into tears, and felt what she called, strange forebodings of evil. But Mr. Morton cheer- ed her with the assurance of constantly writing to her; and not being absent above six weeks or two months at the most. Mrs. Tyrrel's residence was at a pleasant villa, not above six miles from the capital. Thither Lydia went, and her aunt omitted nothing that might alle- viate her grief for her father's absence, or give her amusement. Letters came frequently from Lisbon, each mentioning a nearer approach to the death of Sir Robert ; and in about a month Mr. Morton wrote that his brother had paid the debt of nature, that he 8 - 68 had succeeded to the title and paternal estate ; that Robert had bequeathed most of his ready money and moveables to Lydia ; and that he would set out on his return in about a week. He also wrote to Mr. Spen- cer, that when he came back he w^ould dispose of all his mercantile effects, give up his business, and oc- cupy himself for the rest of his days with the happi- ness of his child. Lydia felt the greatest pleasure at the receipt of those letters ; another came by the next packet ac- quainting her that he should depart from Lisbon the next day in the Endeavour, a stout merchant ship, so that they might expect him in a few days. JMrs, Tyrrel expressed the greatest satisfaction, and Lydia waited with the eagerest expectation for the happy hour that would bring her father, now Sir William Morton, to her arms. She waited indeed — day fol- lowed day — rweek succeeded week — but no Endea- vour arrived — no father appeared. Three months passed in constant and encreasing anxiety, yet no news of either. Doubts and suspense are, of all situ- ations, the most distressing. It is better to know the worst that can happen, than to be in uncertainty, dreading every thing, and yet not knowing what to dread ; poor Lydia was in this state, and was com- pletely wretched ; letters had been written to divers places, and to several people ; the wife of the captain, and the owners of the ship, were equally ignorant of ^ its fate, m Lydia was almost in despair; but not so Mrs. Tyr- rel ; she inwardly rejoiced ; she formed great cxpec- 59 tations, and had laid her plans accordingly. We often see the children of the same parents verj opposite to each other in tempers, abilities, desires, and inclina- tions; some adhere to virtue, and others are slaves to vice. It was so with the first two brothers that were in the world, and so it was with the two sisters, the late Mrs. Morton, and the present Mrs. Tyrrel. The first was beautiful in her form, mild, complaisant, generous, and truly virtuous. The second was very ordinary in her person, violent, malevolent, selfish, and capable of every action that could tend to her own pleasure, profit, or advantage ; yet so perfect a mistress of dissimulation, that she preserved a spe- cious outside, and veiled her vices and disposition with almost an impenetrable hypocrisy. Mr. Morton was so far deceived that he thought her as amiable, except in her form, as his dear wife. Lydia had eveiy reason hitherto to be foAd of her aunt, whose attentions were unremitting, who seemed to prevent every wish, and whose tenderness and affection ap- peared to increase in proportion as Lydia's doubts and anxiety augmented. It has already been observed that Mrs. Tyrrel had a son at college, a youth who engrossed all his mo- ther's love ; and in him she believed a second self, for he inherited every evil quality of his parents. From the first failure of letters from Sir William Morton; from the moment there could commence any doubts of his safety, Mrs. Tyrrel began to form her plan to turn the event to her own advaruage. She had sent for her son home from college, and ordered m him to be particularly assiduous to Miss Lydia. The youth obeyed his mother, and sought every opportu- nity of making himself agreeable to his cousin. Her beauty and accompHshments would have been suffi- cient incitements, but the knowledge that Mrs. Tyrret and her son had of the wealth that would descend to Lydia on her father's death, (which was greatly aug- mented by the estate of the late Sir Robert Morton,) was an additional spur to the united endeavours to make the whole centre with them. Young Tyrrel was turned of twenty years old, his person was not disagreeable, and he had not neglected his studies; but Lydia could respect him no more than as a near relation, and all his attention could pro- cure only civility from her, without the most distant appearance of any tender passion. How ever, he pro- ceeded with all the art and cunning he possessed, which were not inconsiderable. Though born to a fortune of six hundred a year, his avarice looked upon that income as quite inadequate to his wishes ; and he cared not what means, however base, would be employed to increase it. Five months had passed since Sir William Morton's departure from Lisbon, when the wife of the captain of the Endeavour enclosed to Lydia a letter from her husband. In that he set forth that the second day after leaving Lisbon, a violent storm had arisen, with the wind at north, that had driven the vessel on the coast of Morocco, and that the ship had been wrecked a little to the southward of Mogadore, and had gone to pieces almost immediately after she haild only say how tenderly they parted, and with .vhat ardency she expected his promised return the riext da)^. It was no small con- cern to the afflicted mother to see the poor lady in this weak state, dying, as she plainly perceived she was, of a broken heart ; and the company present could not forbear vehement execrations against the author of this double distress. 115 Mrs. Gordier, all on a sudden, burst into a flood oi' tears, on seeing a jewel, very remarkable and valuable, pendent to the young lady's watch, which she knew her son had purchased, as a present to her, before he left the island of Jersey. The violence of her grief w^as observed by the young lady, who had just spirits enough to ask her the immediate cause. Being told that the sight of the jewel at her w^atch occasioned it, the young lady took it in her hand w ith a motion of contempt, said something Avhich sounded like clerk, fell backwards, and expired. Mrs. Gordier now broke out in violent paroxysms of rage, and declared that the jewel had belonged to her son, and that certainly the young lady just dead must have, some how^, been a party concerned in this murder, or how did she come by it ; as she was positive that her son had it in his possession the morning he was missing. The ]>arents of the young lady could not hear their darling child thus cruelly abused w^ithout feeling resentrnxCnt against Mrs. Gordier, w^ho still insisted that the jewel was her son's, and that the sudden death of the young lady was occasioned by a fear of detection, for she was as- sured that she knew of his murder. Tears and mu- tual reproaches now took place, as the friends and re- lations of the young lady could not help resenting the ungenerous interpretation put upon the last closing moments of her blameless life. A scene of trouble and mutual reproach ensued, which is easier to con- ceive than to relate. When the commotion, however, was a little abated, and reason began to take place, ihe friends of both families very cordially interposed, lie and endeavoured to reconcile the mothers, by a cooi examination of the circumstances that occasioned the unseasonable heat. Young Mr. Gordier recollected that he had heard his brother declare, that the jewel in question was to be presented to his bride on the wedding day ; and, therefore, as that had never happened, his mother might be justified in her suspicions, though perhaps the lady might be innocent. The sister of the de- ceased calmly replied, that she believed the warmth that had happened was founded on a mistake, which ^he thought herself happy in being able to correct. The jewel, she said, which her sister wore, was not presented to her by Mr. Gordier, but was a present to her, some years after his death, by Mr. Galliard, a very reputable merchant in Jersey, who had very assiduously paid his addresses to her, encouraged so to do with a view,if possible, to relieve her mind, by diverting her affections to a new object ; that as many jewels have the same appearance, it was ne- cessary, before any thing was said, to examine close- ly, and be certain that it was the same. Mrs. Gordier, v^hose rage had now softened into tears, took the jewel in her hand, and touching a secret spring, it opened and discovered a beautiful picture of her son. Yes, said Mrs. Gordier, almost petrified with horror, it is, indeed it is, and that Galliard Ibelieve to be the murderer of my son : she now, as well as she was able, apologized to the parents of the young lady ; whose embarrassment, the scorn with which she wanted to spurn the jewel from her, and her desire to 117 declare to her from whence it came, told plainly hcv innocence. All these circumstances concurred to fix the murder on Mr. Galliard, who had formerly becr2 her father's clerk; the last word she attempted to utter w^as now interpreted to mean the cl-er-k. The clergyman, who was present, and who gave this relation, being the common friend of Galliard and the family where he now was, advised modera- tion and temper in the pursuit of justice. Many circumstances, he said, may concur to entangle inno- cence in the snares of guilt ; and he hoped, for the ho- nour of human nature, that a gentleman of so fair a character as Mr. Galliard, could never be guilty of so foul a crime : he therefore wished he might be sent for, on the present melancholy occasion, rather as a mourner, than as a murderer ; by which means the charge might be brought on by degrees, and then, if imiocent, as he hoped he would appear, his character >vould stand fair ; if guilty, care should be taken that he should not escape. He added, in support of his counsel, that a man, once publicly charged with murder, upon circumstances strong as the present appeared, though his innocence might be clear as the sun at noon day to those who examined him. w^ould never again be able to redeem his character with the world, let his whole life after be ever so irreproachable. The greatest part of the company seemed to ap- prove of his advice and reasons ; but it was visible, by the countenance of Mrs. Gordier. that she, in her own mind, had prejudged him Guilty. However; 118 in conformity to tlie advice that had been given, Mr. Galliard was sent for^ and in a kw hours the messenger returned, accompanied by Mr. GalHard in person. The old lady, on his entering the room, in the vehemence of her passion, charged him ab- mptly with the murder of her son. Mr. Galliard made answer coolly, that indeed he well knew her son, but he had not seen him for many days before the day of his disappearance, being then out of the island upon business, as the family in whose house he now was could attest. But this jewel, (said the mother, showing him the jewel open as it was) is an incon- testable proof of your guilt. You gave the deceased this jewel, which was purchased by my son, and was in his possession at the time of his death. He deni- <>d ever seeing the jewel. The sister of the deceased then confronted him, and taking it in her hand, and closing it, this jewel, (said she) you gave to my* sis- ter in my presence, on such a day, (naming the day, the hour, and the place) and pressed her to accept it; she refused it : you pressed her again ; she returned it ; and was not prevailed on to take it, till I placed it to .her watch, and persuaded her to wear it. He iiow betrayed some signs of guilt ; but, looking upon it now it was closed, he owned the giving it, and presently recollecting himself, said he knew it not in the form it was first presented to him ; but this trinket (said he) I purchased of liCvi the Jew, whom you all know, and who has travelled these islands for more than twenty years. He, no doubt, can tell how he came by it. The clergyman now thought himself happy in the counsel he had given ; and addressing 119 himself to Mrs. Gordier — I hope, madam, you will now be patient till the affair has had a full hearing, Mr. Galliard is clear in his justification, and the Jew only appears to be the guilty person at present ; he is now in the island, and shall soon be apprehended. The old lady was again calm, and forced to acknow- ledge her rashness, owing, as she said, to the impetu- osity of her temper, and to the occasion that produ- ced it. She concluded with begging pardon of Mr. Galliard, whom she thought she had injured. Galliard, triumphing in his innocence, hoped the lady would be careful of what she said, and threaten- ed, if his character suffered by the charge, to refei' the injury to the decision of the law. He lamented the sudden death of the unfortunate young lady, and melted into tears when he approached her bed. He took his leave, after some hours stay, with becoming decency, and every one, even the mother, pronounced him innocent. It was sortie days before the Jew was found ; and when the news was spread, that the Jew was in cus- tody who had murdered young Gordier, remorse, and the fear of public shame, seized Galliard, and, the night preceding the day in which he was to have confronted the Jew before a magistrate, he was found dead, with a bloody penknife in his hand, wherewdtli he had stabbed himself in three places, two of which were mortal. A letter was found on the table in his room, ac- knowledging his guilt, and concluding with these re- markable word^: " Nofl« but tho^e who hare expe- 120 lienced the furious Impulse of ungovernable love, will pardon the crime which I have committed, in order to obtain the incomparable objec^by whom my passions were inflamed. But thou,*0 Father of Mercies! who implanted in my soul those strong desires, will forgive one rash attempt to accomplish my deter- mined purpose, in opposition, as it should seem, to thy almighty providence.'' CHAUBERT, THE MISANTHROPIST. Chaubert was born at Bordeaux, and died there not many years ago in the Franciscan Convent ; I was in that city soon after this event, and my curio- sity led me to collect several particulars relative to this extraordinary humorist. He inherited a good fortune from his parents, and in his youth was of a benevolent disposition, subject, however, to sudden caprices, and extremes of love and hatred. Various causes are assigned for his misanthrophy, but the principal disgust, which turned him furious against mankind, seems to have arisen from the treachery of a friend, who ran away with his 'mistress just when Chaubert Avas oh the point of marrying her ; the in- gratitude of this man was certainly of a very black nature, and the provocation heinous, for Chaubert, whose passions were always in extremes, had given a thousand instances of romantic generosity to this un- worthy friend, and reposed an entire confidence in 121 him in the matter of his mistress; he had even saved him from drowning, at the imminent risk of his life, by leaping out of his own boat into the Garonne, and swimming to his assistance when his boat was sink- ing in the middle of the stream. His passion for his mistress was no less vehement ; so that his disap- pointment had every aggravation possible, and ope- rating upon a nature more than commonly suscep- tible, revei*sed every principle of humanity in the heart of Chaubert, and made him, for the greatest part of his life, the declared enemy of human nature. After many years, passed in foreign parts, he was accidentally brought to his better senses by disco- vering that through these events, which he had so deeply resented, he had providentially escaped from, miseries of the most fatal nature ; thereupon he re- turned to his own country, and entering into the ordet of Franciscans, employed the remainder of his life in atoning for his past errors after the most exemplary manner. On all occasions of distress. Father Chau- bert's zeal presented itself to the relief and comfort of the unfortunate, and sometimes he would enforce his admonitions of resignation by the lively picture be would draw of his own extravagancies : in extra- ordinary cases he has been known to give his com- municants a transcript or diary, of his own hand ^vriting, of certain passages of his life, in which he had minuted his thoughts at the time they occurred, and which he kept by him for such extraordinary puf- posc!?. This paper was put into my hands by a gen- 16 122 tiemau who hacl received much benefit from this good father's conversation and instruction ; I had his leave fortranscribingit, or pubhshing, if I thought fit; this I shall now avail myself of, as I think it is a very curious journal. My son, whoever thou art, profit by the words of experience, and let the example of Chaubert, who was a beast without reason, and is become a man by- repentance, teach thee wisdom in adversity, and in- spire thy heart with sentiments of resignation to the w ill of the Almighty. When the treachery of people, which I ought to have despised, had turned my heart to marble, and my blood to gall, I was determined upon leaving France, and seeking out some of those countries from whose famished inhabitants nature withholds her bounty, and where men groan in slavery and sorrow. As I passed through the villages towards the frontiers of Spain, and saw the peasants dancing in a ring to the pipe, or carousing at their vintages, indignation smote my heart, and I wished that heaven would dash their cups wdth poison, or blast the sunshine of their joy with hail and tempest. I traversed the dehghtful province of Biscay with- (Hit rest to the soles of my feet, or sleep to the temples of my head. Nature was before my eyes, dressed in her gayest attire. Thou mother of fools, I exclaimed, why dost thou trick thyself out so daintily for knaves and harlots to make a property of thee ? The children of thy womb are vipers in thy bosom, and will sting li;i o iliee mortally when thou hast given them their fill at lh>' imj)iovident breasts. The birds chaunted in the grove?, the fruit-trees glistened on the mountains' sides, tlie water- falls made music for the echoes, and ntan went singing to his labour. Give me, said I, the (lank of fetters and the yell of galley slaves under the lashes of the whip. And in the bitterness of my heart I cursed the earth as I trod over its prolific surface. I entered the ancient kingdom of Castile, and the prospect was a recreation to my sorrow-vexed soul: I saw the lands lie waste and fallow : the vines trailed on the ground, and buried their fruitage in the furroAvs: the hand of man was idle, and nature slept as in the cradle of creation ; the villages were thinly scattered, and ruin sat upon the unroofed sheds, where lazy pride lay stretched upon its straw in beggary and vermin. Ah ! this is something, J cried out ; this scene is fit for man, and I'll enjoy it. I saw a yellow, half starved form, cloaked to the heels in rags, his broad brimmed beaver on his head, through which hi:^ staring locks crept out in squalid shreds, that fell like snakes upon the shoulders of a fiend. Such ever be the fate of human nature ! I'll aggravate his misery by the insult of charity. Hark ye, Castilian, I ex- claimed ; take this pisette ; it is coin ; it is silver from ihe mint of Mexico : a Spaniard dug it from the mine, a Frenchman gives it to you ; put by your pride and touch it. Curst be your nation, the Castilian replied, I'll starve before I'll take it from your hands. Starve, ihen, I answered, and passed on. 124 ■ i climbed a barren mountain ; the wolves howleft in the desert, and the vultures screamed in flocks for prey. I looked, and beheld a gloomy mansion under- neath my feet, vast as the pride of its founder, gloomy and disconsolate as his soul. It was the EscuriaL Here, then, the tyrant reigns, said I ; here let him reign ; hard as these rocks his throne, waste as these deserts be his dominion ! A meagre creature passed me : fa- mine stared in his eye ; he cast a look about him, and sprung upon a kid that was browsing in the desert ; he smote it dead with his staff, and hastily thrust it inta his wallet. Ah! sacrilegious villain! cried a brawny fellow ; and leaping on him from behind a rock, seized the hungry wretch in the act ; he dropped upon his. knees, and begged for mercy. Mercy ! cried he that seized him,, do you purloin the property of the ehuirch, ;^nd ask for mercy ? Take it ! So saying, he beat him to the earth with a blow, as he was kneeling at his feet, and then dragged him towards the convent of St. I^awrence, I could have hugged the miscreant for the deed, I held my journey through the desert, and desola- tion followed me to the very streets of Madrid; the fathers of the inquisition came forth from, the cells of torture; the cross was elevated before them, and a trembling wretch, in a saffron coloured vest, painted with flames of fire, w^as dragged to execution in an open square ; they kindled a fire about him, and sang praises to God, whilst the flames deliberately consumed their human victim : He was a Jew who isiiflfered ; they were Christians who tormented. See 125 what the religion of God is, said I to mysel:f, in the liands of man. From the gates of Madrid I bent my course to- wards the port of Lisbon ; as I traversed the wilder- ness of Estremadura, a robber took his aim at me from behind a cork tree, and the ball grazed my hat upon my head. You have missed your aim, I cried ; you have lost the merit of destroying a man, Givc me your purse, said the robber. Take it, I replied, and buy with it a friend ; may it serve you as it has served me. I found the city of Lisbon in ruins; her founda- tions smoked upon the ground ; the dying and the dead laid in heaps ; terror sat in every visage, and mankind was visited with the plagues of the Almigh- ty, famine, fire, and earthquake. Have they not the inquisition in this country ? I asked ; I was answered iliey had — And do they make all this outcry about an earthquake ? said I within myself; let them give God thanks, and be quiet. Presently there came ships from England, loaded with all manner of goods for the relief of the inhabi- tants ; the people took th^ bounty, were preserved, then turned and cursed their preservers for heretics. This is as it should be, said I ; th^se men act up to their nature, and the English are a nation of fools ; I will not go amongst them. After a short time, behold a new city was raising on the ruins of the old one ! The people took the builder's tools, which the English had sent them, and made th€mselves houses. I overheard a fellow at his work say to his companion, 126 Before the earthquake, I made my bed in the streets ; now I shall have a house to live in. This is too much, said I ; their misfortunes make this people happy, and I will stay ho longer in their country. I de- scended to the banks of the Tagus : there was a ship, whose canvass was loosened for sailing. She is an English ship, says a Gallieygo porter ; they are brave seamen, but damned tyrants on the quarter deck. They pay well for what they have, says a boatman, and 1 am going on board her with a cargo of le- mons. I threw myself into the wherry, and entered tiie ship ; the mariners were occupied with their work, and nobody questioned me why I was amongst them. The tide wafted us into the ocean, and the night became tempestuous ; the vessel laboured in the sea, and the morning brought no respite to our toil. AVhither are you bound ? said I to the master — To hell, said he, for nothing but the devil ever drove at such a rate ? The fellow's voice was thunder *, the sailors sung in the storm, and the master's oaths were louder than the waves ; the third day was a dead calm, and he swore louder than ever. If the winds were of this man's making, thought I, he would not be content. A favourable breeze sprang up, as if it had come at his calling. I thought it was coming, snid he ; put her before the wind, it blows fair for our port. Bui where is your port ? again I asked him. Sir, says he, I can now answer your question as 1 should do ; with God's leave I am bound to Bor- deaux ; every thing at sea goes as it pleases God. My heart sunk at the name of my native city. I wa? 13-7 freighted, added he, from London, with a cargo of goods of all sorts for the poor sufferers by the earth- quake ; I shall load back with wine for my owners, and so help out a charitable voyage with some little profit, if it please God to bless our endeavours. Hey- day ! thought I, how fair weather changes this fal- low's note! — Lewis, said he, to a handsome youth who stood at his elbow, we will now seek out thi.^ Monsieur Chaubert at Bordeaux, and get payment of his bills on your account. Shew me your bills, said I, for I am Chaubert. He produced them, and I saw my own name forged to bills in favour of the villain who had so treacherously dealt with me in the affair of the wonaan who was to have been my wife. " Where is the wretch," said I, '• who drev/ these forgeries?" The youth burst into tears. " He is my father," he replied, and turned away. '^ Sir/' says^ the master, " I am not surprised to find this fellow a villain to you, for I Avas once a trader in afiluence, and have been ruined by his means, and reduced ta what you see me ; I can earn a maintenance, and ^nt as happy in my present hard employ, nay, happier than when I was rich and idle ; but to defraud his own son proves him to be an unnatural rascal, and if I had him here, I would hang him at the mizen yard." When the English master declared he was happier in his present hard service than in his former prospe- rity, and that he forgave the villain who had ruined him, I Parted with astonishment, and stood out of his reach, expecting every moment that his (femy 128 would break out ; I looked him steadily in the face, and to my surprise saw no symptoms of madness ; there was no wandering in his eyes, and content of mind was impressed upon his features. '' Are you in your senses," I demanded, " and can you forgive the villain ?" " From my heart," answered he, " else how should I expect to be forgiven ?" His words struck me dumb ; my heart tugged at my bosom ; the blood rushed to my face. He saw my situation, and turned aside to give some orders to the sailors ; after some minutes, he resumed the conversation, and advancing towards me, in his rough familiar manner, said, " It is my way, Mr. Chaubert, to forgive and forget, though to be sure the fellow deserves hanging for his treatment of the poor boy, his son, who is as good a lad as ever lived, but as for father and mo- ther" — " Who is his mother ? what is her name ?" I eagerly demanded. Her name had no sooner passed his lips, than I felt a shock through all my frame be- yond that of electricity; I staggered as if with a sudden stroke, and caught hold of the barricade ; an involuntaiy shriek burst from me, and I cried out, "that woman, O ! that woman ;"^ " was a devil," said the master, " and if you knew but half the misery you escaped, you would fall down upon your knees and thank God for the blessing : I have heard your story, Mr. Chaubert, and when a man is in love, do you see, he does not like to have his mistress taken from him^ but some things are better lost than found, and if this is all you have to complain of, take my word, you complain of the luckiest hour in your whole life." 129 He would have proceeded, but I turned from him without uttering a word, and, shutting myself up in my cabin, surrendered myself to my meditations. My mind was now in such a tumult, that 1 cannot recall my thoughts, much less put them in any order of relation ; the ship, however, kept her course, and had now entered the mouth of the Garonne. Hand- ed on the quay of Bordeaux; the master accompanied nie, and young Lewis kept charge of the ship. The first object that met my view was a gibbet erected before the door of a merchant's counting house ; the convict was kneeling on a scaffold, whilst a friar was receiving his last confession; his face w^s turned towards us; the Englishman glanced his eye upon him, and instantly cried out, " look, look, Mr. Chau- bert, the very man, as I am alive ; it is the father of young Lewis." The wretch had discovered us in the same moment, and called aloud, " Oh, Chaubert, Chaubert ! let me speak to you before I die !" His yell was horror to my soul ; I lost the power of mo- tion, and the crowd pushing towards the scaffold, thrust me forward to the very edge of it : the friar ordered silence, and demanded of the wretch why he had called out so eagerly, and what he had further to confess. " Father," replied the convict, " this is the very man, the very Chaubert of wh'bm I was speak- ing ; he was the best of friends to me, and I repaid his kindness with the blackest treachery ; I seduced the woman of his affections from him, and married her; and because we dreaded his resentment, we con- spired in an attempt upon his life by poison," H^ 17 130 now turned to me and proceeded as follows : " You may remember, Chaubert, as we were supping toge- ther on the verj evening of Louisa's elopement, she 4ianded you a glass of wine to drink to your approach- ing nuptials. As you were lifting it to your lips, your favourite spaniel leaped upon your arm and dashed it on the floor ; in a sudden transport of passion, you struck the creature with violence, and laid it dead at your feet. It was the saving moment of your life : the wine was poisoned, inevitable death was in the draught, and the animal you killed was God's instru- ment for preserving you ; reflect upon the event, sub- due your passions, and practice resignation. Father, I have no more to confess : I die repentant : Let the executioner do his office." THE IMPRESSED SEAMAN. When smiling peace shall again drop her olive branch, and impending war call upon the nation to tnnn its ships, ah ! may that purpose be effected with- out piercing the feeling bosom by the cruel means taken to supply them ! Certainly there are heads to jilan, and hearts to adopt measures that would pre- vent the mother's wail, and the widow's tear. Now, i»' ivlien so many individuals are going about, seeking cverj means to do good ; now, when the gloom of adversity Is cheered by the noble efforts of the sons and dauglilersof humanity: now is the glorious mo- 131 raeiit for those in power, during the smiling season oi" peace, to unite together, in order to prevent, if possi- ble, the horrors of war being felt, even before the thunder begins to roar from the deck of honour, or the sword of the intrepid soldier is impurpled with the blood of his enemy. The folio win 2: relation is addressed to those who will not turn away from a tale of domestic wo — Alas ! its foundation is fixed on truth ! The unhappy family, consisting of a father, mother, and daughter, whose sufferings form the substance of these eventful pages, once existed ! Innocence and domestic peace blessed their humble dwelling, nor were their comforts broke in upon, until the cruel policy of their own nation se- ])arated, without even a warning given, the husband from his wife and child — In one moment, without a crime to sanctify the deed, he was torn a^^ ay by pri- vileged ruffians — and his partner and his babe were left a prey to those evils which are sure to surround the unprotected daughters of misery. In the memorable year 1759, Henry Randolph, a youth of about eighteen, entered on board a ship of war, in the hope of signalizing himself, by his valour, in the defence of his country. Henry, at a very early period, had lost his parents, who left him to the care of an uncle, whose employment was that of a pawn- broker, which by no means suited with the feeling heart and generous disposition of his nephew ; and was the cause of frequent disputes between him and his kinsman. One day in particular, a poor \voman, with a child in lier nrms, entered tlie shop. 132 with an old coat, the onljone belongiiig to a distress- ed husband, at that time afflicted with a fever, and requested a trifle on it, to purt^hase something that had been ordered to relieve his complaint. The youth, shocked at the scanty petition beirig refused, stole round to the door,'and as the poor creature came to it, put a shilling into her hand, which was all the pocket money he had; promising, at the same time, to devote his allowance from his uncle to the aid of her family, till released from the pressure of sickness. The fervent " heaven bless your goodness !" reached the ear of his uncle, w^ho having no idea of what pity and compassion meant, at once informed his nephew, that as he could so readily relieve others, he might in future see who would relieve himself: for, from that moment his door should be shut against an un- dutiful boy, who had dared to act against the inclina- t^ion of those who had kept him from beggary. Thus dismissed by his unfeeling kinsman, who, notwith- standing his cutting observation, had been a consi- derable gainer by the death of his brother, Henry, with no earthly tie to prevent him, formed a resolu- tion of throwing himself upon the chance of war. A solitary guinea w^as all his unprincipled relation gave him on his departure. The poor woman was nevertheless remembered, to w}iom he directly hasten- ed, and to whose distresses he bestowed a part of the little in his possession. Embarked in a glorious cause, and possessed of that firmness of mind which bids defiance to dangers, Henry looked forward to the hour of en2:n2:emcnt. ^U^"^ 133 and anticipated the glory of victory. Poor yonih. Tinaware that those unblessed with rank or fortune will never be rewarded according to their merit. But fatal experience at lengtli brought home to hif^ disappointed breast the fallacy of building on bravery or worth. He fought — he conquered — and well me- lited the name of a brave seaman ; yet, notwith- standing the wounds of honour, and the claims of dangerous services, from a nation w^ho owed him much, at the conclusion of the war he had the morti- fication of finding himself discharged, neglected, moneyless, and friendless !' His uncle, during his ab- sence, had paid the debt of nature. The old man had been detected in dishonest practices, W'hich had caused his utter ruin ; and he dijed of a broken heart in the work-house of the parish to which he belong- ed. Previous to his departure from the British shores, Henry cherished an affection for the blooming Nancy Abbot, who being likewise left an orphan, w hile but a child, the neighbours of her departed parents, who had lived with credit, though unblessed with fortune, took pity on her helpless innocence, and raised a su))- scription among themselves to procure her beard, clothing, and education. Their benevolence was not extended to the unworthy *, the little Nancy, virtuous^ amiable, and thankful, proved the delight and pride of her friends ; who, when she had attained her eighteenth year, assisted her in establishing a day school, for which, by her good qualities, she was so well suited. In a little time, the products of her em- ployment not only yielded her a comfortable subsist- M.' 154 encG, but she was likewise enabled to lay bj a sum for the hour of emergency, should sucli an hour ever arrive. Unlike the world, which is ever prone to shrink from the unfortunale, the Henry of Nancy Abbot re- turned to enrapture her heart, which was a stranger to false refinement, and too honest to diguise its feelings. Henry was still in possession of every manly senti- ment, unwarped by the ingratitude of others, which had before wan upon and secured her regard and affec- tion. With such a strong incitement to virtue as the chaste ejidearments of his beloved Nancy, whose in- dustry had triumphed over want, and secured the good wishes and commendation of her numerous friends, and whose beauty and innocence exceeded the rich- ness of any other dovver, Henry still smiled upon his fate, nor wished it altered. It is natural to suppose he lost no time in urging her to become his. The persuasions of the man she loved, towards a unity of their fortunes, were not long resisted ; and they very soon confirmed, at the sacred altar, those vows which, no doubt, heaven had smiled upon, and virtue had approved. Henry, possessed of strong natural parts, assisted by a common education, and bearing a mind fraught with principles which revolted at the idea of idleness ; and, moreover, too independent to think of subsisting, even by means of the dearest object of his affection, and partner of his future days, while health and means of application for employment were not withheld, 30on procured himself an engagement as a porter in 135 /lie wareliouse oi' a wealthj trader in the city, who, pleased with the fidelity of his domestic, very soon procured another under him, by which means his situation became easy and profitable. There is a commendable pride, which eveiy man ought to encoura^^e — the pride which preserves him from subjecting himself to needless obligations, as long as his own efforts prove sufficient to yield those sup- plies his situation in life demands. About a twelvemonth after their marriage, the amia- ble Nancy presented to the arms of her Henry a smi- ling cherub. To visit the mother and the little stran- ger became the first attention of the fond father, on his return from his daily employment. Enraptured would he hang over the pillow which gave rest to its lovely cheek, and trace in his sleeping babe the features of his beloved ; then, with clasped hands, and eyes raised to Heaven, would he look up with thankfulness to that Power w"ho ha,d thus enriched him. Thus comforted with mutual felicity, year after year passed on in a series of calm and uninterrupted content ; while their Harriet grew up the darling of her parents, and the admiration of their friendSj until her thirteenth year closed upon that happiness which was fated never to return ! Farewell now to innocence and tranquillity ! The cup of wo was filled, and they were condemned to swallow^ the drausrht of bitternes^f. It had been a custom with Henry to celebrate the anniversary of the accession of his monarch to the British throne, and on the evening of October 25^ 136 1778, this happy ikmilj were ioiioceiiti/ engaged among themselves. Harriet had been indulged with the company of a neighbour's daughter about her own age, and the two young folks were taken up in those little amusements which enliven the sportive and blissful hours of health and youth, when a loud rap at the door made them start from their seats, and an im- mediate repetition aroused their apprehension, which Henry perceiving, he told them to fear no harm, as heaven would guard the innocent ; and instantly re- paired to learn the cause of so rude an alarm. Picture, ye who can picture distress and agony, at that sad moment when misery mocks the powers of description, the feelings of Henry, when, on opening the door, he found himself surrounded by a press- gang ! Instantly they seized upon their defenceless prey, notwithstanding the bitter cries of his wife, the little Harriet and her companion, hurried him away from a home, of peace and comfort, which no self-re- proaches had ever embittered. In vain did he entreat for a little time to reconcile his Nancy to the bitter- ness of her fate ; strangers to humanity, and authori- zed by the cruel custom of their country, it did not belong to the horrid business of these protected plun- derers to attend to the waihngs of the wife and child. The husband, the father, had become theirs, and no other idea than that of instantly conveying him away employed their thoughts. Denied the mournful privilege of even a parting embrace, Henry could only look back on the convul- sions of his wife, and hear the screams of his child, 137 without the power of assisting the one, or comfortin;^ the other. He was soon hiimed to the tender, in the unwholesome confines of which he remained till the vessel dropped down to the Nore, where this miser?.- ble and undone wretch w^as put on board a man cf w^ar, which had received sailing orders, and immedi- ately departed on its destined expedition. The afflictions of Henry were still further embit- tered hy the cruel treatment he experienced from his commander, who, wanting a mind to discriminate be- tween sorrow and sullenness, was continually charg- ing him with neglect and inattention. The affliction"^- of the soul had so weakened his constitution as to ren- der him unable for a time to attend to the imposed duties of his miserable station ; a little indulgence was therefore requested, till he should be recovered from an illness that at that time endangered an existence which it was his duty, notwithstanding his sufferings, to endeavour to preserve ;• intelligence of his incapacity was therefore conveyed to his cap- tain, who, to the disgrace of manhood, after severely accusing him of idleness and artifice, commanded punishment as a cure for an emaciated frame and al- most breaking heart. Pause, ye who have shed your tears for the fate of the enslaved African, and drop one here for Henry. Slavery, with all its supposed and real ills, may truly be deemed sunshine to the colour of his fate ! The cruel orders of his commander w^ere obeyed, and the disgrace of public discipline bore hard upon the spirit of Randolph : and hard it ever must bear on the spirits of those who are thus made slaves, hi order lliat they may fight for British freedom ! And now the fatal moment arrived, when the recti- tude of his mind began to waver. Disgrace, unmerit- ed, had effected more than misery ; the standard of honour had been shaken ; and, but for this last disho- nour, he had prepared his mind to meet his country's foe as a Briton ought, notwithstanding his private griefs, which he had hoped to medicine by valour, victory, and reward. The expectation of a christian and a man had just began to cheer his bosom ; he trusted Providence would protect his Nancy and his Harriet till it should again restore him to their embraces. Dawnings of comfort, how were ye overcast ! Blossoms of hope, how^ were ye blasted ! Spirit of a Briton, how were you debased! On the seas of Britannia the throne of slavery was established, and her own sons crushed by the cruelty of unfeeling power. The first departure from that irreproachable con- duct he had preserved through life did not fail to af- fect him much on recollection. In the bitterness of his grief he had accused heaven of injustice, while the profligacy of those around him had poisoned his principles. One of his shipmates had found out a way to purloin liquor from the purser's stores, and had made Randolph acquainted with the scheme, advis- ing him,, at the same time, to follow the example. At first, the unha|)py Randolph started at the idea of theft, but when its criminality was softened dow^n by the sophistry of false argument, he listened and be- came guilty. t 139 It was not long before his practices were discovered, and he was condemned to be hand-culled and chain- ed by the leg on the forecastle, where he was kept on short allowance. The petrifying powei*s of accumu- lated disgrace at length hardened his heart against the sense of shame ; it had been rendered hopeless by the cruelties of his countrymen, and he soon became reconciled to the Hebrew mode of requiting evil with evil. In a short time there was a demand made on his courage by the hour of action and of danger: giving, therefore, one sigh to the remem- brance of those of innocence and peace, he rushed forward on the deck, but not to his death ; his trials vv^ere not yet over, and the severity of his destiny was yet unfilled ! Victory fell to the lot of the enemy, and Randolph was conveyed, with others who sur- vived the desperate action, by numbers three times superior to their own, to a loathsome prison, where they remained till the conclusion of the war ; then they were released, but their enlargement procured them only an exchange of misery ; they were oblig- ed to apply to a magistrate for certificates ; and, un- housed, unfriended, were compelled to beg bread through realms their valour had contributed to save. Randolph, once more on his native shore, applied to his captain for a certificate of his services, who readily recognised him, and it was granted; he, there- fore, made application to the proper office of the navy to receive his wages, upon which the clerk, turning over his books, informed him that his wages hfid been already paid to a person who produced, 140 what now appeared to be, a forged will and power ; of course he must remain with his claims unsatisfied until he could take the proper steps for obtaining redress. This stroke, heavy as it fell, did not, how- ever, entirely overcome him. Emaciated with want, anxiety, and fatigue, but more by those misgivings of the mind, respecting the fate of those he loved, and from whom he had been so long separated, he pro- ceeded, a poor beggar, with trembling steps, towards the mansion where he had left his wife and child. Unhappy man ! he knocked at the door, but strangers opened it. Mrs. Nevill, the person who then kept the school, informed him that all the neighbourhood had kindly administered to Mrs. Randolph's relief, but her afflictions becoming too powerful for her mind, in the course of a few months, bereft of reason, she gave up that being whose existence had been thus embittered by the cruelties of war, falling a martyr to enormities which the very laws of her own nation consider as such. This shameful truth is what gives strength to the pleadings of humanity against a practice which every honest and good heart must condemn. If hints may be of use to preserve the honest and industrious to their wives and children, and pluck the daring and unprincipled from desperate lives and shameful ends ; wretches who, estranged from every domestic and moral tie, prey upon the land, and destroy the repose of others; let those whom it may concern, by in- quiry, learn that as soon as the day closes, it is unsafe for our citizens to venture from their houses; for, 141 even iti the Strand, that grand tlioroughfare of the first city in the world, nightly banditti assemble in formidable parties; and, in the open street, as in the sequestered wood, fearless of control, plunder the most manly in the sight of passengers who dare not. interfere! Shame on those who will not listen to the means of redress, when they are invested with power to put them in practice. Those who have feeling will pardon the writer for wandering from his narrative into reflections to which it has led him ; the candid and judging, he trusts, are well aware of his motive, and will suffer that to plead his excuse. The spirit broken Randolph, after a heartfelt groan for the death of his wife, ventured to ask for Harriet. " Name her not !" replied Mrs. Nevill, " she w^as a bad girl, and unworthy your attention." " Oh !" continued Henry, " do not rack me thus ! say she is dead, and I will strive to bear the dreadful intelligence ! But pity, O pity my poor brain! My lost wife was virtuous and good; O say not her child has been otherwise.'' Mrs. Nevill, who was an advocate for justice, with- out mercy, perceiving the state of his mind, with a look of great sagacity, observed, " that it was needless to mince the matter, that every good parent was not blessed with good children, and that it was partly owing to sparing the rod while they were young* A lady at Richmond," continued this prudent teacher, " took your daughter as a companion, and foolishly indulged her love for music and reading ; the conse- qucnces was, that in the course of a few months. 142 Harriet tiioiight proper to run avv^av from her protec- tress, who has never heard of her since. You know your daughter appeared some years older than she really was ; it is no doubt her beauty attracted re- gard ; several gay young fellows visited at the house, and it may naturally be supposed the villain was among them who allured her from such a heedless and improper guardian." Randolph could hear no more ; he stamped on the ground, and beat his ach- ing head. *> At length, after a pause, he looked on his intelligencer, perceived her spirit, and left her. He immediately repaired to Richmond, but there his griefs were rendered still more poignant : arriving at that mansion, belonging to the former protectress of his ruined and lost child, the servant took in his name, but quickly returned with orders for him to depart instantly from the door, as his lady had nothing to &ay to him. Alas, hapless parent ! thou wert desti- tute of money, and no doubt the unfeeling domestic had given his own account of thy miserable appear- ance, picturing thy countenance, rendered pale and squalid from an almost breaking heart, as that of a wretch deeply dyed in the mysteries of villany. Thus repulsed, comfortless, a stranger in the wide w orld, w ithout a single hope to console him, he de- termined to apply to his former master for some rehef to his sufferings ; but even this hope was frustrated. Disappointments in payments from abroad, aggra- vated by many severe losses at home, having created much uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Cartwright, he had given up all his connexions, and retired into a remote part of Wales. 143 Destitute of the means to procure a change in his appearance, which bespoke the extreme of wretched- ness, exckided every hope of getting employment, nothing was left for the miserable Randolph but beg- gary ! For some days he placed himself in different parts of London : but the aid of passengers was very small. He determined, therefore, to see if he could experience more humanity without the town than h^ had found within it, and had wandered on as far as Hampstead. It was the close of autumn ; qight made its swift approaches, accompanied with rain and a chilling wind. He had got upon the heath, where he was suffering cold, hunger, and fatigue. In this evil moment of want and desperation, he heard the sound of a carriage upon the road, and approached the per- son who was placed in it, in order to supplicate relief; but seeing only a lady, he resolved to change his sup- plication into a demand, which procured him a few guineas, and the offer of a watch, but that he refused, and told the driver, who was but a lad, to proceed. He then quitted the road, and speedily found himself pursued by two horsemen. Finding swiftness and re- sistance of no avail, he surrendered himself. The ladr proved to be a woman of fashion, and was coming to town for the winter season : her servants, at the mo- ment of tbe robbery, happened to be too far behind to prevent it, but in a few minutes came up, when they were informed of the circumstance ; on which two of them, following the directions of the postboy, who had marked Randolph's course, rode off, and look him a6 related. 144 It would prove a painful and unpleasing task to dwell on this part of Randolph's mournful history. It is sufficient to inform the reader that he underwent imprisonment, and a trial, which doomed him to an ignominious death. Circumstances, however, having been represented as favourable as possible, and this being his first oifence, he was recommended to mer- cj, and obtained the king's free pardon. On his en- largement he found his miseries as great as ever, and he knew not where to turn for the support of life ; when happening to meet a fellow shipmate, who was, at that time, in good circumstances, owing to the death of an uncle, who had left him a farm in the country ; the generous tar heard with candour the re- lation of Randolph's sufferings, pitied his sorrows, and pardoned his guilt. Jlr. Wilkins was then going down to his farm, about one hundred miles oif; and told Randolph, that if he chose to exchange want for plenty, and approved of a removal from a spot he had so little cause to be attached to, there was a house at his service, where he might, if he pleased, spend the remainder of his days. " Come, my boy !" conti- nued Wilkins, "you were young when I first kncAV you, but I liked your spirit. I have ploughed the sea, and am now going to plough the land. Thank heaven ! I am not a novice as to the management of a farm, having spent fifteen years of my life with this very kinsman, who, bless his soul ! has been so good to me, and I would never have left him, had not I, like an ungrateful young' dog, quarrelled with my bread and butter, and left him in a huff; but no mat 145 ter, I have a bit of the bridle, and after all, have met with goodness when I had no right to expect it. But it has given me a heart to feel for a fellow creature, much more a fellow sufferer and old shipmate. Thus providentially preserved from threatening evils, Randolph, with grateful sensations, embraced the offer of his friend. They departed from London in a few days, but not before Randolph found himself clothed, and in possession of money. Wilkins was not very rich in that quality which the world is fond of distinguishing under the term refinement ; he had not a tear to shed for every trifle, but he possessed a heart ready to burst on the relation of human misery ; a heart which prompted him to relieve with delicacy, and wherever his obligations fell, to let them fall as light as possible on those who experienced his bounty. The two friends soon arrived at this humble though neat mansion of rural felicity and domestic peace. The daughter of Wilkins ran to embrace her parent; she was a blooming girl, and her countenance was that of innocence. Randolph looked upon her, and at the happy father, by turns, and then, with a deep sigh, fell senseless to the ground I Nature, who had formed the heart of Wilkins, was his only prompter on this melancholy occasion ; he sent his daughter away, and suffered not his wife to administer. In a little time Randolph recovered, and clasping his hands, ex- claimed, " O, my lost Harriot!" then turning to Wil- kins, he continued, " pardon the unhappy man who dares to envy his benefactor ; but 1 will yet look up; I once, mv friend, was blessed with a daughter 19 146 lovely as your own, ai>d now, I trust, a saint in hea- ven ! I have been led by misery into guilt, but live to own the mercies of a protecting God! My poor child too, has erred ; but that Being, who permitted her to behold a wretched father torn from her infant arms, and a desperate mother expire in madness, has, no doubt, taken their wretched offspring to himself." Wilkins, in return to this affecting address, looked far more than he could utter. At length , clapping his guest gently on the shoulder, he exclaimed, " Poor fellow! in this harbour rest secure; the blasts of misfortune have borne hard upon thee ; but now the storm is over do not let your spirits be cast down ; I am a rough seaman, my actions must comfort you more than my words, for there 1 fall short. But come, let me lead you to my good dame, and per- haps her conversation will cheer you ; a good heart like her's will ever be a glad one ; she has taught me to honour religion, and but for her, I should never have been what I am, nor ever have known the happiness I have felt in performing my duty as a christian. Randolph experienced in the society of Mrs. Wil- kins the truth of the above observation ; her man- ners were mild, and her heart was guided by the pure precepts contained in that volume which ad- ministers comfort to all who seriously turn to its sacred pages. From the same source Randolph procured balm for his distempered mind, and deeply felt how much he was indebted to a preserving providence. 147 Two years had elapsed, when Wilkins having some business to transact, which would keep him from his family about a week, at the distance of near fifty miles from their dwelling, he proposed that his friend should bear him company, in hopes that change of air might remove a severe indisposition under which Randolph had laboured for some months, and which threatened a decline. The offer was accepted, and they set off on theii' journey ; but when they had got within ^ve miles of the place they were going to, a sudden and violent illness obhged Randolph to stop at an inn on the road ; and finding himself unable to proceed, he de- sired to be left there until Wilkins should return. As the business which had caused the journey was urgent, Wilkins left, though unwiUingly, his sick com- panion, with a strict charge to the master of the ina to procure every assistance his malady required. Randolph was immediately put to bed, and no at- tention was spared on the part of the people of the house. A medicine, w^hich had been ordered on his going to rest, performed its part so happily as to enable him to rise the next day. Towards the even- ing, which was remarkably fine, he imagined himself so far recovered as to be able to w alk out. He proceeded about a mile ; a beautiful setting sun enriched the appearance of every surrounding object, and tempted him to extend his walk still far- ther, when he was seized with a sudden delirium, and sunk to the ground. Fortunately two servants, who belonged to a Lady Middleton, whose seat Avas 148 situated near the spot, were at that moment passing by, and ran to his assistance ; but poor Randolph was unable to answer the inquiries they made ; on which, with great humanity, they bore the unhappy man be- tween them to her ladyship's mansion, where every aid his situation required was extended towards him. Recovering by degrees, he looked around him ; then fixing his eyes on Doctor Spencer, her ladyship's physician, " Tell me, worthy sir," said Randolph, " to whom I am indebted for the preservation of a life which has been marked by varied miseries, yet prolonged by heavenly mercy." Doctor Spencer, perceiving the mind of his patient greatly agitated, told him to compose himself, that he would see him once more that evening, and again in the morning. " It is enough, my good sir," continued the worthy man, "at present, to know that you are among friends. Lady Middleton, who owns this seat, is at this time engaged with her attorney, on some busi- ness of consequence, respecting the affairs of Sir Charles Middleton. Alas ! sir, a few months ago, all was happiness and serenity in this now mournful mansion ; but death hath robbed it of its master, and heaven knows how much, and with what reason, all within it have mourned their irreparable loss ! but more of this in the morning, when I hope to find you able to converse with me. I am a man, sir, who has had misfortunes, which have led me strongly to feel for human afEictions." Upon this, he withdrew ; and Randolph, laying his head upon his pillow, fell into a gentle slumber. 149 The next morning, Doctor Spencer revisited his patient, and found him perfectly sensible, though ex- tremely low. The good old man, seating himself by the bedside, after feeling the pnlse of Randolph, thus seriously addressed him : " Tell me, my dear friend, if you are connected with any one whom you are anxious to see. Do not be alarmed, but your illness is of such a nature as to mix along with my hopes a degree of doubt ; therefore, ill could I answer it to my conscience, if I told you there was no occasion to provide for the worst that may happen.^' Randolph, clasping Doctor Spencer's hand, exclaimed with great energy, " Blessed intelhgence ! O sir ! I have had connexions, from whom being rudely torn, misery and want have made me guilty of crimes. The for- mer are gone where I trust I shall meet them ; and the latter, through the atonement which I have flown to, I am sure are forgiven." He then went through the whole of his unhappy history, which was heard, by the person to whom it w^as told, with candour and humanity. Doctor Spen- cer then prevailed on Randolph to be as calm as pos- sible, and undertook to inform the family of Vvilkins of every circumstance necessary for them to know^ ; and likewise to leave a letter for him, on his return to the inn where he had left his friend. But alas ! all was needless, for before the light closed upon that day, Randolph w^as dismissed from all his sufferings. Doctor Spencer immediately waited on Lady Mid- dleton, with intelligence of every thing that had been done ; but when he came to Randolph's eventful 150 story, his hearer gave a loud convulsive scream, and dropped senseless from her chair. Doctor Spencer had the presence of mind not to alarm the family, and in a little time her ladyship revived ; when casting her eyes wildly around the room, she exclaimed, " Where is he ! where is my father ?" " Your father ?" rejoined Doctor Spencer; "Yes, my father; reply not, but bear me to him." Doctor Spencer was scarely able to support the petrifying eifects of this discovery ; at length, ad- vancing to Lady Middleton, with a collected look and steady manner, he thus addressed her : " Madam, permit an old man to advise you how to act on this occasion, which requires the exertion of all your resolution : if you mean to save your parent, you must restrain your impatience. Pardon me, ma- dam, for this boldness ; and let my age, and my af- fection for you and yours, cover me from your re- sentment. I will go instantly to your restored pa- rent, and as soon as possible prepare his mind to receive you." Without waiting a reply, he returned to his patient's chamber, requested his attention, and thus addressed him : " Your destiny, Mr. Randolph, has been indeed severe ; but, notwithstanding the bitter evils you have endured, reflection on the past must bring back to your mind certain blessings, the recollection of which, no doubt, fill your heart with thankfulness, for have you not been an object of heaven's peculiar mercy !" The attentive Randolph expressed his sense of the justness of the observation ; and Doctor Spencer proceeded: "and that mercy, my 151 dear friend, is not yet exhausted. It is yet in my power, through the means of a mysterious Provi- dence, dto comfort you even beyond your hopes : re- ceive then my intelUgence with cahnness and thank- fulness. You have a good and innocent child yet living ; and who, in a little time, can be brought hither to receive her father's blessing." The venerable Spencer waited for Randolph's re- ply, who clasping his hands together, held them up for a time in silent adoration, while his countenance wore a smile expressive of an inward satisfaction. He then turned to his worthy friend, saying, " It may seem strange to you, sir, that a heart which ought to bound with ecstacy should yet be broken : I am sen- sible that I have not many hours to live ; but, that heaven should sw^eeten those hours with such an ear- nest of future bliss, exceeds all human compreheu* sion." Doctor Spencer, though much afflicted in knowing himself that Randolph's last hour was swiftly comings on, yet repressing his emotions, went to the apart- ment of Lady Middleton with a cheerful aspect, and approaching her with a tender respect, said, " comc. my dear child, your parent is now prepared to see you : but do not be alarmed at beholding him pale and very low : it is the duty of good hearts like yours to bear with submission to the decrees of providence : I have reason to imagine, my worthy lady, that you and I must very shortly mourn his loss : but, consider, my daughter, for I know he will leave you to my care, 1^^ shall indeeiil have occasion tq momo, but not like 152 those vvlio have no hope. L^t us then be careful^ lest in ihdulgmg our grief too far, we become ungrate- ful to that power whose mercies w^e have gfe richly experienced. At my request, your father has com- posed himself to sleep ; in the mean time I told him 1 would hasten and bring you to his arms. He may perhaps become inquisitive concerning your story : I think it needful, therefore, to be indulged with so much of it as you think proper to disclose, in order to remove from yourself a task which may prove rather severe." " Kind and generous sir," replied the weep- ing Lady Middleton, '' your protection will prove my blessing, and your receiving me as a child, will com- fort a heart which has ever revered your principles. Receive, in a few words, my unhappy story, and then lead me to the restored parent, whom I am prepared to give up to that heaven, w^here, I trust, sir, you and I shall shortly join him." Lady Middleton then recounted what the reader is already acquainted with; we shall, therefore, only pursue the relation from her situation with her Rich- mond friend. " In this gay family I experienced every indulgence that gives pleasure to young minds : I was taught every polite accomplishment, and moved in a conti- nual round of amusement ; but my heart revolted at joy, for my parents were ever present in my mind. Among the young gentlemen that visited at the house, Sir Charles Middleton was the most accomplished, and was just come to the possession of his estate. From the first moment that I beheld him, I felt a par- 163 liality in his favour : we soon became dear to each other. He Hkevvise was an orphan ; and often did we mingle our tears together. He won upon me to consent to a private marriage, which he represented as absolutely necessary, at least for a time, as his un- cle, who had no children, had declared he would leave his estate to strangers, if his nephew did not marry into a family of rank and title. My love was too great to object to his desire in this particular ; and, unknown to the family, depending on his honour, which never knew a stain, and on that worth which never will again be equalled, I came wdth him to this mansion, where we were united by the most sacred ties. Oh ! Doctor Spencer, you know the rest ; you know that his gene- rous heart, too delicate to call me his in private, panted only for my honour and my peace : you soothed his wounded spirit, on the cruel treatment he received from his unfeeling uncle, on the discovery of our mar- riage ; and you watched him during the course of that fever which took him from my widowed arms. But come, sir, I am now collected ; lead me to my honour- ed father, and let me receive that blessing, which you have given me cause to fear will not often be repeat- ed." Doctor Spencer bowed, and led her to the chamber. On entering, they found Randolph still in a slumber, but it was broken wiili sighs. In a little time he awoke ; Doctor Spencer, advancing to the bedside, took hold of his hand, and requested his at- tention to a short recital of his Harriet's history, from the time he left her : on hearing which, Randolph exclaimed. "Blessed, and ^ver blessed Providence! 20 154 my thankful soul bends to thy decrees ; let me but see my child once again, and I shall be contented." On this, supported between two attendants. Lady Middieton advanced, and kneeling down, felt the hands of her father resting upon her head : then rising, she threw her arms around him in speechless agony. Doctor Spencer was too much moved to ut- ter a word ; but looking for a time on the aifecting scene, his heart became too full for his strength, and he sunk down on a chair and w^ept aloud. At length, recollecting himself, he again struggled with his feel- ings, and advanced to the bed, where he beheld La- dy Middieton still embracing her father, with a wild- ness which alarmed him. On raising her up, she ut- tered a long and deep sigh, and fainted in the arms of the attendants, as they were conveying her from the lifeless corpse of her parent, who had just lived to breathe out his departing spirit in the arms of a child he had for along time considered as lost. Doctor Spencer, after giving proper directions con- cerning the lifeless body, notwithstanding the depres- sion of his own spirits, hastened to support those of Lady Middieton, whose religion forbidding her to de- spair, he found in the attitude of prayer, and audibly addressing that power whose mercy extends to all those who call upon him. The sight comforted his heart, and he withdrew unobserved to the adjoining chamber, where he could distinctly hear the pious ejaculation delivered from lips that had been early taught to express dictates of innocence, from which her gentle spirit had. never swerved. The daughter 155 of Randolph knew no guile ; and she possessed, in a very great degree, those softer charms which render her sex truly amiable. But however resigned, Lady Middleton still found herself unequal to the task of combating with her ac- cumulated and severe afflictions ; and Doctor Spencer observed, with inward regret, that although her griefs were silent, they were yet deeply rooted in a heart too amiable to reconcile it quickly to the loss of parents who had thus fallen the victims of misery, and a hus- band, in whose love and attention alone she had hoped to experience comfort. The melancholy satisfaction of dwelling on the remembrance of those we have loved and honoured, is an enjoyment known only to the possessors of true refinement and pure sensibility. Lady Middleton had bestowed her affections on an orphan, as she then imagined herself, and who, like herself, had cherished in his bosom the strong and dear recollection of his departed parents. Wilkins having completed his business, returned to the inn where he had left his friend. His surprise may easily be imagined on receiving the letter which had been left for him. Its contents induced him im- mediately to hasten to Lady Middleton, to whom he was introduced by Doctor Spencer. Without reserve, the child of Randolph embraced the honest and deeply affected seaman, whom she considered as an instru- ment in the hand of Providence in preserving her la- mented parent from impending misery. Wilkins could only sob out, '• Be comforted, my dear child: I loved thy father from the first moment I saw hira. 156 He was then a fine stripling, and possessed the heart of a Hon : but heaven and himself onlj have know^n how it. has been since broken down by the storms of adversity. Well, well, there is a great deal of injustice in the world, and my departed brother seaman has come in for his full share of it. But, as my dame says, the keen edge of heaven's just vengeance is ne- ver suffered to rust, and reflection will come home to the cruel-minded." The effusions of the honest heart of this generous sailor conveyed consolation to the af- flictions he endeavoured thus to relieve ; and Lady Middleton experienced every comfort she was capa- ble of receiving in the society of the tender, humane, and refined Spencer, and the honest, manly, and feel- ing Wilkins. A few weeks passed on, during which Lady Middle- ton employed herself in settling her worldly concerns, in which she nobly paid back the debt of gratitude to those who had so richly merited every thing she had to bestow. The task performed, her thoughts were wholly turned to the vast concerns of an immortal state, to which she knew she was hastening, and which she had ever happily considered was not to be left to the mercy of a moment. The friendly warning of her release from life at length arrived, and perceiving the trem- bling tear glisten in the eye of Wilkins, on being sum- moned to take his farewell, the child of Randolph, for the last time, kissed the hand of her father's friend, and thus delivered the acknowledgments of a heart that deeply felt its obligations : " Honoured friend of 157 my departed paient, whose released spirit is now be- yond the reach of human misery, bless me, ere I die, as that parent would himself have done, were h^ now leaning, like you, in tears and agony, over the death- bed of his suffering child. Words are too weak to express my gratitude, my esteem; and oh, suffer me to add, my affection." After a pause, she requested Doctor Spencer to at- tend to the last words she should probably utter. " I feel, my w orthy sir," she continued, " that your poor orphan has not long to remember the loss of those from whom she may say she has been bereft by the cruel policy of the land from which she is departing. I have considered the first cause of all my sufferings, and in that cruel policy I find them to have originated. Unfeeling men tore my poor father from me, and I now again behold his anguish — again behold the con- vulsions of my distracted mother, and again experi- ence that void in my own heart, which has never since been filled up. I am fully sensible that it will not be long before I meet them in that heaven where injus- tice will never again separate them from me. In the course of a few years, that death should mark the un- fortunate, and claim them as his own, is not for you or me to regret ; for when and where could they have hoped for peace or comfort ! To the heart-stricken and deserted, the source of all earthly good is dried up, and the grave is ever a friend to the weary and heavy laden, who Avish to lay down the burden of persecuted existence. A great part of my worldly possessions, ^hich are considerable, I have, by will, bequeathed to 168 yourself; the conduct of my lamented husband's fa- mily to him and me has rendered it even unfit for me to remember the proud in spirit, and by that means increase the folly of human consequence, and add riches to the rich. I am sensible your goodness will ev er be prompting you to acts of mercy and occasional munificence. Perhaps some future Randolph may call forth your pitying tear. Perhaps some deserted mother may plead at your heart, as at heaven's gate, for mercy. Comfort them, oh ! comfort them from the stores of her who was once poor, and let the daughters of affliction be relieved by the means of their sister in adversity." The task is done: the writer can add no more, than that the mother, the father, and the child, rest under one tomb, raised by the venerable Spencer. THE MOOR, There was once in Venice a Moor of great merit; who for his personal courage, and the proofs he had given of his conduct, as w^ell as his vigorous genius in the affairs of war, was held in great esteem by those gentlemen who, in rewarding patriotic services, excel all the republics that ever existed. It happened that a virtuous woman of great beauty, called Desde- mona, not drawn by female appetite, but by the virtue of the Moor, fell in love with him ; and he, subdued by the charms and noble sentiments of the lady, be- came equally enamoured of her. Their passion was so successful that they were married, although her relations did all in their power to make her take another husband. They lived together in such peace and concord while they were at Venice, that there never passed betw een them either word or action that was not ex- pressive of affection. The Venetians, resolving to change the garrison which they maintained in Cyprus, elected the Moor to the command of the troops which they destined for that island. Although he w-as extremely pleased with the honour proposed to him, (as it is a dignity conferred only on those who are noble, brave, trusty, and of approved couroge.) yet was his joy diminished when he reflected on the length and inconvenience of the voyage, supposing^ that Desdemona must be very averse to undertaking it. His w ife, who valued nothing in the world but her husband, rejoiced exceedingly in the testimon}^ approbation so lately show n him by a powerfuljmd celebrated republic, and was extremely impal^iii for the departure of the troops, that she mighr sTccom- pany him to a post of so much honour ; but ^Vas very much vexed at seeing the Moor disturbed, and, not knowing the reason, said to him one day at dinner, " how can you be so melancholy after having received from the senate so high and so honourable a distinc- tion ?" " My love for you, Desdemona,'' replied the Moor, " disturbs my enjoyment of the rank conferred on me ; since I am now exposed to the alternative of either endangering your life by sea, or leaving you at 160 Venice. The first would be terrible, as I shall siiffei extremely from every fatigue you underp>., from every danger that threatens you ; the second would render me insupportable to myself, as parting from you would be parting from my life." " Ah ! husband,'' returned Desdemona, " why do you perplex your- self with idle imaginations ? I will follow you wher- ever you go, though it were necessary to pass through fire, instead of only going by water in a safe and well equipped vessel. If there are dangers in the way, I will share them with you : and indeed your affection for me could not be great, if you thought of leaving me at Venice to save me from a sea voyage, or believ- ed that I would rather remain here in security than share with you both danger and fatigue. I insist, therefore, on yqur^ preparing for the voyage with all that cheerfulness which your dignity ought to inspire." The Moor then tenderly embraced his wife, saying, ^" May heaven long preserve us in this degree of recip- rocal affection." Soon afterwards, having settled his affairs, and prepared the necessary stores, he went on board th6 galley with his wife and his company, and sailed for Cyprus with a favourable wind. He had in his company'an ensign of a very amiable outward ap- pearance, but whose character was extremely treach- erous and base. He had imposed on the Moor's sim- plicity so successfully, that he had gained his friend- ship ; for although he was in fact a very great coward, yet his carriage and conversation were so haughty and full of pretension, that you would have taken him for a Hector or an Achilles. This rascal had also con 161 ducted his wife with him to Cyprus, who was a hand- some and <||fecreet woman ; and being an Italian, Desdemona was so fond of her, that they passed the greatest part of their time together. In the same company was also a lieutenant, to whom the Moor was much attached. The lieutenant was often at the Moor's house, and dined frequently with him and his wife. Desdemona, seeing that the Moor was so fond of him, showed him every mark of attention and civility, with which the Moor was much pleased. The detestable ensign, forgetting his duty to his own wife, and violating all the laws of friendship, honour, and gratitude, with which he was bound to the Moor, fell passionately in love with Desdemona, and thought only how he might enjoy her. He dared iK)t, however, avow himself, for^fear the Moor, if he discovered it, should instantly put him to death. He sought by aftgthe private means in his power to make Desdemona conscious of his love. But she was so entirely taken up with the Moor, that she thought neither of him or any one else; and all that he did to engage her affections produced not the least effect. He then took it into his head, that this neglect arose from her being pre-engaged in favour of the lieutenant ; and not only determined to get rid of him, but changed his affection for her into the most bitter hatred. He studied, besides, how he might prevent in future the Moor from living happily with Desdemona, should his passion not be gratified after he had murdered the lieutenant. Revolving in his mind a variety of methods, ^11 impious and 21 16^ abominable, he at last determined to accuse her to the Moor of adultery with the lieut^fcint. But knowing the Moor's affection for Desdemq^ia, and his friendship for the iieutenanty he plainly saw, that un- less his deceit was very artfully conducted, it would be impossible to make him think ill of either of them ; for this reason, he determined to wait till time and place afforded him a fit opportunity for entering on his wicked design ; and it was not long before the Moor degraded the lieutenant, for having drawn his sword and wounded a soldier upon guard. This ac- cident was so painful to Desdemona, that she often tried to obtain for him her husband's pardon. In the mean time, the Moor had observed to the ensign, that his wife teazed him so much in favour of the lieutenant, that he feared he should be obliged at last to restore him to his commission. This appeared to that villain th^proper moment for opening his scheme of treachery, which he began by saying, " perhaps Desdemona is fond of his compa- ny." " And why ?" said the Moor. "Nay," replied he, " I do not choose to meddle between man and wife I but if you watch her pro^perly you will understand me." Nor would he, to the earnest entreaties of the Moor, afford any further explanation. The words had stung the Moor so severely, that he endeavoured perpetually to find out their meaning, and became exceedingly me- lancholy. Whereupon, when his wife, sometime after- wards, repeated her solicitations that he would forgive the lieutenant, and not sacrifice the service and Mendsbip of so many years to one slight fault, par- 163 ticularly as the lieutenant and the soldier were friends ag||p, the Moor grew angry, and said to her, " It is somewhat extraordinary, Desdemona, that you should take so much trouble about this fellow ; he is neither your brother nor your relation, that he should claim so much of your affection." His wife, with much sweetness and humility, replied, " I have no other motive for speaking, than the pain it gives me to see you deprived of so excellent a frier>d as you have always told me the lieutenant was to you. I liope you will not be angiy with me ; yet his fault does not merit so much of your hatred : but you Moors are of so warm a constitution, that every trifle trans- ports you with anger and revenge." The Moor, still irritated by these words, replied, " Perhaps one who suspects it not may learn that, by experience, I will be revenged for the injuries done to me so thoroughly that I shall be satisfied." His wife, who was much terrified by these expressions, and seeing him, for the first time, in a passion with her, submissively answer- ed^ " 1 have none but the purest motive for speaking on the business : but not to displease you in future, I promise not to speak of it again." The Moor, on this new application made by his wife in favour of the lieutenant, imagined that the ensign's words meant that she was in love with him : he therefore went to that scoundrel in a state of great dejection, and endeavoured to make him speak moi*e intelligi- bly. The ensign, bent on the ruin of this poor wo- man, after feigning an unwillingness to say any thing to her disadvantage, and at last pretending to yield to 164 the vehement entreaties of the Moor, said, " I cannot conceal the pain I feel in being imder t^ necessity of making a discoveiy which will be to you so very shocking ; but since you insist on it, and the atten- tion which I ought to pay to the honour of my com- manding officer prompts me to speak, I will not now refuse to satisfy your dem.and and my own duty. lo 1 must know that Desdemona is only displeased at seeing you angry with the lieutenant, because, When he comes to your house, she consoles herself with him for the disgust which your blackness now occ-dsions her to feel." These words penetrated to the very bottom of the Moor's heart ; but to be better informed, (although his previous suspicion made him give credit to the ensign's information,) he assumed a threatening countenance, and said, " I know not what prevents me from cutting out that insolent tongue of yours, that has so impu- dently attacked the honour of my wife." The ensign then replied, " I expected no other reward for this friendly office of mine ; but since my duty has made me go so far, and my regard for your honour still re- mains, I tell you again that the case is so ; and if her feigned affection for you has blindfolded you to such a degree that you have not seen what is so visible, that does not at all lessen the truth of my assertion. The lieutenant himself, who is one of those who are not content with their own enjoyments when some others are not acquainted with them, told me so ; and, added he, if I had not feared your displeasure, I v»'ould have given him, at the time, the death he merited. 165 But since the information I give you, which concerns you more thab any one else, makes you treat me so veiy improperly, I am sorry I did not hold my tongue, that I might have avoided giving you offence." The Moor then answered, in great agitation, " if you do not make me see, with my own eyes, the truth of what you tell me, be assured that I will make you wish you had been born dumb." " This would have been easy enough," replied the villain ; " but since you have driven him away for a lighter reason than that which ought to have banished him thence, it will be difficult to prove it. For though I think he yet continues to enjoy Desdemona when- ever you give him an opportunity, he must necessa- rily proceed with greater caution now than he did be- fore he had incurred your displeasurdf But 1 do not despair of making you see that, which upon my word you will not receive." They then separated. The poor Moor went home with a barbed arrow in his side, waiting impatiently for the day when the ensign should show him what was to render him for ever miserable. But the known purity of Desdemona's conduct gave no less uneasiness to the villanous en- sign, because he was afraid he should not be able to convince the Moor of what he had so falsely assured him. He applied himself, therefore, to (he invention of new malice, and devised other expedients. I have already said that Desdemona went frequently to the ensign's house, and passed great part of the day with his wife. The villain had observed that she often brought with her a handkerchief that the Moor had 166 given her, and which, as it was very delicately worked in the Moorish taste, was very highly valued by them both ; he determined to steal it, and by its means com- plete her ruin. He had a little girl about three years old that was much caressed by Desdembna ; and one day, when the unhappy woman was on a visit to this villain, he took up the child in his arms, and presented it to Desdemona, who received it and pressed it to her bosom. In the same instant this deceiver stole from her sash the handkerchief, with such dexterity, that she did not perceive him, and went away with it in very high spirits. Desdemona went home, and taken up with other thoughts, never recollected her handker- chief till some days after, when, not being able to find it, she began to fear that the Moor would ask her for it, as he often ^id. The infamous ensign watched his opportunity, went to the lieutenant, and, to aid his wicked purpose, left the handkerchief on his bolster. The lieutenant did not find it till the next morning, tvhen, getting up, he set his foot upon it as it had fallen to the floor. Not being able to imagine how it came, and knowing it to be Desdemona's, he deter- mined to carry it back to her, and waiting till the Moor had gone out, he went to the back door and knocked. Fortune, who seemed to have conspired, along with the ensign, the death of this poor woman, brought the Moor home in the same instant. Hear- ing some one knock, he went to the window, and much disturbed, asked " who is there ?" The lieute- nant, hearing his voice, and fearing that when he came down he w^ould do him some mischief, ran away with- 167 out aaswering. The Moor came down, and finding no one either at the door or in the street, returned lull of suspicion to his wife, and asked her if she knew who it was that had knocked. She answered with great truth that she knew not. "But I think," saidhe^ " it was the Ueutenant." " It might be he," said she, ^' or any one else." The Moor checked himself at the time, though he was violently enraged, and de- termined to take no step without first consulting the ensign. To him he immediately went, and related what had happened, begging him to learn from the lieutenant what he could on the subject. The ensign rejoiced mnch in this accident, and promised to do so. He contrived to enter into discourse with him one day, in a place where the Moor might see them» He talked with him on a very different subject, laughed much, and expressed by his motions and attitudes very great surprise. The Moor, as soon as he saw them separate, w'ent to the ensign, and desired to know what had passed between them. The ensign, after many solicitations, at last told him, that he had concealed nothing from him. He says he has enjoyed your wife every time that you have staid long enough from home to give him an opportunity ; and that, in their last interview^ she had made him a present of that handkerchief which you gave her. The Moor tlianked him, and thought that if his wife had no longer the handker- chief in her possession, it would be a proof that the ensign had told him the truth. For which reason, one day after dinner, among other subjects, he asked hei- 168 for this handkerchief. The poor woman, who had long apprehended this, blushed excessively at the question, and to hide her change of colour, which the Moor had very accurately observed, ran to her wardrobe, and pretended to look for it. After having searched for some time " I cannot conceive," said she, " what is become of it ; have you taken it ?" '' Had I taken it," replied he, " I should not have ask- ed you for it : but you may look for it at your ease." Leaving her then, he began to reflect what would be the best way of putting to death his wife and the lieutenant, and how he might avoid being prosecuted for the murder. Thinking night and day on this sub- ject, he could not prevent Desdemooa from perceiv- ing that his behaviour to her was very different from what it had been formerly. She often asked him " w hat it was that agitated him so violently ? You, who was once the merriest man alive, are now the most melancholy." The Moor answered, and alleged a variety of reasons, but she was not satisfied with any of them ; and knowing that she had done no- thing to justify so much agitation, she began to fear that he grew tired of her. She once, in conversation with the ensign's wife, expressed herself thus : " I know not what to say of the Moor; he used to treat me most affectionately ; and I begin to fear that my example will teach young women never to marry against their parents' consent ; and, the Italians in particular, not to connect themselves with men from w^hom they are separated by nature, climate, educa- tion, and complexion. But as I know him to be the 169 confidant of jour husband, whom he consults oq all occasions, I entreat you, if you have heard any- thing that might explain this mystery and be of use to me, not to deny me your assistance." These words were accompanied with a flood of tears. The ensign's wife, who knew all, (as her husband had in vain endeavoured to prevail on her to become an accomplice in the murder of Desdemona,) but durst tell her nothing for fear of her husband, only said, " Take care not to give the Moor any cause for suspicion, and do all in your power to convince him of your affection and fidelity." " Why, so I do," said she, " but to no purpose." The Moor, in the mean time, did all in his power to prove what he desired not to find true, and begged the ensign to let him see the handkerchief in possession of the lieutenant. Al- though this was a difficult undertaking, yet the villain promised to do all in his power to give him a satisfac- tory proof of this. The lieutenant had a woman in the house, who was a notable embroiderer in mushn, and who, struck with the beauty of Desdemona's hand- kerchief, determined to copy it before it should be returned to her. She set about making one like it, and while she was at w^ork, the ensign discovered that she sat at a window where any one who passed in the street might see her. This he took care to point out to the Moor, who was then fully persuaded that his chaste and innocent wife was an adulteress. Hq agreed with the ensign to kill both her and the lieu- tenant ; and consulting together about the means, fhe Moor entreated him to undertake the as,sassina- 170 tion of the ofiicer, promising never to forget so great an obligation. He refused, however, to attempt what was so very difficult and dangerous, as the Heutenant w^as equally brave and vigilant ; but with much en- treaty, and considerable presents, he was prevailed on to say that he would hazard the experiment. One dark night, after taking this resolution, he observed the lieutenant coming out of the house of a female liber- tine, where he usually passed his evening, and as- saulted him, sword in hand. He struck at his legs, with a view of bringing him to the ground, and, with the first blow, cut him through the right thigh. The poor man instantly fell, and the ensign ran to him to put him to death. But the lieutenant, who was outra- geous, and familiar with wounds and slaughter, hav- ing drawn his sword, notwithstanding his desperate situation, and raised himself for defence, cried out murder, as loud as he could. The ensign, perceiving that some people were coming, and that the soldiers quartered thereabouts had taken the alarm, fled for fear of being caught, and returning back again, pre- tended that he had likewise been brought there by the noise. Placing himself among the rest, and see- ing that the leg was cut off, he concluded that though he was not dead, he must die of his wound : and al- though he was exceedingly rejoiced at all this, yet he condoled with the lieutenant as much as if he had been a brother. Next morning this affair was spread all over th e city, and came to the ears of Desdemona, who, being very 171 compassionate, and not suspecting this could occasion mischief to herself, expressed the greatest concern for the heutenant'S misfortune. The Moor drew from hence the worst inferences, and said to the ensign, " You must know that my simpleton of a wife is almost mad with sorrow for the lieutenant's accident." " How could it be otherwise,'' said he, " as he is her life and soul ?'' '- How ?" said the Moor, " her life and soul ! 1 will separate her soul from her body; I should disgrace my manhood if I killed her not ;" and discoursing together if poison or dagger would be best, and not liking either the one or the other, the ensign said, "A method hath occurred to me that would satisfy you without creating the least suspicion. The house where you live is very old, and the ceiling of your chamber is broken in many places. Desdemona might be beaten to death with a stocking full of sand, and no marks of this would remain on the body, \^^len she is dead, we will pull down a [jart of the ceiling, and bruise your wife's head; then give out that a beam in falling has done this, and killed her. If you follow this advice you will avoid all suspicion, and every one will believe her death to have been at:cidental.'^ This savage advice pleased the Moor ; and Avaiting for a convenient opportunity, he concealed the ensign one night in a closet that communieated with their chamber. When they were in bed, the ensign, according to his directions, made a noise in the closet, and the Moor immediatelv asked his wife if she heard it ? 112 She answered, yeg. Get up then and see what it fe. Poor Desdeniona obeyed, and as soon as she was near the closet door, the ensign rushed out, and with the stocking that he had prepared, gave her a violent blow on the small of her back ; she fell down scarce able to breathe ; but with what little force she had, she called the Moor, to her assistance. He got out of bed, and said to her, " Most infamous woman, you are now to receive the just reward of your infidelity ! even so are those wives treated, who, pretending to love their husbands, are untrue to their beds." The poor woman hearing these words, and feeling that she was ready to expire from a second blow that the en- sign had given her, said, " That since the justice of this world was refused her, she attested the divine justice in favour of her honour and her tnith ;" and invoking the divine assistance, she was finished by the impious ensign, who struck her a third time. Af- ter breaking her scull, they drew down, as they had determined beforehand, a part of the ceiling. The Moor then called out for help, as the house was fall- ing. The neighbours, on this alarm, run thither, and found Desdemona dead under the beams. Her life had been so virtuous, that every one lamented her fate ; and the following day she was buried, to the great sorrow of the whole island. But God, who is a just observer of the hearts of men, suffered not so great a crime to pass without the punishment that wa3 due to it, The Moor, who had loved Desdemona more than his eyes, finding himself de- prived of hejr forever, and reflecting, besides, tha^ 173 the ensign had been the cause of his losing, in her, all the enjoyments of life, and even his own faculties, that villain became so insupportable to him that he could not bear the sight of him ; and had he not feared the strict and impartial justice of the Ve nitians, he would have put him openly to death. But not able to do this with safety to himself, he de- graded him from his commission, and permitted him no longer to remain in the company. Hence arose between them the most bitter enmity that can be conceived ; and the ensign, the greatest of all vil- lains, studied only how he might be revenged on the Moor. He went to the lieutenant, who was cured, and walked about with his wooden leg, and said to him, " The time is now come, when you might be re- venged for the loss of your leg ; and if you will come with me to Venice, I will tell you who the assassin was. Here I dare not inform you for many reasons : but there I will be your witness in a court of justice.'* The lieutenant, who felt himself violently exas- perated against the person, though unknown to him. thanked the ensign, and went with him to Venice. When they were arrived, the ensign told him, " That the Moor was the person who had cut off his leg, be- cause he suspected him of adultery with his wife, and that for the same reason he had murdered her, and afterwards given out that she had been killed by the ceiling falling in upon her." The lieutenant, on hearing this, immediately accused the Mooi', before the council, of the injury done to himself, and the murder of Desdemona ; and the lensign being called 174 ^3 a witness?, asserted the truth of both these accusa- tions, and added, " that the Moor had communicated to him the whole project, with a view of persuading him to execute both these crimes, and when he had murdered his wife from the impulse of a furious jea- lousy, he had related to him the manner in which he had put her to death " The Venitian magistrates, hearing that one of their fellow citizens had been treated with so much cruelty by a barbarian, had the Moor arrested in Cyprus and brought to Venice, where, by means of the torture, they endeavoured to find out the truth. But the Moor possessed force and constancy of mind sufficient to undergo the torture without confessing any thing ; and though by his firmness he escaped death at this time, he was, after long imprisonment, condemned to perpetual exile, in which he was afterwards killed, as he deserved to be^ by his wife's relations. The ensign returned to his country, where still continuing his old practices, he accused one of his companions of having attempted to murder a noble- man who was his enemy. The man was taken up and put to the torture, and denying firmly the crime laid to his charge, his accuser was also put to the tor- ture ; where he was racked so violently that his vi- tals were injured, and upon being conducted home, he died in great agony. Thus was the divine ven- geance executed against those who had murderei the innocent Desdemona. The ensign's wife, who had been informed of the whole affair, after* his death, thus circumstantially related the storv. 175 THE TVELCH COTTAGE. We took shelter at a most miserable looking hut at tlie side of the heath, and accepted the protection it offered, with as entire good will as if it had been aa eastern palace. My horse was obliged to crawl into a kind of outhouse, where a swine driver and his pigs had the instant before taken refuge, and while I w^as reconciling my steed to this society, a Jew pedlav and his pack, and another traveller, with his dog, crowded in. Necessity, as Shakspeare says, brings one •acquainted with strange company. Not that these are the words of that immortal bard, and of course my memory has injured the sentiment; but you, who have literally his works by heart, can do him justice. A being, scarcely human in appearance, invited me to enter the hut. I entered. Its inhabitants — hov/ shall I describe them ? Fancy something which as- sembles the extremes of filth, penury, health, and feli- city ; personify these among men, women, and chil- dren ; give to each of them forms and features which confer a sort of grace and beauty on the household of the barber of Barmouth, by comparison. Put all this filth, penury, health, and felicity into motion, and having formed a grciipe, imagine that you see it un- shod, unstockinged, uncapped, and nearly unpetti- coated and unbreeched. Young and old were busied in counting the finest and freshest herrings I have ever seen, that iiKtant brought in from the fi,shing boat. m The father of the family, to whom the boat belonged^ declared he never had so prosperous a voyage ; and though he was almost blown away, he would hazard twice as much danger for such another drag. ''Look ! what a size they are of, and how they shine, my boys and girls ; i'faith, they seemed plaguily afraid of the hurricane, and came in shoals to the nets, as if they took shelter in them ; little thinking, poor fools ! that this was a jump from the water to the fire ! And now I talk of that, here, put half a dozen of them into the pan, for I am deuced hungry ; and, mayhap, this gen- tleman may be so too, and if so be that he is, he shall be as welcome to a fresh herring and a brown biscuit a& myself. What say you, my heart of oak," continued he, clapping me as familiarly on the shoulder as if I had been his messmate, and, indeed, treating me as hospi- tably as if I had been so, and we had both escaped from a wreck to his cabin. Perceiving my dripping situation, he said, " Come, shipmate, doff your jacket ; put on this rug; come to anchor in that corner ; warm your shivering timbers with a drop of this dear crea- ture, which Vv^ill make a dead fish speak like an orator. There, another swig ; don't be afraid of it ; one more. And now you will do while your rigging and canvass^ are drying." All this time, my host of the hovel stood in his sea- drenched apparel: on my reminding him of which, he cried out, smilingly, " Ah ! you are a fresh water sailor, I perceive, and would take a deal of seasoning before you w^ere good for any thing : but, for me, all winds and v/cathcrs are alike to old Jack, while I can 177 get good fish abroad, and good flesh at home ; so fry away Molly, for the wet has made me as hungry as a shark ; and, though I have drank like a whale, I shall now eat like a lion, and I hope you will do the same, messmate. By this time mine hostess set before us our dish of herring; which, wdth oatmeal cakes, potatoes, and buttermilk, furnished one of the heartiest dinners I ever ate ; after which, the sailor made me partake of a can of flip, sung a song about the dangers and hard- ships of a seafaring life, and made me take notice that he was the happy father of a cabin full of children, and thftt, if it pleased God to send him a dozen such pieces of good fortune every year, for a dozen of seasons, he should be as able, as he was wilhng, to procure a snug birth for every one. In the mean time, master, we will have another sip of grog, and drink success to the herring fishery. Our regale was soon interrupted by the sudden ex- clamations from without doors, of " She's lost ! She's lost ! She can't weather it ! She must go to the bot- tom ! There is not water enough for her to come in^ and the w ind blows like the devil in her teeth. She's sinking ; the next sea will finish her." All the cotta- gers ran to the beach, which was within a few paces, I followed instinctively. The hurricane was again renewed ; the seas ran mountain high, and a small coasting vessel was struggling with them. In a few minutes the strand was covered with spectators, but not idle ones. The whole of the villagers hunied to give assistance. Among the crowd I discovered both 23 178 ibe pig driver and the pedlar, whose situation 1 had began to relate to my kind hearted host ; but the most assiduous of the whole multitude, was a young woman ; who, while the tears ran down her cheeks, was amidst the first to leap into a small boat, which had been anchored on the beach, and in which the master of our cottage, and three others, resolved to trust themselves, to offer such assistance as was in their power. The wind did not abate of its fury, but shifted a few points more in shore : this, perhaps, in a vessel of great burden, might have been fatal, but was, in some sort, favourable to the bark in distress. She had, by tacking, gained a situation parallel to a harbour, where she might run on shore ; which she did at length without much damage ; and the only thing now to be apprehended, was the loss of the boat that had gone out to her succour. The people on board the vessel were almost instantly on land, and one of them being shown the boat, and told at the same time that she went out to the relief of the crew, was among the most active to throw out a rope, and try to return the favour intended him in kind. The same circumstance however, which brought in the vessel, presently befriended the boat, who, venturing to set her sail, was, after a few desperate rolls, impelled over the billows, and driven, as it were, headlong on shore; but not before the sailor, who had been hand- ing out a rope, perceived the female in the boat, on which he threw himself to the ground, in che eager- ness of catching her in his arms. You akeady fee! they were lovers^ They were more. The bands rf matrimony had united them the week before. The very fishing boat, which was driven on shore, was the mutual property of the two fathers, who had agreed to give up each his share to their son and daughter, as their wedding portion 5 two of the men in the little skiff were the fathers ; the profits of the her- ring season were to be the children's fortune. How thin are the bounds which separate the extremes of happiness from the excesses of misery ! The former, however, were now realized ; the vessel brought in a good freight, the fathers were saved, and the children were happy. They all resided in, and Avere indeed na- tives of the village ; but mine host, whose house was nearest to the place of landing, and who had a heart sufficiently expanded to fill a palace with people that stood in need of hospitality, insisted, that as soon as the little Sally and Jack, which it seems v*as the name of the fishing-boat, could be left for half an hour, they should pass it with him : this being agreed to, all hands went to work upon the little Sally and Jack ; and if I had not been apprehensive that my igno- rance in Avhat was to be done would rather have con- fused than assisted, my poor aid should not have been withheld. Matters being put to rights, and less mischief done than might have been expected, the company set oflf for the hut of my generous host, who took a hand of each of the married lovers, walking between them, and told them, he hoped, as they had so well escap- ed Davy's locker this time, they would tumble in a 180 hammock together these fifty years. A tresh supply of fish was immediately put into the pan ; my land- lord swearing a terrible oath that on this occasionj for there was a strict friendship between him and the parties preserved, the old saying should be verified, as to their swimming twice ; accordingly, for their second ocean, it was determined that the bowl, which some years before had commemorated an escape from a shipwreck in his own fortune, should now be filled to the brim, to celebrate the success of the little Sally and Jack. I was pressed to stay and take my share, on pain of being deemed too proud to be happy among poor people ; and on observing that my steed all this time was in a state w^hich re- proached me for faring so sumptuously, he started up, declaring, that though he could not ride, he lov- ed a horse next to a man, and that if mine would put up with a mess of bran instead of hay, of which he had none, and a draught of ale instead of water, he should be as welcome as his own soul. I took him at his word, and staid to witness and join in the fes- tivities, till there was just enough of the evening left to reach Abderest with. I would have offered a small token of acknowledgment for what I had received, but that I saw a tremendous froAvn gathering on the brow of my host, and an oath quivering on his lip, which frightened me from my design, and made me only take his hand, with an assurance, that I would never pass his house without stopping to see if all was well on board, and how the herring fishery suc- ceeded. This so pleased him, that he made the 181 bowl go round to my health, and wished another 2:ale of wind would blow me into his hovel as often as I should come along side of it ; then led out my horse, held my stirrup while I mounted, and huzza'd ine in three hearty cheers, till I was out of Fight. ANECDOTE. A display of real courage, successfully exerted, in order to avoid a most excruciating and barbarous death. General Forbes, Avho took possession of FortDu Quesne, upon the French abandoning it last war, being informed that a large body of the enemy were preparing to attack him, ordered a lieutenant and forty men to reconnoitre their number and situation, they being about three days march from the fort. The officer and his detachment proceeded with great cheerfulness and alacrity, without the least appear- ance of an enemy, until about six o'clock in the morning of the third day's march, when they were suddenly fired upon from the woods by a body of In- dians, who killed nine of them upon the spot ; upon which the officer, well knowing that he could not at- tack the enemy in their then situation but at the greatest disadvantage, very judiciously drew off the remains of his little detachment to a neighbouring plain, and there formed them in order of battle, for 182 the reception of the savages : but a:fter lemainiiig in that position for several hours, and findi«g that they did not advance, he prosecuted his march. He had, however, proceeded but a few miles, before he found himself in a narrow pass, between two high mountains, and at the same time perceived a large body of Indians (upwards of three hundred) pouring down upon him. He immediately formed his men in the most advantageous situation circumstances would admit of, determining to sell their lives at as dear a rate as possible. The conflict was now be- gun ; the consequence of which was, that the Eng- lish were all cut to pieces, except seven men, and their officer, who was wounded. The Indians had upwards of sixty of their number killed, besides many wounded. They tied the hands of the survivors of this brave little detachment behind their backs, and most unmercifully loaded them with their baggage. In this manner they were marched six days, when they arrived at the habitations of the savages, nearly famished for want of the necessaries of life. The next morning the unhappy prisoners were led forth hy the wives of those Indians who fell in th^ action, who first proceeded, by way of prologue to the tragi- cal scene which was to follow, by stripping them quite naked ; and then tying one of them to a stake, and lighting a small and slow fire between his feet, they began to exercise the most excruciating tortures that their ingenuity could possibly invent, by tearing the miserable wretch's flesh off* his bones with red hot pincers, boring his eyes out, and otherwise tor- / 183 menting him by /the most barbarous and unheard of Giuelty, to the great entertainment of the more than savage brutes who were the spectators. In this hor- rid manner did these infernal wretches continue to exercise their most savage natures, until they had put an end to the lives of the poor unhappy soldiers. Those squaws (for such are the females called) who displayed the greatest barbarism as tormentors, re- ceived the greatest applause and approbation from all their companions during the exhibition of this tragical scene. It now became the officer's turn to fall a sacrifice to the manes of those departed savages. He told the squaws, (having served long in America, he had ac- quired the Indian language,) when they came to drag him to the stake, that if they would spare his life, he would communicate a secret, the knowledge of which would enable them to render their bodies invulnera- ble, so that neither ball nor sword could penetrate them 5 that he would admit the fust experiment te> be made upon himself ; and that he only desired to be allowed twenty-four hours for the preparation of i? composition necessary for the undertaking. The sa- vages, after having deliberated together for some timCj told the officer, that they agreed to his proposition: but, at the same time, denounced, that the most un- heard of vengeance should await him if he deceived them, by thus procrastinating his fate. The twenty- four hours being expired, the savage women led forth their victim, who had prepared a liquid, composed of water^ red clay, and ashes.. With this he anointed his 184 > neck, until it was of a brownish colour ; he then in- formed them, that when it was a little dry, they might make an experiment, by applying a very sharp hatchet with great force ; and that, if his preparation failed of its intention, he begged they would inflict upon him the most severe death which they could possibly devise. Having thus delivered himself to his savage auditors, he laid his head upon a block, when the chief squaw took a hatchet, and applied it to his neck to so good a purpose, that she chopped off his head at one blow, to the great astonishment, as Avell as disappointment, of the whole tribe, who had assembled together upon this important occasion. THE REPARATION. IIo^^oKious one day received from his brother the following letter : I desired to have your son ; you entrusted him to me from his earhest years. Before I constituted him my heir, I was anxious to make him my friend. Indeed, with the sensibility of a father, I was resolved to procure, by adoption, what nature had refused me, a son whom I could love. I wished to have him with me quite young, that I might my- self have the pleasure -To rear his tender thoughts, To teach his young ideas how to shoot ; And by early and increasing benefits, I wished him to behold in me, not a rich uncle, but a tender father. 185 You consented to my wishes : you tore yourself from the dearest object in the world ; and banishing him, as it were, three hundred miles from yourself, you thought, at least, that you had given happiness to a brother. But ah, my brother, my friend, our hope3 have been disappointed ! This is a confession that I have postponed for many years, because I was sen- sible what grief it would occasion. But I can no longer defer it. Frederick is unworthy both of you and me ; and his past conduct has rendered me quite hopeless of the future. I do not speak of the follies of infancy : the faults of that period are to be attri- buted less to the character, than to tender and thought- less years. What do I say ? His extreme vivacity ap- peared to me the pledge and first fruits of his under- standing ; in his indocility, I beheld nothing but a notable pride ; and in adopting the title, I had con- tracted the weakness of a father. I must confess, moreover, that even in the very faults of Frederick, there was a kind of splendour that was calculated to deceive. I was blind. Alas ! why cannot I be sq now ! When he leaves me, I am a prey to the most alarming apprehensions. Abandoned to all the passions of his age, they are marked in him by an effervescence that neither reason nor authority can assuage. In a word, not a day passes but his health and his fortune are endangered. Neither my grief, nor the sufferings that frequently result from his owa conduct, can afiect him in the least: he is every mo- ment punished without being corrected. I know how much I wound your heart ; but mine bled for 24 186 iiiany years before I could determine to break silence. I have but one hope remaining : It is in you. Write to him : speak to him with the feelings and authority of a father. If this last effort should not succeed, f abandon all my hopes ; I restore to you a present that will be fatal to us both; for the heart is not reformed by change of situation ; and I shall still have th6 misfortune of not being able to rid myself of an un- grateful nephew, without being almost certain of loading you wdth an unnatural son." This letter plunged Honorious into the most violent grie£ He possessed, at Lyons, a moderate fortune, which was all embarked in commerce. Frederick was his only son, whom he tenderly loved ; and to secure a rich inheritance to him, he had sent him to Paris, to be brought up by his brother. This sacri- fice embittered still more the sensation of calamity. And perhaps some tracies of illusion, that hardly ever quit the paternal bosom, persuaded him, if his son had remained under his own inspection, he would have been more faithful to his duty. It cost him much less to accuse his fate, than to condemn his son. In this situation, however, he found what a bless- ing was the heart to which he could impart his grief. He repaired to Fiorio, who was not so much his part- ner in trade as his friend. They liv ed together ; and were fnore united by their sentiments than by their commerce. After lamenting a misfortune, which friendship had rendered mutual, Honorious wrote to his son. Frederick read the letter, wept perhaps in reading it, and persisted in his conduct. The entrea-^ 187 ties and menaces of his uncle were but empty noise ; and his father's letters were soon treated as ridiculous declamation. The house of every virtuous family was shut against him ; and by all who would pre- serve a character^ his acquaintance was considered as, disgraceful. His profligacy, at last, was carried to such a height, that the authority of the law^s was obliged to interfere. An information was lodged against him for an action, Avhich, perhaps, was exag- gerated by his enemies ; and that exile, with which he had been so often threatened by his uncle, be- came now his only means of safety. Forced to fly, abandoned by his uncle, and not daring to appear be- fore his father, what asylum can he seek ? Whose succour can he implore ? He could see nothing in the prospect but humiliation and ruin. In compar- ing his present situation with the past, and with what he had reason to expect in future, he remained fo^* some time in a state of inconceivable an2:uish. Ad- versity, however, instead of driving him to despera- tion, became the reasonable school of wisdom ; he soon recollected all his powers, and formed a plan, which, perhaps, it is not easy to parallel. When man, by the errors of youth, has destroyed his happiness, and what is still more dreadful, lost the public esteem, the fate of his whole life depends the^ upon the first resolution he may form ; and that first resolution is determined by his particular character. A person of weak understanding, although born with a love of virtue, finds no resource within himself. To his misfortunes he can orily oppose unavailing tears ; 188 the remorse which incessantly haunts him is attend- ed by discouragement ; he feels contrition for his faults, without having the power to repair them ; when he perceives he has lost the public esteem, he is ter- rified by the efforts which are necessary to retrieve it ; and, despairing to avoid infamy, he voluntarily de* votes himself to it. He, on the contrary, who is born with an energetic soul, no sooner perceives the abyss into which his passions have plunged him, than he is impatient of every obstacle to his release. Remorse does not teach him merely to deplore his faults, it excites him to efface them : he seeks not that philo- sophy that enables him to endure misfortunes, but that resolution which may enable him to subdue them. The mind of Frederick was endued with that reso- lution, which, when once exerted, is almost constant- ly crowned with success. His eyes were no longer covered by the bandage of illusion ; he beheld his misconduct with the eye of reason and equity : he acknowledged his punishment to be just ; he felt that he merited the desertion of his relations, and the con- tempt of all virtuous men ; but to make no effort to tegain their esteem, he thought would doubly deserve their contempt. Punished by calamity, and corrected by repentance, his first object was to recover his own esteem. The most obvious suggestion, perhaps, in his situation, was to go to his father, and throw himself at his feet. He felt a reluctance, however, to request forgiveness, for his great anxiety was first to deserve it. The accomplishments which his uncle had caused him to be taught for his amusement, he was now hap- 189 py to render subservient to his subsistence. lie visit- ed several towns under a fictitious name ; to the sciences, which he had already acquired, he ^dded still more by study ; his principal view, however, was to qualify himself as a merchant. Some years had now elapsed since he quitted his uncle's house, and his father had almost despaired of seeing him again. Even the healing hand of time had not yet consoled him for his loss. He had con- demned his son, but he wept for him still. His chief consolation was the friendship of Florio, w ho had an excellent heart, and was a person of the most rigid probity. Florio had been left a widower early, with a daughter of sixteen, who, to the candour which she inherited from her father, united the modesty of her sex, and the 'titnidity of her tender age. To her per- sonal charms, she added that inexpressible grace in action and conversation which ever heightens the power of beauty. Marianne, which was her namCj divided her filial cares between her father and Hono- rious, who loved her tenderly, and who endeavoured to find in her the child whom he had lost. In the mean time, Frederick had returned to his native city, with a total alteration in his manners and principles. Steady to the vows he had formed to re- pair and expiate the errors of his youth, he resolved, if possible, to take shelter under his father's roof. But he was unwilling to come before his father in tho character of a guilty, though a repentant son; al- though he might have flattered himself, perhaps, with obtaining favour in his eyes who had not himself been 190 a witness of his irregularities, Liidovicus, however, (for that was the name he had assumed,) was less ap- prehensive of being pardoned, than of meriting his pardon. He wished to prove by actions, that his heart was changed, and to have unquestionable rights to the clemency of his father. As Frederick was removed from his father's house while an infant, he could not possibly be known by him. This circumstance was favourable to his views, and he neglected nothing to render them successful. Having made commerce, as I observed before, his particular study, he had acquired a reputation as an excellent accountant, under the name he had assu- med; and being recommended from town to town, he had the good fortune to be accepted by Florio, who had occasion for a clerk. LudovicusH-^jas delighted with this happy accident. But I have already said, that Honorious and Florio lived together, and it was not without trembling that he first set foot -in their house. Such, however, was the reception he met with, that his heart was soon at ease. He was hand- some and genteel, of a pleasing address, and engaging countenance. An excellent understanding was soon conspicuous, with abilities equal to the most difficult affairs. Opportunities too occurred, in which his in- tegrity, unknown to him, was put to the proof, and re- mained inviolate. His sensibility was manifested on several occasions ; and the delicacy of his sentiments was ever more apparent in his actions than in his con- versation. These excellent qualities soon gained him the esteem of his two masters, and that esteem soon ripened into friendship. 191 iiui his conduct, while it obtained the esteem, re- newed the paternal sorrow of Honorious. He com- pared this excellent youth with the inconsiderate son he had lost, and burst into tears. Habituated now to open his whole heart to Ludovicus, he one day men- Uoned to him this inexhaustible source of grief. •' Alas ! my dear friend, said he, my life alone can terminate' my grief. I had once a son, but all fathers are not fortunate. You tell me that you lament the loss of an aifectionate father. O cruel singularity of fate ! That father is no more, who might have re- joiced to behold the virtues of such a son, and I — I. alas! still live." At these words he affectionately pressed his hand, and bedew^ed it wdth tears. The emotion of Ludovicus may be better conceived than described. With diificulty could he keep his secret ; but he was afraid of losing all his merit by an untimely discovery ; and he did not think that he had yet de- served forgiveness. The affairs of the two friends had turned out pros- perously ever since Ludovictrs had entered into their service, and they w^re too generous to conceal from him that it was owing to bis management ; they even thought it their duty to reward his services, and ad- tnitied him inco partnership. This favour flattered Ludovicus, not so much as a means of advancement, as a testimony and token of a friendship that was ex- tremely dear to him. Some days ailer, the ill health of Honorious alarmed all his son's tenderness, and placed his sensibiUty in the most endearmg light. Every moment that he was. 192 not obliged to give to the counting-house^ he attend- ed near his father's bed. Pretending he understood something of physic, he prepared, himself, all the me- dicines which had been ordered, and would suffer no one else to administer them. He attended his father every day ; he watched him in the night ; and had this indisposition lasted long, he must have been taken ill himself with fatigue and grief. This tender behaviour could not but augment the affection of Honorious, who would scarce allow him to leave him a moment. Sometimes he would affectionately regard him, and exclaim, " Alas ! why did not Heaven allow me lo be your father !" Thenhe would relate the misconduct of his son. This relation punished and afflicted Ludo- vicus ; but the demonstrations of friendship that ac- companied it soon consoled him. How often was he upon the point of discovering himself! but fear as of- ten restrained him. No, said he, let me remain what I am, since I am thus happy, and why should I recall what I have been, when I would fain forget it myself? I have the esteem and friendship of my father, and why should I hazard both ? Ludovicus is esteemed and beloved ; Frederick, perhaps, would be hated. He continued to console himself for the chagrin of not being able to call Honorious his father, by paying him all the duties of a son. Such was the life he led : a peaceful and resigned hfe, which his heart preferred to all the giddy and tumultuous days which had ren- dered him so culpable. But his heart, although changed, was not become insensible. Ludovicus saw and conversed too often 193 with Marianne not to be captivated by such an assem- blage of bodily and mental charms. He had endea- voured to stifle this passion in its infancy ; but how vain was the attempt, when he was obliged to behold the object that could rekindle it at a single glance ! Besides, not only the consciousness of what he really was contributed to embolden him, but Florio had often given him to understand that he should not be displeased to find him agreeable to his daughter. This was sufficient to encourage a heart less tender than that of Ludovicus, and he accordingly indulged the delightful idea that such a passion and such an object could inspire. But Ludovicus, that audacious con- queror, with whom a declaration of love was once a jest, could now scarce permit even his looks to speak. They were expressive enough to be interesting. On the other hand, his amiable manners and various ac- complishments, not to mention his excellent character, and the high estimation in which he was held by her father, could not fail to make some impression on the tender heart of Marianne. In a word, Ludovicus soon obtained the avowal of a love, which, perhaps, he had inspired before he had ventured to declare his own. I should here observe, that the two fathers had, ihany years before, formed the idea of cementing their friendship by the marriage of their children. But the misconduct of Frederick, his disgraceful flight, and supposed death, had long destroyed this once favour- ite idea. One day, then, Florio, after a consultation with Honorious, sent for Ludovicus, and ofl*ered him. 194 his daughter. The happy lover accepted the offer with transports of gratitude and joy. Some days after, when the notary and witnesses were assembled to see the contract signed, Ludovicus found that he coukl no longer preserve his secret, and he trembled at the idea. Never had he been in such a situation of terror and apprehension. His embarrassment was too visible not to be remarked. The two fathers inquired the cause. " Can you forgive this appear- ance of distress in the happiest moment of my life r But a consent is still wanting to my happiness." " What consent ?" exclaimed Honorious, " you have no father." " I know not, sir," answered Ludovicus, throwing himself at his feet, " whether I have yet a father ; you alone can resolve it. Behold the guilty- Frederick, who deserves your severest rigour ; I have long remained concealed, that I might expiate my faults by unquestionable penitence. You have seen me, not what 1 once was, but what I hope ever to be." Imagine the surprize, the joy, the transports of the father ! Imagine the happiness of Florio and Mari- anne ! Scenes like this must be imagined ; they cannot be described. Frederick was united to the charming Marianne. The news of his restoration was communicated to the good uncle, who, in the joy of his heart, settled his whole fortune upon him ; and Frederick long lived an example of all the vii*- tues that could result from his heroic penitence, and of all the felicity that could arise from his union with »uch a bride. lao YOUTHFUL IMPRUDENCE. SerEx\a Granville, with a figure lovely as if form- pd by the fingers of love, possessed a mind fraught with every accompHshment, and the most refined and delicate taste. To these beauties, she added the fascinating charms of a faultless temper, and a height of spirits, sometimes arising almost to an excess. Whenever she moved, she attracted and fixed the wandering eyes of the beholders; whenever she spoke, she enchanted the senses, and w^on the hearts of her hearers. Among the train of her numerous admirers, none shone so greatly pre-eminent, for the graces of his figure, and the beauties of his mind, as the youthful Frederick Cavendish. The soul of Serena w^as above affectation. She despised the cruel despotism of tyrannizing over a generous heart ; and she hesitated not to confess the power which he pos- sessed in her bosom. For family reasons, two months were to elapse before the day could be ap- pointed for their union. During the intermediate time, a party was formed for the theatre ; Cavendish held a commission in the guards ; and some unex- pected military business occurring, it prevented him from attending his fair amcmte to Drury Lane. But Lady Granville wished not to be disappointed ; and therefore went with her daughter, and Julia Cecil, her niece. During the play. Miss Cecil observed an elegant young man, in naval uniform, enter the nexi box ; slie pointed him out to Serena, whose eyes encountered his as she gazed on his lovely counte- nance. The accident embarrassed her, and she has- tily looked down. At the finale of the after piece, a gentleman entered their box; who, suddenly spring- ing from his seat, and stretching over, shook the young officer cordially by the hand, exclaiming, *' Ha, Richard Wade ! what brought you here ? Where are you P" At St. Jameses Hotel, where I hope you will sup with me. His friend consented, and they both sprung out of the box. A young puppy ! exclaimed Serena, not to give us one parting glance ! Never mind, interrupted her cousin ; they are not worth wishing for. When the two girls arrived at home, and had en- tered their own chamber, from a critique on the ac- tors, their discourse fell, insensibly, on the charms of the graceful sailor. They admired his uncommon beauty ; and laughed at each other for the little no- tice which he appeared to have taken of either. I Would venture my life, cried Serena, that he is a con- ceited fellow ; a creature who can admire none but himself. I have a strong inclination to play hhn a trick. How do you mean ? you do not know him. That is of no consequence. I will write to him, that I am violently in love with him, &c. &c. subscribe a false name, and desire him to direct to the Salopian Coflfee- House, where my servant shall call for his reply. "Good heavens, Serena! what an instantane- ous arrangement! You are surely not serious ?" "Yes, serious as when I shall give my hand to Frederick, 19? and vow to be his forever, I will write the letter thi= moment." She seized a pen, and immediately be- gan to scribble. Julia was thunderstruck. " What I* your intention. The young man will certainly an- swer your letter." "That is what 1 want. I will re- ply again ; and so on, till I have worked him up al- most to madness with curiosity ! and then I will throw away my quill, and leave him like an amazed knight, dropped by the fairies in a wilderness. Dis- covery is impossible." When she had finished her epistle, she read it to her friend. It contained an eloquent avowal of a fervent attachment, which she could no longer con- ceal ; that her heart, hand, and fortune, waited his ac- ceptance ; and that she should anticipate, with trembling anxiety, his reply, addressed to Miss Lucre- tia Manners, to be left at the Salopian Coffee-House. In vain were all the remonstrances of Miss Cecil against the imprudence and dangers of this scheme. Her cousin persisted in her design ; declaring that it was only a frolic, and there could no evil consequen- ces ensue, as he could never find them out ; and they would surely not be such fools as to betray their own secret. Accordingly, the next morning, she sent off her billet-doux, directed to Richard Wade, Esq. St, James's Hotel. The following day, at noon, she ordered her servant to call at the Salopian, and inquire for a letter, address- ed as she had desired. The two girls, from different motives, were equally anxious for the return of the footman. At last he entered, and gave into the im- 198 patient hands of his young ladj the wished for scroll. When he left the room, she tore open the seal, and perused, with a greedy eye ; then read, with a voice almost suffocated with laughter, a long string of rhap- sodies. He commenced with an inundation of prais- es of the generosity of her disposition, that could so nobly burst through the disgraceful shackles bound round her sex, by the united efforts of all mankind, to render him happy by the confession of a passion so flattering to his warmest wishes. He concluded by saying, that if the beanty of her person but half equalled the charms of the mind which dictated her letter, he should forever esteem it the most blissful moment of his life that presented him to her view. He ended by requesting an immediate interview. Serena was mad with joy at the success of her plot ; and instantly sat down to scribble an answer. Julia again urged her to desist, but all to no purpose ; she would plague him yet a little longer. In this impm- dent conduct she continued for near a fortnight, wri- ting and receiving letters every day ; and, in almost every one of them, inventing new excuses for deny- ing a personal conversation. Richard Wade's impa- tience, in each succeeding epistle, increased so much, that she could hardly find reasons for her refu- sals, which could appear of any consequence, as in his replies she had arguments to combat, and must conquer them all. Miss Cecil grew more alarmed ; and begged her, for heaven's sake, to give it up ; for she dreaded the most disagreeable eflects, should it be discovered. But Serena was obstinate, declared 199 that it was impossible, and continued the correspou dence. One morning, when Miss Granville sat alone in the drawing-room, w aiting the return of her servant from the Salopian, she insensibly fell into a reverie ; and, leaning her blooming cheek on her white arm, which rested on the sopha, her thoughts wandered from the anticipation of that day which was soon to give her to her dear Frederick, to the elegant sailor, and his disappointment when she should drop answering his letters. At this instant the gentle Cavendish entered ; he had stolen the first moment from military duty, to spend a few blissful minutes in the society of his adored Serena. He approached her unperceived ; and tenderly taking her hand, in a voice sweet as the softest sigh of love, demanded what was the subject of her reflections. She started at the sound of his loved accents, and blushed at the question. The idea that any other man than himself should, for one in- stant, possess her thoughts, struck a chill to her heart : the vivid glow of shame, which diffused itself over her cheek, flashed a ray of truth on her understand- ing ; and her soul acknowledged, with gratitude and self-reproach, the rejected remonstrances of her friend. As the heavenly orbs of Frederick were bent on her's with ineffable tenderness, he beheld, with won- der and anguish, the confusion into which his ques- tion appeared to have thrown her. " Have I given, you pain, my Serena ? I was impertinent ; but, be- lieve me, I did not intend it. Will you pardon me ?' He pressed her hand to give force to his asseveration.. mo " I have nothing to pardon : you did not hurt me. I was only ashamed to speak the truth, for I was really thinking of nothing." She blushed still deeper as she uttered this falsehood, and cast her eyes down to con- ceal her embarrassment. The penetrating orbs of Cavendish were fixed on her face ; he observed its changes with an unaccountable anguish ; and, un- consciously dropping her hand, with a deep sigh, rose from his cbair and advanced to the window. At this instant, the doar burst open, and a young mPiPhish- ing in, flung himself at the feet of Miss Gran "iUe, ex- claiming, " Have I found ray mysterious iove ! By heaven ! no earthly power shall tear your lovely form from this faithful bosom." Suddenly rising, he clasp- ed her to his breast. Cavendish, who stood petrified with astonishment and indignation, now rushed for- ward, and seizing Wade by the arm, rudely pulled him from his hold, and demanded who he was. " This lady's lover and protector, sir," replied he, in a threatening tone. Serena, wild and dumb with terror, threw herself into the arms of Frederick, who, smothering his passion, cried, " you are certainly mad, sir I This is a woman of virtue, and my betrothed wife ; I therefore desire you to leave this house in- stantly." " No, sir, I shall not, without she accompa- nies me. I have letters under her own hand, decla- ring her love for me, and her abhorrence of all other men ; she will not deny it ; but I suppose you are the persecuting coward she complains of." The azure eyes of Cavendish flashed all heaven's lightnings ; he cast the frantic Serena from his arm, and rushing for- 201 ward, " intruding, insolent villain ! jrour blood shall blot the falsehood." So saying, he drew, and made a furious pass at him with his sword. Wade expected it, and, parrying the thrust, made a lounge at him, and run him through the side. The unfortunate Fre- derick fell. Wade advanced to Serena, who stood livetted like a statue of despair. " Come, my Lucre- tia, let us fly this place, my life is in danger." " Mon- ster !, murderer!" screamed she; and giving him a viol£.a4*:ush from her, threw him to the ground, and flew sbrieking out of the room. In his fall he stum- bled ovei^h, part of Frederick's sword, as it leaned against the lifeless form of its master. Before he could recover himaelf, it ran him quite through the thigh, and he dropped, bleeding and faint, beside the body of him he had slain. All the horrors of his situation rushed on his mind. He knew not him he had killed ; perhaps an injured man ; and he had forfeited his owl) life for, perhaps, an abandoned woman ! In a few minutes the room was crowded with peo- pie. Julia flew into her apartment, and seeing the breathless form of Cavendish on the floor, and near him the young sailor bleeding to death, an explana- tion of the whole aff*air rushed on her memory. She flung herself between the two bodies, and tearing off her white drapery, attempted to stanch the wounds of both ; while she besought, for God's sake, that some one would fly for a surgeon. Her commands were instantly obeyed. Serena was held, in a state of mad- ness, at the door, by her mother and two servants, begging that she might be sufl*ered to go in and die or 26 202 the bosom of her Frederick. The sur2:eoii arrivinsr, ordered her to her chamber, to which she was hurriedj raving of her folly and misery, and immediately pro- ceeded to the assistance of the two unfortunate offi- cers. Mr. Wade was yet sensible; the bandages of Miss Cecil had stopped the effusion of blood*, but poor Cavendish lay without motion or sensation. As the surgeon advanced to the side of the young sailor, he, by a strong exertion, repulsed him, and begged that he would first examine the wound of his antago- nist, which he hoped was not mortal. Mr. A. obey- ed his desires, and ordering the servants to lay Cav- endish on the sofa, commanded every one but his own assistants to leave the room. When the sur- geon had examined and dressed the wounds of the young men, he saw them carefully put to bed, and ordered them to be kept in profound quiet. As he was going down stairs, Lady Granville, in a state of distraction, sent for him into her boudoir, and intreated him to tell her if there w ere any hopes for Mr. Cavendish. Mr. A. said he would not flatter her ; his w^ound was not mortal, but his loss of blood had been so great that the most fatal consequences might be expected, " But the other gentleman," continued he, " if he is kept free from a fever, will certainly re- cover." " The other gentleman," replied she, " I know nothing about. Indeed, I am ignorant of the whole affair. My daughter flew into my chamber, screaming, ' He is killed! Cavendish is killed !' and this is all I know of the terrible scene, as she has ever since been in a state of delirium." At these words. 203 the physician who had been sent for to Serena, while Mr. A. was with her lover, entered the room, and told Lady Granville that her daughter was in a high fever, and iTinst be kept composed, else he could not answer for her life. In this state of distress and anxiety things continued for three days. Miss Cecil, who knew well the thought- less transaction of her cousin, imagined too truly the cause of this fatal catastrophe; and while all the par- lies yet lived, she earnestly sought an opportunity of explaining so sad a mysteiy. She tenderly loved her friend ; she mourned the wild vivacity of disposition that had seduced her into so imprudent an action : and her heart was wrung with agony for her present, and, if she lived, future suiTerings. The insinuating gentleness of Frederick Cavendish had made too deep an impression on her esteem, not to draw bitter tears from her eyes, when she contemplated his un- happy fate. But the beautiful, the deceived Wade ! when his lovely form shot axiross her distracted fancy, her whole soul was torn with torture. The thought of his dying, of his recovering, and of that recovery's disgraceful, horrid consequences, almost bereft her of her reason ; and, impelled by the anguish of the moment, she flew to the entrance of his apartment, with what design she knew not. As she gently opened the door, she found that he was in a profound slumber; and, commanding the nurse to go and lay down for a few hours, promised to watch by her charge till her return. She remained near half an hour in the room : Richard, awaking from his sleep, 204 and heaving a deep sigh, stretched forth his arm, and drew aside the curtain. When his dark eyes met those of Miss Cecil, he felt an unusual emotion at his breast; an emotion of gratitude, hope, and dread. She arose, and gently advancing nearer to him, in= quired, in a trembling voice, which too plainly ex- pressed the interest which she took in his situation, how he found himself. He replied, that he was bet- ter than he wished to be ; for the feelings of his mind were more than he could endure with fortitude. " If my adversary dies," continued he, " and I survive, even should 1 escape the punishment of the law, I shall ever be wretched at the recollection of so dread- ful an effect of my credulity and rashness." He was proceeding to give Miss Cecil a narrative of the cor- respondence between him and Miss Granville ; first, expressing his anxiety and doubts about the mystery which enveloped the whole affair ; when Julia inter- rupted him by saying that she knew it too well, and long ago had warned her cousin of its evil effects. " But," continued she, " had I felt the distant forebo- ding of this its fatal conclusion, I would have used commands instead of entreaties to have stopped the deception." " Deception ! how madam ! was it de- ception? Surely I am a stranger to your friend; what could be her meaning ?" " An idle frohc, with- out design or end, but to entertain herself. She thought to amuse her whimsical moments with an adventure, which certainly was innocent, though im- prudent. She conceived that she could lay it aside 205 whenever she pleased ; but, alas ! how agonizingly otherwise has been its termination !" " Agonizing, indeed ! Most probably, she has rendered both her own heart and mine miserable for Hfe. Horrid as must be my feelings, yet how much more racking must be hers, when she recollects, that it Avas her conduct that put the sword in my hand, and plunged it into the bosom of her affianced husband. Could she imagine that any man would receive such letters as those which she wrote to me, and not feel his whole soul fired with curiosity ? At least, the impetuosity of my nature spurned at restraint ; and my impa- tience hurried me to the coffee-house, where I watch- ed till her servant called for my letter; when he re- turned home, I followed him ; and these, these are the overwhelming consequences !" His strength w'as exhausted, and he sunk back on his pillow. Julia » conscious that she was hurting the man for whom, the feelings of her heart too forcibly told her, she fell that in reality which her cousin so fatally feigned, hastily arose; and, entreating him to compose his mind, said she would snatch the first opportunity to impart the truth of the melancholy history to Caven- dish ; whose principal danger, she believed, rested on the tortured state of his spirit. He caught her hand, and fervently pressing it, she darted out of the room, the soft touch of his hand thrilling to her inmost soul. In the evening, she sent up her affectionate compli- ments to Mr. Cavendish, and if he would admit her, she would be happy to watch an hour by him alone. He replied, that he wished to see her. She ascendied .206 ihe stairs, tier heart beating with hope and tear of the effects of what she was going to reveal. When she entered his chamber, and drew near hi>^ bed, she beheld the late blooming Frederick pale as marble : the effulgent lustre of his azure eyes was almost extinguished : the last gleams of its fading light seemed resting on the dark horizon of death, as if to take a last view of the world, and sink forever. He laid his burning hand on hers, and gazed at her with an expression that needed no explanation : it penetrated to her heart, and she burst into tears. Recovering herself, she said, Mr. Cavendish, will yoii—rcan I hope for your pardon ? I have been, in a great part, the cause of the dismal scene that is now before me. You, Julia ! How ? — ^For heaven's sake, explain ; and either dissipate my suspicions, or convince me they are true, and end my tortures by killing me. O ! is Serena unworthy of my love ? Miss Cecil, with a faultering voice, interrupted by many show^ers of tears, revealed the whole transac- tion ; only a little altering the truth, by as much as possible meliorating the folly of her friend, and ta- king the blame on herself. When she ended, the de- jected orbs of Frederick beamed with renovated radiance ; he clasped his hands in an ecstacy of joy. O 1 my God, I thank thee ! Juha, my kind friend ! fly to my unhappy Serena : tell her that I forgive her ; speak peace to her suffering soul ; and tell her to live for me. To know that my dear girl is innocent, and yet fondly loves me, has infused new life into my dy- ing frame. Fly, my dear Julia, and render your 207 sweet friend as liappy as myself! She rose, her eyes overfloAving with tears of rapture ; and, advancing to the door, turned back two or threfe steps, and faintly breathed, in a trecnbling voice, and may I not also tell the unfortunate Wade that you forgive the rash- ness which, endangering your existence, has brought himself to the verge of the grave ? Yes, Julia ; tell him every thing that you would wish me to say. Julia flew to the chamber of Miss Granville ; her delirium was subsided ; but it had left on her languid frame a slow^ fever, and on her mind a deep and settled melancholy. Miss Cecil, with some difficul- ty, gained her cousin's attention. Notwithstanding her utmost precaution, the unexpected and blissful intelligence rendered her almost frantic with joy. Nothing was now w^anting but the recovery of all parties to make them perfectly happy. A few weeks gave once more strength to their limbs and beauty to their features; health cast her dazzling rays around their forms ; so powerful an effect had the serenity of their minds over the composure of tbcir frames. Fre derick Cavendish and Richard Wade entered the drawing-room together; Serena, overwhelmed with the consciousness of her fault, burst into tears, and flung herself on the breast of her cousin. Her lover flew forward ; and gently raising her from her bosom, encircled his graceful arms around her yielding waist ; and while his tears mingled with hers, imprinted the hallowed kiss of pardon and afi"ection on her trem- bling lips. The. sympathizing heart of Julia heaved almost tK> 208 bursting, and the lucid drops of extatic emotion feU on her ivory arms ; when the well known touch of the soft hand of Richard Wade roused her from her bhssful trance. She raised her swimming eyes, and beheld the man whom she adored kneeling at her feet. His eloquent eyes spoke a thousand tender things ; his tongue could only utter " Beloved Juha!" The crimson blush of delight and confusion suffused her face and panting bosom. She felt sick ; and fell almost fainting on the arm of the sopha. " Are you offended ?" asked he, in a scarcely articu- late voice. " O, no !" was all she could utter, as she gently returned the fervent pressure of his hand. A week after this happy eclaircissement, the hand of Serena was given to Frederick Cavendish ; and that of Julia to the enraptured Richard Wade. I shall not attempt to point out the moral of this little tale; it is too obvious to require an explanation. I shall only add, that as imprudence is almost a con- stant property of youth, it is a frailty of disposition which ought to be most carefully corrected. A little reflection will convince the mind, that from the slightest failures on that side, the greatest and most dreadful consequences have frequently proceeded. HAMET AND BERARD, OR THE THREE THIEVES. Three rogues in the vicinity of Lan, uniting the ingenuity of their talents, had for a considerable time put both Monks and Laymen under contribution. 209 As they were walking together one day in the woods of Lan, and talking of their several feats of dexterity, Hamet, the eldest of the^two brothers, es- pied a magpie's nest at the top of a lofty oak, and saw the mother fly into it. " Brother,'^ said he to Berard, " what would you say to a person that should propose to go and take the eggs from under that bird without disturbing her ?" " I should tell him," answer- ed the younger brother, " that he was a fool, and pro- posed a thing entirely impossible ?" " Observe me." This said, he immediately climbs the tree. Having reached the nest, he makes a hole underneath, receives softly in his hand the eggs, as they slip through the opening, and brings them down, desiring his compan- ions to obsei-ve that not a single egg was broken. " By my soul," cries Berard, "I must allow you to bean in- comparable thief; but if you could go and replace the eggs under the mother as quietly as you have taken them from her, we should acknowledge you our master." Hamet accepted the challenge, and again mounts the tree ; but his brother designed a trick upon him. The latter, as soon as he sees the other at a certain height, says to Travers, " you have just been a wit- ness to Hamet's dexterity, you shall see what I can do in the same way." He instantly climbs the tree, and follows his brother from branch to branch, and w^hile the latter has his eyes fixed upon the nest, en^ tirely taken up with his design, and watching every motion of the bird, the slippery rogue loosens his trowsers. and brings them down as a signal of tri- £10 iimpii. Hamet, in the mean time, contrives to replace all the eggs, and coming down, looks for the praise due to so clever an exploits " Oh, you only want to deceive us," said Berard, '^ I'll wager that you have concealed the eggs in your trowsers." The other looks, sees that his trowsers are gone, and soon finds out the trick of his brother. Excellent rogue, said he, to outwit anot er. As for Travers, he was lost in equal admiration of these two heroes, and could not determine which had the advanta2:e. But he felt himself humbled at their superiority, and piqued at not being able to contend with them, cried, "I re- nounce thieving forever ; 1 have good strong arms, and will return home and live with my wife ; with the help of God, I shall be able to procure a subsistence.^' He fulfilled his declaration, and returned to his vil- lage. His wife loved him ; he became an honest man, and set himself to work with so much industrj'^, that at the close of a few months he had earned wherewithal to buy a hog. The animal was fatten- ed at home : at Christmas he killed it, and having hung it, in the usual way, against the wall, he went into the fields. The two brothers, who had not seen him since their separation, came at this very time to pay him a visit. The wife was alone spinning. She told them that her husband was just gone out, and that he would not return till night. At night, when Travers returned, his wife told him of the visit she had received. "I was veiy much alarmed," said she, " at being alone with them ; they 211 had so suspicious an appearance that I did not ven- ture to ask either their names or business. But they searched every corner with their eyes ; I don't * think a single peg escaped their notice." " It must have been my tvi^o queer companions," cried Travers, in great trouble; " my hog is lost, and I now heartily wish I had sold it." "We still have a resource" repli- ed the wife, " let us take down the pork, and hide it somewhere, for the night. To-morrow morning you may consider what is to be done," Travers adopted his wife's advice. He took down the pork, and laid it under the bread oven, at the opposite end of the room, after which he laid down, but not with an easy mind. Night being come, the two brothers came to ac- complish their project ; and whilst the eldest kept watch, Berard began to penetrate the wall in that part where he had seen the pork hanging. But he quickly perceived that nothing remained but the string by which it was suspended. " The bird is flown" said he, " and we have come too late." Travers, whom the dread of being robbed kept awake, thinking he heard a noise, awaked his wife, and ran to the oven to feel if the pork was safe, he found it there, but as he was apprehensive also for his barn and stables, he determined to make the circuit of them, and went out armed with a hatchet. Berard, who heard him go out, took the advantage of that opportunity to force open the door, and approaching the bed, and. counterfeiting the voice of the husband, "Mary," saidf he, " the pork is removed from the wall; what have 212 yoti done with if "Don't jou remember that we put it under the oven," answered the wife ; " What, has fearturned jonr brain ?" " No, no, 1 had only forgot — but stop, I will secure it." In saying which, he Ufted it upon his shoulders, and made off. After having gone his rounds, and visited carefully his doors, Travers returned to his chamber. " I have got a husband,'' said the woman " who, it must be confessed, has got a curious head upon his shoulders, to forget one moment what he has done with his pork another." At these words Travers set up aery ; " I told you they w^ould steal it from me ; it is gone, and I shall never see it again." Yet as the thieves could not be gone far, he had still some hopes of recovering it, and instantly ran after them. Hamet went before to secure the way, and the brother, whose load was a considerable impediment, followed him at a small distance. Travers soon came up with the latter; he saw^ him plainly, .mnd re- cognised him. " You must be somewhat tired, said he," assuming the voice of the elder brother, " give me the load, and let me take my turn." Berard, who thought his brother had been speaking to him, gives Travers the pork, and wajks oig*^ But he had not proceeded one hundred yards, ere, to his great as- tonishment, he falls in with Hamet ; " Zounds, cried he, I have been ensnared ; that rogue Travers has taken me in : but see if I cannot make amends for yny folly." He then strips himself, and puts his shirt over his cijothes ; makes himself a kind of woman's cap, and \ 21S ill that trim runs as fast as he can by another path to the house of Travers, whose arrival he waits for at the floor. As he sees him approaching, he comes, ap- pearing as his wife, to meet Travers, and asks, with a feigned voice, whetlicr he had recovered the pork. "Yes, I have it," answered the husband. " Well, give it to me, and run quickly to the stable, for I heard a noise there, and I fear they have broke in." Travers throws the carcase upon the others shoulders, and goes once more to make his round. But when he returns into the house, he is surprised to find his wife in bed crying, and half dead with fear. He then perceived that he had been cheated again. Never- theless, he was determined not to give out, and as if his honour were concerned in this adventure, he vov«f- ed not to give up the contest, till by some means or other he came off victorious. He suspected that the thieves this trip would no! take the same road, but he knew the forest w^as the place they w^ould make for, and accordingly went the nearest way for it. They had, in fact, already got there, and in their triumphal eagerness to taste the fruit of their dexterity, they had just lighted a fire at the foot of an oak, to boil a piece of the meat. The wood was green, and burned but indifferently, so that, to make it blaze, they w^ere obliged to go and gather some dried leaves and rotten branches. Travers, whom the light soon directed to the thieves, takes the advantasre of their distance from the fire. He strips himself entirely naked, climbs the oak, and suspends himself by one arm^ in the position of 214 one Who had been hanged, and when he sees the rogues returned, and busy in blowing the fire, he roars out with a voice like thunder, " Unhappy ^ wretches, you will come to the same end with me." The two brothers, in confusion, imagine they see and hear their father, and think of nothing but their escape. The other quickly snatches his clothes and his pork, returns in triumph to his wife, and gives her an ac- count of his recent victory. She congratulates him with a kiss, on so bold and well executed a manoeu- vre. " Let us not flatter ourselves with too much se- curity," said he, " these queer fellows are not far off, and so long as the pork exists, 1 shall not think it out of danger. But boil some water, we will dress it, and if they return, we shall see what method they will di- vine this time to get hold of it again." The one then made a fire, while the other divided the carcase ; they dien put it, piece by piece, into the kettle. They both then seated themselves to watch it, one on each side of the fire-place. But Travers, who was almost exhausted for want of rest, and fatigued by the operations of the night, soon began to show a propensity to sleep. " Go and lay yourself down," said the wife, " I will take care of the pot ; all is fastened, there is nothing to fear ; and at all events, if I should hear a noise, I will give you notice." On this assurance, he threw himself upon the bed in his clothes, and immediately fell fast asleep. The wife continued for some time to watch the caldron, but at last fell asleep also. 216 In the mean time, our thieves, after recovering from their alarm, had returned to the oak, but finding there neither pork or man in chains, they easily unravelled the plot. Before they undertook any thing, Berard looked through the hole he had made in the wall, to see if the enemy were upon the guard. He saw upon the one hand, Travers stretched upon the bed, and on the other, his wife, whose head nodded from side to side, with a ladle in one hand, while the pork was boiling in the caldron. " They had a mind to save us the trouble of dressing it," said Berard to his brother^ " and indeed it is the least they could do, consider- ing what trouble they have given us already. Be steady, and rest assured I wdil help you to some of it." He then goes and cuts down a long pole, which he sharpens at one end; with this pole he climbs up the roof, and letting it down through the chimney, he sticks it into a piece of pork, and raise-^ it up. Travers at that instant happened to awake ; he saw the manoeuvre, and judged, that with such expert ene- mies, peace was preferable to war. '• Friend," cried he, " you have not done right in breaking through the roof of my house, and I have also been to blame in not inviting you to partake of the pork. Let us contend no longer for the superiority in artifice, for h is a contest that would never end ; but come down and let us feast together." He went and opened the door for them ; they sat down at table together, and were heartily reconciled to each other. 216 EXAMPLE BETTER THAN PRECEPT. " Three thousand ayear~~aboxat the opera, and a new vis-a-vis — trifles, trifles," exclaimed Saville ; (a young gentleman of twenty-two who had just taken possession of an estate of twenty thousand pounds per annum, which an old penurious uncle of his, lately departed, for sixty years had been scraping together with the most unremitting avarice) "the eclat of keeping so beautiful a creature is worth dou- ble that expense. She shall have it, I will sign the articles of agreement instantly" — " More fool you," replied Sir Henry Dormer, a friend and constant companion of his ; " take my advice, Jack, avoid these Circe's as you would a pestilence, they are the de- stroyers of a man's health, the miners of his estate, the murderers of his repose ; seek some amiable and accomplished woman,, marry and domesticate, for depend upon it, there is more real felicity in the fa- mily circle, than in the whole routine of fashionable pleasures, vices I ought to say, and dissipations."— "What, Satan turned preacher," replied Saville;" why thou most abominable hypocrite, art thou not asham- ed to hold forth this sanctimonious doctrine to one so perfectly acquainted with thy debaucheries as 1 am ? Dost thou not at this very moment keep a mis- tress, to satisfy whose extravagance, and adorn whose person, the four quarters of the globe are ransacked ? thou too, ivho art a married man \'' 217 •• Your accusations are but too just," returned Sir Henry," and the consciousness of my folly renders me more fit to warn you of the rocks on which my own happiness has nearly foundered. It was my misfor- tune, early in life, to become acquainted with Har- riet MeadoAVS ; unhappily we had both passions, and in the gratification of them, virtue and prudence were forgot. This intrigue, which had been carried on three years with the greatest privacy, was, just be- fore I left college, I know not how, discovered. She lost her friends and reputation ; humanity obliged me to support and protect her ; youth is seldom the season of consideration — we lived in the first style — plunged into every extravagance ; and though I daily discovered some bad propensity in Harriet, yet I had not resolution to break with her ; twice I have been arrested for debts which she contracted entirely without my knowledge ; at length the immense sums I procured before I came of age reduced me to the necessity of mortgaging a large portion of my estate ; to disencumber which, with shame I confess it, I complied with the solicitations of my friends, and married the rich heiress of the house of Milford. You have seen Matilda, therefore an eulogium on her per- son will be unnecessary *, yet beautiful as she is, I led her to the altar mthout a spark of affection, so fast was I bound in the fascinating <^hains of Harriet, who con- sented to my maniage from the idea that the fortune of Matilda would enable me to support her in still greater extravagance : But the graces and elegance of T.adv Dormer's mind, her fine and exquisite ac- 218 domplishments, the softness of her manners, her ten- derness for me, unworthy as I am, which appears in all her blushing and delicate attentions, have gained my heart ; I am her lover and her husband, and am at this moment studying the means of getting rid quietly of Harriet, whose bad disposition and ill quali- ties appear every hour more obvious and intolerable." "Well, thou wouldst make an excellentMethodist par- son," said Saville, with a loud laugh ; ^^ what a sermon hast thou given me ; I am much obliged to you for your advice respecting matrimony, though I am not at all inclined to follow it ; it will be time enough for me to put on hymeneal fetters when I reach thy age ; I have six years to frolic in ; I must possess the divine signora ; my Lord Sparkle has offered her two thousand a year, and she condescends to sink the splendour of the title in favour of my youth for an- other thousand ; so come along Benedict, I am impa- tient to seal the agreement upon her coral lips." " Will you," said Sir Henry, " promise me one thing, Saville ;" " If it lies in my power, certainly ; but prithee, why that serious countenance, Henry ?" " Because," replied he, " I would, if possible, render you serious ; assure me by your honour and friendship you will not sign any articles with Rozella to day." " A day is an age to a man in love ; but friendship is a more exalted sentiment than love ; well, I promise, you shall this day dispose of me as you please, but to-morrow is devoted to love, rapture, and Rozella." " Now then," said Sir Henry, " strange as it may appear, after the advice I have just given you, you ^lust go with me to 219 Harriet ;" ^'Alons do7ic,^^ replied Saville, " I am at your service." It was early when they reached Portland Square, and Harriet was sitting at her toilet, when the friends were introduced into her dressing room, rejTairing the fading roses on her cheeks with French rouge ; in her hurry to conceal which, the box dropped from her hand, and the crimson contents fell upon the flowing train of her musHn chemise : this acci- dent and discovery discomposed the temper of Miss Meadows so much, that with aloud ^j^d authoritative voice, and a look indicative of the most violent dis- pleasure, she asked how he durst presume to break in upon her privacy, without first giving her notice, by sending up his name. Sir Henry had stooped to take up the box as it fell, and was presenting it to her as she finished this sentence ; but instead of receiving it, she gave him a slap on the face. He bowed, and politely told her, that alady's favours were always wel- come, and confessed he had done wrong in break- ingin upon the mysteries of her toilet ; but she ought to forgive him, as it had pointed out to him an art that she excelled in, which but for this discovery he should have rema;ined in absolute ignorance o^ namely^ the art of painting, which she appeared to be a perfect adept in. This little sarcasm was ad- ding fuel to fire, and Harriet, swelling with passion, and foaming at the mouth w^th rage, told him he w as an impudent fellow, and desired him to leave the house immediately, as she never wished to see his detested face again ; " I obey you with plea- sure," replied Sir Henry ; " you may depend, Madam^ 220 on this being my last intrusion ; I have the honour^ Madam, to wish you a good morning ;" he then took Saville by the arm, and was quitting the room. Still more and more enraged at his unshaken composure, Harriet flew like a tygress to the door, and catching hold of the skirts of bis coat, declared she would tear them off unless he returned ; threw the blame of her petulance upon him ; declared that her not seeing him for the three last days had deranged her intellects ; that she had never worn paint in her hfe till that morning, when being frightened at the ghastly pale- ness of her face, she had been induced to put on a little rouge, in order to look a little more like her former self ; that he had murdered her peace by his neglect ; vowed she would not survive the loss of his love ; and then falling on her knees, poured out the most horrible execrations on herself, him, and Lady Dormer, whom she loaded with eveiy opprobrious epithet. Sir Henry, who had listened to her ravings with the most perfect coolness till she mentioned his wife with disrespect, now interrupted her by clapping his hand before her mouth ; " do not," said he, " pro- fane the name of that angel ; with anguish, and the deepest sense of my own misconduct, I confess she has been too much wronged by my ill placed affec- tion to you already ; but here my follyceases ; rise and listen to me now ; your reign, Harriet, is at an end ; the badness of your disposition, the violence of your temper, united with your ingratitude, have ef- fected my release ; I no longer love you, nor will be a 221 patient slave to your ridiculous caprices ; yet still/' continued he, " I am inclined to be your friend, if you are disposed to act in such a manner as to deserve my friendship ; here our connexion ends ; but two hun- dred pounds a year for your life shall be your's, if you choose to accept of it ; I will no longer support your extravagances ; call in your debts, and such as I con- sider reasonable, I will discharge ; the furniture and plate in this house is your's, but the rent I will no longer be answerable for ; the carriage you had bet- ter dispose of, as you will find your finances not equal to the support of it. I will now," added he, '-put you in possession of two hundred pounds, as I should be sorry that you should suffer any inconvenience for want of money." Sir Henry then drew from his pocket a folded paper, which he told her contained a draft for the sum he had mentioned, and her pic- ture ; she took it, and tearing it open with fury, said, '^ I will stamp it to pieces ;" but it was not her like- ness, it was jL large elegant locket, richly ornamented, and the initials H. D. in brilliants upon the hair w^ork. Her eyes flashed fire. " Whose hair is this ?" said Harriet. "Mine," replied Sir Henry. " But it was not designed for me r" " No, indeed it was not ; I have made a mistake, here is your picture, that locket is for Lady Dormer." "They shall both have one fate," said the enraged Harriet, snatching the picture from the hand of Sir Henry, and dashing that and the locket on the floor, attempted to stamp on them. Sir Henry fortunately rescued the locket, but the picture she broke to pieces, Saville and Sir Henry laughed 222 immoderately at her absurd conduct. Doubly pro- voked at their mirth, she flew at Saville, who very narrowly escaped having the marks of her nails im« printed on his face ; but perceiving Sir Henry obli- ged to sit down from excessive laughter at the ridicu- lous situation of Saville, who scarce knew how to ex- tricate himself from the clutches of the furious Har- riet ; she quitted him, and seizing hold of Sir Henry's fine light hair, tore off a handful. " I will have hair for a locket too," said she, breathless with rage ; " it will become my bosom as well as it will that dowdy your wife's." Fits now succeeded, and throwing het- self on the floor, she performed all the contortions of a violent hysteric. Utterly regardless of her frantic ma- nceuvres, Sir Henry stepped coolly to the glass, ar- ranged his hair, and then, accompanied by Saville^ jquitted the house. " I now,'^ said SaviHe, as they walked along, " per- ceive the drift of the promise you obtained from me this morning; you wished me to see the behaviour of Hariiet before I attached myself to Rozella ; 'tis a bad specimen, I confess, and I am not half so eager on the business as I was ; but Rozella is all softness and delicacy. Besides, it is the fashion to keep a wo- man, and they are not all alike in disposition." " Near- ly," replied Sir Henry; " there is but too much re- semblance in their hearts, however they may differ in outward expressions ; to throw away your money as they please ; to make you the everlasting dupe of iheiY whims and follies ; to vent their ill tempers upon you, is the constant aijm of women of this descrip- 223 tion; and the ^eater their beauty, the more they con- sider themselves at liberty to display their ill hu- mour, and indulge themselves in extravagances ; they are composed of duplicity, and there is as much art in their persons as their minds. Witness the paint that Harriet took so much pains to conceal from us ; I declare I had not an idea of her artificial complex- ion; thus you see we are their dupes every way ; af- ter exhausting your whole fortune, after building them a triumphal car, you get treated with insolence and contempt, and dragged like a slave at the wheels ; but, thank my stars, I have procured a release from this degrading captivity." They had now reached Berkely S-quare ; in the draw- ing-room they found Laurina Darnley, a cousin of Lady Dormer's, for whom Sir Henry was guardian ; she had lately returned from France, where she had received, in the convent of St, Austerberge, her edu- cation, and had that morning arrived from Hertford shire, where she had been for a month on a visit to a maiden aunt, from whom she expected a considera- ble addition to her own large fortune. Miss Darnley was in her eighteenth year ; she had a melting lan- guor in her fine blue eyes, that told her soul was the seat of sensibility ; her form was airy and elegant as a wood nymph's ; her hair was a light glossy brown, u» sullied with powder, and hanging in long luxuriant ringlets down her back ; her coroplexion was dazzling fair, the rose bloomed upon her cheek, a thousand beautiful dimples played about her mouth, and the glowing ruby of her lips was finely contrasted by the- ^24 pearly whiteness of her teeth. Saville was struck with her beautj ; but when Sir Henry tenderly em- braced her, and presented her, blushing, to him, he thought he had never seen a woman so perfectly an- gelic. The grace and propriety with which she re- plied to his compliments, and the music of her voice^ absolutely fascinated him, and Rozella shrunk, as it w^ere, from his remembrance, destitute of elegance and beauty. Sir Henry inquired for Lady Dormer, and was told that she had retired to her dressing- room, rather indisposed, and had desired to be denied to all company that day. Sir Henry apologized for leaving them, and after having desired Saville to en- tertain Miss Darnley, proceeded towards the dressing room of Matilda ; he had determined to declare to her his connexion with Harriet, and his fixed determina- tion to break off with her entirely ; to tell her how ab- solutely she reigned mistress of his heart ; to intreat her forgiveness for his past errors and inattentions, and to vow at her feet everlasting affection and fidelity in future. With these resolutions, and a throbbing heart, lie reached the antechamber: the door of the dressing:- loom, which opened into it, stood half open, and he had an opportunity of observing Lady Dormer, unper- ceived by her. She was singing a little plaintive air, as she sat a-t her frame embroidering ; at length, making a pause and sighing deeply, " Friday next, my faithless, dear Henry, is your birthday ; and I," continued Matilda, " must get this waistcoat finished, that I may present it to him. O,' my aching heai't! were it possible, you flowers, that you could speak. 225 you would tell him that the willow, which droops its languid leaves, is emblematic of Matilda, who droops in his absence ; the cypress would tell him how she mourns ; and the roses, here and there scattered among the foliage, express the hope of his return. But let me contemplate my too happy rival : you are beau- tiful," said she, addressing a miniature picture which she drew from her bosom, ^' but you are unjust ; the heart of Henry ought to be mine, but you usurp it. Dear, cruel Henry, why did you marry me ; I would to heaven I could look like this picture, I should then be the object of his tenderness ; but 'tis impossible. What a charming countenance. What an enchanting smile plays about the mouth; yet the original, on whom he lavishes the caresses which ought to be mine ; her to whom his whole soul, his days and nights are devoted, perhaps feels not half the tender- ness for him which possesses this agonized bosom ; I know he loves you, happy, happy woman ! Wretched, miserable Matilda !" Here a flood of tears took from Lady Dormer the power of further utterance, and throwing down the picture on the frame, she rose up, flung herself on the sofa, and covering her face with her handkerchief, gave vent to her swelling feelings in loud sobs. Sir Henry was much aff*ected at the dis- covery he had made, for he had never imagined that Matilda had the most distant idea of his having a mis- tress, as she had never, in the remotest terms, hinted her suspicion of such a matter, and he had hoped that she was in absolute ignorance of the affair ; his heart wa=5 vvrung with the idea of her sufferings, at the same 29 226 time that it gave him, if possible, a more exalted opi- nion of her disposition, as she had never, in the gen- tlest manner, upbraided him for his neglect, or seemed dissatisfied at his passing night after night from home, but had always met him with smiles ; he advanced to the door, in order to throw himself at her feet, when seeing the picture upon the frame, the idea of placing the locket there instead of it, presented itself to his imagination ; it was done instantly, and he had scarce time to slip back, before Matilda, starting up, said, " these agonies are unavailing, I must endeavour to appear cheerful ; I will dry my tear& and pursue my work ; heaven will perhaps take compassion on me, and give me the invaluable heart of Henry in re- compense for my patience under these dreadful suf- ferings." She now advanced towards the frame, and snatch- ed up the locket, exclaiming, " is this enchantment r May I beheve my eyes ? What power has effected this metamorphose ?" " Love," answered Sir Henry, who was now kneeling 'before her, " ardent love, who wishes to remove from the eyes and remembrance of Matilda all disagreeable objecls." " O heavens, Sir Henry,'' said the astonished Matilda, '• have you dis- covered my v\^eakness ; forgive me, I beseech you." "It is I, my angelic Matilda," said he, " who ought to blush and be ashamed ; and believe me, my love, I am truly penitent for the hours of anguish I have made you suffer: but in one thing you are mistaken, my heart is indeed all yours, it has no other possessor, your virtueei have subdued it. Speak to me, my angel," cried he 221 to the fainting Matilda, ^^ say that you forgive your re- penting Henry." " O, Sir Henry !" said Matilda, burst- ing into tears, "am I so happy — may I believe you?" *' You may, by heaven," replied he ; "come to my heart, and live and reign there forever." He now caught her in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers, passion- ately entreating her to pardon him. " And do you in- deed love me," said Matilda, "let me look in your eyes, for they have never yet deceived me; yes," cried she, "' there now appears in them atenderness that I have never before observed ; O ! I am too happy." He stopped her mouth with kisses ; " can you forgive me, my Matilda ?" " Talk not of forgiveness, the exquisite delight of this moment destroys every trace of for- mer uneasiness ; but will you never wander again, my Henry ?" " Never," said he, gazing on her fond- ly, " I only wonder that 1 could, after having been the happy possessor of so much loveliness and goodness^ ever stray ; but my follies are past ; henceforth, Ma- tilda, your inconstant husband will become your adoring lover." " Delightful promise," said Matilda, sinking into his arms, "what a prospect of happiness have I before me ; but was this really and originally intended for me," said Matilda, pressing the locket to her lips, wfBx^h she had found on the frame. " On my honour," replied Sir Henry, " it was made on purpose for you." He now made a full confession to Lady Dormer of all that concerned Harriet, and entreated her to tell him how she became acquainted with the af- fair, and by what means she had procured the picture. " You may remember," answered Matilda, " that two 228 years ago you went down to Belford, on the death of the steward ; you forgot your pocket book, and sent back James to me with the key of your scrutoir to fetch it ; I had occasion to open several drawers be- fore I found it ; in the course of my search I met with the picture of a beautiful female. Morton, my maid, was present, and seeing me admiring it, soon unde- ceived me with respect to its being any relation of yours, which I then imagined it might be, by saying, ' I wonder, my lady, you can dirt your fingers with touching that nasty, fiUhy picture.' Filthy, Mor- ton, replied I, why I think it is the most beauti- ful face I ever saw. ' Handsome is, my lady, as handsome does ;' says she, ' why la ! my lady, that's Harriet Meadows,' said she Avith a sneer ; and who Morton, replied I, is this Harriet Meadows against whom you appear to be so inveterate ? ' Why, my lady, she is the impudent harlot that Sir Henry has kept ever since he first went to college at Cambridge, and whom he now supports in the highest stjle in Portland Square ; I am sure it is a burning shame, and a crying sin, when he has such a beautiful sweet lady as you, and he is a vile ' Hold ! hold ! Morton, said I, the conduct of Sir Henry must not be censured in my presence ; he is perfectly master of his own time, person, and for- tune, he is therefore to dispose of them as he pleases, without being subject to my controul, or account- able to any one. ' You are too good, my lady, and if I was your ladyship ' As I did not choose to take idvice from my servant, I was obliged to 229 stop her mouth, by saying, I did not believe a sylla- ble of the story, and desiring her to quit the room, added, that if ever I heard her drop a hint of the ridiculous stuff she had mentioned, I would dismiss her from my service immediately ; which, in a very short time, I was under the necessity of doing, as I found it impossible to prevent her talking ; I did not wish your follies, my dear Sir Henry, exposed, and my pride was too great to wish to be pitied. "I took the picture, copied this from it, and then re- placed the original. Your coldness, which before had given me much uneasiness, was now plainly ac- counted for ; I felt that I had not been the choice of your love ; I determined never to complain, and to bury the discovery forever in my own bosom. What nights of anguish liave I passed ; how have I envied my happy rival, whom I supposed sleeping in your arms, while I was traversing the floor of my bedroom, weeping, and invoking death to remove me from you, as I considered myself a bar to your happiness ; then I would talk to the picture, and call it cruel ; I have had a melancholy delight in endeavouring to dress my hair like it, in order to appear agreeable to you. But it is past," said Matilda, wiping her lovely eyes, " and I will remember my griefs only as a frightful dream." " Angelic goodness," said Sir Henry, kissing the tears from her eyes, "you shall never again expe- rience a pang on my account. Lovely as you are, Matilda, I am the conquest of your virtues ; a reign much more lasting than that of beauty. This is my wedding day ; come, my love, my friend Saville is 230 below, let him and Lamina partake our joy.'' He then led her to the drawing room, where Saville sat en- chanted bv the charms of Miss DaFnley, who began to feel not altogether indifferent to his fine person and liighly polished conversation. They dined together, four as happy people as ever met together at one ta- ble. When the dessert was removed, Saville apolo- gized to the ladies for being under the mortifying ne- cessity of leaving them, but promised to return in the evening. He then entreated Sir Henry to accom- pany him to the Portland-street coifee-house, w^here he was obliged that evening to meet his attorney re- lative to the selling of an estate, which he wanted to dispose of in order to purchase another. Sir Henry consented to accompany him. They were obliged to pass the house of Harriet, and as Sir Henry wished to bring matters to a conclusion with her, on their re- turn from the coffee-house they agreed to call. They found the street door open, therefore went directly op stairs without the ceremony of knocking : on en- tering the drawing-room they found every thing in confusion, a table upside down, and the carpet covered with fruit, broken bottles, and glasses ; " heyday, bedlam in state," said Sir Henry, " I fear Harriet is not yet come to her senses : but let us pro- ceed :" they now reached the dressing-room, and found Harriet's maid very lovingly asleep in the arms of the footman : they roused them, and soon discovered that they were both in liquor ; after re- peated inquiries, they at last made out that Harriet was in bed. Sir Henry opened the door of the ad- 251 joining bed chamber, and beheld the fond, affection- ate, constant Harriet, in bed with his own valet : his calling to Saville awoke them. " See there, Savilic,'" said he, " the confirmation of what I have long suv pected ; the despairing, faithful Harriet, who could not outlive my neglect and desertion of her, consol- ing herself in the arms of Norton ; nay, look up man," continued he, (for Norton had hid his head beneath the cloaths) " it is I who should take shame to myself, for having been so long the dupe of an in- famous woman." Harriet, who w^as so much intoxi- cated that she could not speak plain, furiously an- swered, " there is no in-fam-mam-y in be-be-ingseen in-in bed with one's ow n hus-hus-band ; 1 am mar-mar-ried to-to Nor-nor-ton." '• Indeed," said Sir Henry, ^' I rejoice to hear it, and wish you both joy with all my soul, joy as perfect as what I myself feel." " Do you mean to-to in-in-in-sult me," saivertake them ; even if we could, perhaps those barbarous men might be so enraged at our importunate lamen- tations as to put us to death." The good woman be- came calm when her strength was so exhausted that she could not continue her complaints ; and they both arrived shortly after on the bank of a river, with- in sight of a village. " Rest here," said Abosaber to his wife, " while I go to find lodging for us, and ob- tain, if possible, some garments to cover us." He proceeded towards the village, which stood at no great distance. Hardly was Abosaber out of sight of 239 his wife, when a person iiappened to come up on horseback, wlio stopped at the sight of so beautiful a woman, naked, and alone, in a by-path. The ob- ject of his curiosity soon awakened otlier desires ; he put various questions to her, such as were naturally suggested by the strangeness of the adventure ; to which she replied with modest simplicity. Her an- swers seemed to offer some shadow of hope to the young man. " Madam," said he, " you are formed for a happier destiny * deign to follow me, and to ac- cept, with my heart and hand, a situation of enviable happiness." "I have a husband," said the lady, " to whom, however unfortunate he may have been, I am attached for hfe." " I have not time," returned the cavalier, " to convince you of the folly of this refusal in your present condition. I love you ; mount my horse without reply, otherwise, with a stroke of my scimitar, 1 will here end your life and your misfor- tunes together." Abosaber's wife was thus forced to comply with the ravisher's demand ; yet^ before her departure, wrote these words upon the sand : " Abosabcr, by your pa- tience you have lost your fortune, your childr€7i, and your xmfe, who is now ravished from you. Heaven grant that fortune has not still heavier evils in store for yoiw^ While she wrote these words, the cavalier again bri- dled his horse, and, when all was ready, seized his prey, and was soon out of sight. Abosaber, at his return, looked about for his wife, and called on her in vain ; all was silent. He chanced, however, to look upon the sand, and thus le^Tned thf^ 240 extent of his misfortune. He could not withstand the first emotions of grief ; he tore his hair, beat his breast, and dashed himself upon the ground. But the swell of passion was succeeded by a calm. "Have patience, Abosaber," said he to himself, " thou lovest thy wife, and art beloved by her : God has most probably permitted her to fall into her pre- sent situation, in order to relieve her from severer dis- tresses. Does it become thee to pry into the secrets of Providence ? thy duty is to submit, and no longer to weary and offend heaven with thy murmurs and complaints." With these reflections he became fully resigned, and giving up the idea of returning to the village, took the road to a great city, the minarets of which had caught his eye at a distance. As he approached, he saw a number of w^orkmen employed in building a palace for the king. The con- ductor of the work took him by the arm, and obHged him to join the other labourers, under pain of being sent to prison. Abosaber w^as forced to have patience and do his best, while a little bread and water was all that he had for his labour. He had been about a month in this laborious and unprofitable employment, when one of his fellow- workmen happened to fall from a scaffold and break bis leg. The poor wretch uttered screams of anguish, which were inteiTupted only by imprecations and complaints. Abosaber went up to him ; " Comrade," said he, "instead of soothing, you rather increase your pain by these complaints ; have patience ! the effects of patience are always beneficial : it enables 2M VIS to bear misfortune ; and is of such a sovereign effi- cacy as often to raise a man from the bottom of a well to a throne." The monarch of the country was at one of the windows of his palace, to which he had been attracted by the cries of the unfortunate work- man; he heard the w^ords of Abosaber with indigna- tion. " Arrest that man," said he to one of his officers, " and bring him before me." Abosaber was instantly hurried into the presence of the tyrant, whose pride he had unknowingly offended. "Audacious wretch," said the barbarous king, "say- est thou that patience can raise a man from the bot- tom of a well to a throne ? Thou shalt make experi- ence of the truth of thine impertinent maxim." He at the same time ordered him to be put down into a deep and dry well, which happened to be in the court of the palace. He then visited him regularly every- day himself, bringing him two small pieces of bread. " Abosaber," said he, " methinks thou art still at the bottom of the well ; when will thy patience raise thee to a throne ?" The more the brutal monarch insulted his prisoner, so much the more did Abosaber arm his spirit with resignation. " Let me have patience," said he, " and not attempt to return insult with reproach ; it is not for men to revenge themselves. The measure of his crimes will at length be filled up. The eye of heavea beholds my condition. God is the judge of all ; kt me have patience." The kin^had n brother whom he had always con- Si 242 cealed from every eve, in a secret corner of his palace ^ but anxious distrust led him to fear that he might one day or other make his escape, and be raised to the throne ; he had therefore lately cast him secretly into the same well in which Abosaber was now confined. The wretched victim of policy soon sunk under the misery of his fate. He died; but his death came not to be publicly known, whereas the rest of the secret had already tj^anspired. The grandees of the kingdom, and the nation in general, shocked at his capricious cruelty, of which they were all liable to become the victims, arose unanimously against the tyrant, and assassinated him. Abosaber's adventure had long been forgotten. An officer of the palace related that the king went daily with bread to a man in the well, and conversed with him. This suggested that he might be the tyrant's brother, who had been so cruelly treated. Abosaber was eagerly raised from his place of confinement, and being taken for the presumptive heir of the crown, be- fore he could speak and discover who he was, they hurried him to the bath, arrayed him in the royal purple, and placed him on the throne. The new king, still steady to his principles, resigned himself to this favourable dispensation of heaven. His aspect and reserved manners disposed every one to hope well of his reign ; and the wisdom of his con- duct soon justified their hopes. Not only did he weigh with unwearied patience every affair submitted to his decision, but he entered himself as much as possible into all thQ details of public business. *• Viziers, ca- 243 dis, and ofTicers of justice," said be, " have patience, and examine whatever is brought before you, and be not precipitate in your judgment." PJis prudence was universally admired, and all submitted to his guidance. Such was the general disposition of his subjects to- wards him, when a train of events occasioned an alter- ation in his fortune. A neighbouring monarch, who had been conquer- ed and expelled from his dominions by a powerful enemy, came with a few attendants to take refuge in his court, and to implore, on his knees, the hospi- tality, the kindness, and the aid of Abosaber, who was celebrated for his virtues, and above all, for his patience. Abosaber dismissed his divan, that he might con- verse in private with the fugitive prince. No sooner were they alone than he thus addressed him. " Know me for Abosaber, once your subject, by you un- justly deprived of his property, and banished from your dominions. Behold, how wonderfully heaven has changed our conditions. I left my village in ex- treme misery and want : but I patiently resigned my- self to my fate, and Providence has raised me to a throne ; while your conduct, marked by caprice, cru- elty, and rashness, has humbled you from your exalta- tion. I cannot help thinking, when I see you thus left at my discretion, that heaven charges me with the accomplishment of its decrees upon you, for an ex- ample to the wicked." After this reprimand, and without waiting for a re- ply, Abosaber ordered his officers to strip the fugitive 244 king, with all his train, and to drive them, in that condition, out of the city. His orders were instantly obeyed, but not without occasioning some murmurs. Ought an unfortunate prince, who is reduced to sup- plicate protection, to be so harshly treated ? This was contrary to the laws of equity, humanity, and sound policy. Some time after this, Abosaber leaining that a band of robbers infested a particular part of his do- minions, sent a party of his troops against them, who surprised, seized, and brought them before him. The king knew them to be the same who had de- prived him of his children. He examined their chief in private, " In such a situation," said he, " and in such a desert, you found a man, a woman, and two children. You stripped the father and the mo- ther, and carried off the children ; what have you done with them ?" " Sire," replied the chief of the robbers, " those young men are at present among us, and at your majesty's disposal. We are ready also to surrender up into your hands all that we have amassed by rapine ; only pardon our crimes, grant us life, receive us into the number of your subjects, and your majesty shall have no soldiers more faithful to their duty, or more attached to your service." The king received the young men, took possession of the robbers property, and caused them all to be forthwith beheaded, without regard to their supplications and complaints. Abosaber's subjects, when they beheld this speedy and severe infliction of punishment, and recollected 245 his conduct to the fugitive prince, were astonished at this change in their monarch's temper. " What pre- cipitation is this ?" said they, " can this be the com- passionate prince who used to check the cadi's haste to punish, and was continually repeating, " Stay, examine, do nothing rashly ; have patience !" Their surprise was already great, but was soon raised to a higher pitch by a new incident. A gentleman came to complain of his wife : Abo- saber, before hearing him, said, " Bring your wife hither ; if I must hear your complaints, it is but just, that at the same time I hear what she has to say for herself." The gentleman went out, and soon after returned with his wife. Scarcely had the king seen her, when he ordered her to be conducted into the interior apartments of the palace, and the gentleman who complained of her to be beheaded. His orders were executed. His vizier, officers, and all his divan, now murmured so loudly, that Abosaber could not avoid hearing. Such an act of violence had never been seen ; it was unexampled barbarity. The king, whom they had dethroned and slain, had never done any thing so shockingly tyrannical ; and this brother of his from the well, whose first acts bespoke so much sagacity and prudence, could with great coolness perform deeds of cruelty, which only madness could excuse. Abosaber patiently heard these complaints, and then beckoning with his hand, to command si- lence, spoke thus ; " Viziers, cadis, and officers of justice, and all you vassals of the throne, who hear me ! I have uni- 246 formly advised you never to judge rashly. You owe me the same regard which i have requested of you for others. I entreat you, therefore, to hear me. I have at last reached a pitch of happiness which I durst not €ven aspire to ; so many seemingly irrecon- cilable circumstances were necessary to its accom- plishment. I am indifferent to the crown which I wear; I wish, however, to acquire your esteem, by explaining to you the motives which have directed my conduct. I am not the brother of your late king, whom you judged unworthy to reign. I am a man of humble birth: being persecuted, ruined, and dri- ven out of my own country, 1 took reiiige here, after seeing my wife and two children ravished from me by the way. I resigned myself piously to the stroke of fate. As I entered this city I was seized and compelled to join the workmen who were building the palace. In full conviction that patience is the Mjost essential of ail virtues to the present state of man, I exhorted one of my fellow labourers to bear Mdth resignation the dreadful misfortune of breaking bis leg, which befell him. So great a virtue is pa- tience, said I, that it will sometimes raise a man, who may have been thrown into the depth of a well, to the elevation of a throne. The king my predeces- sor heard me. He was enraged at the maxim, and instantly cast me into a well, from the bottom of which you raised me to a throne. When a neigh- bouring king, who had been expelled from his do- minions by an usurper, came to implore my assist- ancje, I discovered him to be the sovereign of my 247 native country, who had banished me from his do- minions, and contiscaled all my effects. I had not been the only object of his capricious cruelty ; I had seen his whole subjects groan under his oppression. The robbers, whom I punished with seeming severity, had torn my children from me, had reduced me to the lowest extremity of misery. The cavalier whom I caused to be beheaded had violently ravished from me my w ife. " My view in inflicting these punishments was not merely to avenge myself for the offences which I had suffered. Considering myself as the sovereign of these dominions, by your voluntary choice, and as an instrument in the hand of God, I could not think myself at liberty to indulge a weak clemency, unfa- vourable alike to your security and your power ; it was my duty to fulfil the decrees of Providence upon persons who were undeniably guilty, and to cut off from society members so inimical to peace. A ty- rannical king, regardless of the laws, and guided on- ly by caprice and passion, is a scourge to his people. If it be criminal to attempt his life, it is still more so, however, to lend him assistance, which mi^lit enable him to renew his cruelty, and to gratify all the fero- city and malignity of bis heart. It is even prudent to divest him of the means of being hurtful to man- kind. Robbers, whose trade it is to attack caravans, and pillage travellers, who have formed none but li- centious liabits, can never become useful and respect- able citizens. Still less do they deserve to be ad- mitted to the honour of defending their countij. 248 Banishment only restores them to their original con- dition, augments their numbers, and renews their crimes. He who has ravished a woman is a monster in society. It is an act of beneficence to free the earth of him. He who can be guilty of this crime will hardly hesitate at the commission of any other. " These are the motives of my conduct. Rigour is more painful to me than any person else. But I should be unworthy of my people's confidence, and should be wanting in the duties of a sovereign if I suffered such instances of undoubted guilt to escape unpunished. If I have exceeded the bounds of authority intrusted to me, I am ready to resign it back into your hands. Now, that my wife and children are restored to me by the favour of the Almighty, all that I have further to wish for you is, that you may enjoy peace and happiness under a wiser government than mine." Abos^ber thus finished his defence. Admiration and respect held the whole assembly for some time silent. But they soon exclaimed, with one voice, " Long live Abosaber! Long live our prince ! Long live the patient monarch ! May he live forever ! And may his reign be everlasting !" The king, returning into his apartment, called his wife and children ; and after indulging the mild im- pulse of natural affection, "See," said he to his wife, " the fiuits of patience, and the consequences of precipitation ; lay aside your prejudices ; impress these great truths upon the minds of our children : the eye of Providence is upon the righteous and the wicked ; and the divine justice and wisdom dispen- 24,9 sres rewards and punishments with an infallible and impartial hand. The patient man, who resigns him- self to the will of Providence, is ^ogner or l^tei crowned with glpry." THE ROBBERS. Charles, a yoiir^man of high birth and expects^- tions, eldest son of the Compte de Moor, endowed hy nature with a soul of fire and a heart full of sensibiU- ty, was led away, in the prime of youth, by the love of pleasure and dissipation, too common at that agCc After running a course of thoughtless and crimipal ex- travagance, he listened to the voice of virtue, which had been stifled, not lost, in his heart ; and wrote to his father, (whom, amidst all his vice and folly, he had never ceased to love,) a letter full of penitence anc} contrition, desiring to return to hia duty, and to be rfir ceived to pardon and to iavour. This was intercept- ed by the villany of a younger brother, who mana- ged so as to persuade his father that his son Charles (who appears to have been his great favourite,) is to- tally abandoned to villany and vice ; in consequence of which, the old man withdrew his regard, and seat him a letter renouncing him forever, and containing that paternal malediction, so dreadful to the sensibili- ty of a son who loved his parent. On receipt of this, Charles became desperate ; and, amidst the storm of his feelings, outraged by what he thought the inhu- manity of his fatbor, readily accepted of a proposal. 250 icliade by some of his dissipated companions, to leave a world in which they had nothing but contempt and poverty to expect ; to fly to the forests of Bohemia^ and there to establish themselves into a society of robbers and banditti, of which he was to be the chief. In the horrid duties of this new employment, he show- ed that wonderful magnanimity, that persuasive elo- quence, that undaunted valour, which would have gra- ced a better station ; yet amidst t{^e elevation and ac- tivity of mind with which the exercise and success of these qualities were accompanied, his heart was pressed down by remorse, and melted by a tender recollection of that virtuous happiness, which, in the days of youth and innocence, he had once enjoyed. The curse of a father, whom he had revered and lov- ed, the desertion of a mistress, a cousin of his own^ of whom he was desperately enamoured, the sense of his outcast and abandoned situation, and of those violations of virtue and morality to which it necessa- rily leads ; those rending feelings, those melting re- membrances, joined to that high sense of perverted honour which linked him to his band, and that ar- dent valour which made their enterprises of glory, formed a character of the most energetic and inte- resting kind : captain of a band of inexorable banditti, whose furious valour he wields to the most desperate purposes, living with those associates, amidst woods and deserts, terrible and savage as the beasts they have displaced ; presents to the fancy a kind of pre- ternatural personage, wrapped in all the gloomy grandeur of visionary beings. 251 His younger brother, Francis, having succeeded in removing this favourite of his father, now looked for the death of the old man as the complete accom- plishment of his wishes to attain (he fortune and ho- nours of his family. To efilect this hellish purpose, he made use of his father's still remaining tenderness for that very son whom the traitor's arts had driven from his love. He employed one Herman, a tool of his villany, to personate a soldier, who had been the companion of Charles, and to relate a fabricated sto- ry of the suiferings and death of that unfortunate young man, W'ho ac€ording*to him^ had been reduced, by the severity of his father, to the most extreme and pitiable indigence, from which he had at last been relieved by death, having fallen fighting gallantly in an action with the infidels, and in his last words had breathed out the name of his father and of his AmeUa. The old count felt this relation as the in- human son expected ; he fainted at its close, and was carried off lifeless. The traitor Francis reaped the fruit of his villany ; he i*eaped, but his conscience did not permit him to enjoy it; ajidhe was ever after a martyr of remorse, haunted by the terrors of inward guilt. His associate, Herman, yields to contrition ; he braves the anger of his loid, and resolves to embrace the first opportunity of counteracting his villany. The band were encamped on a height on the banks of the Danube, after a hard fought battle with a party of Bohemian horse, which had been sent to take them ; but which, by the unparalleled valour and exertion of Moor and his friends, they had defeated Moor is here overcome with fatigue and thirst Mdbr, I must test here— my limbB are broken t^fth fatigue, and my parched tongue cleaves to my Induth. I would have asked some of you to fetch me a little w^ter from that river, but you too ^rc weary Almost to death. 'Grim, (one of the band.) 'Tis ia loftg time since our flasks w^ere empty of wine. — How majestically the snn feit$ there below. Moor. 'Tis thus that a hero dies, and the nation^ adiiiir^ his fall. ^rim. It seems to move you. Moor, 111 my youth it* was my favourite idea to liv6 like the sto, to <3ie like him ! 'Twas the fancy of k young mat). Grrirfi. 'Twais eveh so. Moor, There w as a time—-* — ^leave me alone, my friends. Griin, Moor, Moor ! do you ail aught ? Yotll- co- lour changes. Moor, There was a time when I could not sleep #f I had forgot my prayers before I laid me down. Grim, ^Tis foiy all. Would yu, like a boy, be ^hooled by the remem5>rance of your infant days ? Moor, My infant days ! Oh ! Grim, Think of these no more. Be not a ehild again, I pray you. Moor, A child again ! Would that I were ! Grim, Rouse yourself ! For shame ! See how the landscape smiles^ — ^how beautiful the evening looks. Moor, Ay, my friends, this earth is so beautiful-^ Grim, Why, that is well. 253 Moor. This scene so grand — Grim. You speak it truly, 1 love to hear you talk thus. 3Ioor. And what am I, in this world that is so beautiful ? A thing so vile on this magnificent w^ork of heaven ! The prodigal son ! Grim. Moor ! Moor ! Moar, My innocence, give me back my innocence ! Look how every thing in nature is cheered by the smile of spring. Why in this air, so pure to them, should I breathe the blasting smoke of hell ? When all around us are happy, when gentle peace has uni- ted thern, the world one bkssed family, and its Father there above, who is not my father! I alone shut out; the prodigal son, excluded from the portion of his children, surrounded with crimes, with miu-der, bound to them with chains of iron— Grim. I never saw him thus before. Moor. Ah ! if it were possible for me to be borri again ; to be born a beggar, the meanest thing that were not a guilty one ! With the labour of these hands I would purchase the weariness of peace. O ! that with the sweat of my brow, though that sweat were blood, I could buy one guiltless hour, the luxury of one tear ! Glim. Patience, friends, his fit is almost over. Moor, There was a time when my tears flowed freely. O peaceful days ! that saw me in my fathers house, in my native fields ! Ye smiling fields ! Ye val- leys made for enthusiasm to wander in ! Scene of my happy infancy, will ye never return ? Will ye never 254 breathe on this burning bosom your gales of peace and joy ? Nature, why art thou dark around me ? They will never, never return; never breathe ; they are gone, gone forever. Subdued by the tenderness of the recollection which this scene expresses, Charles visits his native castle in disguise ; he finds his father dead, his brother Francis in possession of his inheritance, and his mistress ready to take the veil. After yielding for a while to those softer feelings which the scenes of his infancy recall^ be recollects the outcast abandonment of his own situ- ation, makes himself known, at the instant of parting, to Iris Amelia^ and flies to rejoin his desperate asso- ciates. It was night; and the band were assembled on a desert heath, near the ruins of an ancient tower, round which the winds whistled, and the owl shrieked. They had watched three days and nights of danger and alarm, and all except their unhappy chief, whom re- morse and anguish kept awake, yielded to their fa- tigue, and laid themselves on the ground to sleep. Moor walked to and fro, like the sovereign spirit of the night, revolving in his troubled, but daring soul, this world and the next. In this world, he has now nothing left to hope, and he looked with desperate calmness on the dark and unknown gulpli of that to come. B.i?i soliloquy was of that sublime and broken sort which expresses the agitation of a great but err- ing mind, yielding to remorse for crimes vdiich have stained his life, but not corrupted his soul, and ieft him, amidst the outrages of violence and vice, 255 the sentiments and the sufferings of virtue and of feeling. After a pause of gloomy meditation, he broke out in the following words ; " A long, long night ! on which no morning wdll ever dawn ! Think ye that Moor will tremble ? Shades of the victims of this assassinating sword ! I see your bleeding wounds — 1 look on your livid lips, and hear the last agonizing groans they breathe, but I tremble not. These are but links of that eternal chain w^hich he who sits in yonder heaven holds in his hand. He stamped these horrors on my destiny, even amidst the innocent, the happy days of my unsullied infancy ; (he draws a pis- tol.) The barrier betwixt eternity and time this lit- tle instrument can burst, and then — Thou dread un- known, whither wilt thou lead ? Where wilt thou place me ? If thou leavest me this conscious self, 'tis that must create my heaven or my hell. Amidst the w^aste of a world which thine anger hath destroyed, I can people the silent void with thought. Or wilt thou, in new and untried states, lead me through va- rious misery to nothing ? Thou mayest annihilate my being ; but whilst this soul is left, will not its free- dom and its force remain ? 'Tis equal where — I w ill not shrink from the sufferings of the present; the destiny of Moor shall be fulfilled." He was silent, he heard the tread of approaching' feet, and presenlly a figure glided before him and knocked at tlie grated wicket of the tower. The figure said, '• Rise, man of sorrow, inhabitant of this tower, thy repast is here.'- A feeble voice answered 25G from the dungeon within, "Herman, is it you? Bringest thou, like the prophet's raven, his food to a lingering wretch, that lives by the crumbs which thy pity affords him ?" Moor, who had shrunk back ia amazement, advanced, and desired the man to stop. It was Herman— who draws his sword, but is instant-r }y disarmed, " What art thou," said the astonished Herman, " whose touch withers like that of death ? Art thou the demon of this horrid place ; the spirit of this murderous tower ?" " 1 am," said Moor ; " the exterminating angel is my name ; and yet I have Hesh and bones like thee. But what wretch is it in that tower ? I will burst his chains." He drew from his pocket the pass keys which his profession em ploy -r ed; he opened the tower; the skeleton figure of a famished wretch crept from the dungeon — " Horrible phantom !" cried the astonished Moor, in a low and terrified voice, " my father?" It was his father, whom the inhuman Francis (tak- ing advantage of the long fit into which the account of his son's death had thrown him) had buried alive in the dungeon of this tower. When Charles was in- formed of this, and his other treacheries, by Herman, the penitent associate of his villany, he waked the band, and in the rage of filial revenge, despatched some of the boldest of his troop to force the castle of Ills brother, and bring him alive before him. The old man was still ignorant of his deliverers being his son, and waited, terrified and weak, the disclosing of this mystery of justice and of vengeance. Francis, in the mean time, was tormented with all 257 the dismay and distraction of awakened remorse. He had started from his bed, and gone into the saloon of the castle, followed by a servant who watched his sleep. Here they were told by a frightened domestic, that a troop of horsemen were approaching at a gallop with terrifying shouts. The count was petrified by his guilty fears, and could not give orders for defence. His followers, however, for a while disputed the pas- sage of the band, and the castle was set on fire. Its master was still more lost in the horrors of his situa- tion ; and, after an unavailing request to his servants, to save him from the vengeance of his enemies, by putting him to death, was left alone amidst the ap- proaching flames, wishing to die, yet dreading death, till he hears the thunder of the band at the gate, which shakes, bursts, and the entering foes seize him alive, and carry him oflf, according to the command of their master. All the while that Moor and his father were alone upon the heath. Moor was agitated with contending feelings. He often resolved to disclose himself to his father ; but the consciousness of his fallen and aban- doned state withheld him. When the old man com- plained that he had now no son to close his eyes. Moor threw himself on the neck of his father, yet was unable to discover that this wretch, this robber, this assassin, was his Charles. At that moment a distant noise is heard, and presently the dim gleam of torches begins to illumine the scene around them ; th© glare of the light increases ; the voices are heard more near ; the accustomed music of their triumph is sound- 258 ed, and the faithful band of Moor, true to their com- mission, bring the criminal Francis, chained, before his father and his brother. Moor presented the wretched Francis to his father. The old man was willing to forgive him, but his bro-. ther had devoted him to vengeance. He desired the band to lead his father to a remote part of the wood ; and then, settling the fury of his revenge into the ter- rible solemnity of dispassionate justice, he placed hu brother in the midst of his fierce associates, and de- sired them to pronounce sentence on his crime. They consulted some time on an adequate punishment ; and then, feRcitating themselves on the thought, they threw him into the dungeon in which this barbarous parricide had buried his father. The old man was then brought in. He felt the yearnings of parental affection for his guilty son, and exclaimed against the cruelty of his avengers. Moor threw himself into his arms, and discovered to him his favourite, his Charles. Just then, Amelia, who had escaped from the castle of his brother, entered, and ran to embrace her lover and his father. The father felt all the pleasure of his son and his niece restored, and fondly anticipated the felicity they were to enjoy. But Moor bade them check the expectation of happiness, and look only for desperation and hoiTor. " Your paternal curse," said he, " consigned me to perdition. These men you see are robbers ; your son is their chief." The exhausted strength of the old man could not stand the shock : he expired in the arms of his son. His mistress still' survived*; and though dumb with terror and grief, she 259 folded him in her arms, and showed the most ardent aifection for her Charles. Warm in his love, as in every other feeling, Moor had doated on her to dis- traction ; he forgot himself in her embraces, and for a moment thought he would live and be happy with his Amelia. " Come from her arms," cried one of the boldest of his troop, " or I will speak what shall freeze your blood." " Think," exclaimed another, while they levelled their pieces at his head, " of your vow to be ours for ever. Ours you are, and neither heaven nor hell shall win you from us." Their voices roused the remem- brance of his situation; but his soul was too proud to yield to threats. ^' You are murderers," said he, " and I am your chief. Down with these arms, and know your master." Awed by the sounds they were accus- tomed to obey, the banditti lowered their arms. " To be great, Moor must be free. I would not give this triumph for all the elysium of love. (He draws his sword.) Call not that madness, of which your souls want strength to see the grandeur. The great- ness of despair is above the ken of wisdom. On ac- tions such as this, reflection must follow, not wisdom pause." He then plunged his sword into the bosom of Amelia. Struck with the barbarous heroism of the deed, his associates fell at his feet, acknowledged his unparalleled fidelity, and vowed to be his slaves for ever. " No," said he, with a determined and petrifying calmness ; " the destiny of Moor is accom- plished. Thus far it -was in human power to go. and thus far has he gone; but here his course is closed, and his genius cries out, ^ all is consum- inated'." He then dismissed his band, except two favourite officers, with an exhortation to use their invincible courage in the service of their country. To these two favourites, whose souls were not so deeply tinc- tured in blood, he bequeathed his paternal domain, and desired them to leave him, and to devote their future lives to virtue and obedience to the laws. " And I too," said he, '^ will obey the laws ; I will bear the sternest punishment of their decree." And he went and delivered himself up to justice. BHAZAD THE IBIPATIENT. Bhazad was a prince adorned with every person- al accomplishment. His beauty was celebrated by the poets, and became proverbial among the nations of the empire. He was the delight of every circle, and his society w^as eagerly courted by all. Hia beauty was, one day, the subject of a conversation which he overheard, unobserved. After it had been highly praised, a person who had been hitherto silent, remarked ; " Prince Bhazad is, no doubt, one of the handsomest men in the world. But I know a wo- man who excels all her own sex in beauty much more than he does ours." At hearing this remark, prince Bhazad's curiosity 261 was much more piqued than his pride. lie address- ed himself secretly to the person ^vho uttered this, " Might one know," said he, "the name of the beau- ty whom you praise so highly?" "Prince," repli- ed the man, " she is daughter to one of the princi- pal vassals of the Syrian throne ; and if every eye is enchanted with the charms of her person, she pos- sesses still superior accomplishments in the qualities of her heart and understanding." These few words made a powerful impression on Bhazad's heart. He could think of nothing but the beauty he had heard so highly extolled, and all his desire was to conquer her heart. The flame by which he was consumed soon impaired his health ; he became melancholy, and avoided company. The king, his father, was surprised at the change; he inquired, and learned the cause. Bhazad, after avowing his passion, was gently re- proached by his father, Cyrus, for the reserve he had maintained. " Why," said he, " did you conceal the state of your heart from me ? Know you not that I have full authority over the prince whose daughter you desire to espouse ? Is it at all doubtful whether he will do himself the honour of accepting our alli- ance ?" Cyrus sent immediately to the father of the young beauty, to ask her for his son. The dowry- was soon agreed upon, and was stated at three hun- dred thousand pieces of gold; but the father of the lady required the celebration of the marriage to be delayed for nine months. '^ Nine months without seeing the object of my ^6^ - wishes P^ said the impatient Bhazad to himself ; ^' nine months without possessing her ! I can never endure it." He instantly formed a project for obtain- ing immediate access to the lady of his heart. He mounted the best horse in his stables, furnished him- self with some necessary provisions, as well as with a bow, lance, and a scimitar, and set out without further delay. He had not proceeded far from the capital of Syria, when he saw himself attacked by a band of robbers. Awed, however, by the firmness of his countenance, and his martial air, they, instead of at- tempting to murder after robbing him, as was their usual practice, made him a proposal of a very differ- ent sort, and offered him his life, on the condition of bis associating himself with them. By the loss of life, Bhazad would lose the enjoyments of love ; and yet the profession of a robber was extremely re- pugnant to his character. He concluded himself, therefore, that it would be most proper to make the robbers acquainted with his condition, his views, and the fatal delay of nine months, which he had not pa- tier^ce to endure. Upon bis making this nvowal, the captain of the robbers replied, " We will abridge this tedious interval ; we know the castle in which the object of your passion lives, and the force which de- fends it. March you at our head ; we will attack it, and you shall find no obstacle to resist our assault. All that we ask of you for this important service is, to enjoy your protection in future, and to-be allowed an interval of a few days to prepare for the enterprise." Bhazad, in his impatience, imagined himself al» 265 ready in possession of his happiness. All means seemed just that could serve the interests of his pas- sion, and he saw no occasion for delicacy in his choice. Wherefore, without farther deliberation, he continued his journey at the head of the robbers. They soon met a numerous caravan. The robbers, prompted by their natural propensity to plunder, made a disorderly attack upon it, but were repulsed with the loss of several men killed, and a great num- ber taken prisoners. Among the latter was Bhazad. He was conducted to the capital of the country to which the caravan was journeying. The comman- der of the caravan, after relating the adventure, pre- sented Bhazad to the king : " This, sir, is a young man who seems to be distinguished from the rest; we beg your majesty to dispose of him at your royal pleasure." The mien of the captive attracted the par- ticular attention of the monarch. "• Who are you, young man ?" asked the prince. " You have not the appearance of having been born for the abandon- ed mode of life in which you have been engaged. How did you fall into the hands of the caravan ?" Bhazad would not discover himself, least he should disgrace his real name ; " Sir," replied he, "do not let my exterior appearance impose upon your majesty ; I am not, nor ever was, any other than a robber by profession." " Your reply," said the king, " is your death war- rant. However," said he to himself, " let me not act precipitately ; it is just to have some respect to his youthj and to the exterior qualities which distin- 264 guish him from the rest of his profession. If this young man be only a robber, he deserves punish- ment ; but if he be some child of misfortune who seeks death to escape from the troubles of life, I should be- come an accomplice in his crime, if I did not stretch out my hand to save him from ruin." Thus spoke the prudent monarch to himself, and ordered Bha- zad into close confinement, till he should receive better information concerning his real character and condition. In the mean time, Cyrus, after a fruitless search for his son through all his own dominions, sent circular letters for the same purpose to all the raonarchs of Asia. One came to the sovereign into whose hands Bhazad had fallen. From the description given of him, he was instantly satisfied that the young adven- turer, whom he detained in confinement, was no other than the well beloved son of the potent monarch of S}Tia. What reason had he now to be pleased with himself for the prudence with which he had deljiyed judging of him from appearances ! He sent imme- diately to the prisoner, to ask his name. " My name is Bhazad," answered the young man. " You are son to king Cyrus ; but upon what motives have you been induced to conceal your birth ? Had I not been slow to inflict punishment upon you, your silence must have eost you your life ; and I should not have been dis- tressed with remorse for treating you as a vile assas- i^in." " Sir," answered Bhazad, after explaining the secret of his elopement from his f ither's court, " finding myself thus taken among robbers, in whose crimes I had involuntarily shared, I preferred death to igru)- miny, that I might not dishonour the illustrious name I bear." " Son," answered the sage monarch, " you have acted very imprudently. You were in love, and sure of enjoying the object of your desires within a few months. See to what an extremity you have been hurried by rash impatience ! Instead of waiting calm- ly till you could become son-in-law to one of your father's noble vassals, you first abandoned the court of Syria without permission, then exposed yourself rashly to be murdered by the robbers, for the purpose of carrying off your betrothed wife by force of arms. Behold in what a series of crimes you have involved yourself! Repress this impetuosity of passion, and calm your impatience. I shall take measures to has- ten your union with the princess whose hand you are so eager to obtain. But as every thing must be con- ducted in a way which may be suitable to your rank and condition, let us beware of aoting with impru- dent haste." After this the prince caused Bhazad to be magni- ficently arrayed, lodged him in his palace, and admit- ted him to his table. He wrote to Cyrus that he might make himself easy as to the fate of his son ; for that equipages were making ready in order that he might appear with becoming splendour at the court of the prince whose daughter he w^as to espouse. The impatient Bhazad saw those preparations with pain. They seemed to retard the completion of hig happiness. At last X\\h order was given for hh deparr 34 ture. A ^rnall army was sent to escort him. The least halt they made by the way seemed an age to ^he enamoured prince. Couriers had been despatched to the princess's fa- ther to give him notice of his son-in-law's approach. He and his daughter, she having her face covered with a veil, came to the entrance of the castle to receive him. A magnificent apartment was appropriated to his use, adjoining to that of his bride. Every thing had been previously settled between the two fathers. Three days of the nine months were to expire ; and the preparations for the marriage were already made. There was nothing but a thin wall, and the space ef three days, between Bhazad and his bride ; but the wall was a mount Arrarat to him — the three days seemed an eternity. As he. took care to have con- stant information of what was going on, he learned that she was at her toilette, and waited upon by fe- male slaves ; her face was unveiled ; it would be charming to surprise and contemplate her in this situ- ation. He examined every corner of his apartment, in hopes of finding some means to satisfy his impa- tience and curiosity ; to his misfortune, he discover- ed a small grated window, and looked through it. An eunuch, who stood cenlinel at the post, soon observ- ed his prying curiosity, and not knowing who he was, pushed the point of his scimitar against him. It pierced both his eyes at once ; he shrieked with the pain, and all his servants hurried round him. The wounded prince informed them of the cause of his misfortune, and of the motives which had ^ '267 prompted him to expose himself in such a situation. The unlucky consequence Avith which it had been at- tended, now rendered him sensible of his fault. " It Was my impatience," replied he sorrowfully. " I slighted the good advice of the king, my benefactor. Within three days I should have seen and possessed the dear object of my wishes. I could not hav€ patience for so short an interval. My eyes, that sought to anticipate the pleasure of seeing her, have been punished by the deprivation of sigbtJ' THE HUMANE HIGHLAND ROBBER. Not many years after the last rebellion in Scot- land, an officer of some distinction was travelling through the Highlands. Barbarous as that part of Scotland still is^ it was much more so then. The public roads were scarcely any where perceivable. The people, though originally good natured, were peculiarly ipimical to soldiers while the massacre that followed the battle of CuUoden was yet recent in their memories. Thus situated, the officer could not possibly know his way, and it was almost in vain to ask, where he ^ould neither understand nor be understood. To com- plete his misfortune, there happened to be that day a great fall of snow. He was attended only by a single servant. In such circumstances, they continued their 26B journey, not doubting but they should perish at last. After wandering in this painful suspense the whole day, they discovered in the dusk of the evening something like a light at a distance. Thither they repaired without hesitation ; but when they reached the spot where they expected to find a house, they found themselves at the foot of a tremendous preci- pice, and the light that had decoyed them still glim- mering at an inaccessible height above their heads. In this stateof desperation they hallooed with all their might, and were immediately asked by a human voice, what they wanted. They then declared their situa- tion, and only begged to know whether they could hope for any relief. In an instant a man came and desired them to follow him. They did so, but were obliged, though reluctantly, to leave their horses fastened below. They soon arrived, by a zigzag way, at a large cavity in the middle of the rock, and the first sight they saw was a vast pile of faggots lighted up in the centre of a prodigious vacuity. There their guide left them, and returned in a moment from some concealed part in this subterraneous habitation, with above fifty armed men. At such a formidable and unexpected object, in circumstances otherwise sufficiently perilous, our tra- vellers were greatly and unavoidably startled, when one, who seemed to have the command of the rest, addressed them to this purpose : " You can be at iio loss to guess what we are, from otir appearance; but you have nothing to fear. For though we live by what is called violence, we are not 269 insensible to humanity. Our depredations are never stained with crueltj'^, and seldom with blood ; and those whom necessity has thrown on our care, have never either been treated with barbarity, or suffered to want. We extort a lillle from those only who can spare it: but rather augment than diminish the pro- perty of the poor. We know what we have to expect when we fall into the hands of the rich and powerful, and are resigned to our fate ; but we never take ad- vantage of the miserable. Nor is it to distress others, but solely to support ourselves, that w^e live in this manner. You see our quarters, and shall have all the accommodation they can afford you ; and if you can trust us, who have no reason to deceive you, we welcome you to a temporary residence in these adamantine abodes, with the most perfect sincerity. Our fare is homely, buf wholesome, and our beds, though coarse, are not infested with vermin. Nor need you be under any concern for your horses; they too shall share our protection and hospitality. We have no hay, but they shall not want for corn and water. Stables we have none, but can shelter them for one night, at least, from the inclemencies of the w^eather." This harangue revived the courage of the guests, and they were seasonably presented with a cup of w^hiskey each, to recover them from the cold and fa- tigue they had suffered. Their stomachs by this time must have been abundantly keen, and by their own account, they never supped more deliciously in their lives than they did that night, on poultry and fine Higliland mutton hastily broiled on the live ashes. 210 Rest was the next thing of which they stood most in need; and their generous host led them to an inner apartment in the cave, which seemed to be at once their treasury and their magazine. Their two sacks of heath were by his orders brought in, and put on end, with its crop uppermost. Then a rope w^as fas- tened about the whole to keep it together. On this simple contrivance, which formed a most delicious sofa, they laid themselv^es down. The officer bad some notes of value about him, and above twenty guineas in gold, besides a very hand- some gold watch, and other costly trinkets ; but m he expected they would search him for his money, he did not attempt to conceal any thing. Their host cither discovered or suspected their timidity, and of- fered himself to be their guard. They dissuaded hinj as much as possible ; but he told them plainly, that imiess he kept himself constantly by them, he could not be answerable for the conduct of his companions. He therefore slept by them on the bare rock the whole night. In the morning they found themselves thus alone with him, and every thing as they left it in the evening, save that of the whole fifty men they saw, not one was now visible but the head of the gang. Another fire of wood was instantly lighted up, and, as he told them they had near twenty miles to ride be- fore they could find any provisions for themselves or horses, they were prevailed on to partake very heartily of cheese and whiskey ere they set out. He then produced their horses, who had been well fed, and were in charming spirits. He likewise in- 271 sisted on putting them on a road where they miglii be in no farther danger of losing their way. On thi? the servant was ordered to dismount and give him his horse; but he chose rather to w^alk, and told thcnr he could easily keep up with them. At their parting — " Sir," said the officer, " we are struck at the whole of your conduct, from first to last, with equal admi- ration and gratitude. We have been treated like princes, where we expected our throats were to be cut. It is not in my power sufficiently to reward your generosity ; but here is a small purse of guineas. w hich is all the ready cash I have about me. I can very well spare it, and shall think myself honoured by your acceptance of it. I am only sorry it is not more for your sake." " Look'e sir," said the highwayman, " you now see our way of life. The Allows you saw^ are all trusty and tried. We go to a free market for whatever we want. In such a situation, money can be no object to us : though if it were, know that sergeant Moore is above being hired to do what his heart tells him is right." " Are you sergeant Moore r" exclaimed the officer. " I am." '' Why, your name is a terror to the whole country round.'' " It is." " Do you know that a reward is offered for you, dead or alive ?" " 1 do." " Why then do you trust yourself alone with two armed men ?" " To show that my heart is a stranger to fear." He then drew his sword, and lean- ing on it gently, " Sir," said he, '' I was born a gentle- man, and have lived a clown. Early misfortunes obliged me to conceal my name and family, and en- 272 list in the aroiy. My conduct there attracted the at- tention of my superiors, but I had not interest to rise higher than a halbert, and was discharged with the regiment in which I served. This way o£flife was then imposed on me by necessity. It is Hkely I shall be made an example to deter others from the same clandestine practices: all I ask, when you hear of my death, whether public or private, is, that you remem- ber you once owed your life to him who never took one but in the cause of his country, when he fought for his king, and exposed his own. Farewell." THE PROGRESS OF VICE. Young D.wis was the soi%)f a reputable trades- man in the city of London. He received an educa- tion calculated to accomplish him both for commer- cial and polite life : his genius was brilliant, and his disposition tender. With these advantages, he be- came the indulged favourite of his parents. Hi^ vices were liberal and splendid : - they w^ore a pleas- ing form, and therefore escaped censure. In the morning of life, it was not considered how much they would cloud the evening : happily for his parents, they died, not thinking of the dangers which awaited their darling child. They left him in the pbssession of a genteel fortune, which they hoped he would im- prove by business ; but his genius and education, w hile they made him acquainted with the useful arts^ 273 had given him a superior rehsh for those which are pleasing and elegant. He had never yet wanted money, and was insensible of its value : his fortune dazzled h'^ eyes, and bewildered his judgment ; he thought it sufficient to purchase for him a continu- ance of enjoyments. Trade was beneath his talents ; and pleasure, in every alluring form, invited him to her courts ; the syren song prevailed, and ruin pressed on Avith hasty steps. His father's stock was sold, and young Davis commenced gentleman; he was suited to the character in every respect but the possession of wealth. Thus qualified, he procured admission to the best of company. As he kept pace with these in manners, he was necessarily obliged to keep pace with them in expense. Like them, he gamed ; and like them, he became the prey of shar- pers : his ignorance wgit their gain; his honesty their security ; and his generosity their abuse. A disposi- tion, tender and gentle as his was, naturally was sus- ceptible of the charms of beauty. The harlot, whom man had betrayed from happiness and peace, sought an object of revenge, and found a fit one in young Davis. Thus attacked by imposition on one side, and deceit on the other, his fortune declined apace. He saw impending danger, and endeavoured to avoid it, but in vain. Prudence had quitted the Jielm ; the bark was left to the guidance of pleasure ; and though a wreck was not immediate, it was inevitable. To avoid further injury by play, Davis deserted the gaming table : to protect him from the snares of 85 (ly prostituted beauty, he married ; the measure was wise, but ill timed. The fatal die was already cast. He chose a partner to please his fancy. Generosity forbade every idea of interest ; asentimeat so noble, at an earlier period, would have ensured his happi- ness ; but he had roved at large too long ; variety had been courted, and soon regained the heart of her old admirer. Davis strayed from the path of connu- bial duty; he was convinced of the injustice of his conduct ; and he could not bear to receive the caresses of a woman he was daily loading with inju- ries. Though no upbraidings fell from her tongue, millions were suggested by his own conscience. To avoid a lesser, he rushed into a greater evil ; he aban- doned his wife, and sought a wretched asylum in the arms of those Avho hardly could receive an addi- tional wrong. The small r^ains of his fortune they quickly dissipated. What was now to be done ? That, at which his gentle heart revolted : he was now to turn villain. He had been half ruined by the foul play of others ; and now he must resort to foul play himself, in order to procure a miserable subsistence. Being possessed of a genteel figure and address, he was readily admitted into the fraternity of profession- al gamesters. He had fatally learnt the principles of play, and was only to be instructed in its vile arts ; of these he soon became an approved master. His own losses gave a specious air of justice to the recovery of them by the same means that had occasioned their privation. For some time success attended this dis- honest plan ; but pigeons at length did not fly every 275 (lav, and appearances must be maintained. A game- ster is a gentleman, and the vices of a gentleman must be dignified with the appellation of honour- able ; what means then that are honourable can a distressed gamester resort to ? The road points out itself directly: a highwayman is an honourable character. This character poor Davis with horror assumed ; his whole frame trembled when preparing the dreadful instri;ments of terror and of death; but he flattered himself that they need only to be prepar= ed. Alas! once plunged in guilt, we know not whither it will lead : corruption of morals induces us to commit inferior crimes, and self preservation prompts us to perpetrate greater for their conceal- ment. Thus it was wath young Davis ; when, he w^ent out, he shuddered at the very thoughts ofl&r- der — before he returneoj he was involved in the guilt of it. A disregard to the property of his neighbour w^as quickly followed by the sacrifice of his life. The gentleman he robbed resisted his attack ; to effectuate his purpose, and obtain a temporary safety, he therefore shot him, rifled his pockets, and escap- ed ; he fled for secrecy and security to the apartment of his Dalilah ; here, while property remained, he was concealed ; when it w^as expended, his faithless harlot gave information of him for the sake of a share in the reward given as the price of his blood. He w^as apprehended, tried, convicted, and as a murderer, ordered for speedy execution. Sensible of the mag- nitude of his guilt, he murmured not at the dreadful sentence. Death vame as a kind relief, though in a ^76 (disgraceful form. The blessing of life appeared to him as a curse, inasmuch as he had basely torn it from a fellow creature. With these awful reflections he entered his dreary cell ; he had not been there long, when the massy door opened, and presented to his affrighted view his injured and deserted wife — not come to censure and condemn, but to pity and to soothe his sorrows ; for a while her tender purpose was resisted— -her presence planted new thorns in the bosom of her guilty and afflicted husband, but her forgiveness plucked them out again, and healed his wounds. The dreadful moment of their earthly separ 'I on arrived — the last mutual embrace was given — the big tear burst down his manly cheek, while female fortitude struggled to conceal the sym- pathetic pearl that would have rent the soul of him for whom it rose. The jailor, whose rude feelings were softened by the scene, led the beauteous mour- ner from the prison, and warned the captive of the approaching hour of death : he ascended the cart with resolution tempered by decency. In his way to the fatal tree, his crimes were forgotten^ his peni- tence admired, and his sufferings pitied. The cart drew away, and poor Davis fled to the mercy of his Father. May his misfortunes preserve the virtuous in the wisdom of their ways, and draw the vicious Irom the paths of destruction. 277 BOUNTY REWARDED, OR THE WORTHY SOLDIER. A French soldier had obtained a furlough toseehis friends. One evening he was trudging along with his knapsack on his back, rich in honour and courage, but with a pocket of the lightest ; yet, notwithstand- ing, singing one of his old songs with that air of gayety and ease, which, under the most penurious circumstances, is peculiar to his thoughtless profes- sion. In this merry mood he met a clergyman, whom he soon conjectured to be the vicar of some village, and whom he instantly conceived, moreover, to be a good man. Nor was he mistaken : there was an air of benignity in this clergyman that bespoke an excellent heart ; and a careless frankness in our honest soldier, that prepossessed one in favour of his. The conver- sation (for two Frenchmen are never at a loss for con- versation) turned at first on the military profession : and the good vicar was delighted to see the animation and loyalty which appeared in every gesture and every speech of the gallant veteran. At length, oh the point of parting, the soldier said, " How happy is your reverence ! You do not seem to be thirsty, while I am absolutely choked ; I have travelled so many miles to day." " If your way lies through my village, I will give you some refreshment. I have some tole- rable good wine : and there, to the left beyond those' trees, is my snug little parsonage." " Thank you, sir. ibr all your civilities ; but I am obliged to take the direct contrary way ; I must be at my journey's end as soon as possible. However, I will not conceal it, some good wine would rejoice my eyes exceedingly. And why should I be ashamed to confess it ? You seem to be so worthy a clergyman ; our pay is so very poor ! Ah, please your reverence, a livre w^ould make me as rich as Croesus." The vicar put the livre into his hands. ^' There, mj honest friend, I give it with pleasure ; drink my health with it." " Heaven bless your reverence ! On the faith of a grenadier, you are more generous than a king. Adieu, sir, good night, and a thousand thanks." They then parted, the grateful soldier continually re- peating, " O, what a good clergyman ! What a good clergyman is that.'^ The vicar, on his part, felt the most sensible plea- sure in this adventure. He admired the blunt frank- ness and apparent sensibility of the soldier, and, on a sudden, he took a notion to rejoin him. " Comrade," said he, as he came near him, " return me that li- vre 1" " What ! your reverence, do you repent of making a poor devil happy ? But here it is — I did not extort it." The vicar received it, and giving him a crown piece in its stead, " This trifle was not worth having ; I have thought better of it." " A crown, Tour reverence ! a crown ! Do you mean to tempt me ? I assure you that livre was sufficient." " But it was not sufficient for me," replied the good natured vicar ; " pray accept this trifle, and yoo will greatly ©bUge me." 2-79 Jt is impossible to express the variety of sensations by which our pedestrian hero was overpowered. Nor could his worthy benefactor forbear from expressing how much he was affected with the exquisite sensi- bility which this humble and uncultivated mind dis- played. In every gesture, in every word, there was thatconciseness,vas carried fainting 286 Id bed. It was morning befoTe I came to the posses- sion of my faculties, when I saw my companion and preserver sitting by my bed side, and expressing in his looks the tenderest concern for my situation. My wounds had been dressed, and I was every way so re- eoveted, as to be able to converse with him, which, as soon as he perceived, he took me by the hand, and addressed me thus : '' Let it support you, my dear sir, to be assured that you are here under the kindest and most hospitable roof that the sun shines upon ; and the people to whom we are indebted for such a seasonable relief, are some of the best, if not the wealthiest, on earth. But if you, sir, have reason to rejoice, how supremely happy ought I to consider my- self, not because my life has been preserved, for that is no high price, but because, in this place I have re- covered that for which I most should wish to live — the best and most affectionate of wives. My poor Ma- tilda would follow me yesterday to the camp in spite of my persuasions : I would fain have lodged her in the garrison at Hamelen ; but a something which she had dreamed a week before, had made such a gloomy impression on her spirits, that she would not part from me till we took the field against the enemy. Having heard that I was among the slain, she betook herself last night to this little cottage, which is always open to misfortune, determined to search the field over as soon as it was light, for the body of her husband, to wash its wounds with her tears, and, perhaps, to lay down her life by its side. You may imagine, sir, what a delicious interview we have had, and how we haV6 wept for joy in each other's arms." 287 As he spoke thus the door opened, and the lady in question entered the apartment with something which she said was for my breakfast. What blood was in my body at this moment rushed into my cheeks. " Alas ! sir," said she, perceiving my embarrassment^ " be not confused at seeing me thus employed ; I am never happier than when I am administering to a sick soldier ; it has been my occupation for years. 1 have been my poor husband's surgeon and nurse through seven campaigns, and God knows with what heart- felt joy I have many times torn my clothes to bind ^p the wounds of brave gentlemen in the field of battle." As she spoke thus, I raised my head to contemplate # this uncommon person. Her form I could not judge of, for she had on a kind of military coat, buckled round her waist with a soldier's belt, but her face wore every mark of an extraordinary character : alas! it still lives, and breathes, and speaks in my ima- gination. Every feature in the face I was now contemplating was bold, and would have been mascuiine, were it- not for a certain dimpled expression about the mouth, which sent forth innumerable graces over the whple countenance. She was a native of a Danish island in the West-Indies ; indeed, nothing could be les? . German than the cast of her features ; her hair was nearly black. Her husband was a young man, every way worthy of her, and the truest soldier I ever be- held. His looks were full of spirit, tempered with an extraordinary gravity; his deportment =^olemn and 288 taciturn; his make uncommonly robust; his face not handsome, but dignified and benevolent ; he had little hair on his head, but profusion of it in his whiskers, under which, however, his mouth was well shaped and expressive, and his teeth delicately white. Vv hen on horseback and equipped for the field, he was the most martial figure in the whole army. His element was the camp, and he always seemed most possessed and collected in the moment of greatest peril. A thousand times have I seen him weep at the common- est tales of distress, and at such as the chances of battle were continually presenting before his eyes ; and then, in a minute after, rush like a lion into the ♦ thickest of the fight, whence he would often return with the enemy's colours in his hands. We remained about a month under this kind roof ; in the mean time I was perfectly cured of my wound. One day, as we walked round the territory of our poor host, my companion and preserver thus addressed me : " I am happy beyond measure, Eugenio, that our care has been so completely rewarded by the restoration of your health. You have doubtless seen enough of military life to be heartily weary of such a course of danger and hardship. You have too, most certainly, dear friends, who wish for your return ; and you have abilities to shine in a more peaceful profession. I am a soldier, and nothing else : my home is the camp, and my wife, who is my only friend, attends me wherever I go. It is my determination to follow the army of the magnanimous king of Prussia, whose vir- tue I vc^nerate, and who will reward my exertions in 289 his service. My wife and myself always carry out fortune about with us. We have enough to enable you to travel homewards with comfort, and to reward this poor cottager for his kind reception of us besides." This was the first sensation, resembling joy, which I felt for a length of time. My colour, however, rose in my face, to think that so noble a friend should ima- gine me capable of deserting him. I strained him to my bosom with sincere delight, and assured him that nothing should induce me to leave him, while I thought my company would give him pleasure, or ren- der him service. It was determined, then, between us, to set out in a fortnight for the Prussian army. In the mean time, Matilda's health declined, and a cold which she had caught in the offices of humanity had fixed upon her lungs. It was with the greatest diffi- culty we persuaded her to remain where she was, till the conclusion of the next campaign. My friend left the greatest part of the little money he possessed, be- tween Matilda and the poor cottager and his wife^ and, on the loth of October, disguised as peasants, we bent our course towards the place where the Prus- sian troops, under the command of their illustrious monarch, lay encamped. The valour of my friend was sufficiently known to procure him a welcome reception ; and we were both in time to participate in the victory of Rosbach, which happened on the 5th of November following. It is unnecessary to relate the particulars of this battle ; it is enough to say, that my companion and myself, the one pushed on bv his mettle and courage^ the Qthe^ 37 290 urged by desperation, drew the attention of the sove- reign and his whole army upon us, in the conduct of that memorable day. We followed the fortunes of this gallant prince through a course of splendid vic- tories, till, at the siege of Olmutz, a fatal stop was put to our career. We were taking too close a view of the enemy's works, when mf friend received a mortal wound, and fell by my side. Y\^hat my feelings were at such a crisis I leave you to imagine. He had applied his handkerchief to the wound ; and as I knelt down to receive his last breath, he laid upon me, with a voice scarcely audible, this melancholy command*: — " Take from my bosom my handkerchief steeped in my blood ; carry it to my wife— it is the token agreed upon between us ; and when she sees that, she will know I am dead, and what is raore, that I died an honourable death. !t will, moreover, save you, my dear friend, a painful recital. You will find my pocket book about nie ; carry it likewise to her, and take care of that excellent woman." With that he clasped my hand, and died without agony or distortion. I will hurry over the succeeding events as briefly as possible ; it will be to spare both you and myself. The body of my friend was bathed with unsuborned tears. Not a brother officer approached it, who did not bestow upon it this testimony of sorrow ; and the monarch himself was melted at the fatal intelli- scence. I stayed only to see him put into his grave, w\ith such military pomp as became a brave soldier, and such honourable grief as belongs to a virtuous 291 inan ; and having obtained permission of my general; set out on my melancholy errand with the fatal gift in my bosom. It may be as well to mention, that before I quitted the army of his Prussian majesty, I w^as complimented with the order of merit, and a present of three hundred ducats. No event that is worthy a relation happened to me during my journey. I passed over the scene of my first campaign, near Hestenbeck, till I came to the miserable pollard on the heath, where I first met my poor companion and preserver. Here a crowd of wretched ideas rushed into my mind. The wind seemed to sigh as it pass- ed me, the night was dreary and starless, and every thing was just in the same order as when I leaned against the self same tree, fainting with my wounds^^ and disposing myself for death. Again I seemed to hear the sound of horses hoofs ; again to see the lifted sabre ; again I thought I heard, in the hollow breezes as they passed me, the comforting voice of my departed friend ; till at length my fancy was so w^orked upon by my feelings, that I thought several times I saw^ his spirit move before me. I raised my eyes and beheld the same light gleaming from the cottage where the poor Matilda was left. My legs scarce supported me till I reached the door, How shall I describe the scene Avhich succeeded ! The fewest words will do it best. Matilda lay on her poor mattress, the prey of that disorder which had seized her the w^eek before our departure. She could hardly raise her languid head ; but when she flid. it was to recognise me, with a look so piercing 292 tender, that I thought I must have died ere I could expose the fatal token. As I fell on my knees, to bathe her hand with my tears, the bloody handker- chief dropped out of my bosom upon the bed. When I saw what was done, my eyes fastened trem- bling upon hers, where, however, 1 could perceive but little emotion. It was too late— her pulse was fluttering — her hand was convulsed— surely death never was so kind as now. She drew, however, the handkerchief to her, and could just articulate — " Bury it with me !" Poor Matilda ! It was indeed buried with thee, but not till it was as w^et with my tears as it had been with thy husband's blood. Alas ! how often has it been my fate to follow the virtuous to the %rave ! but heaven's will be done ! it will be reward enough, if one virtuous man shall weep over Eu- genio's tomb. DESCRIPTION OF A DINNER, Given to Mr. Umphraville, (a humourist,) by his cou- sin Mr, Bearskin. When we entered Mr. Bearskin's drawing-room, we found his wife sitting with her three daughters ready to receive us. It was easy to see by the air of the lady, that she was perfectly mistress of the house, and that her husband was only a secondary person there. He seemed, however, contented with his situatioo, and an admirer of his wife ; a sort of lap dog husband, (of whom I have seen many,) who looks sleek, runs about briskly, and though he now and then gets a kick from his mistress, is as ready to play over his tricks again as ever. Mr. Bearskin, after many expressions of his happi- ness in seeing his cousin in his new house, proposed walking us down stairs again, to begin showing it from the ground story upwards. Uniphraville, though I saw him sweating at the idea, was ready to follow his conductor, when we were saved by the interposition of the lady, who uttered a " Pshaw ! Mr. Bearskin," with so significant a look that her husband instantly dropped his design, saying, to be sure there was not much worth seeing, though he could have wished to have shown his cousin his study, w hich he thought was tolerably clever. " I thought, papa," said the eldest of the misses, " it was not quite in order yet." " Why, not altogether," replied the father ; " I have not been able to get up my heads, as Pope has lost an ear, and Homer the left side of his beard, by the carelessness of a packer : and 1 want about three feet and a half of folios for my lowest shelf." " I don't care if there was not a folio in the world," re- joined miss. '' Child !" ^aid her mother, in a tone of rebuke. Miss bridled up, and was silent ; I smiled * Umphraville walked to the window^, and wiped his forehead. Bearskin now pulled out his watch, and telling the hour, said, '- He wondered his friend Mr. Blubber was not come, as he was generally punctual to a minute," While he spoke, a loud rap at the door 294 annoimced the expected company ; and presently Mr. Blubber, his wife, a son, and two daughters, en- tered the room. The first had on an old fashioned pompadour coat, with gold buttons, and very volu- minous sleeves, his head adorned by a large major wig, with €uris as white and as stiff as if they had been cast in plaister of paris ; but the females, and the heir of the family, w^ere dressed in the very height of ihe mode. Bearskin introduced the old gentleman to his cousin, Mr. Uriiphraviile : " Mr. Blubber, sir, a very particular friend of mine, (and turning to me with a whisper,) worth four score thousand pounds, if he's worth a farthinir.'' Blubber said he feared he had kept us waiting ; but that his wife and daughters liad got under the hands of the hair dresser, and he, verily thought he would never have done with them. The ladies were too busy to reply to this accusation ; they had got into a committee of inquiry on Mr. Edward Blubber's waistcoat, which had been tam- boured, it seems, by his sisters, and was universally, declared to be monstrous handsome. The young- man himself seemed to be highly delighted with the reiiection of it in the mirror that stood opposite to him. "Isn't it vastly pretty, sir," said one of the young ladies to Umphravilie ? " Ma'am !" said he, starting from a reverie, in which I saw, by his counte- nance, he was meditating on the young gentleman and his waistcoat in no very favourable manner. I read her countenance, too ; she thought Umphravilie Just the fool he did her brother. Dinner was now announced, and the company, af- 295 ler some ceremony, got into their places at the table, in the centre of which, stood a sumptuous epargue, filled, as Bearskin informed us, with the produce of iiis farm. This joke, which, I suppose, was as regular as the grace before dinner, was explained to the igno- rant to mean, that the sweetmeats came from a plan- tation in one of the West India islands, in which he had a concern. The epargue itself now produced an- other dissertation from the ladies, and, like the waist- coat, was also pronounced monstrous handsome. Blub- ber, taking his eye half off a plate of salmon, to which he had just been helped, observed, " That it w^ould come to a handsome price too ; sixty ounces, Pll warrant it," said he : " but as the plate tax is now^ re- pealed, it will cost but the interest in keeping." " La I papa," said Miss Blubber, " you are alvvays thinking of the money, things cost." '• Yes," added her bro- ther, '• tables of interest are an excellent accom- paniment for a dessert." At this speech all the ladies laughed very loud. Blubber said he was an impu- dent dog, but seemed to relish his son's wit, notwith- standing. Umphraville looked sternly at hlai ; and, had not a glance of his waistcoat set him down as. something beneath a man's anger, I don't know what consequences might have follow^ed. During the rest of the entertainment, i could see the fumes of fool and coxcomb on every morsel that Umphraville swallowed, though Mis. Bearskin, next to whom he sat, was at great pains to help him to the nice bits of every thing within her reach. When dinner was over, Mr. Bliibbet mentioned his 296 design of making a tour through the Highiands, to visit Stirling, Taymouth, and Dunkeld ; and^ apply- ing to our landlord for some description of these places, was by him referred to Mr. Umphraviile and me. Mr. Umphraviile was not in a commuoicative mood ; so I was obliged to assure Mr. Blubber, who talked with much uncertainty and apprehension of these matters, that he would find beds and bed-clothes, meat for himself, and corn for his horses, at the seve- ral places above-mentioned ; that he had no danger- ous seas to cross in getting at them, and that there were no highwaymen upon the road. After this there was a considerable interval of si- lence, and we were in danger of getting once more upon Mr. Edward's fine waistcoat, when Mr. Bearskin, informing the company that his cousin was a great lover of music, called on his daughter, Miss Polly, for a song ; with which, after some of the usual apologies, she complied ; and, in compliment to Mr. Umphra- ville's taste, who she was sure must like Itahan music, she sung, or rather squalled, a song of Sacchini's, in which there was scarcely one bar in tune from the beginning to the end. Miss Blubber said, in her usual phraseology, that it was a monstrous sweet air — Her brother swore it was divinely sung — Umphraviile gul- ped dov» n a falsehood with a very bad grace, and said, Miss w ould be a good singer with a little more prac- tice ; a compliment which was not more distant from truth on one side, than from Miss's expectations on the otht^r, and l could plainly perceive, did not set him forward in the ilivour of the familv* OQt 29 '- My father is a judge of singing too," said Mr, Edward Blubber ; " what is your opinion of the song, sir ?" " My opinion is/' said he, " that your Italianas always set me asleep ; English cars should have En- glish songs, I think." " Then, suppose one of the la- dies should give us an Enghsh song," said I. "'Tis a good motion," said Mr. Bearskin, " I second it ; Miss Betsy Blubber sings an excellent English song." Miss Betsy denied stoutly that she ever sung at all ; but evidence being produced against her, she, at last, said she w^ould try if she could make out The Maid^s Choice. "Ay, ay, Betsy," said her father, "a very i^ood song, I have heard it before : « if I could but find, I care not for fortune, [umph !] a man to my mind." Migs Betsy began the song accordingly, and to make up for her want of voice, accompanied it with a great deal of action. Either from the accident of his being placed opposite to her, or from a sly appK- eation to his state as an old bachelor, she chose to personify the maid's choice in the figure of Umphra- viile, and pointed the description of the song particu- larly at him. Umphraville, with all his dignity, his abilities, and his knowledge, felt himself uneasy and ridiculous under this silly allusion of a ballad ; he blushed, attempted to laugh, blushed again, and still looked with that awkw^ard importance which only the more attracted the ridicule of the fools around him: Not long after, the ladies retired ; and no persuasion of his cousin could induce him to jstay th(^ ^veninsr^ 298 ox even to enter llie drawing-room where they wer§ assembled at tea. " Thank heaven !" said Umphraville, when the door was shut, and we had got fairly into the street, " Amen !" I replied, smiling, " for our good dinner and excellent wine." " How the devil, Charles,'^ said he, " do you contrive to bear all this nonsense with the composure you do ?" " Why, I have often told you, my friend, that our earth is not a planet fit- ted up only for the reception of wise men. Your Blubbers and Bearskins are necessary parts of the sys- tem ; they deserve the enjoyments they are capable of feeling ; and I am not sure if he who suffers from his own superiority, does not deserve his sufferings," SLAVERY. "Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, still thou art a bitter draught : and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. There are no slaves in hea- ven !" said my uncle, shutting up the book, after he had fetched a deep sigh. The thought seemed to ease the good man's mind. — He took out his tobacco box and began to fill his pipe. — His countenance wore a brighter aspect, and he seemed willing to change the subject of conversation to some topic less {tSLig- ful. But his antagonist could not let him rest in peace. " Tftere are no slaves in heaven I" echoed he. " what thefl will become of the negroes f'^ " They will be our equals, I should suppose, or our superiors," said my uncle. " They will !" exclaimed his anta- gonist ; '- a fine place heaven will be indeed! What, the negroes be our equals ! I should rather choose to go to hell than to heaven, if that is likely to be the case." " You may, perhaps, have your choice," said my uncle. " A negro, if he acts his part faithfully on the stage of life, has as good a right to Heaven as his master, even if his master should act his part well : and if his master behaves cruel, haughty, and morose to his servants, I think a faithful slave has the fairest title ; and shall, if the scriptures are true, be exalted, while his master shall be debased. I should never be content to be a slave myself," continued my uncle — " Until I can reconcile myself to a state of slavery, 1 cannot think it justifiable for me to make a slave of a fellow creature, endowed with faculties and feelings similar to my own." " But," said his antagonist, " must we keep no slaves? Surely we may be allowed to keep them if we use them well. Slavery has been allowed and permitted in all ages of the world. The Israelites were allowed to keep slaves ; the Romans kept slaves ; and I see no reason why we should not keep them ; it is better for the negroes to be slaves than to be free ; they are not capable of taking care of themselves." •.. My uncle lit his pipe. *^' The children of Israel," 4B^d he, " were a stifl-necked and a hard hearted peo- '^f^^ Moses, because of the hardncos of their hearts^ suffered them to put awny thciv wi\ es : and it niay be on tbat account that lie suffered them to keep slavey. Other nations, it is true, have kept slaves ; they have likewise practised many other vices and cruelties, but they have not altered the nature of them — Murder and adultery are still heinous crimes, although prac- tised more or less by every nation since the world be- gan. To keep a person in slavery is, in my opinion, a crime ; and the repetition of the crime can never lessen the guilt ; nor will the punishment be mitigated on account of the guilty. As to your doctrine, that the negroes are incapable of taking care of them- selves, I cannot believe it to be true ; I believe we had better let them try to take care of themselves be- fore we undertake to take care of them.'' My uncle ended his harangue — his antagonist made no reply — I took my hat and bid them a good night. " There are no slaves in heaven,'^ said I, as I walked home- tvard. Do the slave-holders ever think of heaven ? Or if they think of heaven, do they consider who is like to inhabit there ? Or if they think of these things, do they wish or expect to inhabit there themselves ? If they do, I am sure they must lead miserable lives, even in this world: what will be their situation in the nextj is not my business to guess. FILIAL PIETY. We set out from Glasgow by the way of Lane^^|j ^he county town of Clyiitvc^aie, in the neighbour- 1 301 hood ol* which, the whole river Clyde, rushing down a steep rock, forms a very noble and stupen- dous cascade. Next day we were obliged to halt in a small borouG;h, until the carriage, which had receiv- ed some damage, should be repaired ; and here we met with an incident which warmly interested the benevolent spirit of Mr. Bramble. As we stood at the window of an inn that fronted the public prison, a person arrived on horseback, genteely, though plain- ly dressed in a blue frock, with his own hair cut short, and a gold laced hat upon his head. Alighting and giving his horse to the landlord, he advanced to an old man who was at work in paving the streets, and accosted him in these words : " This is hard work for such an old man as you *,'' so saying, he took the instrument out of his hand, and began to thump the pavement. After a few^ strokes, " Have you ever a son," said he, " to ease you of this labour ?" " Yes^ and please you," replied the senior, " I have three hopeful lads, but at present they are out of the w^ay." " Honour not me," cried the stranger, " it more bcr- comes me to honour your gray hairs. Where are those sons you talk of." The ancient paver said " his eldest son was a captain in the East Indies ; and the youngest had lately enlisted as a soldier, in hopes of prospering like his brother." The gentle- man desired to know what was become of the second 5 he wiped his eyes, and owned he had taken upon him his old father's debt^^. for which lie ^va? now in prison hard by. The traveller made three quick ?tep? to^yy^rd fhp: 302 jail, then turning, "Tell me," said he,^^ has that un- natural captain sent you nothing to relieve your dis- tresses ?" " Call him not unnatural," replied the other, " God's blessing be upon him ! he sent me a great deal of money, but I made bad use of it ; I lost it in being security for a gentleman that was my landlord, and Vi^as stiipt of all that I had in the world besides." At that instant a young man thrust out his head and neck between two iron bars in the prison window, exclaiming, " Father ! father ! if my brother William is in. life, that's he !" " I am ! I am!" cried the stranger, clasping the old man in his arms, and shedding a flood of tears, '' I am your son Willy, sure enough !" Before the father, who was quite con- founded, could make any return to such tenderness, a decent old woman, bolting out from the door of a poor habitation, cried, " W^here is my bairn, where is my Willy ?" The captain no sooner beheld her, than he quitted his father, and ran into her embrace. I can assure you my uncle, who saw and heard every tiring that passed, was as much moved as any of the parties concerned in this pathetic recognition. He sobbed, and wept, and clapped his hands, and hal- looed, and finally ran down into the street. By this time the captain had retired with his parents, and^ all the inhabitants of the place were assembled at the door. Mr. Bramble, nevertheless, pressed through the crowd, and entering the house, " Captain," said he, " I beg the favour of your acquaintance ; I would have travelled a hundred miles to see this affecting scene : and I shall think myself happy, if you and 303 your parents will dine with me at the public house.'*' The captain thanked him for his kind invitation, which he said he would accept with pleasure ; but, in the mean time, he could not think of eating or drinking, while his poor brother was in trouble. He forthwith deposited a sum equal to the debt in the hands of the magistrate, who ventured to set his brother at liberty without further process ; and then the whole family repaired to the inn with my uncle, attended by the crowd, the individuals of which shook their townsman by the hand, while he returned their caresses without the least sign of pride or af- fectation. This honest favourite of fortune, whose name was Brown, told my uncle that he had been bred a wea- ver, and, about eighteen years ago, had, from a spirit of idleness and dissipation, enlisted as a soldier in the service of the East India company ; that in the course of duty, he had the good fortune to attract the notice and approbation of Lord Clive, who promoted him from one step to another, till he attained the rank of captain and paymaster to the regiment, in which ca- pacity he had honestly amassed above twelve thou- sand pounds, and at the peace, resigned his commis- sion. He had sent several remittances to his father, who received the first only, consisting of one hundred pounds ; the second had fallen into the hands of a bankrupt ; the third had been consigned to a gentle- man of Scotland, who died before it arrived, so that it still remained to be accounted for by his executors. He now piresented the old man with iSfty pounds for his preseat occasions, over and above bank notes for one hundred, which he had deposited for his brother's release. He brought along with him a deed ready executed, bj which he settled a perpetuity of four score pounds upon his parents, to be inherited by their other two sons after their decease. He promis- ed to purchase a commission for his younger brother; to take the other as his own partner in a manufactory which he intended to setup ; to give employment and bread to the industrious ; and to give five hundred pounds, by way of dower, to his sister, who had mar- ried a farmer in low circumstances. Finally, he gave fifty pounds to the poor of the town where he was born, and feasted ail the inhabitants without ex- ception. My uncle Vt^as so charmed with the character of Captain Brown, that he drank his health three timef^ successively at dinner. He said he was proud of his acquaintance ; as he had in some measure redeem- ed human nature from the reproach of pride, selfish- ness, and ingratitude. For my part, I was as much pleased with the modesty as with the filial virtue of this honest soldier, who assumed no merit from his success, and said very little of his own transactions, though the answ^ers he made to our inquiries w^ere equally sensible and laconic. Mrs. Tabitha behaved very graciously to him, until she understood that he was going to make a tender of his hand to a person of low estate, who had been his sweetheart w^hile he worked as a journeyman weaver. Our aunt was no crooner made acquainted with this design, than she 305 starched up her behaviour with a double proportion of reserve ; and when the company broke up, she observed with a toss of her nose, that Brown was a civil fellow enough, considering the lowness of his origin ; but that fortune, though she had mended his circumstances, was incapable of raising his ideas, which Avere still humble and plebeian. PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF MARY BROWN, A young woman distinguished for personal beauty and early depravity ; and who was executed in Wales for being concerned ivith several others in a burglary. The account appears to be written by herself and is in substance as follows : She w^as the only daughter of a reputable shop- keeper in Staffordshire, whose affection for her indu- ced him to spare no expense in giving her an accom- plished education. From her earliest youth she w^as strongly addicted to pleasure, and her beauty exposing her to the grossest flattery, her pride increased with her years, and she soon formed the most ambitious views. At sixteen years of age, she left her father's house at night, and came upon the outside of a stage to London, where she determined to embrace the first offer of any man of opulence who should solicit her to live with him as a mistress. In a short time she attracted the notice of a baronet, wit.h whom she 308 readily consented to live ; for some months she liked him very well, but by degrees, began to hate him. Having had a few words together, she was determin- ed to be revenged; and accordingly one night she placed three fellows in one of the apartments, who stripped the house of all its valuables, and the next day she enjoyed the sorrow of a man she hated and despised. After leaving this gentleman, she took a large house at the west end of the town, and com- menced a fashionable courtezan ; but having con- tracted several large debts with different tradesmen, she married a common soldier, who was going abroad, and who, on being paid two guineas, was contented never to see her any more. This gave her an oppor- tunity to laugh at her creditors when they threatened to sue her for payment. She was once addressed by a foreigner in the street, who followed her home, con- ceiving her to be a needy creature of the town ; but upon entering her house, and viewing the elegance of her furniture, his sentiments were changed into admi- ration. Although he affected to be a man of proper- ty, she had penetration enough to discover that he was not accustomed to opulence : all his actions betray- ed the meanness of his education. She soon began to perceive that interest operated with him more powerfully than love, which was soon made manifest by her receiving intelligence that he was preparing to rob her house, and tly off with the booty to his native country. She was, however, quicker in her revenge than he was in his injury. The day before his intended flighty she invited him to her bed, and the next morn- 307 ing he was found dead upon the stahs, and no suspi- cion entertained of her having strangled him. Some months after this she was dazzled with the apparent opulence of a man who offered her his protection, and she became his mistress, but he turned out to be a professed gamester. With him she lived for some time in splendour, but a sudden change of fortune plunging them into distress, she advised him to in- vite one of his acquaintances to supper, to intoxicate and then rob him ; this was agreed upon, and the person came agreeable to invitation, but they could not prevail upon him to drink much. Finding, however, he had got a considerable sum about him, they were resolved not to lose so great a prize ; she went behind him with a silk sash, and throwing it round his neck, soon dispatched him ; they then seized upon his money, leaving him a few guineas and his w atch, and then calHng upon the servant in an affect- ed fright, ascribed his death to a fit of the apoplexy. Besides these attrocious acts, she confessed her having murdered her keeper a short time afterwards, and swore the fact to his own son, in revenge for his having refused to meet her advances ; and he was tried upon her evidence for the murder, and acquit- ted. Being compelled by the commission of num- berless crimes to leave England, she went into Wales, where she was concerned in several robberies, and suffered an ignominious death in the 21st year of her age. 308 THE INFLUENCE OF RICHES. By Peter Pennyless. " If I had just this," said I, as I was reading an ac- count in the news-paper, of a gentleman who had married an agreeable young lady with a fortune of ten thousand pounds ; — " If I had just this, I would journey cheerfully through life : a complaint should not be uttered from my mouth, and 1 would endea- vour to prevent those of other people. The hungry should not go away unsatisfied from my door; nor should the naked curse me while he sat shivering over a few dying embers, and the rude storm rattled on his ragged roof. I would," said I, "be a father to the fatherless, a husband to the widow : and I would — " but here a symphathetic tear stopped further ut- terance ; it had no power over the flowings of my heart— I thought I would make all around me happy. The wish was a kind of prophetic one ; Providence intended to put my virtue to the trial. I had just fi- nished the paragraph, and thrice wiped my eyes with a white cambric handkerchief ; it was from thee, Al- mira, I received it wet with the chrystal drops which had fallen for the death of an indulgent father — they have never yet been washed from it, nor shall they ever mix with the stream while I possess it, but 1 will add a few more to them, as often as all powerful na- ture shall call them from my eyes. I had just finished the paragraph, when the postman brought me a let- 309 ter, informing me that my brother Jacob, who had emigrated to the East Indies in order to get into some other family, had died, and left me ten thousand pounds. When I had finished the letter, I lifted up my white cambric handkerchief, which I had laid on the table — I lifted it — and put it into my pocket. When I read an account of the death of a brother, when I had taken up my white cambric handkerchief^ had I not informed the reader what I did with it, he w^ould naturally have concluded, that I used it either to wipe a tributary, or at least a fashionable tear from my cheek. I did neither. There is nothing more diffi- cult than to give a reason for every thing that hap- pens. I think, however, that I can give two for this, for there are two circumstances which render the mind less susceptible of the natural feelings upon the death of any relation. The first is, when we hardly know, or never were intimate with the deceased : and the second is, when he leaves any thing behind him va- luable enough to occupy the mind so much as to di- vert the melancholy feelings which would otherwise arise on the occasion. Now, both these circumstan- ces concurred in the present case : Jacob had begun his peregrination in the seventeeth year of his age, while I w2ls yet a child; our acquaintance had hardly begun, nor was it carried on by partaking of mutual diversions, or sharing in mutual hopes and fears. Thus he w^as unto me as an alien, and not as a brother ; and, moreover, he had left me as much as would have made many a one rejoice at the death of a bro- ther who had been brought up with him as such. I SIO had asked two or three of my neighbours to sup with me ; but I now wished I had not done it on account of the expense — tell me, nature, what is it, for I could never jet discover — tell me, what is it that contracts the heart on the acquisition of wealth ! " I am now no more of the family of Pennyless," said I, " I am a gentleman, and I will live as a gentleman," So I leaned my head backwards on the chair, and began to plan out a scheme for my future conduct in life. After I had turned it this way and that way, and, in short, every way that I could think of, it would not do. " I will go to bed," said I ; " a comfortable nap will refresh my mind, and this will make it do in the morn- ing." So I laid me down, and turned me to this side, and to that side, and put myself into this and that posture, but I could not get the nap I wanted ; nor would the scheme go out of my head. It was a max- im among the stoic philosophers, and adopted by many people as a dernier resource, to bear courage- ously up against the tide of misfortunes ; w4iile my blood and spirits rushed warmer into my veins than at this present moment, when they can hardly crawl along, I was fond of this method ; but I generally found it was spending my strength in vain. I have, therefore, long since adopted a quite different one, which is, to lay myself supinely on the surface of the stream, and glide with the current : when a rock or precipice seems to fall in my way, I paddle myself to- one side of it with a leg or an arm, and always give myself as little trouble on the occasion as possi- ble. I took this method in the present case, and since 311 the scheme would not go out of my head, resolved to let it continue there as long as it pleased. So I pro- secuted it all night, and, about nine o'clock in the morning, had fixed on a plan. I had no sooner fixed upon it, than I got out of bed, wrote it down upon a piece of paper, with my annual income upon one co- lumn, and my expenses upon the other ; when, to my great mortification, I found that the expense, as I had planned it, would be exactly seven pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence halfpenny above my income. I then ran over all the other plans which I had thought of during the night : there were none of them that would answer, and this could not be executed upon one single farthing less than I had estimated it at. Had I just this seven pounds thirteen shillings and six pence half penny, said J, it w^ould make me com- pletely happy. So I began to revolve in my mind, with the utmost earnestness, how I should obtain it. " I will conceal," said J, " my having gotten the mo- ney for a year ; it will then amount to ten thousand five hundred pounds, which will easily bring matters to bear." On further reflection, this would not do ; I had told the story the night before, and it was flying among all the neighbours. While I was in this dilemma, the maid came to tell me that old Peter was at the door. Now Peter^ on account of his name, was a weekly pensioner, en whom I had long been accustomed to bestow a penny every Saturday morning : the girl had told him of my good fortune, and he, no doubt, had reckoned some- thing upon it ; " bid him go jibout his business," said T^ v>16) 12 in an angry lone : but my heart smote me as I said it; and I remembered the promises I had made when I received the letter. "Just Fleaven! is it thus," said I, " that we sport with our vows ! I will go this moment and give him sixpence at least" So I put my hand into my pocket and walked hastily to the door — " Peter !" said avarice, Avhile I was going out at it, and had gotten the sixpence ready, " you are at this moment short of your reckoning seven pounds thirteen shillings and six pence half penny, and yet you are going, like a fool, to give away your money." At this very instant, old Peter bowed to me with a most piteous countenance ; the look, me- thought, seemed to cry aloud — this is what I did not expect ! I stood at the door, agitated between two violent passions — charity bade me reach out my hand, give it — avarice contradicted it ; so I would give it^ and I would not give it : Peter saw my distress, and modestly walked out, and shut the street door behind him. He was no sooner gone, than I cursed him for departing : I was convinced that I should have given it to him if he had staid ; and laid all the blame upon his precipitate retreat — which ought naturally to have fallen on the badness ofmy heart. I put up the six- pence, walked into the rOom again, and sat down to breakfast. There were |:wo things that embarrassed me so much that I could not eat ; the first was, the want of the seven pounds thirteen shillings and six- pence halfpenny; the second was the figure of old Peter, which presented itself to my imagination, sit- ting shivering in his hovel, through every cranny of 313 which the bleak wind was whistling, and disturbing his hoary locks, while he was every now and then casting a melancholy look around him, in quest of something to re-kindle the poor remains of a fire just expiring — and, with a despairing eye, exploring every corner for a scanty crust, or any thing to allay his crav- ing appetite. Methought, when he had in this man- ner rummaged the whole hovel, and could find no- thing either to mitigate his cold or hunger, that he sat down upon his chair, leaned his head upon his hand, turned up his eyes to heaven, and gave a sigh, the sigh, I thought, was accompanied with a curse upon me, for having denied his usual boon : " what will become of him," said I ; " he must expire before Monday" — so I took out the sixpence, and looking at it, " may no person ever suffer so much for the want of you as he just now does : nor ever feel so sharp a pang for possessing you as I do," said I. " Perhaps all that has now passed before me may be an illu- sion," said I, " and he may, at this instant, be beg- ging at the corner of a street, from somebody as hard-hearted as myself; I will go immediately and find him out ; and if I do not find him, I will find plenty of others to bestow something upon who may be in as much want." So I put eleven shillings and nine pence in my pocket, and went out, resolved to be= stow every farthing of it in charity before I should re- turn. I had gotten but a little way from my own door, when I saw a poor man at a distance, standing in a sup- pliant posture : my niggard heart revolted against all the resolutions I had made : "it is he." said I, " and I 40 314 must give away my money, although I Isave aheady seven pounds thirteen shillings and six pence half penny per annum too little." When I approached the man, and found it was not him, my heart rejoiced within me as I passed by. In going through several parts of the town, I met a va- riety of objects of charity ; but I industriously kept from looking at any of them, lest pity should over- come avarice, and force a passage into my heart. While f shunned every other beggar, I would have persuaded niys^lf that I wanted to meet Peter ; but it was only a pretence — for I got home with every farthing of the money in my pocket which I had car- ried out. A semblance of virtue will often stifle the monitor within us. I had done my duty, I thought, with respect to Peter ; and if I had not given him the money at first, nor found him out now, it was not my fault ; so I sat down to dinner, and began to con- sider how I could get the seven pounds, thirteen shil- lings and six pence half penny per annum that I wanted. On Sunday, at church, my head was full of it — it was full of it all the week, till Friday even- ing, when I came home and found another letter upon my table, informing me, that my brother's ef- fects had turned to much better account than was expected ; and that instead of ten, I should get at least twenty thousand pounds — " I will double the plan I had formed before," said I — " and then I shall appear somebody — but in order to do this, I want fifteen pounds seven shillings and a penny : if I had just this, I should undoubtedly be happy." There are 315 no^imits to avarice — I now spent as uneasy a nighi^ contriving how to acquire this fifteen pounds odd, as I had done before on account of the half of it. I rose about eight o'clock in the morning, and taking hold of the right knee of my breeches in order to put them on, all the money in the pocket of them fell on the floor ; on gathering it up, and counting it, I found ex- actly the eleven shillings and nine pence — " I never carried money so long before," said I, "without part- ing with some of it. O conscience ! conscience ! however we may attempt to stifle thee, thou art a faithful monitor, and will be perpetually endeavour- ing to rouse us from the indulgence of our criaies. When I saw the money untouched thou toldest me { had done amiss — and I listened to what thou toldest me. When I had but little to spare, I always gave a part of that little ; and never, till I became pos- sessed of much, did I carry a sum so long undi- minished in my pocket ; but I will now atone for my fault." While 1 said this, I felt benevolence rush- ing warm into my heart. There is nothing better than to seize a lucky moment : now Peter at this very moment hit the door with the knocker ; and as it was about the usual time of his coming, the sound of the knocker hit my heart — " You" said I, looking at the eleven and nine pence in my hand ; " you shall pay the forfeit of my crimes — ^long have you shut out every social feeling from my heart ; but you shall never have it in your power to do so again." So I f^ent the old man away rejoicing. ■c^ 16 ON SOCIETY. BIak has been defined by some a risible, by others' a reasonable creature ; but the epithet of sociable l3elongs to him as properly as any other. As soon as men begun to unite more closely, and dwell toge- ther in societies, reason, or a kind of instinct, taught them that there was regard due from one to the other; which regard was diversified by each society, accord- ing to its particular genius. The Asiatics, who shared in a lively imagination, a tender heart, and a supple mind, were almost guilty of excess in the expressions of their civilities. The humble manner in which Abraham and Lot received the Angels, whom they took for men ; the submission with which Abigail addressed herself to David, to appease his wrath, and many other instances, are strong exam- ples of this eastern complaisance, which was carried to the greatest height by the Assyrians, Medes, and Persians, who were bred up in the strictest principles of passive obedience, and were wont to worship abso- lute power in its worst of shapes. The Europeans, of a graver and more phlegmatic disposition, a greater soul, and a temper not easily to be subdued or con- trolled, expressed their friendship, esteem, or respect, in a plainer or less servile manner. Accordingly, we find that the Greeks, accustomed to that equality whereby free and popular states arc distinguished, despised, and contemned, a:? the meanest prostitu- ^17 tion, that supine grovelling homage exacted from, those kings of Persia in whose service they had cou- rageously exposed their lives : though, at the same time, they were the politest people of the then known world, and as remarkable for their courteous- ness and good breeding, as for their skill in all the arts, both at war and peace. Notwithstanding the man- ners of the inhabitants of Italy had been very much softened by the mixture of several Greek colonies : yet, they appear to have been downright honest peo- ple, rather than fine gentlemen. Rome, at first, was only a confused heap of uncivilized nations. Addicted to rural concerns, and engaged in perpetual wars, they long retained their genuine rusticity : the constitution of their government first polished them : the common people became submissive and respectful, while am- bition taught those in higher stations affability. At length, towards the end of their commonwealth, and under their first emperors, plenty, luxury, letters, but especially their intercourse with the Greeks, who, after the loss of liberty, had improved their manners, made the Romans excel all other nations in polite- ness, as well as power ; so that th^y were proud of nothing, so much as what they called Roman urban- ity. This, in time, altered insensibly for the worse, and, at the dismembering of the empire, degenerated into fulsome comphments, and nauseous adulation. Hence we may conclude, that it has fared witli polite- ness, as with most other things : they rise from small beginnings, and by slow degrees ; are next carried as far as they can go : but, having attained the summit S18 of their maturity, suddenly experience a rapid decay. They must be compared to the stone of Sysiphus, which being rolled up hill with uncommon pains, no Sooner reaches the top, than back it tumbles with irresistable force* Riches and power, virtue and learning, honour and morality; nay, religion itself had the same fate among all nations, and in all ages : Rome, Carthage, Athens, and Sparta ; the two former competitors for the empire of the world, the latter for that of Greece, are striking proofs of what is here asserted. Rome, till the end of the second Punic war, struggled hard with her neighbours for a smaOer territory than what is at present possessed by the Pope. Then she was valiant, honest, and labo- rious. She afterwards waged war with mighty king- doms, and became formidable to the greatest princes : then she grew learned, knowing, polite, and magnifi- cent. She at last arrived at such a height of wealth and power as to overcome all that withstood her, es- tablish her dominion without controul^ and reign mis- tress of the world : Then she became covetous and dishonest, Inxurious and effeminate, and fell in her corruption, a victim to the talents, the enterprise and the ambition of one of her own citizens. Similar has been the fate of even the best governments: but though all things are prone to change and decay, it is a duty v/e owe to God, and our country demands it — > to ward off, as long as may be, that depravity of mind, and that corruption of manners which the experience of all ages assures us will sooner or later overtake nations, and plunge them from power and enjoyment, 319 into misery and contempt — from the polish of civill zation to the barbarism of the savage state. It is enough to submit to the abject change when it be- comes enevitable : it is inexcusable to invite it sooner. Let Americans remember this. But lest the picture I have drawn may seem too serious to some, i shall conclude with a story which may serve to en- liven a little what otherwise might appear to be gloomy. About a century ago, a venerable old man, who had passed all the offices in one of the chief towns in Holland, with honour and applause, and had gained great riches without reproach, had some thoughts of returning to his country seat. In order to take leave of his friends and acquaintance in a handsome man- ner, he invited them, young and old, of both sexeSj (and they were people of the best fashion in the place,) to an entertainment at his own house. They met together with great expectations ; but, to their no small surprise, saw a long table, hardly covered witii a scanty blue cloth, on which were alternately placed platters full of buttermilk, and sour crout, heaps of pickled herrings, and huge cheeses ; the rest of die cheer was made up with butter and roggen brodt or rye bread, and cans of small beer were at hand for those that had a mind to drink ; trenchers served instead of plates, and not a servant attended. The company secretly cursed the old man's humour, but out of lespsct to his great age, and still greater merit, bridled their resentment, and affected to be content wiih their homely fare. The old gentlenxan 320 seeing the joke take, was unwilling to carry it too far, and soon shifted the scene. Two boorin maids, in cleanlj country garbs, appeared at their master's call, with a second course ; the blue cloth was exchanged for white linen, the platters and trenchers were trans- formed into pewter, the mean food into good salt beef and boiled fish, the brown into household bread, and the small beer into wine. The guests grew better pleased, and the master of the feast became more earnest in his invitations. After he had given them time to eat of his second course, at a signal he made, the third was served up by a maitre de hotel, in form^ followed by half a dozen powdered lackies in gaudy liveries. The most beautiful flowered damask was spread over the table, the richest plate and most cu- rious china adorned the sideboard, whilst a profusion of soups, olios, tame and wild fowl, ragouts, blanc mangers — in a word, all that the art of a modern French cook could produce, ranged in a well disposed judicious order, seemed to court the taste and renew the appetite of the whole company. Add to this — strong bodied chateau margou, generous Burgundy, sparkling champaign — in short, a choice of the best wines that commerce could procure: and that no- thing might be wanting that might delight the senses^ by the time a sumptuous desert was brought in, a melodious concert, made up of an agreeable variety of instruments, was heard in the next room. Healths went round, mirth increased, and the old man seeing that nothing but his departnre, and that of the grav- est of the company, was waited for to give a loose 321 io joy and pleasure, arose and made the following discourse : — " Ladies and gentlemen, I heartily thank you for this favour : it is time for one of my age to withdraw : but I hope those that are disposed for dan- cing will accept of a ball, which I have ordered to be prepared for you. Before the fiddles strike up, give me leave to make a short reflection upon this entertainment, which otherwise would appear whim- sical, or the effects of humour only: it may serve to give you an idea of our commonwealth. By living after that penurious manner exhibited in the first course, our ancestors raised their infant state, and acquired liberty, wealth, and power. These were preserved by our fathers, who lived in that handsome but plain way you have seen in the second course. But, if an old man may be permitted, before he leaves you whom he dearly loves, to speak his thoughts freely, I am indeed afraid that that extravagant plenty you have observed in the last course, will, if persisted in, de- prive us of those advantages which our ancestors earned by the sweat of their brows, and which our fathers, by their industry and good management, have transmitted to us. Young people ! I advise you to be merry this evening ; but think seriously to-morrow upon whatlhave been telhng you to-day. Goodnight.'' A SOLDIER having returned from foreign service^ with some' honourary distinctions for his gallant be- "haviour, married a village beauty, for whom he left *1 322 his country, but in less than a week the soldier was^ called to the field. His bride, notwithstanding his tender persuasions to the contrary, determined to follow him and share his fortune, and succour him in distress. Her zeal, however, was more than her strength ; she fell sick with fatigue, and was left about the distance of a league from the hill where the troops encamped. The com- mander, to prevent his men from injuring the neigh- bouring peasants, by robbing their vineyards, drew a line round the camp, and proclaimed, that who- ever passed it, should suffer as a deserter. Three days had now passed since the husband had heard from his wife. BE. For me, her native home, he said> For me, each weeping friend ! For me, a father's arms, she fled : And shall not love attend ? Now, now she weeps at my delay : And shall neglect be mine ? Submit ye fears to pity's sway He said, and crost the line. Is this, oh ! blasting view, she cry'fl, I'he youth who lov'd so well ? His love for me, the law defy'd, And for that love he fell. When will the grave this form receive. The grave to which he's fled ? Here, only here, I'll cease to grieve ■ She spoke, and join'd the dead. 823 As he returned at midnight, he was seized, con- demned, and executed the next day ; just as he fell, the wife, breathless and pale, rushed through the crowd, and lifting up the cloth that had been thrown over him, found ^^^his body so disfigured by the shot that it could scarce be known. A TRUE AND VERY REMARKABLE STORY. A MAN of fashion, in one of the French provinces, paid his addresses to a young lady of beauty, rank, and distinguished merit. A6 there was a parity in* years and in situation, the l^^dy received her gallant with the accustomarycondescension females seldom with- hold from those w^iom they are taught to pronounce upon an equality with themselves. The parents of the young lady, however, from whatever motive, dis- approved of the match. The gentleman pleaded— but i ll vainj ^ and, finding it impossible' to overcome the/age dj'oBirina^y of 'tfi^arents, he resolved to soli- cit his charmer's consent to enter into the holy bands of matrimony, uithout any farther consultation with the parents, wljp seemed so resolutely to persist in a denial.. Having fully explained himself on this head, the young lady, after recovering from a confusion, which ever on these occasions is visible among the virgin fair, consented to become his wife : they were wedded, and the marriage kept a profound secret. It happened that, after a few years had elapsed, the a24 husband was obliged to leave his lovely bride, being called into a foreign country, in order to adjust some family affairs, which required his immediate presence. The necessity was no less urgent than disa- greeable to both parties ; however, they permitted good sense to operate, and after vowing mutual affec- tion and fidelity, they parted in certain expectation of seeing each other, at a time when such an altera- tion should take place as might afford them an op- portunity of living in a manner every way becoming a happy and virtuous wedded pair. For some time they corresponded, but the husband, being obliged to cross several tempestuous seas, did not receive such frequent answers to his epistles as he had reason to expect. This he attributed to the difficulty of convey- ance, rendering a regular correspondence imprac- ticable ; and as he imagined his letters had miscarri- ed, he resolved for the present to desist from writing, not relishing the idea of having his sentiments canvass- ed over by indifferent strangers, or perhaps captious enemies. Another reason, ^Ybich induced him to lay aside all thoughts of continiing an 'epistolary corres- pondence, was the prospect he had of shortly return- ing to France, where the presence of his amiable con- sort would infinitely exceed all ideal interviews, and make ample amends for every pang his heart had undergone. It is now time we should return to the lady. As she possessed a considerable share of youth and beau- ty, it was not to be supposed she could long remain without a train of admirers. Her parent?^, who never 525 dreamt about their daughter's previous marriage, be- came each day more anxious to select a person whose mental and corporeal endowments might, in their estimation, render him w^orthy their daughter's hand and heart. Several years had now rolled on, without the lady's hearing a syllable of her real husband. — At last, the fatal news arrived that he was now no more. The lady was inconsolable, but she found it prudent to stifle her griefs, that she might obliterate the smallest degree of suspicion. When she had paid every tribute consistent with reflection to the memory of her departed lord, a gentleman was proposed by her parents for her approbation, and the good old people were so prejudiced in favour of the person they had introduced, that they gave their daughter to understand their happiness depended on her com- pliance. The young lady, who thought herself en- tirely at liberty to commit a second trespass upon hymen, after some little hesitation, consented ; the nuptials were celebrated ; the lady, if not happy, was placid and serenely content ; the parents were de- lighted, the bridegroom was enraptured, and all were jocund, all were sprightly. For four years this newly married couple lived in perfect harmony ; but at length, an intermitting fever seized upon the lady ; the physicians were baffled, and she, to all appearance, paid the debt due ta nature. She was buried with pomp, and every re- verence shown to her memory the custom of the country would admit of. During her last illness, her former husband, whom we left abroad, returned, and, 326 after making the necessary inquiries, was informed of every circumstance we have related above. As he was unwilling to surprise her whilst she combated with sicknesSj he had employed a trusty person to make him acquainted with each particular of her case ; and, the instant the news of her death reached his ears, a frantic wildness seized his soul, and he re- solved to receive no manner of sustenance, but to bury himself amongst the mould which laid lightly on her breast, and thus pine out the short remaining period of his existence. Full of this resolution, he repaired, the night she was buried, to her tomb ; and^ after digging up the earth, he discovered her coffin, fetched a deep sigh, and was about to stretch his ivearied limbs, when, to his consternation, astonish- ment, and affright, he perceived signs of life — he tore open the coffin, and found it even as he suspected — his wife w^as almost suffiicated ; he snatched her up in his arms, conveyed her to the house of a neighbour- ing friend, had her instantly put into a warm bed, and in a few weeks she was perfectly restored to life and to health. As she had a real affection for her first husband, she made no scruple of choosing him for her companion ; but, as the affair soon made a prodigious noise throughout the country, the second husband, who also doated on her to distraction, no sooner was informed of the particulars, than he attempted to force her to live with him ; the prior claimant as resolutely persisted in keeping her to himself. In short, a law- suit was commenced ; the most learned advocates in France were employed; a redundancy of erudition 327 was displayed ; and, after being litigated for a con- siderable length of time, a solemn decision was given in favour of the gentleman who had first married her. This story has so much the air of fable and romance, that, to leave an impression of its tmth on the mind of the reader, it may be proper to inform him that the French lawyers have selected all the famous trials, with the decisions which have been given in their courts for a series of years, among which this is to be found. A REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF FILIAL PIETY. About ten or twelve years ago an officer of the guards, being in Essex on a recruiting party, made a short stay at Chelmsford, where he picked up several recruits. The evening preceding the day appointed for his departure from that town, a very tall youth, of a most engaging figure, whose open, honest counte- nance was sufficient to prejudice any one in his favour, offered himself. Captain , at the very first sight, wished to have this young fellow in his company : he observed him tremble whenhe made the offer to enlist. Attributing this emotion to timidity, or perhaps the un- easiness a young man might feel at selling himself, who is sensible of the value of liberty. He betrayed his suspicions on this head, and endeavoured to en- courage him. " Ah ! sir," rephes the youth, " do not at- tribute my confusion to such base motives ; it arisen only from the dread of being refused : you, perhaps. S2S will not accept of me, and should this be the case, how dreadful is my misfortune !" Some tears escaped him, as he finished this speech. The captain as- sured him he was ready to enlist him, and demanded his terms. "I cannot propose them without trembUng,'' answered the youth ; " perhaps they will disgust you. I am young — ^you see my size — I am able in every respect, and willing to serve his majesty ; but an un- fortunate circumstance obliges me to stand upon terms that doubtless you will think exorbitant; I cannot make the least abatement : be assured, with- out the most pressing reasons, I should not sell my service ; but necessity has no law ; I cannot enlist under ten guineas, and you will break my heart if you refuse to take me upon these terms." " Ten gui- neas !" replied the officer, " the sum is considerable I acknowledge, but I like you, and you seem willing, so I shall not stand haggling with you — there is the money ; the sergeant will see you properly attested, and keep youi-self in readiness to march at an hour's notice." The youth readily signed the certificate, and received the ten guineas with as much thankfulness as if they had been given him as a present. He then requested his captain to permit him to go and fulfil a sacred obligation, promising to return to his quarters instantly. The captain remarking something extra- ordinary in the behaviour of the youth, curious to discover the motives of his conduct, he watched him slily, and observed him run to the county jail, (his hurry prevented him from taking notice of the cap- tain.) tnock briskly at the door, and the moment it 329 was opened, called out to the jailer, "here is the debt and costs in the action on which my father has been arrested ; I deposit it in your hands ; conduct me to him, that I may have the pleasure of setting him at liberty." The officer stops a minute to give him time to reach his father alone, and then enters into the prison. He sees the youth clasped in the arms of an old man, whom he is ready to smother with his caresses and tears, and informs him that he has purchased his liberty at the price of his own : the person embraces him again. The officer, moved to compassion at this affecting sight, advances, and says to the old man, " comfort yourself I will not take your son from you ; I will share the merit of his worthy deed : he is free as well as you, and I regret not, in the least, a sum of which he has made so noble a use : there is his discharge." The father and son threw themselves at his feet : the last declined accepting his proffered liberty, and conjures the captain to per- mit him to join the regiment, saying he should only be burthensome to his father, who had no further need of him ; the officer cannot refuse his request. The youth served the usual time, always saved some- thing from his pay, which he constantly remitted to his father, and when he got his discharge, returned home, and has ever since maintained the old man by his industr\% 4'2 330 THE GENEROUS PEDLAR, A True Story. An inhabitant of a villasfe in the circle of Suabia o was reduced to the most extreme poverty. For some days his family had subsisted only on a little oat- meal ; and this being exhausted, their misery was extreme. A baker, to whom the father owed nine crowns, refused, with unrelenting cruelty, to supply them with any more bread till this sum was paid. The cries of his wretched babes, almost expiring for want, and the tears of an affectionate wife, pierced him with unutterable anguish. " Dearest husband," said the distracted mother, " shall we suffer these miserable infants to perish ! have we given them birth only to behold them die of hunger ! see these poor victims, the fruits of our love, their cheeks al- ready covered with the paleness of death ! for me — I expire with grief and misery. Alas ! could I but yet preserve their lives at the expense of my own — Run, ily to the next town — speak our distresses — let not a false shame conceal them ! every moment you lose is a dagger to your dying family. Perhaps Heaven may yet be touched by our miseries — you may find some good heart who may yet relieve us." The un- happy father, covered with rags, and more resembling a spectre than a man, hastened to the town. He in- treated, he solicited, he described his wretched situa- tion with that affecting eloquence which the bitter- ness of anguish must inspire. In vain he implored compassion. Not one would hear him — not one 331 % would assist him. Rendered desperate by such un- expected crueUy, he entered into a wood, determined to attack the first passenger. Dire necessity now ap- peared a law, and an opportunity soon occured. A ped- lar was passing by ; he stopped him. The pedlar made not the least resistance, but gave up his purse, con- taining twenty crowns. No sooner had the unfortu- nate man committed this robbery, than he felt the horrors of remorse, and returning to the pedlar, he threw himself, all in tears, at his feet. " Take back your money," said he, " believ^e how much it has cost me before I could be resolved to commit this crime. My heart has been unused to guilt. Come, I beseech you, to my cottage. You will there see the only mo- tives that could lead me to this action, and when you view the deplorable condition of my family you will forgive — you will pity me — you will be my benefac- tor, my preserver." The poor honest pedlar raised the unfortunate man, and comforted him. Unable to withstand his solicitations, or rather yielding to the feehngs of his own compassionate heart, he hesitated not to follow the peasant. But with what emotions did he enter his ruinous habitation ! How moving every object ! the children almost naked, lying on straw, dying with hunger, and the mother-— what an object was the wretched mother! The peasant re- lates the adventure to his wife. " You know," said he, " wilh what eagerness I went to town, in the hope of finding some relief. But, ah ! I met only hard hearts, people busied in amassing riches, or in dissipating wliat they already have in luxury and idle SS2 expenses. Refused by all — desperate— furious — I went into a neighbouring wood — can you believe it ! I have dared to lay violent hands on this good man — I have dared — Oh ! I cannot tell you." " Pity my poor babes," exclaimed the distracted mother, looking with moving earnestness at the pedlar ; " consider our miserable situation. Alas ! poverty hath not al- tered our sentiments. In all our misery we have yet preserved our honesty. I beseech your mercy for my husband — I implore your compassion for these wretch- ed infants. The good pedlar, melted by this melan- choly scene, mingled his tears with those of the poor people. " I am your friend," said he. " Take these twenty crowns— I insist upon it. Why is not my ability equal to my good wishes for you ! I grieve that I can- not secure you a happier lot for the future." " What !" answered the peasant, " instead of treating me as your enemy, are you so good as to be my protector ! would you be my preserver ! Alas ! my crime renders me unworthy of this goodness. No! if I die with hunger, I will not take the money." The pedlar still insisted and compelled him to take it. The whole fa- mily kissed the benevolent hand which had thus pre- served thenf from death. Tears only, on every face, could speak their grateful hearts, and the pedlar retired with that sweet delight which benevolent minds alone can taste. Oh ye ! on Avhom fortune smil-es, the gay, the proud, the affluent, the avaricious ! after this ex- ample of benevolence in a poor pedlar, can your hearts be ever inaccessible to pity ! can you henceforth be- hold unmoved the sufferings of your fellow creatures!' 333 will you never feel the delight of doing good ? Oh I sleep not in the bosom of affluence. Fortune is in- constant. Enjoy her present favours ; but forget not this important truth, that your superfluities, at least; are the patrimony of the poor. AFFECTING ANECDOTE OF THE LATE CHARLES CHURCHILL. As he was staggering home late one night from a party, with some of his libertine companions, he was accosted by a female, Avho had something in her air and manner, so difl*erent from those outcasts of humanity who offer themselves to casual prostitution in the streets, that his curiosity was struck, and he stopped to take more particular notice of her. She appeared to be about fifteen ; her figure was elegant, and her features regular ; but want had sicklied over their beauty, and all the horrors of despair gloomed through the languid smile she forced when she addressed him. The sigh of distress, which never struck his ear with- out affecting his heart, came with double force from such an object. He viewed her with silent compassion for some moments, and reaching her a piece of gold, bade her go home and shelter herself from the incle- mency of the weather at so late an hour. Her surjirise and joy at such unexpected charity overpowered her : %he dropped upon her knees in the wet and dirt of the street, and raising her hands and eyes towards hea- ven, remained in that posture for some minutes, una- 334 ble to give utterance to the gratitude that filled her heart. Such a sight was more expressive than all the powers of eloquence ; he raised her tenderly from the ground, and soothing her with words of comfort, offered to conduct her to some place where she might get that refreshment of which she appeared to be in too great want. " Oh ! sir," said she, pressing the hand that had raised her, with cold trembhng lips, " my deliverer, sent from heaven to save me from despair ; let me not think of taking refreshment myself, till I have procured it for those whose greater wants I feel ten thousand times more severely than my own." " Who can they be," interrupted he with anxious im- patience, " can humanity feel greater w^ants than those under which you are sinking ?" " My father," exclaimed she, bursting into tears, " languishing un- der infirmities acquired in the service of his country ; my mother, worn out with attending on him, and both perishing for want ; (heaven grant they are not already dead !) together with two infant brothers, in- sensible of the cause of their distress, and crying to them for a morsel of bread, which is not in their power to give." " Where can such a scene of wretch- edness be hid from relief ? I will go with you myself directly. But stop ! let us first procure some com- fortable nourishment from some of those houses which are kept open at this late hour, for a very different purpose ; come with me, we have no time to lose." With these words he went directly to a tavern, and inquiring what victuals were dressed in the house, loaded her with as much as she could carry, of 335 the best, and putting a couple of bottles of wine in his own pockets, walked with her to her habitation, which was situated in a blind alley, happily for her, not very far distant ; as weakness, together with the conflict of passions struggling in her heart, made her scarce able to stir. When they came to the door, she would have gone up first for a light, but he was re- solved to accompany her, that he might see the whole scene in its genuine colours ; he therefore followed her up to the top of the house, where, opening the door of a garret, she discovered to him such a sight of misery as struck him with astonishment. By the light of a lamp that glimmered in the fireless chim- ney, he saw, lying on a bare bedstead, without any other covering than the relics of their own rags, a man, a woman, and two children, shuddering with cold, huddled together to share the little warmth w^hich exhausted nature still supplied them with. While he stood gazing with horror at such compli- cated wretchedness, his conductress ran to the bed side, and falling on her knees, "Oh! sir, madam," exclaimed she, in rapture, " arise, I have got relief from an angel of heaven!" "Take care," answered a voice, the hollow trembling of which was sharpened with indignation, " take care it is not a fiend from hell, who has taken advantage of your distress to tempt you to ruin ; for with whom else could you have been at this time of night ? but know, wretched giri ! that I will never eat the earnings of vice and infamy ; a few hours will put an end to my miseries, which have received the only possible addition by this your folly !'' 3SG *^ He must be such indeed," interrupted the humane Churchill, still more struck with sentiments so un- common in such a situation, "who could think of tempting her, in such circumstances, to any folly. I will withdraw while you arise, and then we will con- sult what can be soonest done to alleviate a distress of which you appear so undeserving." While he said this, he took the wine out of his pockets, and giving it to the daughter, went directly down stairs, without waiting for a reply, and walking backwards and forwards in the street for some time, enjoyed the sublimest pleasure the human heart is capable of, in considering how he had relieved, and should further relieve, the sufferings of objects so worthy of relief. By the time he thought they might have heard the circumstances from their daughter, of her meeting with him, and had taken some nourishment, he return- ed to them ; when, the moment he entered the room, the whole family fell upon their knees to thank him. Such humiliation was more than he could bear ; he raised them one by one, as fast as he could, and tak- ing the fathers hand, " Gracious God !" said he, " can a sense of humanity be such an uncommon thing among creatures who call themselves human, that so poor an exertion of it should be thought deserving of a return proper to be made only to heaven ! Op- press me not, sir, I conjure you, with the mention of w^hat it would have been a crime, I could never have forgiven myself, to have known I had not done. It is too late to think of leaving this place before to-mor- row, when I will provide a better, if there is not any 337 to which you choose particularly to go. I am not rich, but thank heaven that it has blessed me with abihty and inclination to afford such assistance as may be immediately necessary to you, till means may be thought of for doing more." " Oh ! sir," exclaimed the mother, " well might my daughter call you an angel of heaven ; you know not from what misery you have al- ready relieved us." " Nor will I know more of it at this time :" interrupted he, "than that which I too plainly see. I will leave you now to your rest, and retura as soon as it is day." "Speak not of leaving us," an- swered the daughter, who was afraid that if he should go away he might not return ; " what rest can we take in so short a time ? leave us not, I beseech you ; leave us not in this place." " Cease, my child," intenupted the father, "nor pres^ your benefactor to continue in a scene of misery that must give pain to the humane heart." " If my staying will not give you pain," answered Churchill, " I will most willingly stay ; but it must be on condition that our conversation points entirely forward to happier days ; there will be time enough to look back hereaf- ter." Saying this, he sat down by the bed side, (for other seat the apartment afforded none,) between the husband and wife, Avith whom he spent the little re- mainder of the night in such discourse as he thought most likely to divert their attention from their present misery, and inspire their minds with better hopes ; while the children, all but the daughter, who hung upon his words, comforted at heart with a better meal than they had long tasted, fell fa^t asleep as they 4S 358 leaned their heads upon then* mothers lap. As soon as it was day, " now madam/' said the benevolent Churchill, " I will go and provide abetter place for your reception, as you say all places are aUke to you ; in the mean time, accept this trifle, (giving her ten guineas,) to provide such necessaries as you may indispensably want before you remove ; when you are settled, we will see what farther can be done. I shall be back with you within these three hours at most." For such beneficence, there w^as no possibility of returning thanks ; but their hearts spoke through their eyes in a language sufficiently intelhgible to him. Departing directly, to save both himself and them the pain of pursuing a conversation that grew so distressful, he went, without regard to change of dress or appearance, to look for a proper lodging for them, where he laid in such provisions of every kind as he knew they must immediately want. This care employed him till the time he had promised to return ; when he found such an alteration in the looks and appearance of them all, as gave his heart dehght. "You see, sir," said the mother, as soon as he entered, " the effects of your bounty, but , do not think that vanity has made us abuse it : what we could raise on these clothes, has for some time been our sole support ; they were the purchase of happier times, and were now redeean- ed for much less than we must have given for the ivorst we could buy." " Dear madam," interrupted our poet, taking her hand respectfully, " mention not any thing of the kind to me, I beseech you ; you will soon Tice such times again ;" then turning to the husband,. 339 *^ I have taken a lodging, sir," continued he, *4t is con- venient, but not large, as I imagined would be your choice. I will call a coach to take us to it directly. If there are any demands here, let the people of the house be called up, and they shall be paid : I will be your purse bearer for the present." " No, sir," re- plied the husband, " there are not any : you have ena- bled us to discharge all demands upon us : people in our circumstances cannot find credit, because they ivant it." Their benefactor would then have gone for a coach, but the daughter insisted on saving him that trouble, and went for one herself ; upon which he put the whole family into it, and walked away before them to their new lodging. It is impossible to de- scribe what these poor people felt, when they saw the provision he had made for their reception ; the father, in particular, could not bear it, but sinking into a chair, "this is too much!" said he, as soon as a flood of tears had given vent to the fulness of his heart— " this is too much ! — support me gracious heaven !— who has sent this best of men to my relief; support me under the weight of obligations, w^hich the pre- servation of these alone (looking round upon his wife and children) could induce me to accept." Then addressing himself to his preserver, " my heart is not unthankful," continued he, "but gratitude in such ex- cess as mine, where there is no prospect of ever making a return, is the severest pain." Churchill, who sought none, attempted often to give the conversation another turn ; but finding they could speak or think of nothing else as yet, he took his leave, promising to 340 come the next day, when their minds should be bet- ter settled, to consult what was more in his power to serve them ; having first privately taken an opportu- nity to slip a couple of guineas into the daughter's hand, to avoid putting the delicacy of her father and mother to farther pain. S2E THE GAMESTER. " And what brought thee hither ?" said the dissipated Henr}^, to the pensive Maria, as he approached the door of her cell : " unveil thy face ; if it be as lovely as thy form is elegant, hard must be the heart that wounded thine." Approaching to unveil her, a re- spectable matron interfered, saying, " this, sir, must not be ; I am well rewarded for my care of this young lady — brought here by a gentleman, who calling him- self her father, warned me to be tender to his child. I present her to you," she continued, " veiled ; it is her desire and mine that her face should never more be seen ; her real name must not be known — call her, therefore, Maria. Many fine ladies and gentlemen, sir, visit these mournful confines ; and it is not by her permission only, but request, that the door of her cell is sometimes left open, that she may hold melancho- ly converse with those on whom she pleases to be- stow her attention. You, sir, seem to attract her re- gard — speak to her, for she is not offended." Henry felt his heart softened— he asked pardon of the be- 341 \Vilclered innocent, who told him it was granted ; at the same time, she turned to a table, and opening a small casket, took from thence a lock of hair, and pressing it to her gay, but heart touched visitor — " take," said she, " this ringlet, intended for one bj whom I once thought myself beloved, and remember it was given thee by the pensive Maria, who, deserted by reason, and abandoned by him she loved, gave up her harrassed imagination to the keeping of melan- choly and hopeless sorrow. Alas, sir ! wide are the realms of misery, and many are her children who roam therein. You have little reason to wish to see my face, where the winter of neglect has destroyed the rose of health, and the frost of unkindness has shortened my existence — but to the grave I look for- ward as a refuge from the storm I have endured." Henry felt himself affected, and replied, " why this romantic flight ! descend to common life and com- mon terms, that we may converse with greater ease." " Common life and common terms !" cried the hap- less girl, "how you mistake my fate ! uncommon has been my life, and hard has been the terms on which I have seen the light ; few in number have been my years, yet the stings of affliction have rendered mj existence gloomy and forlorn." Henry wept — " tel3 me, unhappy maiden, if it is in the power of him who has once claimed your regard, by sorrow and contri- tion, by love and affection, to restore you to life and to yourself; or has his unkindness utterly undone th} peace forever r" Here Maria uttered a deep sigh, and eT^ci aimed, " J fear my doom is fixed ! but why, sir. 342 these questions ? by thus commiserating the fate of the hapless Maria, you will only add to the trouble of her mind ; and would you wish still more to afflict the unfortunate ?" "No," returned Henry, deeply sigh- ing ; " I am, notwithstanding appearances, myself un- fortunate, and my mind, like thine, is distressed." " In- deed!" said the gentle Maria, "then sit down by me, and tell me all your sorrows, without reserve. What you relate shall go no farther, and as I wish to learn your story, will you deny her, who, when you are gone, will pray that your peace may be restored ?" " Dear young lady," cried the afflicted Henry, "if my short story can any way serve to divert your sorrows, and break their force by participation, gladly would I visit the amiable Maria, with her to utter the mu- tual sigh, abstracted from the gay world, where all my hopes have been wrecked :— -but, gentle maiden, indiscretion and folly have completed my ruin, and the tumults of my mind are not, like thine, allayed by the consciousness of innocence. Bred in the gay scbool of fashion and levity, I was early initiated in all the follies that stain the characters of many, who, boasting the advantages of birth and fortune, pursue a conduct that at once stains the one, and renders the other a curse instead of a blessing. Oh, Maria ! I once loved and was again beloved :-— Emilia pos- sessed a mind rich in every charm. I was on the point of calling the lovely Emilia mine ; when, by in dulging a fatal propensity for play, I was, the evening before our intended marriage, rash enough to hazard my estate at on the turn of a fatal die ! I lost 343 it, and in one moment saw myself stripped of wealth and affluence, and reduced to the condition of a pri- vate gentleman ; I had, at the time I was rash enough to lose my all in the manner I have related, an uncle nearly at the point of death, and as a discovery of my rashness might utterly have undone me with him, I obtained a promise from the winner of my fortune to keep the matter a secret ; he has not betrayed m.e ; my uncle is since dead — I am again recalled to for- tune and affluence, but my peace is gone forever ; for on the instant I could again appear to claim my loved Emilia, I hastened to her father to own my crime, and petition forgiveness ; — but, alas ! I knew not the heart I had wounded. I found the wTetched father, in the course of a few short months, sunk to a mere shadow of his former self — he forgave me indeed : — but told me that his child had, at her own request, immured herself from the world. But oh ! Maria, this much in- jured gentleman would not inform me where I might once more see her whose remembrance will forever live in a heart that will never own another. ^ It may,' he said, 'be considered as false pride in me, but I could no more bear the disgrace of that never to be forgot- ten day of your mysterious and cruel absence, than my poor child could support the shame of neglected and affronted love. This child, Henry, is now a volun- tary recluse, nor will any but her father behold her face again'." As soon as Henry had finished his af- fecting relation, Maria took him by the hand, and leading him to the glass — " this mirror," said she, " has the power of restoring to thy faithful heart the per- 344 lect resemblance of the object beloved/' " Whal» ever may be your meaning, my amiable Maria, or if what you have uttered be only the effusion of your elegant fancy, I appeal to heaven for the truth of all you have heard me ufter." On this assertion, the amiable and hitherto afflicted girl withdrew her veil, and discovered to the enraptured Henry, not only the image, but turning round, he clasped the real, the re- stored Emilia. Mrs. immediately sent a mes- sage to her honoured parent ; mutual vows of love and forgiveness were exchanged in his presence. Mr. was again cheered with health and happi- ness, and lived many years blessed in his children. Go ye, who sport your thousands, and take example from Henry. THE INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. The most lofty and the strongest edifices decay ! If they escape storms, tempests, and earthquakes, yet they must yield to time, and their glories must be buried in the dust. Pyramids are justly reckoned the greatest instances of the folly and vanity of man- kind. The use for which those famous ones of Egypt were erected was only for their kings to be interred in. Take a view of the ruins of antiquity, and re- member, O man! the frail state of thy mortality! Art thou rich and great, is thy name known through- out the world, and do thy lofty buildings aspire to the clouds ? Yet a little while, and thou shalt sink to 346 dust. Thy edifices and thy monuments too must at length decay, and leave no traces behind them. Where now is Babylon ? Where is the seat of Solo- mon ? Where is wise Athens ? And where ancient Rome, the mistress of the w^orld ? Where are those mighty cities once so famous upon the earth ? — Of some there is not left a stone upon a stone, and others are remembered only in their ruins : E'en as an unsubstantial pageant faded, The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind. Be assured then, O man, w^ho gloriest in thy strength and might, that there is nothing solid but peace of , mind — nothing permanent but virtue : she alone shall last through ages, and grow brighter through the end- less succession of eternity. A REMARKABLE COURTSHIP. At Depliiz, in Bohemia, a place not much unlike Tunbridge, where people of all sorts resort to drink the water, lived an old rich bachelor, of eighty-eight, and no more ; who, besides his having arrived to this age, which the world calls maturity, was visited by almost every disorder that afflicts the human body — dropsy, gout, gravel, stone, palsy, shortness of breath, coughs 44 346 tittle less than half blind, more than half deaf, with many other of the like friendly attendants. This curi- ous, this singular figure, had his heart violently wound- ed by the charms of a beauty of sixteen, of a small fortune, and great virtues^ whom he saw, or thought he saw, as he hobbled along the walks. His mind, from that instant, was so greatly disturbed, and his pain on this account so insupportable, as to take place of all his other sufferings. To alleviate his sorrows, he resolved to be conducted into the presence of the young innocent, and boldly tell her to her face the wonders she had done. At length he arrived within view of the lovely fair, whom he found seated at the ^ tea table with her brother : With his eyes half closed, part from age, and part from having so long beheld the follies of men — after a slow, but respectful motion, with his head declined, his body curved, his arms supported, his legs tottering, and the whole man dis- turbed, being seated, andevery way kept from fallingto the earth, he gently opened his mouth, and raising his eyes towards the beauty with all the circumstances of human modesty, thus did he tell his grief : " Miss, mercy on me ; miss, thou art vastly handsome !'^ " Sir," said the pretty child, interrupting the good old man, "will you please to drink some tea!" — ''- No," says this much to be pitied lover, " but with your leave Pll smoke a pipe." A pipe was brought, a pipe was filled, and the lighted candle ready ; and being himself willing to set fire to the matter therein contained, received it in his right hand ; but, alas ! on endeavouring to raise that hand, and direct it towards 347 the pipe then in his left, from some sudden cause it stopped on the way, trembhng and shaking with the rest of his amiable frame — his hand with the lighted candle thus suspended on the road between his knees and his chin ; in this strange position, he raised his drooping head, and directing once more his eyes towards his beloved ladj, seemingly lost in thought ; he suddenly freed his left hand from the pipe, and di- recting it towards his watch pocket, held forth that in- strument of time, and placed it on the table ; this done, he directed the same hand towards his right, and gently taking a ring from his little finger, slowly carried it towards the watch on the table, and left them together, at a small distance one from the other ; he then put his pipe in his mouth and smoked away. The lady, filled with amazement at these things, turn- €d her dear, pretty, tender, lovely eyes, towards her brother, and discovered how much she wished to know from him what was meant by these doings, — At lengthy for a second time, the wounded lover open* ed his mouth with intention to continue his tragic tale, and thus he addressed the beauteous innocent : '^ Miss, thou art all sweetness — all softness — the most loveliest, fairest, tenderest — Mercy on me! — I gaze cipon thee w ith raptures ; with astonishment do 1 ^x my eyes upon thee — for never did I behold so excel- lent a fair ! All perfection do I see in thee, thou ravishing, thou bewitching treasure, thou charmer of my heart." " Enough ! enough !" cried the pretty <:reature ^ " pray, sir, speak to be understood — what means all this !"— " Means ! my Ultle angel ! — 348 means ; my endearing, tender, engaging, delight- ful, transporting, pretty creature ! I'll tell thee, my adorable, I'll tell thee ; — dost thou see that watch ! dost thou observe that ring !" — " Yes, sir," re- plied this angelic figure, " but I know not for what they are placed on my table." '' Patience, my turtle dove," says he, " patience, my loveliest darling. Oh, thou most perfect of thy sex ! Oh mercy! I never made love; I am a stranger to the- ways that lovers take to inspire their beloved with pity for their sufferings ; a pain like this I never felt before. Hear me, my soul's best wish, hear me — if in Gfteen minutes— oh give me your attention — take some compassion on me, and turn your thoughts my w ay ; if in that short time thou takest up that ring — oh ! amazing excellence ! Dost thou understand me now ? I am not poor ; I can make thee great ; I can give thee a thousand and a thousand pretty things to make thee shine, if possible, brighter than thou art. I say again, dost thou understand me now ? The watch will tell us the time, and time will wait for no man : in fifteen minutes my pipe will be out. Mercy on me, I say again, thou art v^^onderous handsome." Thus said, with a face filled with grief, he gently raised his head, and conducting with both his hands his pipe to his mouth, went on with smoking, and discovered every circumstance of a languishing and despairing lover, turning every second minute his hea- vy and sorrowful eyes on the watch, then on the lady, often reminding her in the most soft and tender terms, that time advanced, and that his pipe would presently 349 be out; tliat as soon as tlie time elapsed, he would beg pardon and take himself away, and labour in her absence to forget his woes ; ever concluding all his tender sayings by crying, "mercy on me! thou art the most ens:a2:in2: sweetness that ever saw the li ed her fate, as unavoidable, litde rejoicing at his own safety, since life was now become a burthen. After the space of an hour this terrible hurricane ended ; earth regained her stability, the sky its calm- ness. He then beholdeth close by the stern of the ship, floating upon an olive tree, to a bough of which she clung, one in the dress of a female. He was touched with compassion ; he ran to her relief; he findeth her yet breathing, and raising her up, how unspeakable was his astonishment when he beheld in his arms his beloved, his lamented Cornelia, the manner of whose miraculous deliverance is thus re- corded : In this universal wreck, as it were, of nature, in w^hich the elements of earth and water had changed their places, fishes were borne up in the mid land, trees, houses and men into the deep : It happened that this fair one was buried into the sea, together with the tree to which in the beginning of the com- motion she had clung, and was thrown up by the side of the vessel wherein Mendoza was, which was one of the few that rode out the amazing tem- pest. I cannot paint to you the emotions of his mind ; the joy, the amazement, the gratitude, the tender- ness — words cannot express them. Happy pair ! the interposition of providence in your favour was too visible to question your being at last united forever. Thrice happy Mendoza, how wonderfully was thy constancy crowned — thy merit rewarded. Lo, the wind is fair ! haste, bear with thee to thy native 365 Spain this inestimable prize. Return, no less justly triumphant, than did formerly the illustrious Cortez, loaded with the spoils of Montezuma, the treasures of a newlv discovered world. HUMOROUS LETTER, Upon certain indelicacies, very frequently practised. I dined a week ago at the house of an old friend, with whom ! made it a kind of point to pass a day once a twelve month : this gentleman, together with his whole family, piqued themselves not a little upon their knowledge in the minutest article of breeding, and are vmiversally esteemed a very polite set by the most critical circle of their acquaintance. When the salutations of the season were over, I was permitted to take a chair, which I did by my friend, at the cor- ner of the fire, and left the rest to the old lady and her daughters. For a full hour we sat in the sleepiness of silent stupidity. Silence was, however, at last broke by Mrs. M , who, taking out a pocket handkerchief, which in several places was almost glued together by a certain quantity of snuffy saliva, sagaciously took notice that the w^eather was very damp : at the same time that she made this remark, she pulled the handker- chief out of its plaits, and held it before the fire to dry, where, to do her justice, it smoked in such a manner as evidently to support the propriety of her 366 obseiTation. She had no sooner done this, than Mr. M , as if he understood it to be a signal, began an incessant coughing, and every other moment discharged large lumps of a tough phlegm, against the bars of the grate, which kept up a constant hissing, like so many sausages in a frying pan. A concert of this kind, I cannot say, v» as very much to my fancy, so that by the time the summons came for dinner, I had completely lost my stomach, and was infinitely more fit for a bed than a haunch of venison. During dinner time, however, matters were rather aggravated than redressed. Mr. M helped me with the same fork that had just before been em- ployed in picking his teeth, and his amiable lady more than once dropped some double scented Mac- cuba among my gravy, though that was a favour I by no means wished for or solicited. To increase my satisfaction, I happened to be a great favourite with two of the young ladies, and generally sit between them when I pay a visit at their father's; in order to show their attention to me, therefore, whenever I wanted any thing, rather than sulTer me to wait an instant, they kindly helped me from their own plates : and Miss Jenny, in particular, insisted, when the girl W'Cnt down stairs for bread, that I should take her slice, though it bore the signs of half a dozen teeth, no way remarkable either for their whiteness or re- gularity. Dinner being at length happily over, I flattered myself that I had gone through the principal fatigue of the day, though had I once taken the trouble of re- 367 fleeting on the practice of former yeai-s, I might easily have known I was to suffer some additional mortifi- cations. The interval between dinner and the hour for tea was employed in a general invective against the plague of keeping servants, in which IMis. M gave notable proofs of a profound domestic under- standing. There is a practice, at the general run of tea tables, for the company to pour the remains of every cup into a particular basin ; and in this comfortable mix- ture of slops, the elegance of under bred delicacy always rinses the various cups in the order they are emptied. Mrs. M , who values herself highly on the proper discharge of the tea table duties, is a warm friend to this delicious custom, and always takes care to clean the cup of each individual in the united slab- berings of the whole. For my part, though I am far from being a nice man, yet 1 prefer my own dirt to the dirt of other people, and on that account, endea- vour to guard my cup from undergoing so extraordi- nary a purification, wdicrever I know this mode of rinsing is kept up. Mrs. M , however, was not to be eluded. Under a supposition that my back- wardness in this respect proceeded from a fear of giving her the least trouble, she insisted on my cup with a good natured peremptoriness, and obliged me to pretend a sudden pain in the head to avoid the disagreeable consequences of her misguided ci- vihty. Armed with this excuse, I took my leave, not a little happy at so fortunate an escape, where I was afraid I should have been obliged to pass the whole evening. 36'6 From this little picture, one may, perhaps, be led to reflect upon the disagreeable shake of a sweaty hand , the indelicate custom of picking one's nose ; and the unpardonable practice of standing with our backs to the fire on a cold day, by which we entirely cut off every possible beam of warmth fi'om the rest of the company. These, sir, are errors in which the po- litest part of our people indulge themselves, as well as the most underbred ; and they are errors of so dis- agreeable a nature, that I heartily wish, for the credit of our country, w^e would once resolve to shake them off, as they are not only the objects of our own ridi- cule, but are also ridiculed by every sensible nation in Europe. . 1 ' THE TRUE GAMESTER. When I was at Aix, there was a little Italian, who^ within a fortnight, had undergone as many revolutions of fortune, as in general fall to the lot of the most ex- traordinary gamester during his whole life. He came there as an adventurer, with a few Louis d'ors in his pocket, determined to try the favour of fortune ; his first attempt was at hazard, w^here he played crown stakes, and as fortune kindly smiled on him, encreased to an half guinea, guinea, and so on^ to bank notes. In the space of twenty-four hours he had stripped the bank of upwards of four thousand pounds, and the next morning, resuming his opera- 369 tions, broke the bank entirely, his winnings amount^ ing to more than nine thousand pounds. One would have imagined that a poor needy ad- venturer, who most probably had never seen a twen- tieth part of such a sum before, would have packed up his all immediately, and returned to his native country. Content, however, was a stranger to his mind, and the accession of one sum only brought with it anxiety for another. For several days the bankers could not play, so completely had he reduced them to their last stakes ; a supply of cash at last arrived, which enabled them to open a fresh campaign ; our little adventurer stuck close to them ; for a few hours his usual success at- tended him ; the tables at last turned upon him, and from being the possessor of ten thousand pounds, he left the bank, reduced toJ|is last Louis. When he reached his lodgings, he could not help taking a retrospective view of his conduct. How did he bew^ail his situation ! how lament that he had not been content with his former gain, and retired to his own country to enjoy the fruits of his success ! to complain, however, of his situation, could not amend it J being convinced of this, he determined to make one more vigorous effort to recover the money he had lost ; fully determined in his own mind to leave Aix . directly, if fortune should once more smile upon him ; ^: yet how to raise money sufficient to put himself in the fickle jade's way he could not tell. At last, how- V ever, he recollected a friend whom he had assisted in several emergencies, and who resided only a few 47 370 miles clistante He asked and obtained of him the loan of thirty pounds. Our Italian returned with this to the gaming table : good luck attended him, and he left it with more than ten thousand pounds ; but instead of returning to Italy, he returned to the gam- ing table, where, in a few hours, he was stripped of every sol he had in the world. ON RICHES. Riches seems at present to be the aim of almost all mankind, and a man's character and reputation is formed only from w^hat he possesses. Honesty is now hidden in the obscure paths of hfe, while vice blazons forth in the seat of affluence : every virtue, every generous passion of the heart, is Suppressed, and the love of gold reigns supreme within the breast. Even the scanty coffers of the poor are searched, and they are stripped of their little all, to feed the greedy hand of avarice. But, O heavens ! who would ima- gine that this baneful passion would find an abode within the tender bosom of the fair— alas ! too many instances of this fatal truth daily present themselves ; how often do we see the lovely maid, with all the charms of youth and beauty, married to a sordid wretch, whose gray hairs show him to be bordering on the grave, and who has nothing to recommend him but his treasure. Can such an union spring from love ! yes — it springs from a love of gold — her heart 371 was captivated with his riches — from them she ex- pected lasting enjoyment. How mortifying, how de- grading is it, to think that this baneful passion should have so much influence in the world. When a rich man speaketh, every one holdeth his tongue, and lo ! what he saith every one extolleth to the skies ; but if a poor man speak, they say, " what fellow is this ?" He who has nothing but merit to recommend him is despised, while he, who, though ignorant, possesses riches, is universally respected. THE THREE DREAMERS. Two traders were proceeding on a pilgrimage ; a countryman, who was prosecuting the same journey, having joined them on the road, they agreed to travel together, and to make a joint stock of their provisions. But when they arrived within a days journey of the place, it was almost wholly expended, so that nothing was left but a little flour, barely suflicient to make a small cake. The perfidious traders entered into a plot together to cheat their companion of his share, and from his stupid air, imagined they could dupe him without difficulty. "We must come to some agreement," said one of the citizens ; " what will not assuage the hunger of three, may satisfy a single per- son, and 1 vote that it be allotted to one of us only. — But that each may have a fair chance, I propose that we all three lie down and fall asleep, and that the bread may be the lot of him who, on awaking, 372 shall have the most curious dream/' The other citi- zen, as we may readily suppose, approved vastly of this suggestion. The countryman also signified his approbation, and pretended to give completely into the snare. They then made the bread, put it on the fire to bake, and lay down. But our tradesmen were so much fatigued with their journey, that, without in- tending it, they soon fell into a profound slumber. The clown, more cunning, waited only this opportu- nity, got up without noise, went and eat the bread, and then composed himself to rest. Soon after, one of the citizens awoke, and calling to his companions, '' Friends," said he, " listen to my dream : I thought myself transported by two angels into hell. For a long time they kept me suspended over the abyss of ever- lasting fire. I here was witness to the torments of the damned." " And I," said the other, '^ dreamed that the gates of heaven were open to me ; the arch-angels, Michasl and Gabriel, after raising me up into the sky, carried me before the throne of God. There I was a spectator of his glory." And then the dreamer began to relate the wonders of paradise, as the other had of the infernal abodes. The countryman, meanwhile, though he heard perfectly well what they said, pre- tended to be still asleep. They went to rouse him from his slumber ; when he, affecting the surprise of a man suddenly disturbed from rest, cried out, "what is the matter ?" '' Why it is only your fellow travel- lers ; what, do you not recollect us ? Come, arise, and inform us of your dream." " My dream ? Oh ! I have fead a very droll one, and one that I am sure will af~ 373 ford you some diversion. When I saw you both car- ried away, the one to heaven, the other to hell, I thought that 1 had lost you forever. I then got up, and as I expected never to see you any more. I went and demolished the loaf" THE UNGRATEFUL GUEST. A certain soldier in the Macedonian army had, in many instances, distinguished himself by extraordi- nary acts of valour, and had received many marks of Philip's favour and approbation. On some occasion he embarked on board a vessel, which was wrecked by a violent storm, and he himself cast on shore, help- less, naked, and scarcely with the appearance of life. A Macedonian, whose lands were contiguous to the sea, came opportunely to be a witness of his distress, and with all humane and charitable tenderness flew to the relief of the unhappy stranger. He bore him to his house, laid him in his ow^n bed, revived, che- rished, comforted, and for forty days supplied him free- Iv with all the necessaries and conveniences which his languishing condition could require. The soldier, thus happily rescued from death, was incessant in the warmest expressions of gratitude to his benefactor, assured him of his interest with the king, and of his power and resolution of obtaining for him, from the royal bounty, the noble returns wiiich such extraordinary benevolence had merited. He was now completely recovered, and his kind host supplied him with money to pursue his journey. In some time after, he presented himself before the king ; he recounted his misfortunes, and magnified his services ; and this inhuman wretch, who had looked with an eye of envy on the possessions of the man who had preserved his life, was now so abandoned to all sense of gratitude, as to request that the king w^ould bestow upon him the house and lands where he had been so kindly entertained. Unhappily, Philip, without examination, inconsiderately and precipitate- ly granted his infamous request ; and this soldier now returned to his preserver, and repaid his goodness by turning him from his little settlement, and taking im- mediate possession of the fruits of his honest industry. The poor man, stung with this instance of unparal- leled ingratitude and insensibility, boldly determined, instead of submitting to his wrongs, lo seekrehef; and in a letter addressed to Philip, represented his own and the soldier's conduct in a lively and affect- ing manner. The king was instantly fired with indignation ; he ordered that justice should be done without delay ; that the possessions should be immediately restored to the man whose charitable offices had been thus horribly repaid : and having ordered the soldier to be seized, caused the words, " The Uiigrateful Guest^^'' to be branded on his forehead — a character infamous in every age, and among all nations, but particularly among the Greeks, who, from the earliest times, were most scrupulously observant of the laws of hospitality. 375 A GOOD STORT. The following anecdote of an honest farmer, (one of the first settlers,) which happened at Westminster, will serve to show^the fanatical spirit which then pre- vailed — so contrary to that liberal toleration now prevalent over America, and which so happily unites every denomination of christians in the bonds of cha- rity and love — ^But to the story : The farmer in question was a plain pious man, re- gular in the discharge of his duty both to God and his neighbour ; but unluckily he happened to live near one with whom he was not inclined to cultivate either civil or friendly terms ; this troublesome per- sonage was no other than a monstrous overgrown he bear, that descended from the mountains, trod down and destroyed the corn fields, and carried off what- ever he laid his paws upon. The plundered sufferer watched him in vain, the ferocious and cunning ani- mal ever finding methods to elude his utmost vigi- lance ; and at last it learned its cue so thoroughly, as only to commit its depredations on the Lord's day, when it knew from experience the coast was clear. Wearied out with these oft repeated trespasses, the good man resolved on the next Sunday to stay in the fields, where, with his gun, he concealed himself—- Ihe bear came according to custom — he fired, and shot it dead. The explosion threw the whole con- gregation (for it was about the hour of people's as- sembling to worship) into consternation. The cause was inquired into ; and as soon as the pastor, deacon. 376 and elders became acquainted with it, they called a special meeting of the church, and cited their offend- ing brother before them, to show cause, if any he had, why he should not be excommunicated out of Christ's church for this daring and unexampled impiety. In vain did he urge, from the scriptures themselves, that it was lawful to do good on the Sabbath day ; he plead- ed before judges determined to condemn him ; and the righteous parson, elders, and church, with one voice, agreed to drive him from amongst them, as polluted and accursed. Accordingly, he was enjoin- ed (as is customary on such occasions) on the next Sabbath to attend his excommunication in the church. He did attend — but not entirely satisfied with the sen- tence, and too much of a soldier to be scandalized in so public a manner for an action which he conceived to be his duty, he resolved to have recourse to strata- gem : he therefore went to the appointment, with his gun loaded with a brace of balls, his sword and car- tridge box by his side, and his knapsack on his back, with six days provisions in it. Service was about half over when he entered the sanctuary in this mar- tial array. He marched leisurely into a corner, and took his position. As soon as the benediction was ended, the holy parson began his excommunication : but scarce had he pronounced the words "offending brother," when the honest veteran cocked and levelled his weapon of destruction, at the same time crying out with aloud voice, "proceed if you dare — proceed, and you are a dead man !" At this unexpected at- tack, the astonished clergyman shrunk behind his 3.77 desk, and his opponent, with great deliberation, reco- vered his arms. Some moments elapsed before the parson had courage to peep from his ecclesiastical battery, when finding the old hero had come to a rest; he tremblingly reached the order to the eldest deacon, desiring him to read it ; the deacon, with stam- mering accents, and eyes staring wild with affright, began as he was commanded ; but no sooner had he done so, than the devoted victim again levelled his piece, and more vehemently than before exclaimed, *' desist, and march — I will not live with shame — de- sist and march, I say, or you are all dead men !" Lit- tle need had he to repeat his threats ; the man of God leaped from his desk and escaped ; the deacon, elders,, and congregation followed in equal trepida- tion ; the greatest confusion prevailed : the women with shrieks and cries sought their homes ; the victor was left undisturbed master of the field, and of the church too, the doors of which he calmly locked, put the keys in his pocket, and sent them with his re- spects to the pastor. He then marched home with all the honours of war, lived thirteen years after- wards, and died a brother in full communion, declar- ing to the last (among his intimates) that he never tasted so great a dainty before. THE MASK. A beautiful lady of Bordeaux mourned with the tiincerest grief for her husband, who, as she heard by 578 report, had perished by shipwreck. A numerous crowd of suitors, attracted by her youth and charms^ only waited the confirmation of this rumour to solicit her hand. She behaved towards them with the ut- most decency and propriety: yet^ as she wished to make some return for the politeness they showed her, she made a splendid entertainment for them on one o£ the concluding days of the carnival. While the com- pany were engaged in play, a stranger, masked, and habited as a genius, entered, and sat down to play with the lady. He lost, demanded his revenge, and lost again. This adverse fortune attended him ten or twelve times successively, because he adroitly managed the dice in such a manner that the chance was continually against him. Other players then wished to try their luck with him, but the experiment did not turn to their advantage. The lady again re- sumed her place, and won an immense sum, which the mask lost with a good humour and gaiety that absolutely astonished the spectators. Some person observed, loud enough to be heard, that this was not playing, but lavishly throwing away one's money ; on Avhich, the mask, raising his voice, said that he was the dcemon of riches, which he valued not, except so far as it was in his power to bestow them on that lady : and immediately, to prove the truth of his words, he produced several bags full of gold, and others filled with diamonds and different kinds of precious stones, offering to stake them, at one single throw, against any thing of the most trivial value she might please to propose. The lady, starded and embarrassed by O' 79 this declaration, now refused to play any more ; and the whole company knew not what to think of this extraordinary occurrence — when an old lady present observed to the person next her, that the mask must certainly be the devil ; that his riches, his appearance, his discourse, and his dexterity at play, all sufficiently showed what he was. The stranger, overhearing this, profited by the hint. He assumed the air and stile of a magician, mentioned several things which could be known only to the lady, spoke many foreign lan- guages, performed many ingenious tricks — and con- cluded by declaring that he had come to demand a certain person in the company, who had given herself to him, and who, he protested, belonged to him ; as- serting, at the same time, that he would take her to himself, and never leave her more, in defiance of every obstacle. All eyes were now turned on the lady, who knew not what to think of this adventure. The women trembled — the men smiled — and the ge- nius still continued to excite the perplexity and ad- miration of the company. This extraordinary scene lasted so long, that some grave personages at last ar- rived, who interrogated the daemon, and were on the point of exorcising him. The mask, however, turned every thing into ridi- cule with so much wit, that he had the laughter on his side. At length, when he found that it was no longer time for raillery, he took off his mask, which im- mediately brought on the denoueraent of this extraor- dinary entertainment, by exciting an exclamation of joy from the mistress of the house. In the generous 380 stranger she immediately reeognized her husbandj who having been to Spain, had gone from thence to Peru, where he had made an immense fortune, and returned laden with riches. He had learned, on his arrival, that his ladj was to give an entertainment and a masqued ball to some particular friends. An op- portunity so favourable to disguise, inspired him with a wish to introduce himself without being known, and he had chosen the most extravagant dress he could meet with. The whole company, which, in a great measure, consisted of his relations and friends, congratulated him on his return, and willingly resigned to him his amiable lady, whom he had very justly claimed as his own. CHINESE JUSTICE. A MERCHANT Oi the city of Nankin had, with equal industry and integrity, acquired a considerable for- tune, which awakened the rapacious spirit of the viceroy of that province : on the pretence, therefore, of its being too rapidly accumulated, he gave some intimations of his design to make a seizure of it. The merchant, who had a numerous family, hoped to baffle the oppressive avarice that menaced him, by dividing his possessions among his children, and depending upon them for support. But the spirit of injustice, when strengthened by 381 power, is not easily thwarted in its designs : the vice* roy, therefore, sent his children to the army, seized on their property, and left the father to beg his bread. — His tears and humble petitions were fruitless; the tyrannical officer, this vile vicegerent of a beneficent sovereign, disdained to bestow the smallest reiief on the man he had reduced to ruin : so that, exasperated by the oppression of the minister, the merchant at length determined to throw himself at the feet of his sovereign to obtain redress, or die in his presence. With this design he begged his way to Pekin ; and having surmounted all the difficulties of a long and painful journey, he at length arrived at the imperial residence ; and, having prepared a petition that con- tained a faithful statement of his injuries, he waited ■with patience in an outer court till the emperor should pass to attend the council. But the poverty of his appearance had almost frustrated his hopes : and the attendant mandarins were about to chastise his intru- sion, when the attention of the emperor was attracted by the bustle w^hich the poor man's resistance occa- sioned : at this moment he held forth a paper, which his imperial majesty ordered to be brought to his palanquin: and having perused its contents, com- manded the petitioner to follow him. It so happened, that the viceroy of Nankin was at- tending his annual duty in the council : the emperor therefore charged him with the crime stated in the poor man's petition, and commanded him to make his defence ; but, conscious of his guilt, and amazed at the unexpected discovery, his agitation, his looks, 382 and his silence condemned him. The emperor then addressed the assembled council on the subject of the viceroy's crime, and concluded his harangue with ordering the head of his tyranical officer to be instant- ly brought on the point of a sabre. The command was obeyed ; and while the poor old man was won- dering on his knees at the extraordinary event of the moment, the emperor addressed him in the following manner ; " Look," said he, " on the awful and bleed- ing example before you, and as I now appoint you his successor, and name you viceroy of the province of Nankin, let his fate instruct you to fulfil the duties of your high and important office with justice and moderation,'^ THE HUMOURS OF A WET SUNDAY. 'Having dined with a friend, a few Sundays ago, at his seat, within a few miles of this city, I was, on my return home, overtaken by a violent shower, and obliged to put up at the first public house I met with on the road. While I was there, watching the weather from a window, that I might seize a favourable mo- ment to pursue my journey without being in a drip- ping condition, I was not a little amused with a col- lection of draggled females, who, with their loving husbands, &c. were driven, by the torrent's pouring upon their heads, to shelter themselves under the same roof. 388 " L — d have mercy upon me !" exclaimed a womaa of the largest si^, and rendered still more weighty by her corpulence, "L — d have mercy upon me!" wiping her face, which shone like a cook maid's, with her apron, " I am sure this is making a toil of plea- sure ; here we labour and take pains all the week, on purpose to have a little comfort on Sunday, and now you see, I shall spoil every individual thing about me ; besides, I am so fatigued into the bargain : but I told my husband, this very morning, that I would never set out again without a coach, or a shay, or something to carry me." "You're in the right of it," replied her friend, a tall raw boned woman, with her mouth full of pins, with which she was endeavouring to pin up her petticoat, " I am sure I will not slave myself to death again for all the pleasure upon earth : and yet I'll not sit at home all day neither." " What's that you won't do ?" said a poor, meager^ half starved fellow, who had by this time come up to them, with a heavy child under each arm, " I am sure you have not the reason to complain I have, who have carried the boys so many miles : you are never satisfied ; but you shall cany them yourself the rest of the way, or leave them behind." Here, being hardly able to stand with his incumbrances, he was ^oing to throw off his load ; his rib then called out to him in a raised, but not very melodious voice, ''don't offer to sit my children down, don't, I say ! Do you think I will have their coats wetted, and their frocks dirtied ? Who must clean them ? Not you, I sup- pose you will tell me, like a sneaking puppy as you 384 are ! but come what will, please God, you shall stand at the wash tub till you drop ; for I shall see them all got up, to cure you of dragging me from home upon my feet ; and now we are brought into this precious ioickle, I wonder what is to become of us." "Oh," replied her unwieldy neighbour, "we must stay till we can light a coach ; and in the mean time let us call for something. What do you like best, ma'am ?" " You may call for what you please," answ^ered the distressed husband, interrupting her, "but then you must pay for it, as I have not a single sixpence left out of my whole week's wages — 'tis all gone." " Gone !'^ cried his clamorous lady, " Why, then, if we should have the good luck to meet with a shay or a coach, we must be wet to the skin because you have no money to pay for it.'' " No, but you have," replied he, "fori gave you every penny that I received last night, and did not keep back enough for a single pot of porter : I am sure I drank nothing but Adam's ale after my bread and cheese before I went to bed, which has made me as weak as a rat." " Weak !" said she, " weak with drinking water ! that's a good one, in- deed ! I am sure there is not a wholesomer liquor in the world." " Then I wonder, my dear," answered he, with an arch look, "that you drink so much strong liquor yourself." " I drink strong beer ! Aye, and so I do, or else how should I be able to suckle my two twins. God help me ! as women go through so much in this world, they have need of something to support them ; but ^5 men are always grudging them, and taking every thing for themselves." " Zounds ! what ails the woman," said the pro- voked husband, " with her grudging ? did'nt I give you all." '' Yes, and then went and run up a long score at the black dogs ; so we shall nut have a farthing left to pay our rent." " Why, we cannot eat our cake and have it,'' said he ; " you wanted to come a pleasuring, and so let's hear no more about it." The waiter now made his appearance with a bowl of punch and a plate of cold boiled beef; and by so doing, put a stop to their altercation, as they all fell to as if they had not eaten a morsel that day, though they had dined very heartily upon a fillet of veal, and a gammon, and despatched a large quantity of strong beer, with a pot of tea, and several plates of bread and butter. The present refreshment put them into a tolerable humour, the mother of the twins took them by turns to the breast, while the father of them sat down in the corner of the room to rest himself till the rain Avas over. When he had began to think of setting off for the capital, the huge waisted lady said to his wife in a whisper, " if you will lend me enough to discharge the reckoning, I will treat in return next Sunday." The curious trio above mentioned having thoroughly lin- ed their insides, set out on foot, and became quite re- gardless of their outsides ; but their expenses had been so heavy, and the reparations of the damages 41? 386 which their clothes had sustained made such breaches in their pockets, that they were obhged, not only to work harder than usual during the follow- ing week, but to deny themselves some of the lowest necessaries of life ; yet all their labour and economy could not enable them to make another excursion when the next vSunday arrived ; and as that Sunday happened to be a remarkable fine one, they spent it in quarrelling, because they could not enjoy it by abusing it. ANECDOTE. A gentleman called one morning upon a lady of his acquaintance ; after paying his respects, he discovered she appeared rather serious ; he desired to know the cause of her being thus pensive ; the lady replied, sir you mistake the matter totally, for on the contrary, I was just meditating of the happiness of being an American; and observed that she had always under- stood that the British government had been remarked for its mildness and utility of laws; but here, she said, she must confess, that she found nothing of that kind in them ; and turning to the gentleman with a flirt of her fan and a kind of a sneer, asked him what he thought of the Newfoundland bill ? It appeared to her, she said, like commencing hostilities before a declaration, which would pass well enough from one nation against another where injuries had been received, but 387 lo sulTer such a law to operate without the least pre- vious notice, to the manifest prejudice of the subject, was exceedingly cruel, and, in her opinion, enough to tarnish any British senate whatever. The American system, she said, was a very different one, for all uni- ted in one common cause to promote the interest of one another, and acted upon different principles as free and independent sons of liberty. The gentle- man advised her not to exult too much, and recom- mended her being a little more cautious in expressing her sentiments so freely, telling her, as she resided in a British government, and under the immediate pro- tection and favour of its laws, he thought less free- dom of speech Avould best suit her interest, lest that government, which she was exclaiming against, should undertake to seize her; she laughed very heartily at the gentleman's observation, and said she admired his idea of protection and favour under the British laws ; there were few, she believed, if any, who could boast of that, and as to her own part, she thanked him for his kind advice, though she had nothing to fear, for she was legally registered^ and navigated according to law, and therefore defied any person seizing her ; no, not even the admiral himself, much less any of his captains. REWARD OF VILLANY. A poor French cottager, who had a few pounds left him, and whose wife lay in, was obliged to go to Aix on business. In the way he met with an old ac- 388 quaintance, whom he informed of the legacy, desiring also that he would call at home, and purchase for his wife such things as she might want. When he en- tered the cottage, after the customary salutations, he asked the woman for the money. She replied, that they being very poor, could ill spare it, but if he was in real necessity, she would lend it to him. He return- ed for answer, he meant not to borrow, but to take it for his own use. It was in vain for a person in her condition to expostulate with a villain, she therefore pointed to the cupboard, and he took it : then turning to her, said, " this is not all — you must prepare for death, and choose whether you will be burned, poi- soned, or hanged." The woman was amazed at the cruelty and bar- barity of the man's proposal, and beseech ed him to go away, solemnly declaring that she would sooner die than discover the robber to her husband ; he be- haved resolute and determined ; and she, forced at last to accept the horrible choice, preferred hanging. The villain immediately retired to a little out-house, taking with him a cord and a stool, upon w^hich he stood to fasten the cord to a cross beam. Whilst he was making the noose, the stool slipped from under him, and his right hand was caught in the noose, and held him suspended. She, affrighted and terrified at the villain's horrid voice, screamed so very loud as to be heard by some distant cottagers, who came to her relief. To them she related the above story ; they went to the out-house immediately, where they saw him suspended ; they took him down and carried him to Aix, where he was tried and broke upon the wheel. 389 TRAGICAL ACCOUNT OF A COURTEZAN OF BRABANT WHO MURDERED HER HUSBAND. About ten years ago, M. cle la Place, returning to business after a month's absence, had his carriage stopt, between the hours of twelve and one in the day, by a great concourse of people, the officers of justice being then conducting a criminal to execution. But how great was his surprise to see a young wo- man, about eight and twenty, tall, well made, and of so fine a figure, that even the remembrance of her crime could not prevent its interesting every specta- tor in her favour, who, to complete the singularity of her appearance, was habited in a kind of pantaloon or hussar dress of white satin. It was easily to be imagined he endeavoured to procure information concerning the crimes she had committed, and the strange dress in which she was to suffer punishment. " I am able to satisfy your curiosity in both these particulars," said one of the officers of justice, "for I was present at her trial in the first court, the sentence of which was yesterday confirmed by the sovereign council of Brabant. " No sooner was her arraignment read, than she ad- dressed the judge in a resolute, though decent man- ner. 'To shorten the proceedings,' said she, 4he tediousness of which is worse to me than death, con- descend, my lord, to hear my history ; you will find me to conceal nothing but my birth, which secret, however unimportant to you, no tortures shall force from me. 590 ^ I was not more than sixteen years of age, when, af- ter having been the victim of seduction, of which there are but few similar examples, I arrived in Paris under a feigned name. In this situation, the people into whose hands 1 fell plunged me into many scenes of guilt and misery, from which I could never afterwards expect to emerge, as my inexperience and friendless state seemed to preclude all hope. ' After having passed through all the varieties of a life, no less wretched than culpable, the particulars of w4rich are but too easily imagined, I was attacked by a malady rendered more formidable by want. A man of the low^er rank of people, I mean one of the coachmen of the deceased prince of Conti, and the only man whom I ever really loved, offered me as- sistance : and, by his means, I was restored to the en- joyment of a life which I vowed to dedicate entirely to my preserver. ^ To complete my good fortune, a lottery ticket, which produced me ten thousand livres (four hundred guineas) enabled me to prove my gratitude tow^ards my lover ; and the passion we conceived for each other increased to such a degree, that we determined to renounce forever our mutual irregularities, 'and unite ourselves by an eternal and sacred bond, which we solemnly swore so to venerate, that whoever should first be proved to have violated it, the life of the violator should be forfeited to the vengeance of the other. ' I dare even affirm, my lord, nor could the deceased himself deny it, that from that moment this duty be- - 391 came my pleasure, though the return of my health procured me more than one temptation, which were rendered still more artful and ardent by my inflexi- ble refusal. ' We were both unspeakably happy, and enjoyed that kind of mediocrity which placed us above w' ant ; nor did any thing diminish our felicity, till the death of the prince, whom my husband served, suddenly deprived us of half our little revenue. ^ Soon after, however, count , to whom my hus- band had formerly been a servant, offered to procure him the place of second coachman to his royal high- ness prince Charles ; we determined, therefore, to set out for Brussels, where I employed what money w^e still possessed in a little business, while we waited the issue of the flattering promises of the count. 'But idleness, that dreadful source of every vice, and the want of amusement, having allured my husband into the petty pubhc houses of the suburbs, the report of an inconstancy, of which he had been guilty, be- coming known to me, reduced me to such a condition that my life was despaired of. ' His repentance, however, appeared so sincere, that, after'having reminded him, with some vehemence, of our covenant, I suff*ered myself to be prevailed on to grant him a pardon ; declaring, at the same time, if I found him false again, nothing should prevent my taking ample vengeance. Alas ! the faithless man again proved guilty, and I had again the virtue to forgive his inconstancy. " Having learned, however, a short time after, that 392 he not only had repeated his treacheryj but that, after having robbed me of what money and trinkets I had, he and my rival intended to set off for Paris by night, nothing could appease my rage, or prevail on me to defer my revenge* ^ I gratified it that same night, during his first sleep, and employed his own sword as my instrument. ' I might easily have effected my escape ; I had at least four hours before me ; and as I had, with this view, sent away my servant, i might have been at a great distance from Brussels before my crime could have been known. ' But as soon as I saw my husband's blood pouring from his wound, the blood of a man for whom, two months before, I would gladly have shed every drop of my own, seized with horror, I fainted, and only re- covered my senses to see him expire in my arms. ' Laying hold, therefore, of the bloody instrument of my revenge, I resolved to bury it in my own bosom ; but, no, said I, the punishment is too mild ; the most lingering and cruel tortures are insufficient to expiate my crime. ' You know the rest, my lord,' continued she, ad- dressing her Judge : ' Avithout swemng from my reso- lution, which seemed in some measure to mitigate the dreadful torments of remorse, I refused to quit the body till separated from it by the officers of justice, whom I now only implore to hasten the punishment due to my most horrid offence.' " I confess, sir," continued the officer, " that no- thing ever affected me more forcibly than the con- 393 fession of thife woman, and it interested me ^ much, desirous to see whether she would manifest the same firmness in the presence of the council of Brabant, when she came, as the expression is in that country, to demand her sentence, I went thither yesterday morning, an hour, at least, before she was brought before her judges. " To the great astonishment of the assembly, she still preserved the same resolution, till she heard her- self condemned to the wheel. But then, with a pier- cing cry which penetrated our very souls, and with language at once expressive of indignation and sur- prise. ^ The wheel!' said she, 'the wheel! Do you forget, gentlemen, I am a woman ?^ ' Such,' said they, ' is appointed by the law of the emperor Charles the fifth, for those convicted of the crime that you have committed.' 'Barbarous man ! Ah ! had I known this !' ex- claimed she in a voice almost stifled with passionate sobbing. " But, recovering herself a moment after, ^ I ask par- don, gentlemen, there is iio kind of torment or dis- grace which I do not well deserve. Permit me only — and 1 will undergo my sentence with resignation — permit me only to appear on the scaffold in such a dress that my person may not be indecently exposed to the spectators.' " Her request was granted, and she returned thanks to her judges with much humility. " She was then taken back to prison, where she in- 50 594 stantly sent for a taylor, to make her a habit, in which you have just seen her led towards the scaffold." An hour after M. de la Place saw her, she suffered with the most heroic fortitude. HORRID INSTANCE OF DEPRAVITY. A green-grocer, whose name we shall forbear to mention, in pity to his unfortunate family, and wh© lived lately in the neighbourhood of Paddington, me- ditated, a few days ago, the destruction of his wife and children by poison ; but by the most singular in- terposition of providence, the diabolical wretch fell a victim to his own snare. To carry this unnatural scheme into effect, he pur- chased a leg of mutton, over which he rubbed a large quantity of arsenic, and sent it home to his wife, de- siring that she should dress the joint for the family dinner, as he could not return till night. The wife being a frugal woman, did not dress the meat, but dined with the children, on bread and cheese, of which she informed the monster, who seemed extremely disappointed. The next day he said that he should go out early to market, desiring that a beef steak should be provided for his dinner, but that the family must have the mutton, which he wished to have cold for his supper. .The wife obeyed — when the wretch having eat heartily of the steak, asked her in what it was fried, % 395 us he thought it had a peculiar taste. The wife, strictly adhering to her economical plan, said, that instead of butter she had used the fat of the niutton, when the wretch instantly replied, ^'then I am a dead man, for I am poisoned." In a few hours afterwards he died in the most excruciating torture. It is gene- rally understood that the wretch had formed a con- nexion with some loose woman of the town, who probably suggested this plan of extirpating his family, that she might have the entire of his property, which is not inconsiderable. AN INGENIOUS WAY OF RAISING MONEY. About thirty years back, two young fellows, bro- thers, went to Jamaica ; they were by trade black- smiths. Finding, soon after their arrival, that they could do nothing without a little money to begin with, but that with sixty or seventy pounds, they might be able, with the aid of that and industry, to make a fortune, they hit upon the following novel and ingenious expedient. One of them stripped the other naked, shaved him close, and blackened him from head to foot. The ceremony being performed, he took him to one of the negro dealers, who, after viewing and ap- proving, advanced (he being a fine stout young fel- low) eighty pounds currency upon the bill of sale, and prided himself much upon the purchase, suppos- ing him the finest negro on the island. 390 • The same evening this new manufactured negro made his escape to his brother; washed himself clean, and resumed his former appearance. Rewards were in vain offered in handbills ; pursuit was eluded, and discovery, by care and precaution, rendered im- practicable. The brothers, with the money, commenced busi- ness, and actually returned to England, not many years since, with a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. Previous, however, to their departure from the isl- and, they waited upon the gentleman of whom they had received the money, and recalling the circum- stance of the negro to his recollection, paid him prin- cipal and interest, with thanks. This story is well known and attested in the island. RESIGNATION. A certain gendeman (who has not been long dead) was so resigned to, and dependant on the will of pro- vidence, that, whatever accident happened to him, he not only said, but thought it was all for the better. He was going from Ireland to England, when step- ping into the packet boat, the entering rope broke, he fell into the pinnace, and shattered his leg : "Well," said the honest gentleman, " it is all for the better," which was his constant expression. His friend asked him how he could think breaking his leg, and the loss af his voyage, which might be followed by that of a 397 suit in chancery lie was going to attend, could be for the better! " Providence," replied he, "knows best. I am still of opinion it is for the better." He was carried back ; the packet boat sailed, foundered on her passage, and but one man was saved. INDIAN RETALIATION. About forty years ago, when these Americans did not know the Europeans, a traveller penetrated into their country, made them acquainted with fire arms, and sold them muskets and gunpowder: they went a hunting and got great plenty of game, and of course many furs. Another traveller went thither some time after, with ammunition ; but the Indians being still provided, did not care to bargain with the French- man, who invented a very odd trick in order to sell his pow'der, without much troubling his head w ith the consequences that might result from this imposture, to his countrymen. He thought he had done a great action in deceiving these poor people. As the Indians are naturally curious, they w ere de- sirous of knowing how powder, which they call grain, was made in France. The traveller made them be- lieve that it w^as sown in savannas, and that they had crops of it as of indigo or millet in America. The Missouris were pleased with the discovery, and sowed all the gunpowder which they had left, which obliged them to buy that of the Frenchman, who got a considerable quantity of beaver skins for it, and 398 afterwards went down the river, to the Illinois, where M. de Tonti commanded. The Missoiiris went from time to time to see the savanna, to see if the powder was growing ; they had placed a guard there to hinder the wild beasts from spoiling the field ; but they soon found out the French- man's trick. It must be observed that the Indians can be deceived but once, and they always remember it. Accordingly, they were resolved to be revenged upon the first Frenchman that should come to them. Soon after, the hopes of profit excited the traveller to send his partner to the Missonris with goods proper for commerce; the Indians soon found out that the Frenchman was associated with the man who had imposed upon them ; however, they dissembled, the trick which his predecessor had played. They gave him ihe public hut, which was in the middle of the village, to deposit his bales in. When they w^ere all laid out to view, the Missouris came in confusedly, and all those who had been foolish enough to sow gunpowder, took away some goods ; so the poor Frenchman was rid of all his bales at once, but with- out any equivalent from the Indians. He complained much of these proceedings and laid his grievance before the great chief, who answered him very gravely, that he should have justice done him ; but for that purpose he must wait for the gunpowder harvest, his subjects having sown that commodity by the ad- vice of his countryman, and that he might believe, upon the word of a sovereign, that after the harvest was over, he would order a general hunt, and that all 399 ihe skins of wild beasts that should be taken would be given him in return for the important secret which had been taught them. EXTRAORDINARY LOVE LETTER, From Peter Plainman to Miss Priscilla Prudish. Madam — I am a little afraid you and I shall never come together. There is that expectation of flattery about you that 1 cannot bear — ^yet as I love you well enough to be honest — a bold word that — I will once for all speak my mind, and I desire your attention. I believe I do not admire you or value you for any one of those charms for which you admire and value yourself. I do not, for instance, pay any adoration to the present brightness of your eyes, because I am so strange a fellow as to consider them philosophically. I write in honest prose, madam ; and therefore in honest prose I tell you, that those same balls of ethereal beauty, those same love-darting mirrors, are at best two pieces of ordinary clay varnished. The varnish, I allow, is good, and well put on ; but what of all this ? I am not such a short-sighted, amorous puppy, but I can look forward a little beyond the length of my liose, to the time when the gloss will all be worn away ; when the japan of nature will be utterly gone, and the devil a spark of fire will you have about you. Some time ago, I remember you showed me, in a great air of triumph, a paper scrawl- 400 ed upon by some florid puppy of your acquaintance* who swore, in very sorry verses, that your cheeks threw into utter despair ail the hlies and roses in the creation; your skin too was, if I recollect, polished marble ; the veins were compared to the azure of the third heaven, and the colour was whiter than alabas- ter. 'Tis a lie, Priscilla, 'tis a lie ; I never saw a pair of cheeks in my life that were fairer than a lilly, nor a pair of lips that were redder than a rose. As to alabastar, I will take upon me to say, there never was a woman's skin half so white in the whole world ; and I should be very glad to see a complexion so well polished as a piece of Egyptian marble. 1 am per- fectly sensible to handsome features ; I like to see the proper proportions of red and white ; I am very well pleased Avith a sparkling pair of eyes ; but I have no idea of calling any of these what they are not, nor of comparing them with objects to which they have no likeness whatever. For instance now, your bosom is said to be purer than the driven snow : if that is not carrying the jest as far as it will go, I don't know what is. As to features, skin, complexion, &c. they are so truly things of to-day, that if I was a woman, I should be afraid to put any trust in them. They have more enemies than the ever persecuted have. I could recount such a catalogue as would make " Your hair to stand an end, " Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." Go into your garden — fix your attention on the fairest flower ; take care that it is in the luxuriance of its 401 bloom. Did you ever behold tints more exquisite, scollops more exact, colours better mixed, or beauties better varied ? Now leave it. Pay it a second visit to-morrow morning. What are you surprised at ? — That a flower should fade ! A shght blast of wind in the night hath wholly destroyed it ; the tints are dead ; the colours are faded ; the beauty is no more. Step now to your toilette. Indeed, Priscilla, you arc very pretty : what a face, what an air, what a shape ! In the evening one of the thousand enemies of hand- some features overtakes you, and your second visit to the mirror shows — an ugly woman. I would not have you fix too violent a dependance upon features. Nor do I, Priscilla, estimate you according to your w^ealth : Certain it is, old Prudish, your father, left you rich ; but I wish you were not so fascinated with these possessions. I think there is under all your false ideas a good heart; 'tis this, Priscilla, which draws me towards you. I know we should live very happy- together if you would but comply with my terms — They are neither difiicult nor various : First, break your looking glass ; secondly, turn all your poets out of doors ; thirdly, throw their verses into the fire ; and, lastly, make a solemn vow never to trust in meta- phors and comparisons, two cursed things which have done more injury to young women than libertinism itself. What say you ? Will you agree to these con- ditions, and take to your bosom, without either lace on his coat, poetry in his head, or puppyism at his heart, Yours, 8ic. P. P . 51 402 A GUILTY CONSCIENCE ITS OWN PUNISHMENT, A Prussian peasant accompanied some of his com- panions to the house of a fellow who assumed the character of a fortune-teller ; and having disobliged him, by expressing a contempt of his art, the fellow, out of revenge, prophesied that this man should die on a scaffold. This seemed to make little impression at the time, but afterwards 'recurred often to this unhappy creatures memory, and became every day more troublesome to his imagination. At length the idea haunted his mind so incessantly that he was rendered perfectly miserable, and could no longer endure life. He would have put himself to death with his own hands, had he not been deterred by the opinion, that God Almighty never forgives suicide ; though upon repentance he is very ready to pardon every other crime. He resolved, therefore, to commit murder, that he might be deprived of life by the hand of jus- tice ; and mingling a sentiment of benevolence with the cruelty of his intention, he reflected, that if he murdered a grown person, he might possibly send a soul to hell. To avoid this, he determined to murder a child, who could not have committed sin which de- served damnation, but dying in innocence, would go immediately to heaven. In consequence of these ideas, he actually murdered an infant of his master's, for whom he had always shown an uncommon degree of fondness. Such was the strancre account that this 403 infatuated creature gave on his trial ; and thus the random prophesy proved, as in many other cases, the cause of its own completion. He was executed about two miles from Berlin. As soon as he ascended the scaffold, he took off his coat and waistcoat ; his shirt was rolled down below his shoulders ; his night cap was pulled over his eyes ; he w as placed on his knees, and the executioner, with a single stroke of a broad sword, severed his head from his body. It was the first time this executioner had performed; there w^e re two others of the same trade on the scaffold, who exhibited an instance of insensibility more shocking than the execution. While the man's head rolled on the scaffold, and the arte- ries of the trunk poured out their blood, those men, with the gayest air imaginable, shook their brother by the hand, wished him joy, and clapping him on the back, congratulated him on the dexterous and ef- fectual manner in which he had performed his office. THE REAL PHILOSOPHER, In the suburbs of St. Marcel, where poverty reigns, a spotted fever cut down the people by hundreds. The confessors laboured night and day ; the arms of the grave diggers failed ; the hearse rolled from door to door, and was never empty. A reinforcement of priests were called in to assist the dying. A vene- rable capuchin entered a low hovel, where one of the 404 victims of contagion suffered ; an old man in dirty rags lay dying ; a bundle of straw serving him for a covering and a pillow^. Not a moveable, not a chair was in the house — he had sold all during the first days of his sickness for a little broth — and on his naked wall hung an axe and a saw. This was his whole possession, except the strength of his arms, which he was not able to lift up. " Take courage, my friend," said the confessor, " it is a great blessing God bestows on you to-day. You are going to depart from a world where you know nothing but misery." " But misery !" replied the dy- ing man with a feeble voice ; " you are mistaken ; I have lived contented, and never complained of my lot. I never knew hatred nor envy. My sleep was tran- quil. I laboured in the day, but I rested at night — the instruments which you see procured me bread, which I have eaten with pleasure. I never envied the table of the rich — I have observed the rich to be more subject to diseases than their neighbours. I was always poor, but never was sick until now. If I recover health, which I do not expect, I will return to labour, and continue to bless the hand of God which has hitherto cared for me." The astonished comforter knew not well what tone to take ; he could not reconcile the miserable thatch with the language of him who lay on it — recovering himself, he said, ^' my son, though this life has not been unpleasant to you, you must nevertheless resolve to quit it ; for we owe submission to God's will." ^' Without doubt," repUed the dying man, with a 405 lirm tone of voice and composed countenance, " all the world must pass in their turn. I have known how to live ; I know how to die. I thank God for giving me life, and conducting me through it to him- self. I feel the moment approach — adieu, my father." This is the death of a pious christian. APPLE DUMPLINGS. An old woman, on a Sunday, was making dumplings, when two of her grand sons came to see her, and being merrily inclined, conveyed some quick silver into the dough while her back was turned, and then took their leave. The old woman left the cooking to the care of her grand daughter, and went herself to church, charging her to be careful, and skim the pot, in which was to be boiled the dumplings and the mutton ; the girl was very careful to watch when the pot boiled, when taking off the cover, out jumped a dumpling, which she instantly put in again, Avhen out flew another, and ancfther after that, which so terrified the girl, that she ran with all speed to the church ; the old woman, seeing her come in, held up her hand, shook her head, winked at her, as much as to say begone ! at last the girl cried out, before the whole congrega- tion, " all your nodding and winking does not signify, for the leg of mutton has beat the dumplings out of the pot." This caused much laughing ; and her two grand sons, being then on their knees, saw plainly the pleasing effect of their experiment. But tricks played 406 W with quicksilver should be managed with great care^ as it is a very dangerous amusement. LUDICROUS ANECDOTE. A certain major H. a rich planter in the state of Virginia, was famous for his hospitality, and no less noted for the drollery which he frequently practised on strangers, who often lodged at his house. One evening a gentleman, passing through that part of the country, who was informed of the major's character, determined to halt there until the next morning. He accordingly stopped, and the humourist received him with his usual politeness. After the tea table was re- moved, and they had conversed for some time on dif- ferent subjects, the major asked the traveller if he could dance — the other answered in the negative ; but H. pretended to impute this answer to the stran- ger's modesty, insisted, in the politest manner possi- ble, that he must certainly be an adept in the accomplishment, and assured him that he should be highly gralified in seeing a specimen of his skill. The gentleman, much surprised at his host's importu- nity, obstinately persisted in denying the least knowledge of dancing, while Mr. H. strenuously in- sisted on the contrary. He then ordered his negro boy to bring in his fiddle, and requested his guest to gratify him in dancing a reel ; but the stranger beg- ged to be excused. The major, having repeated his desires to see the gentleman dance, and finding he 407 could not prevail upon him by entreaty, suddenly drew a pistol from his pocket, and presented it to the breast of the astonished traveller, swearing he must either instantly obey him, or he w^ould discharge its contents into his body. The stranger, seeing the ma- jor's resolution, was terrified into a compliance, and the music striking up, he fell to dancing with the greatest gravity imaginable, cursing the humour of his host from the bottom of his heart. Having exercised himself in this ridiculous manner (to the no small di- version of his host) till he was much fatigued, he was about to sit down ; but his tormentor, not yet satisfied with the fun, presented his pistol a second time, assuring the dancer his performance had hi- therto afforded so much entertainment, that he must continue it till further orders. The poor intimidated stranger, seeing the earnestness with which his mis- chievous host repeated his demand, began again, till extreme fatigue compelled him to beg a momentary respite. The major was inexorable, and compelled his panting guest to a further exercise of his limbs, till he was so far exhausted by fatigue that he could scarcely move. The major being at length fully satis- fied with the fu7i, liberated his prisoner about twelve o'clock at night, and retired from the room, leaving his pistol on the table. The instant the major was out of sight, the traveller took possession of the pis- tol, examined it, and found that it was not charged. — He was doubly initated when he found that he had been so completely duped, and instantly resolved to retaliate on his entertainer in a naanner he little ex- urn pected ; he therefore charged the pistol with povv- der and ball, which he happened to have about him, and on the major's return, the guest requested to be gratified in his turn ; but the major with great good humour observed that it was rather late for further diversion ; and desired his guest to retire to bed.— - " Sir," said the other, with great sang froid, " I insist on your dancing ;" the major still excused himself ; but his guest presenting the pistol at him, command- ed him to begin instantly, or abide by the conse- quence. The major, imagining the pistol was un- loaded, smiled at his threat, and w^as going off ; " Stop, sir," said the stranger, " do not think to. escape with impunity : you must know^ that I have charged the pis- tol, and by G — d you must either instantly obey, or ex- pect the consequence." He accordingly cocked the pistol, evincing a determined resolution to execute his threats, if not instantly obeyed — the major, seeing, by the resentment that sparkled in the eyes of his guest, he was in earnest, proceeded to action as soon as possible. The poor negro, who had not enjoyed a minutes rest from seven till twelve o'clock, thought the sport had ended with the first dance ; but the gentleman, after bestowing a few curses on him for his laziness, ordered him to play a brisk tune for his master, who was desirous of trying his skill next. The musician alleged in vain his fatigue, and being repeatedly ter- rified with threats of immediate death if he did not proceed, he played as hard as he could, while his master was obliged to submit to this musical disci- 409 pline. He kept the poor major most sweatingly to work till break of day, Avhen he ordered his horse to be brought, and in the mean time con- fined him as close to his work as ever. His horse being ready, the traveller prepared to mount, when the almost breathless major insisted on his staying to breakfast, assuring him he had never met with an equal match before, and he should think himself hap- py in a further acquaintance with the gentleman ; but the traveller doubting the sincerity of his host's professions, thanked him very politely, and assured him that his kindness had already laid him under ob- ligations he should not very soon forget ; then dis- charging the pistol at the door, he pursued his jour- ney with aching bones, but not a little pleased with having paid his host so well for his night's entertain- ment. THE STORM. It is dark, and a silent gloom pervades the face of heaven and earth, that makes my soul expand to such a magnitude, as if it would burst the very bosom which contains it. All is silent ! Fear takes posses- sion of my mind ; when, from an angry cloud, the liquid flames flash forth with terrible sublimity, darting from heaven to earth, and from earth to heaven, with such repeated swiftness, blazing expansive through the heaven's high vaults, then on a sudden vanish- 410 ing ! On rolls the distant thunder — solemnly sub- lime, and with the peeling rain and howhng wind^ approaches nearer ; between each peal out flashes the sulphureous flame, illumining the rushing cataract with its light ; succeeded by a crash most horrible, which shakes the verj earth to its centre ! Once more a sombre gloom spreads over the face of nature — again all is terror and confusion. SINGULAR MEMOIRS OF PAT O CONNOR. Pat O'Connor, who never boasted of his family, as they had been all buried in obscurity, having expe- rienced the many heart-achs of being out of employ, and sometimes the many belly-fulls of being in a good service ; after this round of ups and downs, at last en- gaged himself with an English gentleman at Cork, who was then about leaving Ireland. The day of departure came — Pat took leave of his friends and country; while his conjectures on his new master engaged his present thoughts. He soon became acquainted with London, as well as the intrigues and roguery of his employer, who having been the son of a late respectable citizen, thought he could never spend a small sum that had been left him too soon or extravagantly. A young lady near Windsor having attracted his notice, he was resolved, in his general phrase, to have her, notwithstanding she had already testified her dis- 411 approbation of his addresses, as well as her dishke to his person : this, however, instead of discouraging, provoked our volatile youth to meditate a design of ruining her ; for though his partiahty for ladies was great, yet marriage seldom entered his head. Her uncle, with whom she lived, being a strange character, that received the company of every one who boasted of his parentage and lineage, he deem- ed it an easy task to ingratiate himself in his favour. To accomplish this, however, he dared not to acknow- ledge himself the son of a citizen, as that would to- tally mar his designs, and defeat his purpose with the old gentleman. He w^as, therefore, resolved to dress up Pat O'Connor in great style, and introduce him as an Irish baronet, being his supposed uncle, whom he intended to instruct, and enable to puff off his un- known family. The project delighted poor Pat, who was highly pleased with the thoughts of becoming a gentleman. He promised to expatiate upon the ex- cellence of his birth, and inform the young lady's uncle of the large estate which he would givehim. The day was accordingly fixed, and Pat was introduced as a man of consequence and fortune. The mock hero now strutted about with assumed state and airs ; the old gentleman, on account of his supposed rank, received him with the greatest cordi- ality, and begged to know who the young gentleman*s father was. " Why my brother," cries Pat, " my brother, do ye see, was a very good sort of a gentleman, but not al- together as handsome as me." " And pray, sir, what fortune do you intend to give your nephew ?" 412 " What fortune ? — why 'faith and troth, honey, it's hard for me to say, when I don't know the extent of it myself." " Is it in lands, sir ?" " Lands — oh, aye-^ it's in the Comb — the Pottlehole — Pll give him a bit of the Liberty — a scrap or two of Meath-street — a few yards of Donny Brook, and — " '^ Why, sir, I never heard of such estates." " No ; then you were never in sweet Dublin." '^ I have heard many expatiate upon its beauties ; indeed, from the traveller's account, one may be apt to think it was the promised land, that overflowed with milk and honey." ^- Milk and honey!" exclaims Pat, " oh honey ! oh, that's a singular union indeed !— why you mean milk and potatoes, you fool." The similarity of names did not agree with the fa- mily pride of the old gentleman ; of course a quarrel ensued ; Pat swearing by St. Patrick that he was as good as he ; and in order to prove it, called out for his master. The sound of master alarmed the old gentleman, but it did not in the least confound Pat, who recollect- ing himself, put it off with — " why, aye, did I not tell you I would make him master of the comb and pot- tlehole.'' The master appeared, and as his servant was ge- nerally going beyond the bounds, he applied a sly pinch in order to remind him of his duty — Pat gave a sudden roar, and swore, in a terrible manner, if he did that again he would divulge all. ^^ AU what ?" cries the uncle " " Why what's that ^ 41S to you r" rejoins Pat. " Must you know every thing, you old rogue ?" — ''Rogue ! sir, consider my family.'' It was with the greatest difficulty the young gen- tleman could restore peace and harmony, which at last he did, by assuring him, that in his country, rogue was an appellation of honour. " Oh yes,'' exclaims Pat, " we gentlemen are all rogues — but search the world through, there are not more honest rogues than the sons of Tipperary." The last scheme was to deceive the young lady. Pat was informed, that he must personate a chaplain, in order to give a mock ceremony, that miss might be deluded by a supposed private marriage. Our Irish hero was left alone to consider, and seeing the young lady at a distance, flew to meet her, and discovered the whole design. "He wants to make a gentleman in black of me, honey, but may the black gentleman seize me, if I wrong so much innocence." By this honest confession, the lady's honour was pre- served. In token of her gratitude, she persuaded her guardian uncle to take Pat (who w as accordingly dis- missed by his master) into his service, which place oqr son of Tipperary still retains, being honoured by his fellow servants, both for his birth and lineage. DELICATE BENEVOLENCE. Two young ladies of a distinguished family, in the city of Anch in France, were so far reduced in life as 414 to be compelled to gain their subsistence, with the greatest difficulty, by the labour of their hands. — Nothing was left of their once splendid fortunes, but some wretched furniture, and an old picture, of little value. The Archbishop of Anch having heard of their deplorable circumstances, instantly repaired to these unfortunate ladies, and being anxious to relieve them without wounding their delicacy, he said to them, with a smiling and affable air : " I am informed, ladies, that you have in your apartment a most valuable picture. I see it. It is by the hand of a great master. It particularly pleases me, and if it be not too great a favour, I would entreat you to part with it for a pension of one hundred louis, which shall commence this moment. 1 have brought the first year in advance." BUMOROUS INSTANCE OF STRONG SUPERSTITIOUS CREDULITY. A widow lady at Paris, aged about sixty-five, who lodged in a two pair of stairs floor, in the Reu de la Ferronerie, with only a maid servant, was accustom- ed to spend several hours every day before the altar dedicated to St. Paul, in a neighbouring church.— Some villains observing her extreme bigotry, resolved, as she was , known to be very rich, to share her wealth. One of them, accordingly, took the opportu- nity to conceal himself behind the carved work of the 415 altar ; and when no person but the old lady was there, in the dusk of the evening, he contrived to throw a letter just before her. She took it up, and not per- ceiving any one near her, supposed it came by a miracle. In this she was the more confirmed, when she saw it signed, Paul the Apostle ; he expressed the satisfaction he received by her prayers addressed to him, when so many newly canonized saints engross- ed the devotion of the world, and robbed the primi- tive saints of their wonted adoration : and to show his regard for the devotee, he promised to come down from heaven with the angel Gabriel, and sup with her at eight in the evening. It seems scarcely credi- ble that any one could be deceived by so gross a fraud ; yet to what length of credulity will not super- stition carry a weak mind ? The infatuated lady be- lieved the whole, and rose from her knees in trans- port, to prepare an entertainment for her heavenly guests. The supper being bespoke, and the side-board set out to the best advantage, she thought that her own plate, worth about four hundred pounds, did not make so elegant an appearance as might be wished : and therefore sent to her brother, a counsellor in the parliament of Paris, to borrow all his plate. The maid, however, was charged not to disclose the occa- sion ; but only to say that she had company to sup- per, and would be obliged to him if he would lend her his plate for the evening. The counsellor, surprised at the application, well knowing his sister's frugal life, began to suspect that she was enamoured of some 41G fortune-hunter, who might marry her, and thus de- prive his family of what he expected at his sister's death. He therefore positively refused to send the plate, unless the maid would tell him what guest« were expected. The girl, alarmed for her mistress's honour, declared that her pious lady had no thoughts of a husband ; but St. Paul having sent her a letter from heaven, promising that he and the angel Gabriel would sup with her, she wanted to make the enter*- tainment as elegant as possible. The counsellor immediately suspected that some villains had imposed on her ; and sending the maid with the plate, proceeded directly to the commissary of that quarter. On the magistrate's going with him to a house adjoining, they saw, just before eight o'clock, a tall man, dressed in long vestments, with a white beard, and a young man in white, with large wings at his shoulders, alight from a hackney coach, and go up to his sister's apartments. The commis- sary immediately ordered twelve of the police guards to post themselves on the stairs, while he knocked at the door, and desired admittance. The old lady re*^ plied, that she had company, and could not speak to any one. But the commissary answered, that he must come in, for that he was St. Peter, and had come to ask St. Paul and the angel Gabriel how they came out of heaven without his knowledge. The divine visitors were astonished at this, not expecting any more saints to join them ; but the lady, overjoyed at having so great an Apostle with her, ran eagerly to the door, when the commissary, her brother, and the 417 police guards, rushing in, presented their muskets, seized her guests, and carried thern to prison. On searching the criminal*, two cords, a razor, and a pistol, were found in St. Paul's pocket, and a gag in that of the angel Gabriel. Three days after, the trial came on, when they pleaded in their own de- fence, the one was a soldier in the French infantry, and the other a barber's apprentice ; that they had no other design than to procure a good supper at the widow's expense ; that it being carnival time, they had borrowed these dresses, and the soldier having picked up two cords, put them into his pocket ; that the razor was that with which he constantly shaved himself; that the pistol was to defend them from any insults to which their strange habits might expose them in going home: and that the barber's appren- tice, whose master was a tooth drawer, merely had the gag which they sometimes used in their business. These excuses, frivolous as they were, proved of some avail ; and as they had manifested no evil de- sign by any overt act, they were both acquitted. But the counsellor, who foresaw what might hap- pen through the defect of evidence, had provided another stroke for them. No sooner, therefore, were they discharged from the civil power, than the aparitor of the Archbishop of Paris immediately seized them, and conveyed them to the Ecclesiasti- cal prison. In three days more they were tried, and convicted of a scandalous profanation, by assuming to themselves the names, characters, and appearances of a holy apostle and a blessed angel, with intent