ºr n E
N E G R O
EQUALLED BY FEW
E U R O P E A N S.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
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fo WHICH ARE ADDED
POEMS on v ARIous SUBJECTS,
MORAL AND ENTERTAINING ;
By PHILLIs Whe Atley,
Negro Servant to MR. John WHEAT LEy, of Bos-
Tox, in NEw-ENGLAN p.
- IN TWO voluntES.
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- VOL. II.
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*HILADELPHIA :
Pºint ºn ex and for writt AM w. Woodware,
Nº. 17, Chessur Street.
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1891.
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N E G R o
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EQUALLED BY FEW
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E U R O P E A N S.
e—º-e
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An. this is the inſtant, ſaid I, to impart
to us the ſtory of your life. It cannot ſail
to be an inſtructive leſſon. All joined
their intreaties to mine. I conſent, ſaid
Bruno, as it may, at leaſt, ſerve to amuſe
you. It is a tiſſue of follies; but you will
not be ſurpriſed, ſince it is the life of a man
which Iam about to relate.
Birth, riches, honours, pleaſures, love,
theſe are the objects of men's felicity! I was
not an exception to the rule; they were
mine; and you will perceive how fragile
their baſe is.
I was born at Marſeilles of a family ren-
dered illuſtrious by a commerce of ſeven
hundred years, exerciſed without ſtain; *
-
-



+ ºr n e we c R. o.
mobility leſs ſhining than that of heroes, but
ſurely more uſeful, and whoſe title is not
fullied with the tears of humanity.
My mother died in giving me birth;
and, as I was the only fruit of their union,
my father laviſhed the whole affections of
his heart on me. Sufficiently rich, he quit-
ted commerce, and turned all his attention
to the care of my education.
Nature gave me a happy figure, the fiery
character of my countrymen, their ſwift
imagination, and all the ardour of their
paſſions. I would not have ſpoken thus of
my capacity, did I not think it a homage
due to my fellow citizens : know, then, I
was altogether a provencal; and that is to
ſay much.
At the time of my birth our commerce
with the Levant was on the decline. The
mean abilities of the conſuls diſtributed in
the ſea-ports there, was ſuppoſed to be the
cauſe. The chamber of commerce at Mar-
feifles caſt their eyes on my father, as a per-
ſon capable of repairing the evil. Such an
honour interfered with his views, but the
Hove of his country roſe ſuperior to his pri-
vate wiſhes. He was appointed to the
place of conſul at Smyrna. The king con-
firmed the nomination, and he prepared for
his departure.
Being too young to accompany him, my
father committed me to the care of a be-

* H E N E & R 0. º
loved friend; and having taken every pre-
caution which he thought would contribute
to my happineſs, he embarked for Smyrna.
My education was that of all the young
men of my condition and fortune, that is to
ſay, my talents were aſiduouſly cultivated,
and my morals neglected. They talked to
me of virtue and religion, becauſe they muſt
talk of them; but they dwelt on my future
riches, on the charms of my figure, and the
honours which awaited me.
Thus had I falſe notions of every thing.
I took reputation for virtue; enjoyment for
happineſs; and glory for my only aim.
At eighteen I was entirely formed, and
was the inhabitant of Marſeilles; that is to
ſay, I was ſufficiently corrupted. My fa-
ther was eager to ſee me: and the curioſity
of youth and yet more the reſpect paid my
father's rank, which I flattered myſelf to
partake, methis wiſhes. I was in haſte to
proceed to him. I departed, and was ſoon
in his arms.
The novelty of everything which was be-
fore my eyes, the honours which were paid
me, the firſt impreſſions of filial affection,
the pleaſures, the luxury of our modes of
life, theſe occupied all my deſightful mo-
ments ; and I paſſed ſix months iſ not haº-
Py at leaſt imagining myſelf to be ſo.
One morning, careleſsly walking without
A 2

6 - * If E N E G R os
objećt or motive, I accidentally entered the
place where ſlaves are expoſed to ſale. A
beautiful and elegant woman ſtruck my
fight. Her profound grief made an impreſ.
fion on my mind, which I had never before
felt. Forgetting her chains, I approached
her with all the reſpect that ſuffering beauty
can inſpire, and all the ardour of a paſſion
which is but juſt enkindled. I entered into
converſation with her. She informed me,
in bad French, that ſhe was an Hungarian
and a Chriſtian; and that her name was
W****ki; that ſhe had been unworthily
taken away by a merchant whom ſhe ſhewed
to me; and that ſhe now expected, in wretch-
edneſs and ſlavery, the completion of her
unhappy deſtiny.
Love embelliſhed, in my eyes, the aëti-
on which I was about to do, while I thought
I liſtened only to the voice of religion and
humanity. I accoſted the merchant, and he
offered me this ſlave for five hundred fe-
quins. I gave him ſome money as earneſt,
and ran home to bring the remainder of the
ſum. I returned, and gave it to the mer-
chant, led away the ſlave, and preſented her
to my father.
He had too much penetration not to per-
ceive my motives, were too virtuous to tole-
rate my irregularities, but too weak to op-
poſe himſelf to my pretended happineſs. If
this ſlave was of a diſtinguiſhed family, as
ſhe herſelf had ſaid, of pure manners, and
ºf the ſame religion, why diſdain ties which

* if E N E & R 0. 7
Providence ſeemed to have formed Was
he not rich enough to be indifferent as to
fortune; and ought not my happineſs to be
ſuperior to all other conſiderations It was
thus that my good father reaſoned. He
wrote into Hungary. The intelligence
which he received was to the advantage of
Elizabeth; and ſhe was no longer regarded
but as the woman deſtined to be my wife.
A profound diſfimulation, a heart with-
out principles, but aſſuming all the appear-
ance of virtue, an enormous ambition, all
the arts of refined coquetry, theſe compoſed
the chara&ter of Elizabeth. Such was the
woman from whom I looked for the happi-
neſs of my life, and who was formed to be
the torment of it.
I will not weary you with the detail of all
that my paſſion employed to gain her love.
Tyrannical in her caprices, ſhe had the art
to makeme paſs from uncertainty to deſpair,
and from deſpair to hope. By turns haugh.
ty, gracious, cold, tender, I found myſelf
after all my cares leſs certain of my fate tha
on the firſt day.
I had relied, for the ſucceſs of my paſ-
ſon, more on my perſonal accompliſhments
than on the qualities of the heart, of which
I knew not the advantages. The ſmall-pox
ſeized upon me, and in a few days I was at
an extremity.
Imagine my father's alarms, Every ef-

s * H E N & c. * 0.
fort was made to ſave me. Art and pater-
mal cares ſucceeded, and I was declared to
be out of danger. But what was my condi-
tion : My face, formerly engaging, now
ſcarred and hideous; my hand, which for-
merly ran with rapidity and grace over the
firings of the harp, now contracted by this
fatal malady; and, my whole perſon horri-
bly meagre . Behold the diſguſting form
which encloſed a heart that ſtill burnt with
love Alas, I thought I had loſt everything
which can merit the affection of a woman;
and the happineſs, which I placed in my
perſonal attractions, paſſed away as a ſhade.
I muſt now renounce, ſaid I, the hope of
being beloved ; but the conduct of Eliza-
beth chaſed from my mind this terrifying
idea.
Inexplicable woman! She laviſhed on
me, in my malady, the tendereſt attentions.
On my recovery, ſhe ſcarce ever quitted
me. She appeared no way diſguſted wih
my aſpect, but looked on me with eyes
full of tenderneſs. I aſcribed this to her
virtue, and thus ſhe became more dear to
ºne.
I had perfeótly recovered, when the grand
vizier, by order of the ſultan, made a tour
through the different cities of his empire, to
rečtify various abuſes.
Irahim was an exalted man, a great mi-
niſter, and the favourite of his maſter.
With a dignified perſon, he was good, mag-

* H E N E G ºr 0.
nificent, generous; poſſeſſed all that could
engage the attention of women, and merit
the eſteem of men. He was no longer in
his youth, but the character of his phy-
fiognomy had rather gained, than loſt, by
years. Alas! he is no more, and I cannot
yet refuſe tears to his memory !
He travelled with Aſiatic pomp ; and,
every where, attended him the honours due
to the ſecond perſon of the empire. At
Smyrna, the moſt ſuperb entertainments
were prepared for his amuſements, and my
father was affiduous to exceed all others as
well by the delicacy as the ſumptuouſneſs
of that which he gave him. Regulated
agreeable to the French manner, it could
not fail to be delicious to Ibrahim, both by
the taſte and the novelty of the ſcene. Wo-
men do not appear in Turkey at public feſ-
tivals; my father graced his with all the
European women at Smyrna, whoſe riches
or beauty could give ſplendour to the en-
tertainment.
Elizabeth was not forgotton : my love
embelliſhed her with all that luxury or art
could add to her charms; and my ſelf-love
congratulated itſelf, in ſecret, to behold her
the queen of her rivals.
Iºrahim, no leſs affable than great, obli-
gingly laying aſide oriental auſterity, ming-
led in the crowd at the ball; addreſſing him-
ſelf with politeneſs to the Women ; con-
verſed familiarly with the men, ſpoke to
Elizabeth, (but without particularly diſtin-

Io ºr n > N E G R or
guiſhing her from others); and did not
withdraw till four in the morning: when
he delicately aſſured my father that he pla–
ced a price on this entertainment ſuperior
to every other with which he had been ho-
noured. I had my ſhare in his attentions:
and, the next day, he did not forget me in
a magnificent preſent which he ſent to my
father.
He remained eight days longer at Smyrna,
during which time I did not perceive the
ſlighteſt difference in the conduct of Eliza-
beth. Falſe, with immoveable nerve, ſhe
preſerved to the laſt the perfidious art which
had inſnared me ; and never had ſhe ca-
reſſed her benefactor, her deliverer, her
lover, with ſuch tenderneſs as in the mo-
ment in which ſhe was about to abandon
him to deſpair -
In the evening preceding the day ap-
pointed for Ibrahim’s departure, my father
and I went to take our leave of him. He
received us at his public audience. After
the uſual ceremonies, we retired, and I
thought I had bade him an eternal adieu.
We returned to my father’s houſe. Eliza-
bºth was unuſually chearful, and this even-
ing was delicious to my ſoul. I waſted my
heart in love; and, drunk with pleaſure
and happineſs, I only quitted her to caſt
myſelf into the arms of ſleep.
My ſleep breathed the joy and tranquility
|

* ºf E N E G R 0- + 1
of my mind, and continued long beyond the
uſual hour of myriſing. I awoke; I loºked
at my watch: it was near ten. None of my
people had yet entered my chamber. I a-
roſe and went out, wondering at this neg-
ligence. I ſaw conſternation on every yi-
ſage. I queſtioned: they anſwered me with
ſtutters, but without giving me any infor-
mation. My firſt apprehenſions reſpected
my father; and I flew to his apartment.
He ſeemed to expect me. Tears were in
his eyes. He preſſed me to his heart, re-
mained ſome minutes without ſpeaking ;
then he ſaid, my ſon, this hour calls for a
little firmneſs of mind: yet, what loſe you?
an object unworthy of your cares . A def-
picable woman, undeſerving the honour
which you do her . Think no more of her:
Elizabeth flies you—flies into the arms of
Ibrahim 1
Ah my friends! Ah Honoria, Ferdinandº
You who know what love is—do you con-
ceive my condition? No: how ſhould you
judge of the agony of tumultuous paſſion,
by the purity of your own joy: Oh, what
fearful thoughts ſucceed each other in the
mind of a betrayed lover Nature, honour,
duty, reaſon, are loſt in the whirlwind ;
Man becomes a tiger! he would devour
the univerſe; he would devour himſelf:
My father had pity on my feelings. His
ardent affection tried every means which
he thought could calm my agitation. Love
was ſtronger than he , and hope was ſtill

1.2 * Fr E. N. E. G. r. o.
with me. I thought myſelf beloved, and
imagined that force only had placed her in
the power of my rival.
I wiſhed to be informed of the particulars
of this event; and, in deſpight of the proofs
of Elizabeth's perfidy, ſuch was my blind
attachment, that I ſtill believed her faith un-
ſtained.
My people had found the windows of her
chamber open, and a ladder of filk attached
to the balcony. There was no trace of vio-
lence ; no cries had been heard, to mark
her reſiſtance. It appeared that ſhe had
fled with the dreſs in which I had ſo much
admired her, on the preceding evening.
But, beſide, ſhe had taken nothing of all
that my fond heart had laviſhed on her.
So little ſuſpicion had any one of her flight,
that it would not have been perceived till
the uſual hour of her women’s attendance
in the morning, had not the vifier (who de-
parted at midnight to avoid the heat of the
day)diſpatched, when he was at the diſtance
of three leagues from Smyrna, an aga with
a letter addreſſed to me. It arrived about
fix in the morning. My father received it
and read it. He believed it not, till con-
vinced by flying to the apartment of Eliza-
beth: inſtantly he forbadany one to ſpeak to
me of it.
Cruel letter whoſe words were written
in blood on my heart: nor have ever been
effaced from it! Hear what they were:-

ºr ºf E N E G R 0. * 3
* Young Chriſtian,
Complain not of me; I have done you
no wrong. It was for the happineſs of man
that the Omnipotent created this amiable
ſex, who are ſubjected to our will. We
ought to be their protectors, not their ty-
rants. He has given us ſtrength, courage,
and virtue; to them he has given the pow-
er of charming us, and the right of chufing
a maſter. If Elizabeth has preferred me,
you ought not to lament her loſs, nor I ap-
plaud myſelf for the acquiſition. Deſtiny
has done all; and her choice was written
in the book of life before her charms had
appeared to our eyes. The univerſe is
open before you. For one woman that
you loſe, you may find a thouſand. Young,
accompliſhed, ſhew yourſelf, you will ſee
them at your feet. It is our's to love them:
it is theirs to ſeek us. I ſend two thouſand
£equins. It is your property which I render
you, and not the price of this ſlave: ſhe is
ineſtimable. May the right arm of the ſo-
vereign author of all, the puiſſant Maho-
met, ſhed upon you the perfume of his fa-
yours! Adieu !
“IBRAHIM, Vizier.”
The traitor cried I : his deſpicable gold
ſhall ſerve my vengeance! I will follow the
villain. I will periſh, or tear my unfortu-
nate over from his arms. My father, ter.
rified by this raſh idea, oppoſed it with pa-
ternal firmneſs. A deep melancholy ſeized
Vol. II. B

T4 ºf H E N E G R ºr
me; a burning fever ſucceeded ; and I was
at the gates of death. He ſaw himſelf, at
length, reduced to the neceſſity of ſacrificing
my life, or of yielding to the wildeſt deſign
which could enter into the mind of man. He
conſulted my phyſician, who declared that
my recovery depended abſolutely on his
compliance, and befought him to ſacrifice
prudence to his paternal tenderneſs.
My father flattered himſelf that the time
which my recovery would require, would ſo
long delay my departure, that ſome happy
circumſtance might ariſe which would lead
to a wifer reſolution ; and formally gave his
conſent to my enterprize. But love, jea-
louſy, revenge, wrought miracles. Before
the end of a month, my ſtrength was reſtor-
ed; and, a barbarous ſon, as well as a deliri-
ous lover—I abandoned a weeping father to
purſue an unfaithful miſtreſs.
In order to be leſs liable to ſuſpicion, I aſ-
fumed the Mahometan dreſs and manners ;
and, during an abode of two years at Smyr-
na, I had perfectly acquired the Turkiſh lan-
guage. My unfortunate father, cloſing his
eyes on my ingratitude—ſhall I ſay—forget-
ting his own duty, procured a commodious
veſſel for me, and furniſhed me with recom-
mendations, and conſiderable ſums of mo-
ney; the only means, in his power, of leſſen-
ing the danger to which I was expoſing my-
ſelf. -
He conjured me to liſten to the voice of

* In E. N. F. G. R. d. IS
prudence, and to be careful of myſelf, for his
take. He gave me his benediction; and
delivered me to my deſtiny, with the bitter-
eſt tears. Accompanied by two faithful
flaves, I embarked with a favourable wind,
and was ſoon far from Smyrna. -
It is not from a man devoured by a pro-
found paſſion that an account of the beauties
of nature are to be expected. I ſaw with in-
difference, or rather, I ſaw not at all, the en-
chanting ſpectacle of the iſles of the Archi-
pelago. Theſe ſmiliaş coaſis, on which the
ancient Grecians erected the temple of vo-
luptuouſneſs; their delicious views, the in-
cenſe of their enamelled valleys, of their fo-
reſts of myrtles and roſes, the pureneſs of
their unſtained ſkies, moved not my ſenſes
My heart, my foul, my mind, knew only
Elizabeth .
At length, without my perceiving it, we
approached that ſuperb city Conſtantinople
—the eternal monument of the folly of Cºn-
stantine / A Prince whom we have named
great, and who was ſo truly little. A mortal
whoſe weak mind was the cauſe of a world
of miſery, and whoſe tomb is ſanétified by
religion, while his memory juſtly claims the
diſdain of poſterity.
When man abandons himſelf to his paſ-
fions, continued Bruno' they treat him with
the moſt capricious tyranny. While my veſ.
ſel haſtened towards Conſtantinople I had no
with but to arrive there; every thing that
-
16 7' H E N E G R 0,
was to accompliſh my wiſhes appeared eaſy.
Behold me at Conſtantinople; and ſee new
inquietudes harraſs my ſoul! It was only in
finding myſelf ſo near Elizabeth that difficul-
ties preſented themſelves to my thoughts.
How was I now to act? The Harams of
the Turks are almoſt inacceſſible. The
apartment of their women, eternally ſhut up,
threatens a ſwift death to the audacious
ºranger who dares to enter within their
doors. Yet, I muſt brave this danger or
renounce the hopes which had already coſt
me ſo much.
I paſſed for a merchant of Aleppo; and,
in that charaćter, I gained admittance into
the palace of the vizier; but I did not dare
to preſent myſelf in his preſence ; I feared
his obſervations ; and only wiſhed to gain
the attention of his people, that amongſt
them I might find ſome one who would ſuit
my purpoſes.
The man whoſe deſigns are criminal thinks
only of unjuſt means; and to corrupt ſome
of the vizier’s ſervants was that which offer-
editſelf to my mind. I therefore attempted
to gain ſome of them by profuſe preſents;
but confidence was a delicate affair, and I
dared not give it to any of them. The firſt
torment of the ſeducer is to miſtruſt thoſe
whom he has corrupted.
Among the number of the domeſtics I
had diſtinguiſhed a negro, who was yet


ºr ºf E N E G R 0. 17
young. It was the father of Otºroſ. The
frankneſs of his manner, a certain air which
his condition could not conceal, and which
expreſſed vigour of character, but yet more
than all the reſt, the difference of his religi-
on which prevented the Mahomet name from
being the object of his veneration, perſuaded
me that I had now encountered a man pro-
per to ſecond my enterprize. I thought I
did not miſtake his ſentiments with regard
to me; I believed that friendſhip inſpired
them, and yet was I ſtill filent.
One day, he ſaid to me, You fill me with
benefactions. How have I deſerved them 2
Be ſincere: your gifts are the anticipated
price of a ſecret which I ſee weighs you
down. If I am not worthy of your confi-
dence, why do you pay me as if you had al-
ready honoured me with it If I merityour
confidence, why do you withhold from me
the power of acquitting myſelf by ſerving
you : Chuſe then take back your preſents
if you will be filent; ſpeak if you with that I -
ſhould keep them (1).
This diſcourſe determined me; and he
knew all. The deſign, ſaid he, is daring,
but the execution is not impoſſible. Are
yºu beloved by Elizabeth The queſtion
laid my proud mind in the duſt. what
ſhould I ſay to him : Alas! I anſwered,
with an embarraſſed air, I have ſometimes
thought ſo, but—But I believe, ſaid he, that
You are not beloved. The countenance of
Elizabeth ſpeaks only happineſs. Being no
- B 2

18 * H E N E G R 0,
Muſſulman, I have the ſuperintendance of
the vizier's wine cellars. My office requires
ſecrecy. You know the Mahometan law.
This is ſufficient to ſhew you the confidence
which he places in me. To that am I in-
debted for the privilege of approaching Eli-
zabeth ; and I am the only man to whom this
privilege is allowed. At preſent, the firſt
among her rivals, ſhe poſſeſſes his heart moſt
abſolutely ; and, if I do not miſtake the cha-
raēter of love, he is not without an intereſt
in her mind. Is not this ſufficient to cure
your paſſion :
Ah! anſwered I, do you count for no-
thing the pleaſure of vengeance : If the bu-
fineſs is to ſlay Ibrahim, ſaid he, you have
miſtaken me. I will ſerve you, but not by
a crime. Ah let him live, cried I. And
let me regain Elizabeth That is another
affair, ſaid he I have no objection to take
a woman from a man who poſſeſſes two hun-
dred. You have foreſeen the dangers of
the undertaking ; you brave them : your
love ſhall not want my aſſiſtance. Rely on
me : prepare every thing for your flight:
and be ready ; in two days, when the mina-
rets ſhall in the evening call the people to
the moſque, I will paſs your lodging; fol-
low me without fear ; but, above all, aſk
not a queſtion. I hazard more than you.
therefore leave yourſelf to my governance.
I aſk only to fly with you and be your friend.
I promiſed him eternal friendſhip. I em-
braced him, and he quitted me.

* H E N E G R 9. 19
Without wiſhing it, he had wounded my
mind. I could no longer doubt the perfidy
of my unworthy miſtreſs. I was on the
point of renouncing her for ever, but jea-
iouſy, that odious monſter, ſtepped in be-
tween me and my reſolution.
Though I have not been able to excite her
love, at leaſt I will enjoy her torments,
ſaid I. By tearing her from the object of
her wiſhes, I ſhall repay all the evils ſhe
has made me ſuffer. I ſhall behold them :
and this ſpectacle, while it gluts my ven-
geance, ſhall cure me of a delirious paſſion.
By one ſtroke, I ſhall have puniſhed the
perfidious Elizabeth and the villain who has
£educed her from me.
I ran to my veſſel and gave my orders.
I placed, in a convenient fituation, a ſhallop
with ten able rowers whom I forbid to
leave the ſpot till they ſhould ſee me return ;
and, to allow them no pretext, I diſtributed
proviſions among them in abundance. My
deſign was that they ſhould receive us and
row with their utmoſt ſpeed to the veſſel.
There my people were prepared to cut the
cable ; to ſet ſail, and hurry to ſea with my
prey, long before Ibrahim ſhould have diſ-
covered her abſence.
Relieved from theſe cares, but not from
inquietude, I returned to the caravanſera.
Nothing that I ever knew moſt horrible
*PProachesthe trouble I experienced during
the two days which preceded the return of

ºc. ºr H E N E G nº.
the negro ; rage, terror, jealouſy, regrets,
bitterneſs, love, hatred, vengeance, deſpair;
theſe were the frightful ſenſations which a-
gitated my heart! Sometimes, my father
returned to my memory; I recolle&ted his
tenderneſs, his tears, his forſaken old age,
his virtues, worthy of a betterfate, my weak-
neſs, my ingratitude : and I ſobbed aloud.
I was on the point of quitting all to fly into
his arms; but, ſuddenly, the image of the
happy Ibrahim at the feet of Elizabeth, ſtifl-
led the weak cry of reaſon, and I relapſed
into the depth of phrenzy.
The fatal hour arrived ; it ſhall be exe-
cuted, I cried ; I will ſee her, or death ſhall
prevent me. I deſcended to the gate of the
ſtreet, and was not long there before I ſaw
the negro appear. He paſſed before me in
ſilence, without even turning his eye toward
me, and I followed him.
The involuntary agitation which muſt be
experienced on the eve of ſo imminent a
danger, my anxiety, confiding as I did in a
man whom Iſcarcely knew, doubled the wea-
rineſs of my way. It was long. We ran
through a croud of ſtreets without a ſingle
word uttered by either. He preceded me
ſome paces; and no one would have ſuſ-
pected that we had any knowledge of each
other.
At length, we arrived in a ſolitary quar-
ter of the city. My guide purſued the
courſe of a high wall, in which at regular

* H E N E G R 0. 2 :
diſtances, were ſmall holes with iron bºrº
made to admit the air and day-light with-
in : they were a little raiſed above the pave-
ment. When we had proceeded about
three hundred paces, the negro ſtood ſtill.
He examined if no one obſerved us ; the
the ſtreet was deſerted, and the high ex-
tremely dark. Inſtantaneouſly he ſtooped
down, opened one of the gratings, glided in-
to the opening, and diſappeared. The ſudden:
neſs of my ſurpriſe made me heſitate ; but I
had gone too far to recede, and I imitated him.
When my body had ſlided downward a little
Way, my º encountered aladder, which ſeem-
ed to be prepared for my deſcent. The me-
gro received me in his arms, replaced the gra-
ting; then ran to bring a dark lanthorn which
he had depoſited in a corner. He took the light
out of the lanthorn, and I ſaw that we had deſ-
cended into a vaſt vault. See, ſaid he, one
difficult ſtep is taken may the ſame ſucceſs
accompany us to the end
The delight which was painted on his
viſage, and the care which he had taken to
render this aſylum ſupportable, during the
time that I ſhould be compelled to remain
there, left in my mind no doubt reſpecting
his fidelity.
ineſtimable friend, ſaid I, embracing him,
what can have induced you to do ſo much
for me? Two motives, anſwered he, which
can do everything with a negro: compaſſi-
on and the love of liberty. You have inter-
eſted me in your behalf. I love you ; and
- 2 º' H E N E G R or
fince I have choſen you as my friend, I ſhall
be attached to you till death. It is thus that
we think. We ſerve thoſe that are indiffer-
ent to us through complaiſance, and our
friends through duty. To ſhed tears and a-
gain embrace him was my only anſwer. He
underſtood me.
He had prepared a bed for my repoſe be-
tween two tuns of wine; and I found every
ſpecies of convenience, and every fort of de-
licacy and luxury which friendſhip could
aſſemble together in this place.
Deign, ſaid he, to be contented with your
ſituation here ; I am yet ignorant of the in-
ſtant in which we may conſummate our de-
ſign: but it will arrive, and it ſhall be my
duty to ſeize upon it. Till then, patience.
You are here : that is what I have ardently
wiſhed. You might remain here whole
years undiſcovered ; for I have the ſole di-
re&tion of this place ; therefore, be tranquil,
as often as I can, I will come and ſee you.
You will, undoubtedly, find much wearineſs;
but you muſt, by ſome ſacrifice, pay for the
pleaſure which you promiſe yourſelf. Adieu:
I muſt quit you. This is the hour in which
Ibrahim, in the midſt of his women, will ex-
pe&t my attendance. For our common in-
tereſt, I would not give him occaſion to ſend
for me. If you take my advice you will, in
a little time, extinguiſh your light; the Ja-
niſiaries, who patrole the ſtreet during the
night, might perceive it and, ſurpriſed with
ſo uncommon a circumſtance, give the



5 ºf E N E G A 0. 23
alarm and bring ruin upon you. But time
preſſes me.
He bade me farewell, and went out by a
gate in the wall, oppoſite tº that by which he
fad entered. I followed him with my ears.
I heard him ſucceſſively ſhut many gates :
and as, in proportion as he retired, the found
ſeemed to be further above me, I judged
that the viſier's palace muſt be prodigiouſly
more elevated than the place in which I
Was. -
When I was alone, I ſat down an inſtant
to permit my agitation to ſubſide, and I ima-
gined I was ſurely in a dream. Having
fomewhat recovered myſelf, I thought of ex-
tinguiſhing the light : but I wiſhed, firſt, to
know what fort of place I now inhabited.
It was ſuperb and every way worthy of the
riches and majeſtic ſtate of its maſter. It
was rather a magnificent gallery than a cel-
lar for the mere reception of wines. Walls
and pillars of the moſt beautiful marble ſup-
ported an elevated vault, built in a charm-
ing ſtyle of architecture and embelliſhed
with the moſt exquiſite ſculpture. A deli-
cate and ſhining gravel preſerved a ſalubri-
ous coolneſs in this ſpecies of temple, conſe-
crated to Bacchus. More than five hun-
dred tons, ranged along the walls, repoſed
upon ſtands made of cedar and mahogany.
Prodigious hoops of braſs held enchained,
in theſe veſſels, the fugitive liquor, whoſe
age and name was graven on enamelled labels.
At a conſiderable diſtance i found a railing,
24. * H E N E G ºr 0.
whoſe bars, made of ſilver, running the
whole length of the place and extending to
the ceiling, divided the gallery into two
parts. It was faſtened; and not being able
to penetrate further, I endeavoured to throw
the rays of my light as much as I could on the
objects within the railing. My dazzled eye
could ſcarcely ſuſtain the ſplendour of the
ſpectacle. Hundreds of cryſtal vaſes, rang-
ed in an amphitheatre on ſteps of ebony,
which extended from the floor to the ceil-
ing, darted upon my fight the brilliant re-
fle&tions of the various coloured liquors
which each contained. Such was this en-
chanted place .
Prudence warned me to abandon a ſcene
whoſe unexpected fight had given ſome truce
to my griefs. I regained my retreat ; and,
having taken ſome light nouriſhment, I ex-
tinguiſhed my light and laid myſelf on my
bed.
The filence which pervaded all around
me, the violence with which my mind had
been long agitated, and the ſucceeding hope
which my negro friend had raiſed in my
ſoul, recalled ſleep to my eye-lids from which
it had fled as if never to return. But I was
only permitted to taſte tranquillity, and ſoon
was I to pay for the raſhneſs of my conduct
by the cruelleſt alarms.
My ſleep was not ſufficiently ſound to be
proof againſt the ſlighteſt noiſe. At mid-
night I was awakened by the opening of ſome







* Hi º N E G R 0, 25
diſtant gates. I liſtened. The noiſe ap-
peared to me to proceed from that part by
which the negro went away when he quitted
me. I thought at firſt it was himſelf; and
that he was come to paſs ſome moments
with me. The noiſe becoming more and
more diſtinct, I did not doubt but ſome one
approached the place where I was. At
length a gate opened in the vault ; but it
was not that by which my friend went out.
In a moment, the vault was illuminated by a
number of torches; and I heard the tumul-
tuous cries of a multitude of men and wo—
men. Deſpair inſtantly ſeized my ſoul.
It was not long before laughter, the founds
of joy, and the wanton language of both ſexes
convinced me that it was the love of plea-
ſure which condućted theſe gueſts to the re-
tired ſcene. I heard them boaſt of the ad-
dreſs with which they had ſtolen the keys
from Osmyn (that was the name of my ne-
gro) while they praiſed him whoſe cunning
had imitated them, promiſing themſelves
often to enjoy the fruit of their artifice.
I now ſaw that my neighbours were the
vizier's ſlaves, who came here to indemnify
themſelves in ſecret for the rigorous con-
traint to which their days were condemned.
Till then, my breath was almoſt ſuppreſſed
with fear; but danger ſoon becomes famili-
ar. When I ſaw that they did not approach
nearer me, I took courage; and, gliding ſoft-
ly to the extremity of the tuns which formed
my retreat, I endeavoured to diſtinguiſh the
number of theſe intruders on my aſylum.
VoI. II. C

26 * H E N E G R 0,
I immediately ſaw that they were in the
other part of the gallery, and that the railing
ſeparated us. This diſcovery confirmed my
courage, and I flattered myſelf that I ſhould
eſcape without any further fright.
There appeared about fifteen of them.
They had extended a large carpet on the
floor, and had covered it with a profuſion of
proviſions of every fort. The liberty which
the place gave them having baniſhed the Ma-
hometan etiquette, they delivered themſelves
to the pleaſures of the table, where love
preſided, and where the liquor of the vizier
was not ſpared.
I leave you to imagine the exceſſes of
theſe noćturnal orgies, and I return to my
own alarms. Theſe had ſubſided ; but a
new thought rouſed them in an inſtant. I
recoilećted the Janiſſaries of which Osmyn
had ſpoken; and if the light of a ſingle ta-
per had appeared to him to be feared, how
dreadful muſt be my apprehenſions from
ſuch a number of flambeaux
This refle&tion ſtruck me to ſuch a de-
gree, that I was on the point of replacing
the ladder, of opening the grate, and of ſa-
ving myſelf by flight; and, perhaps, I ſhould
have done ſo if the fear of what I might en-
counter on opening it, or afterwards in the
ſtreets of Conſtantinople at ſuch an hour,
had not ſubdued that of a danger which a
little good fortune might enable me to ſhun.
Beſide, the time advanced ; another hour

ºf E N E G R 6. 27
perhaps, and the returning ſun would chaſe
away my dangerous neighbours.
To ſay the truth, my friend, it was but
juſt that I ſhould ſwallow, as * puniſh-
ment for my guilt, to the very dregs. the
bitter poiſon which I had been induſtrious
to ſeek.
I expected, with ſome degree of patience,
the end of theſe revels which gave delight
to every inhabitant of this vault but myſelf.
Situated as I was, no part of their diſcourſe
could eſcape my obſervation; and, notwith-
ſtanding the anguiſh which I ſometimes
felt, I was at others, compelled to ſmile at
the follies of their drunken riot. One of
the women, who had rifen and who was
wantonly dancing on the floor, ſuddenly
cried out, Mahmud, I would drink ſome
wine of Schiras' bring me ſome, ſlave!
One of them immediately roſe and careful-
ly examined all the criſtal vaſes. Mahmud
remained a long time in ſearching for the
wine. This woman became impatient; and
cried, well, curſed ſlave, haſt thou found it?
it becomes thee well to keep ſuch a woman
as I am, waiting upon thy dulneſs! Faith,
anſwered he, though you were the favourite
Sultana I could not be in greater haſte to
ſerve you ; but I ſee none. It is the wine
in thy head that prevents thee, ſaid another
woman, who drew near to the railing. Come
here, booby. Stay obſerve: do you ſee
thoſe tuns which extend almoſt out of fight?
think you there is no wine of Schiras a

28 ºf H E N E c R. o.
mong all thoſe? I trembled with apprehen-
fion. I ſee the tuns excellently well, cried
the man, but I fee ſtill more clearly this
railing ; of which we have no key. Here,
Zamet, cried the woman, ſend us your keys.
We ſhall find one, perhaps, which will open
this gate. She ran herſelf to bring them, and
gave them to Mahmud.
Now my deſtruction appeared to be in-
evitable. What could I expect from ſlaves
intoxicated with wine, who, in the terror
of finding themſelves ſurpriſed, would have
probably ſacrificed me to preſerve them-
ſelves from chaſtiſement which they might
otherwiſe dread If I ſhould undertake to
defend myſelf, how could I hope to over-
come fifteen perſons who, irritated by my
reſiſtance, would have ſtill further motives
to deſtroy me. It is difficult to imagine a
£ituation more critical.
While I made theſe refle&tions, the fatal
keys were tried, and God knows the ar-
dent wiſhes which I offered up for their in-
utility. They put one into the lock; it
turned; the gate rolled upon its hinges :
and all the troop ſhouted to ſee the ſucceſs,
which to me appeared to be the ſignal of
my death. I had ſcarcely ſtrength to with-
draw into my retreat, where I was compel-
led to wait the end of my unhappy fate.
By an almoſt miraculous inſtance of for-
tune, curioſity did not lead this bacchanali-
an crew into the vault in which I was.

* h a w E. G. R. º. 29
Mahmud alone entered; and with, a flam-
beau in his hand, he began to review the
tuns within a few paces of me. He read,
in a loud voice, the label fixed to each veſ.
fel; and every name which was not that, of
Schiras augmented my terrors. I ſaw
death advancing ſlowly upon me, and had
time to contemplate all its horrors. At
length he approached near to my retreat;
already I heard the ſound of his reſpiration;
already the light of his flambeau would have
diſcovered me to his eyes had they not been
intently fixed on the veſſels. That which
he now looked upon was but the third from
me. With a cry of exultation he ſhouted,
Victory Schiras
Schiras—The ſame Schiras, which had
appeared to be the warrant of my death was
now the reprieve which reſtored me to life.
Mahmud pierced the tun; filled a vaſe
which he held in his hand ; and returned,
in triumph, to rejoin his comrades.
My danger was ſtill great, ſince the gate
of the partition was yet open ; but, in ſuch
a ſituation, the leaſt delay has almoſt all the
charms of entire ſecurity. You will ima-
gine how long this night appeared to me.
I counted the moments, while the hours
paſſed but as a dream with theſe enemies
with which I was ſurrounded.
Often did I look up to the grating, b
which I entered, to watch for º º
of the day. At length, they came in mer-
C 2

30 * H E N E G ſº d.
cy to my ſufferings, while the riotous group
certainly yet thought them afar off. Short-
ly after, the Imans, from the height of their
towers, ſummoned the people to prayers. It
was a thunder-ſtroke for the ſlaves. They
fled without reflection ; and, in their con-
fuſion, left open the gate; forgot the re-
mainder of their repaſt: and, while the gates
ſhut rapidly in ſucceſſion, hope returned into
my ſoul.
What a night! what a ſituation : Ah! if
man would calculate what the paſſions coſt
him, if he could but behold in a mirror all
the evils which are cauſed by every irregu-
lar wiſh that he eagerly embraces, and which
promiſes him nothing but pleaſure, he would
recede with terror from the mere aſpect of
the chimerical happineſs which reſults from
all that is not virtue.
When I was aſſured that the ſlaves were
entirely withdrawn, I aroſe and contempla-
ted the condition in which they had left the
vault; and I viewed, with a ſort of grati-
tude, the vaſes which they had emptied, and
whoſe friendly vapours had hid my retreat
from their eyes. However, the terror of the
laſt five hours had waſted my ſtrength; my
courage ſuddenly failed me: my knees bend-
ed beneath my weight; and I ſunk upon the
floor. With a trembling hand I filled a gil-
ded cup with ſome Hungarian wine which
ſtood near me, and emptieditat one draught.
Its balſamic heat animated my ſpirits. I
repeated the draught. A ſwift and ſubtile

* H E N E G R 0. 31
fire ſpread through my veins. I aroſe with
ſtrength and courage. Iregained my aſylum,
where fatigue and the effects of Tokay plun-
ged me into a profound ſleep.
It continued the whole day, and ſome
light and pleaſant dreams embelliſhed this
interval of repoſe. I thought that I ſaw my-
ſelf at the feet of Elizabeth ; and that Ibra-
him, with his generous hand, crowned our
conſtant flame. Deceitful viſions ! You
are born to conſole, to laugh at, to betray
us!
I was forcibly rouſed from this felicity; it
was Osmyn who called me. His preſence
delighted my ſoul, and I embraced him with
gratitude. How ! So late ſaid he. Do
you ſleep ſtill, and the day nearly finiſhed :
Ah! ſaid I, if you knew the cruel night
which I have paſſed, you would be leſs aſto-
niſhed. Then I recounted to him what had
happened, and I ſaw him tremble at the bare
recital of my peril: he aſſured himſelf of the
diſorder by his eyes. Well, ſaid he, the
evil is light, ſince they have not ſeen you.
Let us talk of ſomething better. This is the
inſtant to try your courage. Is it yet proof
againſt all hazard : Yes, I anſwered, with
rapture. You may rely on me. Then, ad-
ded he, in ſome hours Elizabeth is in your
power, or we ſhall both periſh. Ah too
generous friend, cried I, is it poſſible: In-
form me—Never was occaſion more charm-
ing, returned he. The ſultan gives an en-
tertainment. He is young. It will laſt the

32 ºf ºf E N E G R tº
whole night. It is the cuſtom. The vizier
has juſt departed for the ſeraglio. None of
the great officers of the empire dares to with-
draw, while the grand feignior is preſent.
Such is the etiquette. The abſence of Ibra-
him will permit all the ſlaves of his houſe to
abandon themſelves to repoſe ; at midnight
the palace will be a defart. I know all the
avenues, all the apartments of it. You
and I will aſcend to the chamber of Eliza-
beth. Her orders are given : ſhe will
then be alone; her women will be gone to
reſt. I will conduct you to her bed; if fear
does not ſtifle her voice, an handkerchief will
aſſiſt you. We are ſtrong, we will force her
away, and bring her here. We will take our
flight by this fame grating, and the winds and
waves ſhall have borne us far from the ſhore,
before any one ſhall ſuſpect the deed.
Then, I abandon myſelf to your directi-
on, ſaid I ; fortune, which has hitherto
ſerved me ſo well, will not now be faithleſs
to me. We ſhall ſucceed: my courage tells
me ſo.
He quitted me no more ; and waiting for
the time fit for our purpoſe, we ſupped to-
gether. During theſe few hours that I paſ-
fed with Osmyn, I felt more than ever, the
firmneſs of his mind and the goodneſs of his
heart. We know not, ſaid he, among other
things, in what ſituation we may ſoon be.
But whatever happens, do not name the
fault which theſe ſlaves have committed this
laſt night, Death would be the conſequence

* H E N E & R 9. 33.
of their imprudence. If we are unfortu-
nate, at leaſt let not our ruin be fatal tº any
one. I felt as he did ; and I made him a
promiſe.
In fine, the hour—ſhall I ſay fearful -
yes: for the braveſt man is not exempt from
emotion at the aſpect of ſuch danger; it is
courage to feel this emotion, and ſubdueit–
in fine, the bell founded the fearful, the ar-
dently expected hour ! Let us embrace,
ſaid Osmyn. We go—perhaps to death :
Come. I trembled.
We mounted ſlowly, with the aid of a
light that he had ſtill kept burning, by ſome
ſtairs which led to the apartments of the
palace. Osmyn left all the gates open behind
us, that nothing might retard our flight.—
When we had traverſed the ſubterraneous
places, and we were ready to mount the laſt
ſteps, which would introduce us into the
palace, he extinguiſhed the taper, and
placing me on his right, and taking my hand,
let us proceed with firmneſs, ſaid he, in a
low voice. Another quarter of an hour,
and all is done.
We entered. The carpets which covered
the whole of the floor aided the myſtery of
our ſteps. The apartments in Turkey being
divided only by curtains, we had not to fear
the noiſe of doors turning on their hinges,
as would have been the inevitable caſe eve-
ry where elſe. I will not deſcribe the mul-
titude of turnings which we made, nor the
34. ºf n e N E c ºr to:
prodigious number of apartments through
which we paſſed; perhaps impatience, fear,
and the obſcurity of night, rendered them
more numerous to me.
We arrived, after ſome time, at the en-
trance of an anti-chamber. Let us take
breath, whiſpered my condućtor. We have
only this room to paſs, and we are at that of
Elizabeth. At preſent, follow cloſe upon
my ſteps; and beware of treading a hair's
breadth aſide This is now the only danger
we have to ſhun; but we ſhall not return by
this way. We pauſed a minute; then he
ſaid to me: letus proceed, and we entered.
I may ſay, I made but one body with
him. My feet replaced his. After a ſtep
or two, I thought I heard a loud reſpiration
of ſeveral perſons who ſlept. A ſudden ap-
prehenſion made me ſtart involuntarily to
one ſide. My feet were embarraſſed with
| ſomething. I fell; and I felt under my
hand the body of a man, who ſeemed, not-
withſtanding my fall, to be profoundly aſleep
—But ſuddenly a voice, which penetrated
my ear like thunder, cried, Who is there :
The ſlave who goes the rounds, anſwered
Cºmyn, coldly, and aiding me to ariſe; I
have fallen, that’s all. The voice ſaid not
a word more. We advanced, and were in
an inſtant at the entrance of Elizabeth’s
chamber. We are ſafe, ſaid Osmyn, in a
low voice. This is the room. -
We are in haſte. He raiſes the curtains.


* H E N E G ºr o, 33
We enter: Ah God . A multitude of flam-
beaux dazzled my ſight ! I fee a numerous
guard ranged in a ſemicircle, whoſe naked
ſcymetres gliſten in my eyes! Ibrahim at
the feet of Elizabeth, who, reclining on a
ſopha, liſtens to his ſighs . To cry out,
traitor, you have betrayed me, to draw my
poignard, to raiſe it, to ſtrike it into Os-
myn's boſom, to extend him at my feet, was
all done with the ſwiftneſs of thought. I
was about to ſtrike myſelf; the guards ſtay
my fatal arm; an awful filence ſucceeds to
the terror of the ſcene.
Ibrahim advanced with his ſcymeter in his
hand, unqueſtionably to immolate me to
his wrath. He looked at me; recollected
me; recoiled; then confidered me ſome
moments; and, without addreſſing a ſingle
word to me, he whiſpered to an officer of
his guards, and afterwards ſaid, with a loud
voice: Obey, lead him away.
Fury and deſpair had now waſted the
ſtrength which a few minutes of flattering
hope had given me. I followed my guards
with trembling ſteps; and without the aid
of the officer I ſhould not have been able to
proceed. They lead me to death. “Alas:
I wiſh it. I have loſt everything!”
I was conducted into an apartment ſu-
perbly furniſhed. The office, ranged the
guards at the entrance, and invitej me to
place myſelf on a rich ſofa. I obeyed, with-
out a ſenſe of what I did. He placed him-

36 * H E N E G is 9.
ſelf beſide me. Yet ſeeing the paleneſs of
my countenance, the dejection of my eyes,
the tremulation of all my limbs, and fearing
that I ſhould faint, he took a liquor in uſe
among the Turks, which they aame ſher-
bet, and pouring it, with ſome precious
balm, into a cup of porcelaine, he preſent-
edit to me. I gently put it away from me.
Recolle&t, ſaid he, with a kind of goodneſs,
that you are my captive, and that you ought
to obey me. I took the cup. I ſwallowed
the draught. My ſtrength returned; and,
with it, the ſentiment of all my evils.
Thou didſt alſo return, Oh, remembrance
of my God! Thou, oh God! whom I had
ſo cruelly forgotten ſince my infancy. Ah,
thou didſt wait till this chimerical felicity
which I worſhipped ſhould be diſſipated,
as a waſting cloud, to preſent thyſelf to my
view .
See then, ſaid I, turning my eyes inward
so myſelf, to what have tended all my cares?
All my ſacrifices : Since I met with this
fatal Elizabeth, have I taſted a ſingle inſtant
offerenity: Her firſt fight ſeemed to pro-
miſe me happineſs: fince then, no day has
been without vexation; no night without
inquietude; no hour without bitterneſs-
Was not this enough Muſt to ſuch miſery
be added the devouring fire of jealouſy and
revenge I have quitted my home, my fa-
ther, my too unfortunate father ingrate.
I have outraged nature; and have placed
my faith in a vile ſlave.

* H E N E G R 0. 37
And for what purpoſe: To find death!
See then this happineſs : death and if the
God, of whom in my infancy I have heard-
if this God exiſts—what have I to ſay in his
preſence? Fierce and vindićtive as I am ;
the deſtroyer of the ſentiments of nature ;
the corrupter of men's faith; in fine, their
murderer and have I a virtue to plead in
my defence?
Oh, he exiſts he abandons me in this
extreme hour ! The juſt expire, furrounded
with his bleſfings—All the univerſe muſt fly,
even God muſt withdraw his ſuſtaining pre-
fence, when the criminal dies :
May I not pray to him then Where are
the proofs of my ſincerity: It is when all
other means forſake me that I would prove
my truth by turning to him? Ah, I have too
much offended him But, wretch that I am,
do I meaſure his goodneſs inſtead of placing
my reliance on it?
I threw myſelf on my knees. I raiſed my
arms toward heaven. Oh God, cried i,
ſtill have I confidence in thee! Cruſh me not
with all thy wrath . If I muſt die, give me
ºurage, and I ſhall be ready. Thou haſt
ſeen my crimes. Thou doſt ſee my repent-
ance. Acceptitas the only expreſſion of re-
turning purity -
It ſeemed that a balm was ſhed into the
wounds of my ſoul. A ſweet joy, till then
*nown to me through my i.e., anima.
Vol. II. D
38 ºf H E N E G º 0.
my heart. In fine, what would I ſay to you,
my friends ! I felt the trueſt happineſs: the
happineſs of a virtuous wiſh.
The day ſurpriſed me in the midſt of
theſe reflections. All were ſtill ſilent as to
my fate. Neither the officer nor the guards
had quitted me. They had been the wit.
neſſes of my emotions, and had not inter-
rupted them.
Having recovered from the ſpecies of ex-
tacy in which I had been plunged, I perceiv-
ed their preſence, and I hazarded ſome queſ.
tions. Do not interrogate me, ſaid the offi-
cer with gentleneſs. I pity you, but I muſt
not anſwer you. Expect every thing from
my compaſſion; but reſpect the ſecrets with
which I am intruſted.
Then, changing the converſation, he ſaid
to me, you are more calm, and I am happy
to perceive it. I now can recogniſe the
man of courage. He endeavoured to amuſe
me too; he would have engaged me to ad-
mire the magnificence of the place in which
we ſat. I was ſcarcely in a condition to be
particularly attentive to the beauties of the
apartment, yet I could not forbear to no-
tice its extreme elegance, taſte, and ſplen-
dour.
It was the place in which Ibrahim, an
accompliſhed man as well as an enlightened
ſtateſman, ſometimes relieved himſelf from
the cares of government. He had aſſem-


* If E N E G At 0° 30
bled everything which luxurious nature pro-
duces ; and we had at once under our eyes,
the richeſt treaſures of the earth and feas.
This ſaloon was on the ground floor. A
vaſt door, made of a fingle plate of glaſs,
diſplayed a garden entirely covered with a
lattice of gold. In this delightful grove
might be ſeen the rareſt birds ſporting a-
mongſt myrtles and orange trees ; except
when hunger called them to their food, or
thirſt to baſons of pureſt alabaſter. High
fences of roſes and jeſſamine ſurrounded the
charming ſpot ; and prevented intruding
eyes from penetrating into its receſs; and
the white marble preſented, as a contraſt to
the green walls, the elegant forms of chaſed
vaſes and antique ſtatues.
Magnificence and wealth, ſaid I, too uſu-
ally the objećts of men's deſires and cauſes
of their crimes, I ſee you here united –
When men torment themſelves to acquire
you, let them take my place : they will
know you better!
About the middle of the day we were
ſerved with refreſhments. In vain did the
officer preſs me to partake of them. I turn-
ºd from the greateſt delicacies again to view
the aſpect of death.
Some hours after, a ſlave came to call the
officer. The leaſt circumſtance alarms at
ſuch moments. I regarded this abſence as
the forerunner of my eternal departure. I
4 o' ºr ºf E N E G R 9.
-
colle&ted all my powers; and again, proſtra-
ting myſelf, I poured before my God the
tears which flowed from my heart.
The officer re-entered. Iaroſe: Follow
me, ſaid he your time is come. I could
not now any longer doubt my fate. Ah!
what is the reſolution of a guilty heart, when
death is about to ſeize upon it! My enfee-
bled faculties failed me: a cloud extended
itſelf over my eyes; my memory, my in-
telligence, all vaniſhed . In fine, in this
ſpecies of annihilation, I trod in the ſteps
of my guards, without any conſciouſneſs of
my being.
What was there which could recal my
fenſes: it was a fingle word which, ſwift as
the irreſiſtible lightning, ſtruck a ſpark into
my ſoul; brought back the remembrance of
what I had been ; the recolle&tion of what
I now was.
It was the voice of a man who called me
by the name which I bore at Smyrna. This
name had not met my ear ſince the time that
my paſſion led me to aſſume another. I open-
ed my eyes. My guards had diſappeared. I
was alone with this man. I turned my looks
upon him, yet obſcured by the ſhades of
death. Along pauſe enſued before my weak-
ened memory informed me where I had ſeen
him. Suddenly I recollected his features:
it was Ibrahim.


* If E N E G ºf 2* 4. I
Finiſh your vengeance! ſaid I. What
wait you? Strike!
This great man folded me in his arms-
I felt his tears pouring down my forehead.
My vengeance! ſaid he. Ah! Why am I
here: to pity your weakneſſes, not to avenge
myſelf of them. Live: be happy, if it be
poſſible; and learn how a man may conquer
himſelf.
He ſat down, and made me ſit beſide him.
His own hand deigned to preſent me a pre-
cious cordial. I felt new life ruſh upon me.
At preſent, ſaid Ibrahim, you owe me your
confidence. If my friendſhip has not a right
to demand that entire confidence, yet re-
fuſe it not to your deliverer. Tell me, who
could inſpire you with this deſign : Ah!
cried I, do you not recogniſe love in this
attempt Jealous love ferocious love!
which no obſtacle can withhold: no danger
can affright!
I now felt ſome confidence, and recount-
ed to him every thing that had paſſed fince
the fatal night in which Elizabeth fled from
me. He liſtened with the moſt compaſſion-
ate attention. When I had concluded, he
ſaid, did you deſign to ſlay me? Had you
purpoſed to ſacrifice me to your jealouſy
Ah! anſwered I, what do you demand? Do
not preſs me. You know what love is. You
know the crime it can inſpire: Ah, ſave me
from ſaying more : -
D 2

42 * H E N E G R 0,
Your frankneſs renders you more wor-
thy of my eſteem, ſaid he. I will ſhew
you what that eſteem can do. He called ſome
ſlaves. They entered, and he made them
a ſign. They went out, and immediately
afterwards I ſaw them appear with Eliza-
beth. What do you? ſaid I to the vizier.
Oh, in pity remove her from my fight!
One moment—ſaid he with a figh. She
muſt judge between us. Madam: he con-
tinued, addreſſing himſelf to Elizabeth, you
ſee before you, two men who adore you.
He did everything for you; he ſaved you
from chains ; he made his father your fa-
ther; his houſe your aſylum ; he has de-
fied death to regain you: theſe are his titles.
Mine do not equal theſe. What are poor
benefactions compared with ſuch efforts :
Conſult your heart. If ambition, if the
flattering attractions of one of the moſt ex-
alted ranks of life have done violence to
your tenderneſs, it is not too late to cor-
rect the error. You are free. I reſerve to
myſelf only the honour of building up your
fortune. If, on the contrary, your mouth
has been the organ of your ſentiments, if I
owe the happineſs with which you have
filled me only to the fincerity of your love,
ſpeak it with the ſame freedom ; and, by the
avowal, put an end to the torments of my
young friend. -
I will make the choice which you re-
quire of me, anſwered Elizabeth. I eſteem
you both ; but one alone has my love. It
is not without anguiſh that I wound the

* If E N E G ºf 2. 43
happineſs of him whoſe friendſhip alone
would be precious to me. You are nºt
deceived, ſhrahim. When I followed you,
my heart ſpoke neither for you nor Bruno.
My ambition did all. Nay, you ſhall know
mé entirely. If I had captivated the heart
of the ſultan, you never would have had any
empire over my foul. But now—pardon
me, Bruno But now, Ibrahim on the
throne, Ibrahim in the duſt, would ſtill be
the object of my affection. Behold con-
tinued ſhe, ſhewing me her infant in the
arms of her woman: though you ſhould
blame my love, yet reſpect my duties :
Ah, God cried I. Ibrahim tendered
his hand to me. Alas! I was his rival, and
this generous man filled me with the ten-
dereſt careſſes and the gentleſt conſolations.
I became aſhamed to be ſo little before a
man who had given me two ſuch great ex-
amples of magnanimity. My pride was
routed, and I wiſhed to ſhew myſelf worthy
of ſuch a friend.
Never did I make any effort with ſuch
painful ſtruggles; but in fine, I triumphed
over myſelf. Now, ſaid I to Ibrahim, I
ſhould bluſh to envy you a happineſs which
you merit better than I, I even honour the
choice of Elizabeth.
Elizabeth diſappeared. Generous vic-
tory ! ſaid Ibrahim. You loſe a lover, and
I can only offer you the heart of a friend.
Ah! cried I, embracing his knees, what
44. * H E N E G R 0.
man would not make the purchaſe with his
blood & Farewel, exalted Ibrahim / Proud
of your noble gift, aſhamed to be unworthy
of it, I go far from you, to bury the remem-
brance of crimes into which I have been
drawn by an unfortunate paſſion. Baniſh
this vain remorſe, ſaid he to me. You have
committed no crime. “ No, Ibrahim 2
I abandoned my father.”—“In a little time
you ſhall be in his arms.”—“ And the
blood of your negro ſlave—it cries for ven-
geance againſt me.” I ſaw Ibrahim ſmile.
Be ſatisfied, ſaid he. The exceſs of your
fury unnerved your hands; ſcarcely have
you wounded him. “ Ah! what a weight
do you remove from my heart? He was a
traitor; but I would not have been his exe-
cutioner.” “You miſtake : your ſuſpi-
cion was unjuſt. He was faithful to you.
“How ſº?--tº Chance alone deceiv-
ed you both. A ſlight indiſpoſition poſtpo-
ned the ſultan’s entertainment. I uſually
riſe at three. It was near midnight when
I was informed of the ſultan’s pleaſure.
The time appeared to me too ſhort for re-
poſe, and I choſe rather to give it to love.
I viſited Elizabeth, with the guards which
attended me to the palace. She did not
expect me : but I forbade her to awake her
people, and my return was unknown to all
except thoſe around us.”—Ah! will you
yet do me a favour, not unworthy of your
other benefactions : Grant me the pardon
of that ſlave. I uſe with pride the name of
friend which you have given me, and offer
an opportunity to exert your clemency. It


º' tº E N E G R tº 4-5
is the firſt ſervice which my friendſhip ren-
ders you.”—“ I grant his pardon, but he
muſt change his maſter.”—“Ah, who is ſo
worthy to command him.”—“. He who
has ſaved his life. Take him. I ſubmit to
the laws which your friendſhip impoſes on
me: then, obey mine.”
such was Ibrahim. What I relate of
him does but feebly paint his exalted mind.
He ordered that they ſhould lead the ſlave
into this apartment. The trembling Osmº
appeared in the midſt of a numerous guard.
I ſaw Ibrahim inſtantaneouſly aſſume the fe-
were and dignified countenance with which
he dićtated laws to a vaſt empire. He com-
manded the ſlaves of his houſe to attend.
You ſee, Osmyn, ſaid he in a ſolemn tone—
I could, by his torture, teach you how we
can puniſh infidelity ; but I have governed
you rather by my affections, than by my paſ-
fions. The fault of a ſlave alters not my
principles. I pardon him. Learn, by his
example, that God will not ſuffer treachery
to be concealed; and that you ought to be
faithful to a maſter who can puniſh, and
knows how to forgive. Withdraw. You,
Cºmyn, remain.
When all were gone, again appearing
with that affecting goodneſs which he had
laid aſide but for a moment, Osmyn, ſaid he,
I was but your maſter: you wiſhed for a
friend and liberty. I give a friend to you;
let him give you liberty. -

46 ºf a tº N E G ºr cº-
In vain will you attempt to imagine the
joy, the tranſports of poor Osmyn. Reſpect
could not reſtrain them. He embraced the
knees of Ibrahim, ſprang on my neck, laugh-
ed, wept, ſung, forgot the vizier and the
ſlave.
Ah, ſaid he to me, we are brothers To-
gether have we riſen from death, I ſwearne-
verto quit you.
He has faithfully preſerved his word ; and
God has recompenſed his tender friendſhip,
by reſtoring his ſon to him.
I would have inſtantly departed to my fa-
ther. My eyes were open to my criminal
indifference as to a parent’s happineſs, and I
became eager to expiate my guilt. But the
gratitude which I owed to Ibrahim overcame
my wiſhes, and made me yield to his unre-
mitting ſolicitations, which intreated my
preſence for ſome weeks.
Entertainments, pleaſures, amuſements,
ſolicited my attention ; and Ibrahim ſpared
no endeavour to ſubdue a ſorrow which I
could not conſtantly diſguiſe. Nothing that
merits the regard of a ſtranger was hid from
me, and Ibrahim granted everything to my
curioſity which his rank could command.
Perhaps I penetrated further than any other
European into the receſſes of the ſultan’s pa-
lace ; almoſt hid from human eyes. In fine,
I became acquainted with all the greateſt
and moſt amiable inhabitants of that court;

* If E N E G ºf 0. 47
and I know notif I may not ſay that, among
theſe, I knew ſome of the beſt people on the
earth. A people too little known ; the ob-
ject of deriſion, for ignorance ; of compaſſ-
on, for the friend of the arts; and of admi-
ration, for the wife.
I had written to my father to calm his in-
quietudes, and frequently received intelli-
gence from him. His kind letters breathed
aburning deſire to ſee me; yet he even laid
his commands on me not to violate my ob-
ligations to Ibrahim, by too haſtily a depar-
ture. Theſe commands accorded but too
well with my own inclinations, to be reſiſted
by me. Each day a witneſs of the virtues
of that great man, of his vaſt genius, of the
ſultan's eſteem for him, and (yet better) of a
people's love, which he poſſeſſed entirely,
the moſt profound and tendereſt reſpect oc-
cupied my mind, and I tremblingly looked
at the moment when I muſt be ſeparated
from him.
A letter came to acquaint me that my fa-
ther was ſick, and requeſted my preſence,
No longer did I heſitate; for nature filen.
ced friendſhip. I ran to Ibrahim ; and im-
parted to him the intelligence which doub-
y Wounded my heart. He felt it too; yet
he ſaid, Go where duty calls you ; but he-
ver forget a man who loves you. If it de-
pended on me, you ſhould be happier. You
have virtues: Cheriſh them, and you ſhall
have more. T emper your ardent mind, or
that will tarniſh all Be not eternally ſeek-
43 º H E N E G ºf 2.
ing after happineſs ; but endeavour to de-
ſerve it. Serve your God, love your ſove-
reign”: ; be uſeful to men, ſhun idleneſs,
fear your heart more than public opinion,
and you ſhall be happy. Theſe are the laſt
counſels of a friend whom you will never ſee
again.
Never! cried I: yes, I will again ſee you.
Virtue in the midſt of a palace is a ſublime
object. Who can refrain from returning to
it? No, my friend, ſaid Ibrahim: I love you
too well to require it. Religion and cuſtom
ſeparate us. You cannot diſcharge any truſt
in this empire, and I would not that my
friend ſhould be uſeleſs on the earth. But
though I ſhould myſelf haſten your return,
alas, it would be perhaps but a vain care!
You know not what is the condition of a vi.
Zier. To day, he diſpenſes life and death.
Tomorrow, death lays him in oblivion. In
our fate, for the inſtruction of ambition, the
Omnipotent points to the fragility of human
grandeur.
Ah! cried I, dare you foreſee I ex-
pect it with tranquility, anſwered Ibrahim.
To be a vizier is to be familiar with the idea
of death. But farewell. I have prepared
for the ſeparation; I already knew of your
father's fickneſs, when you came to commu-
nicate it to me. Go : my orders are given;
and your veſſel is ready. I have proporti-
oned to your delicacy, and not to my power,
* I ſhould have added, while he is juſt. T.




* * * N E G R 9- 49
-
the trifles which it contains. Speak not of
them: that would be to offend me.
He wet embraced me, when one of the
chief officers of the empire was announced
to him; and Ibrahim, maſter of his ſoul, in-
ſtantly re-aſſumed the majeſty of his rank:
I withdrew, full of admiration, ſorrow, and
regret.
My poor Osmyn waited for me, and we
proceeded for the veſſel. The friendſhip of
Osmºn uſed every reſource which his fertile
mind could imagine, to withdraw me from
my ſorrows. Alas! happy even under my
misfortune, I quitted a friend—a friend re-
placed him. Pride may ſmile—the one a
vizier, the other a ſlave No matter : ſen-
fibility has nothing to do with the diſtincti-
Gn. -
The generous Ibrahim had called his
gifts trifling. They were immenſe. The
cargo of my veſſel was worth an hundred
thouſand crowns.
The firſt days of our voyage were fortu-
nate, and I flattered myſelf to be in a few
days at the feet of my father. My notions
ºf happineſs were now changed. The paſt
had taught me the little value of a fine figure,
and of the blandiſhments of love. Ah
that chimera fled, but to give way to ano.
ther . The advice of Ibrahim, my father’s
Pºº my own genius, which adverſity
and the commerce of a greatman had devº.
Vol. II. E.

50 ºr H E N E G R 0.
loped, turned my attention to an object
which ſeemed more worthy of my wiſhes.
Ambition and glory preſented themſelves
in all their charms before my eyes. My
wealth, I ſaid to myſelf, and my father's in-
fluence clears my way to the nobleſt career.
This, this is the true point of happineſs.
Covered with glory ! ſurrounded with ho-
nours what ſhall be wanting to my felicity
Already we perceived the coaſt to which
we ſteered ; and the ſame wind, in a few
hours, would bring us to the port. Vain
hope . The wind changed, and we were o-
bliged to tack during the whole day. In
the night the wind increaſed to a hurricane;
and, the neighbourhood of the coaſt becom-
ing dangerous, the captain ſtretched to ſea.
The following morning it became a decid-
ed tempeſt, which continued to rage for
many days with unbating fury ; and we
were driven, ſpight of our endeavours, into
the Mediterranean.
At length the heavens cleared ; but the
wind abated a little. We perceived a coaſt
before us, and it was recognized to be the
entrance of Marſeilles. It was then even-
ing, and the captain was of opinion that we
ought to wait for the next morning, to gain
the port, the neighbouring rocks rendering
the entrance difficult, and he fearing not to
be able to paſs it before the arrival of night:
but the whole crew, wearied with the fa-
tigues of ſo ſong a ſtorm, urged him to pro-

* If E N E G A 0- 5 *
ceed with ſuch obſtimacy that he had the
weakneſs to yield to their deſires.
At ſeven in the evening, we were along
fide of the rock which we were compelled
to paſs very near. The ſea broke ºn, it
with violence; the ſun was ſet ; and the
obſcurity of the night became profound. In
fine, we ſtruck upon the rock. The ſtroke
was horrible; and, in an inſtant, the water
penetrated as a torrent into the hold. ºn
the terrible confuſion, each thought only of
ſaving his own life; and now it was that I
ſaw all the coolneſs, the courage, the friend-
ſhip of my worthy Osmyn. Be collected,
ſaid he to me, and I anſwer for your life.
The agitation of the ſea would not have
admitted of any aſſiſtance from the port;
nor had we, in the fright with which each
was ſeized, even thought of firing a gun, as
a ſignal of diſtreſs. The bowſprit of our
veſſel had run upon the land ; and by that,
moſt of the crew endeavoured to ſave them-
ſelves. But amidſt the darkneſs of the night,
amidſt the efforts of a multitude for their
individual ſafety they deſtroyed each other,
and the greater part fell into the ſea, or
were cruſhed by the veſſel againſt the rocks;
where they were ſwallowed by the fury of
the waves. -
Cºmyn ſeized a rope, attached it ſtrongly
to the cordage of the mizen maſt, deſcen-
ded, ſprang into the ſea, and ſwam to the
ſhore, with the rope in his hand; faſtened
52 * * * N + & R 0,
it to the rock, and, when he was aſſured of
its firmneſs, embraced it with his hands and
feet, and thus climbing, with great difficul-
ty regained the veſſel. He now ſhewed me
in what manner I ſhould lay hold of the
rope, and placing himſelf behind me, to
moderate the rapidity of my motion in gli-
ding down it, in this manner we reached
the rocks in ſafety. His unſhaken recol-
lection had not even forgotten my leſs infe-
rior intereſts. He had contrived to convey
with him a ſmaſ caſket. This ſaid he, is
all that I could ſave for you ; but, at leaſt,
it will ſerve your preſent wants. A thou-
ſand ſequins, and my papers, was the whole
that was left of the bounty of Ibrahim.
Shortly after, the veſſel broke up into a
thouſand pieces, with a hideous noiſe, and
the ſea was covered with its remains.
The ſmall garriſon of the caſtle of If,
hearing the cries of the crew, came to re-
ceive us with humanity; but, as we came
from the Levant, we were compelled not-
withſtanding our condition, to undergo all
the fatigues of a quarantine. The captain
and ten men had eſcaped the ſhipwreck;
ut in what a condition almoſt naked,
without money and without friends. It
was undoubtedly, my firſt duty to ſoften
their misfortune, but to my ſhame muſt I
own, I thought only of my own loſs, and my
cruel reverſe of fortune. The ſoul of 0s-
myn was greater than mine. He had in
his girdle an hundred louis, which he had
-


ºf H = N E G R 0, 53
ſaved in the ſervice of the vizier. They
were his all. He diſtributed the whole a-
mongſt his unfortunate fellow-ſufferers. I
knew it not till ſome days after, when reflec-
tion had opened my eyes to the miſeries
which I imagined they muſt ſuffer. What
a difference They would have languiſhed
in want waiting for my aſſiſtance ; and Os-
myn had not given them time to know
what this want was, I have wiſhed an hun-
dred times to return this ſum to Osmyn :
but he has as often refuſed me ; and theſe
are the only refuſals which I have ever met
with from him. Ah, this is beneficence
without a ſtain. -
During my quarantine, I wrote to M. de
R—, my father's correſpondent at Mar-
ſeilles ; and he tendered me all the ſervices
which politeneſs and humanity could ſug-
geſt. He had ſeen me in my childhood ; he
had a friendſhip for me ; and I expected,
with impatience, the inſtant in which I
ſhould viſit him. I had now recovered
from the firſt vexation of my loſs. The
fortune of my father was ſufficiently great
ſtill to flatter my hopes, and my ſhip-wreck
had made no change in the new idea I had
conceived of happineſs.
As ſoon as I was permitted to enter Mar.
ſeilles, I went to the houſe of M. de A: º
he received me with goodneſs; and introdu-
cºd me to his wife and children. They us
nited in preſſing me to reſide with them. I
enquired if he had heard lately from my
E 2

54 * H E N E G R a.
|
father. He anſwered, Yes; and immedi-
ately changed the converſation. I was fur-
priſed, but forbore to make enquiries. All
the family ſeemed to exert themſelves to a-
muſe me during dinner; yet I fancied I per-
ceived a certain air of conſtraint, for which
I knew not how to account. It did not ariſe
from ceremony ; for I ſaw their heart en-
tered into their civilities. What was it
then Alas, I learned but too ſoon :
After we had dined, M. de R took
my hand and conducted me into his library,
He made me fit beſide him. Your adven-
tures, ſaid he, and the manner in which you
have ſupported your laſt misfortune, aſſure
me of the firmneſs of your mind. Alarm-
ed by this preface, I preſſed him to pro-
ceed. It is painful to me, ſaid he, to be o-
bliged to inform you of a new affliction, the
firſt time I have the pleaſure of being your
hoſt; but I muſt not conceal it : you no
longer have a father.
Ah, what grief ruſhed upon my ſoul! Re-
fle&tion; reflection tormented me. My de-
parture, my abſence from him, I ſaid to my-
ſelf, have preſſed him to the grave. My
ſituation became alarming. It was not a bit-
ter malady; but a dark melancholy, a lan-
guor which reſiſted all remedies.
Nothing could exceed the tender cares of
my hoſts; but my poor Osmyn was not wil-
ling that any one but himſelf ſhould watch
OW Cº ſºles

ºn E N E cºro. 53
However, in ſome months my youth had
nearly conquered my diſorder. Every means
which my friends could employ were brought
to the aid of nature; and theſe were finally
ſucceſsful. I began to think of returning to
Smyrna, to take poſſeſſion of my father's
property; and I named my deſign tº M. de
. Think not of Smyrna, ſaid he, you
are young, and have talents. Theſe are
nearly all your wealth. A ſedition, which
happened at Smyrna, haſtened your father's
death. The populace entered his houſe,
and all was pillaged and deſtroyed. His
papers being loſt, you will expect to recover
iittle of the property which he had in other
hands. I was about to remit him eighty
thouſand francs, I have them yet, and they
are yours. By adding them to your thou-
ſand ſequins you will have nearly thirty-ſix
thouſand livres ; they will be ſufficient with
conduct.
I received this intimation with more in-
difference than I ſhould have expected.—
We become inſenſible to misfortune, as
to proſperity. Happy is it for man—the
ſwifter the ſucceſſion of evils, the leſs he
feels them.
I aſked M. de R–2s advice as to the
meaſures I ought to purſue. Proceed to
Paris, ſaid he, and ſolicit your father's place,
no one is yet named to it. I have friends
there, and will give you letters of recom-
*endation. I will myſelf anſwer that you
hall have the ſuffrages of Marſeilles,

56 ºr ºf E N E G R or
|
I could not reſiſtaplan which was ſo agree-
able to the deſigns that I had formed. Load-
en with M. de R 's goodneſs, I depart-
ed for Paris. I ſaw the miniſter, and pre-
ſented a memorial to him, ſuſtained by thoſe
of my friends. He gave me hopes during
fix months; and I ſaw myſelf very politely
refuſed, after I had waſted a confiderable
part of my moderate finances. -
Happineſs then is not to be found in am-
bition ſaid I. It has deceived me, as well
as love. But where ſhall I go to ſeek her
You will ſoon ſee all my leſſons had not
yet made me wiſe. I had ſcarcely twenty-
fixthouſand livres remaining, but I flattered
myſelf I ſhould yet recover a conſiderable
indemnity from Conſtantinople, for the loſs
of my father's fortune, through the channel
of the French ambaſſador, i wrote to Ibra-
him, and informed him of all my misfortunes:
and this generous man was in the act of
ſending me ſuccours that aſſuredly would
have exceeded all my wants when—as if my
fatal deſtiny extended to every ſource which
could aid me—he paid with his life for the
dangerous honours which he had poſſeſſed
with glory.
I now looked around me. My abode at
Paris, and the poſt which I had ſolicited,
had procured me ſome acquaintance. Paris
is, perhaps, of all great cities, that in which
we ought to be moſt on our guard againſt
connections, and where it is moſt difficult

* H E N E G A 2- 57
to chooſe them with propriety. Diſtinčtions
diſappear there. The love of pleaſure levels
all. Each Aurora beholds a new ſucceſſion
of delights, and the flowers of this day chaſe
away the remembrance of the roſes which
perfumed the preceding evening. This is
happineſs, ſaid I, to myſelf. Here they
ſleep in the boſom of pleaſure, and the new
raptures awaken them. I will imitate them.
Alas! I did not perceive the maſk which
man too often wears. The life of a reſtleſs
warrior is not more painful than that of the
diſſipated youths of Paris. Repulſing the
avidious creditor, cringing to the hard uſu-
rer, inceſſantly tracing plans of reſource,
combating inquietude, braving reproaches,
for what?—one minute's enjoyment, for
pride; a ſecond, for pleaſure, (half of which
is claimed by laſtitude); and years of re-
morſe.
Of all my dreams, this was of the ſhorteſt
duration. One cannot go far with twenty-
fºx thouſand livres. The meteor of an in-
ſtant, ſoon was I extinguiſhed like many
others, in the abyſs of oblivion: while, the
playful, careſſing infects, which my blaze
had aſſembled around me, diſappeared as
the breath of a zephyr.
Of all the hearts which had ſworn eternal
friendſhip to me, there remained none but
ºnym. With more forefight than I, whilſt
lying pleaſures diſſipated my ſmall fortune,
he had been aſſiduous in learning an uſeful
* . Poverty warned me of a ſeparation
which my folly had rendered neceſſºry, and
is 7 ºf E N E G ºr º-
which friendſhip preſented to my mind as
terrifying. I had no debts: an uncommon
thing with ruined petits-maitres. But twen-
ty-five louis dºors were my whole property,
and it was neceſſary I ſhould now take to
ſome employment. Painful as it was, I
found myſelf compelled to open my deſigns
to Osmyn, and to announce to him the ago-
ny under which my ſoul groaned. He
ſmiled: We muſt ſeparate, ſaid he and
why? Becauſe I am poor; I anſwered.—
That is preciſely the reaſon why I ought to
remain with you, ſaid he. If you were rich,
you would have no need of me...—“Ah, but
how ſhall I ſupport you, Osmyn º'-' Fear
not : my labour will be more than ſufficient
for us both.”—“How ! Do you wiſh that
I ſhould abuſe” º
Ah! ſaid Osmyn, with vivacity, what is
it that I ſhall give you? That which even a
ſtranger ought not to refuſe. And what do
you not give me, by receiving : Have you
ſo elevated a ſoul, and do you not conceive
—Ah, I am much more happy than you,
ſince I never ſhall have received more gene-
rous benefactions from you!—What would
you ſay? I cried. What! The fruit of your
labour ! Never —
Hold, replied Osmyn, firmly, I begin to
be acquainted with European manners. Be
ſincere: do I deceive myſelf? Your heart
yields, but your pride kindles: you would
accept aſſiſtance from an equal; you do not
think me yours. -


* I e M. E. C. R. 3.
* Ah, the ſuſpicion offends me but”—
“But prejudice ſpeaks. How ſtrange -
You Europeans expend, without bluſhing,
the money which the poor man carries to
your treaſure, moiſtened with his blood-
But ſhould it be offered as a gift of his love,
wou fire at the affront. How abſurd! Bruno,
hear a truth: it is the man of nature who
tells it you. You were not aſhamed of my
ſervices at the vizier's. Know you why?
it was, becauſe I ſerved your paſſions. Now
my ſervices offend you; and why? Becauſe
they inform you that all men are equal. Ah,
deſpiſe theſe baubles of the mind, theſe
childiſh diſtinctions! Be a man, and permit
me to be one alſo I’”
Alas! I cried, throwing myſelf into his
arms, I would be as great as you. I accept
all: it is the only means I have to equal you.
Ah, my dear Otourou, you weep at the
recital of your father's greatneſs. Heaven
has reſerved him to be at once the model and
the recompenſe of your own virtues but it
is time, my friends, to finiſh a ſtory which
your love for me alone renders intereſting;
and I haſten to conclude.
While I was yet diſſipating my money, I
had been preſented to a widow who had no
children. She was about five and forty, and
was in the poſſeſſion of a handſome fortune.
With wit, gaiety and affability, ſhe drew to
her houſe an amiable, choſen ſociety, of -
which ſhe was the life and charm. I had


Go - * H E N E G R tº
ſeen her with that ſort of intereſt which eve-
ry man feels in the preſence of ſuch a wo.
man; but nothing farther; and, as ſoon as
I awoke to my misfortune, I ceaſed to viſit
her. One day, as I left my apartment, one
of her ſervants gave me a card from her,
merely requeſting to ſee me. It ſurpriſed
me that ſhe ſhould have diſcovered my new
habitation, which I had choſen as ſuiting
the ſituation of my affairs, and which I (not
having named it to any of my acquaintance)
believed to be perfectly unknown. I return-
ed a note, in anſwer, ſaying, that I was ſen-
ſible of the honour which ſhe did me; but
that reaſons, which I forbore to name, would
not permit me to accept of it.
I thought I ſhould hear no more of the
matter ; but I deceived myſelf. The next
day, a ſervant brought me a new billet;
ſhort, but unequivocal. I know, ſaid ſhe,
in the card, everything which has happened
to you. If theſe are your reaſons for avoid.
ing my houſe, they are frivolous, and you
do not know me. Come to me, to-morrow,
at five in the evening. I requeſt it. My
Swiſs has my orders, and my gate ſhall be
open only to you. -
I no longer did any thing without on.
ſulting Osmyn this deference was due to
him, and I ſhewed him the billet. Go,
ſaid he. What riſk you? Few as theſe
words are, they announce good nature and
delicacy : you need not diſtruſt thoſe who
with to ſee the unfortunate. I returned,


ºr ºf E N E G R 7. 6 :
then, for anſwer, that I would obey her conn-
mands.
The day came. I had yet ſome wrecks
of my former elegant dreſſes, and deſign-
ed to uſe the beſt of them. No decorati-
ons, ſaid Osmyn, to me. Dreſs yourſelf
fimply, and decently. There is ſome great-
neſs in appearing, ſuch as we are: I felt he
was right, and yielded to his reaſoning.
The lady received me with that frank-
neſs which is the reſult of true virtue. Un-
reſtrained by the preſence of ſociety, ſhe
developed one of thoſe hearts (which are
rare, it is true, but which yet are to be
found) that do not revolt at the fight of mis-
fortune. She deſired my confidence. Yet,
it was neither by a command nor a prayer;
it was by that art which we know not how
to define ; that inviſible aſcendency which a
dignified ſoul takes, without miſtruſting it-
ſelf, over the ſuffering mind that approach-
es it. I had no reſerves with her. I re-
counted all my life: all my faults. I thank
you, ſaid ſhe, for your confidence. I do not
think myſelf unworthy of it. Perhaps I
ſhall have, on my part, a ſecret to confide
with you; but it requires explication. To-
morrow, I go to the country. I will in-
form you of my return, which will not be
in leſs than fifteen days. In the mean time
here are an hundred jouis dºors.
As. ſhe ſaw a refuſal in my firſt geſture
ſhe ſaid, be not alarmed ; this is not a gift;
Vol. II. F

62 ºf H. E. N. E. G. R. º.
I reſpect you too much to offer one. It is
a reſtitution which I am charged to make
you. A reſtitution ſaid I. I do not re-
colle&t. It may eaſily have eſcaped your
memory, anſwered ſhe ſmiling: you have
not, I believe, always been accuſtomed to
reckon accurately with yourſelf. But, con-
tinued ſhe, with a ſerious air, I requeſt you
to free me from the burden of this depoſit.
I felt that obſtinacy would have juſtly of:
fended her; and having aſſured her that I
ſhould expect her commands with impati-
ence, I bowed, and retired.
I returned to Osmyn and informed him
of what had paſſed. I was in haſte to put
the hundred louis into his hands, the pot-
ſeſſion of which was agreeable to me only
as it regarded him. If this money is a reſ-
titution, ſaid he, you may certainly diſpoſe
of it; but it may poſſibly be a mere bene-
faction, and I am inclined to believe ſo.
The mode of conveying it was delicate and
ingenious ; however, do not touch it till
you know its real ſource. If it does ſpring
from liberality, there are people more un-
fortunate than we ; and this ſum diſtribu-
ted among many, by the generous giver,
might ſave them from deſpair: while, to
us, it would only add ſuperfluity.
About the time the lady had named, I
received an invitation, and waited upon
her. She treated me with yet more friend-
ſhip than before. We dined together alone.
I ſtill owe you the price of your confidence,

* If E N E G R 0. 63
ſaid ſhe, and I will pay my debt by the Fº
cret which I promiſed you. I have been a
widow theſe fifteen years. My inclinatiºn
had nothing to do with my marriage. My
huſband was a man of birth, but of reduced
circumſtances. Yet though he owed all
his fortune to me, I was not happy with
him. Since my widowhood, every thing
has conſpired to my felicity; you have been
witneſs of the reſpect with which I am treat-
cd by the world. My ſociety is ſmall; it
is compoſed of friends to whom I am dear;
but I have no children, nor any relations,
but what are at a diſtance, and unknown to
tº C.
She was filent a moment, then proceed-
ed: There are attachments which need not
be explained to delicate minds, and which
others do not underſtand. I would ſay, in
ſhort, that I wiſh to marry; I wiſh for afriend.
I wiſh to inſure happineſs to the man, who con-
titutes mine; I wiſh him to have birth, to pre-
ferve me in the public eſteem; I would have
him young, that he may ſurvive me; above all,
I would that he ſhould have ſuffered much,
that the happineſs I ſhall fee him enjoy,
may be my recompenſe for the good which
I pretend to do him. I would not have him
talk of love : oaths are not for old women.
Theſe are the qualities which I ſhould re-
quire in my companion. It may be difficult
to meet with them, yet I know a man who
unites them all. To him do I wiſh to give
my hand; and this man is yourſelf.

64 * H E N E G ºr cº-
It will be eaſy to conceive my ſurpriſe, at
a diſcourſe which I ſo little expected. I
ſtood ſome time, vainly ſeeking for expreſ-
fions. At length, tenderneſs, friendſhip,
gratitude, threw me at her feet. I could
not ſpeak: but ſhe received my tears, my
looks, for an anſwer.
She raiſed me with goodneſs, and made
me fit beſide her. You accept then, ſaid ſhe,
the burden I would impoſe on you. Ah!
it is too much, I cried. How ſhall I be wor-
thy of it : By a due uſe, ſaid ſhe, of the leſ.
ſons which providence has given you.
But you will not imagine, ſaid I, to her,
that there is one to whom I ought to commu-
nicate the goodneſs with which you over-
whelm me. Yet, gratitude, the moſt tender
friendſhip, make this my firſt duty. Then,
I recounted to her all that Osmyn had done
for me, from the time that I was in diſtreſs.
Your delicate and juſt feeling, ſhe replied,
advance you in my eſteem. She inſtantly
rang a bell, and ordered one of her people
to go for Osmyn. When he arrived, ſhe in-
ſiſted on his fitting beſide us, and repeated
to him all that ſhe had ſaid to me. Your
friend, ſaid ſhe, to Osmyn, will do nothing
without conſulting you. It is juſt : your be-
meficence is rare, and worthy of eſteem. You
have acquired the rights of a father: pro-
nounce then. Madam, he anſwered with
modeſty, this is to pay me a great price for
having diſcharged an obligation which na-
ture impoſed. She gives to each of us out

-- º H E N E G A 2- 6;
part; mine at preſentis, to applaud with de-
ight and reſpect the happineſs which you
have prepared for my friend.
How noble cried Madame de B–, What
a leſſon for the little pride of human nature
how often do we regard, with diſdain, ob-
jects which we ought to conſider on our
knees .
Osmyn wiſhed to withdraw. She would
not ſuffer it; and ſhe deſired me in his pre-
fence to fix the day for our marriage. I re-
preſented to her that, for my own ſatisfacti.
on, I wiſhed to have my papers and other
documents from Marſeilles ; to prove that
I had not impoſed on her. Pardon me, ſaid
ſhe, I have written to M. de R–, whom you
named to me. I have already received his
anſwer, and the details which I requeſted.
Well, ſaid Osmyn to me, was I deceived as
to the reſtitution How is that ſaid Ma-
dame de B , I related our converſation
to her. It was truly a reſtitution, ſhe re-
plied. And from whom I ſaid. “ For-
tune: has ſhe not ſufficiently robbed you?”
I kiſſed her hand.
In fine, everything was agreed on which
related to the marriage; and I retired, with
Cºmyn, full of ſatisfaction, and penetrated
with the felicity which an unforeſeen adven-
ture promiſed me.
I ſaw Madame de B daily; and learn-
ed to eſteem her, more and more. Her ºf .
F 2

66 * H E N E G ºr º-
tues, at each inſtant, inflamed my friendſhip,
and my admiration. On the firſt of January
we ſigned our marriage contraćt, in which
ſhe ſecured to me, after her death, ten thou-
ſand livres annual rent. The day of our
marriage approached; and I abandoned my-
ſelf to the moſt delightful reflections. The
7th of January was the appointed day. On
the fifth, I waited upon her early in the morn-
ing (it was about nine); and was ſurpriſed
to ſee her chariot at the door. Is it you? ſaid
Madame de B , ſit down and take ſome
chocolate with me. I am going to my no-
tary. I fear a little ambiguity in one of the
articles of our marriage contract. I muſt
have it cleared up. The weather is ſevere,
permit me to go, ſaid I. No ſhe replied.
Theſe people have not the niceſt feelings,
and he may miſtake your motive. It is bet-
terthat I explain my doubt to him myſelf.
I ſhall ſcarcely be gone more than two hours.
You dine with me? I promiſe myſelf that
pleaſure, ſaid I. Ceremonious ſaid Ma-
dame de B , ſmiling. Not ſo; returned
I. It is abſolutely that which you merit, and
which it ſhall be my glory to render you :
the tendereſt reſpect. An indeſcribable
ſmile was her anſwer. She took her choco-
late, and I handed her into her carriage.
It was about noon when ſhe returned. It
is cruelly cold, ſaid ſhe I am frozen. But
you have been wearied I fear ; and, after
all, this difficulty which alarmed me, was
imaginary. I remarked that ſhe was hoarſe
I have caught a little cold, ſaid ſhe. The

* A E N E G R 0- 67
Notary's ſtudy was uncommonly warm.
When I quitted him I went to maſs: and I
felt the damp and cold ſtrike me. But it
is a trifle.
I paſſed the remainder of the day with
her, and ſhe converſed with her uſual chear-
fulneſs. In the evening her hoarſeneſs was
confiderably augmented; and ſhe complain-
ed of a ſlight head-ach. She was already
become ſo dear to me, that the leaſt indif-
poſition alarmed me; and I withdrew early,
preſſing her to retire to reſt. The next
morning, ſhe was in a high fever, and a phy-
fician was called, who pronounced her to be
in great danger. On the following day, the
phyſician informed me that he had no hope,
and that he thought it his duty to inform her
of her ſituation. My reſolution inſtantly
failed me; and I quitted the chamber una-
ble to bear the ſcene. She has received the
intimation, ſaid the phyſician as he left me,
with refignation ; and if the fever returns in
the evening, with its uſual violence, ſhe is a
loſt woman. My heart was torn by every
word. This was the day which had been
fixed for our union : Yet, I laboured to ſup-
preſs my feelings, and returned to her bed.
She took my hand, and preſſing it gently,
my friend, ſaid ſhe, with a feeble voice, I
have given you much trouble. I know you
have ſcarce left me for a moment. You
ſhall go and take ſome repoſe. In the even-
ing, you may return again ; that will oblige
me: Go; you will give me pain if you re-
main longer without reſt.

68 ºr nº lº N = G ºr tº:
I could not contend the matter with her,
for I could not ſpeak; and I went to my a-
partments to give my tears, to give my an-
guiſh to Osmyn.
I returned in the evening to Madame de
B 's houſe ; and was informed, that,
during the day, the notary had been with her.
I entered her chamber. She was now with-
out fever, and I felt ſome rays of hope till
about midnight. Then, the fever returned
with violence, and a delirium ſoon followed.
This night was terrible to me. I had ex-
perienced bitter diſappointments, heavy miſ-
fortunes, but this ſeemed the moſt cruel in-
ſtant of my life. It was not the loſs of an
ample fortune which I lamented, it was not
the peaceable and happy days which ſeemed
within my reach that I regretted ; it was the
loſs of a virtuous woman, of an amiable
friend, who had ſought me in misfortune,
and when almoſt all the world had forſaken
Inc.
I went out of the apartment, to give a free
courſe to my tears. The whole houſe was
plunged in the trueſt ſorrow ; for, ſhe was
beloved by all who ſurrounded her. Some
hours after, the fever had ceaſed, and ſhe
aſked for me. I approached her bed. She
made a ſign to her attendants, and they with-
drew. When ſhe perceived that we were
alone, ſhe ſaid—our ſeparation is the only
thing which diſturbs my laſt moments. Your
tender cares during my illneſs, have proved
the value of my choice. But we muſt ſub-

ºf n E N E G R 0, 69
mit to the will of God. My fortune would
have been yours. Alas! I now fear you
will profit little by it. I have named you
in my will, but you muſt not flatter your-
ſelf that you will ſee it reſpected. My heirs,
whom neither you nor I know, will proba-
bly diſpute with you the poor marks of my
regard. Take the little caſket which you ſee
on the table. It contains eighteen thouſand
francs, and ſome jewels; accept this laſt of.
fer of my friendſhip. Think ſometimes of
me; but never forget your God, Adieu !
my friend. Leave me: I can ſupport all,
but the fight of your tears
She was filent; and made me a ſign to
withdraw. I took her hand, and ſhed my
unreſtrained, my grateful tears, upon it.
In a few minutes, ſhe gently drew it away
from me: and fearing too much to diſ-
compoſe her laſt moments, I hurried myſelf
away.
Yet, I could not reſolve to leave the
houſe. In the evening I ſaw her confeſſor,
as he retired from her apartment. He ſaid
to me: we no longer owe her anything ex-
cept the tribute of our tears.
I had given to Osmyn, the caſket, the laſt
marks of the goodneſs of my benefactreſs.
He had carried it to my apartments, and
had inſtantly returned, knowing my need
of his preſence in ſuch a moment. He had
brought a carriage with him ; and avail-
ing himſelf of the ſtupor into which I had
7& ºf H E N E G & 9.
fallen after the confeſſor left me, he forced
me into it, and led me from the mournful
ſcene.
Yet, before he departed, he had time to
view the inſenſibility of avarice. Scarcely
had Madame de B , breathed her laſt,
when a man entered the houſe, accompani-
ed by a commiſſary. He looked at me (as
Cºmyn told me, for I knew not what paſſed)
with a ſuſpicious and malignant look. With
avarice in his eyes, and the ſmile of tri-
umph on his countenance and lips, he cold-
ly placed ſeals on the doors, in the midſt
of the ſobs with which the houſe reſound-
ed. Cºmyn almoſt rejoiced in my conditi-
on, which prevented my obſerving the re-
volting object.
Some days after, the will was read. Ma-
dame de B , had left me an hundred
thouſand crowns; to her heirs, ſhe had be-
queathed ſix hundred thouſand francs, and
her furniture ; and had ordered a hundred
thouſand francs to be diſtributed among her
people and a certain number of poor, whom
ſhe named.
The heirs of Madame de B inſtitu-
ted a ſuit to ſet aſide the will. I felt too
much reſpect for the memory of my bene-
fačtreſs not to maintain her laſt wiſhes, in
every inſtance, if poſſible. I appeared and
defended the cauſe ; and this ſuit coſt me
great part of the eighteen thouſand francs
which ſhe had given me. The heirs tri-


* H E N E G R 9. 7 :
umphed; I loſt my legacy; and the poor
were deprived of their portion. The chief
of theſe heirs had an increaſe of four hun-
dred thouſand livres.
I was now ſeized with a melancholy,
which reſulted from a perſuaſion that no
happineſs was to be found on the earth. I
felt a ſort of hatred againſt all nature. I con-
verted the little property which was left
me into government ſecurity, and reſolved.
with this ſcanty pittance, to hide myſelf
from all ſociety, (excepting that of my dear
Osmyn, whom I ſtill loved); and to wait
the end of a life hitherto cruelly agitated,
now ſunk into the darkeſt gloom. Osmyn
ſeemed not to oppoſe my thoughts; and
thus paſſed fix months without any other
amuſement than that of a walk, and in which
I rarely indulged myſelf.
One day I found myſelf preſſed my hun-
ger, at a conſiderable diſtance from my
lodging ; and, it being the uſual hour of
dining at ſuch places, I entered an hotel,
and placed myſelf at the table of an ordina-
ry. The converſation turned upon happi-
neſs. Each of the company varied as to
the means, but all were convinced that hap-
pineſs was to be found; excepting myſelf
alone. A few words of my own hiſtory,
which eſcaped me before I was aware, a.
wakened curioſity, and no longer left it in
my power to refuſe the detail to the preſſing
requeſt of my companions. All heard me
with eager attention; all pitied my conditi-

72 * If E N E G nº ºne
-
on , but all remained in their former opini-
on. After reciprocal civilities the compa-
ny ſeparated; I went out the laſt; and found,
at the door of the hotel, an eccleſiaſtic,
who had been one of the company at din-
ner; and who had entered but little into
the converſation. IIe accoſted me politely,
and propoſed that we ſhould take a cup of
coffee together. He was a ſtranger, but
his appearance and manner inſpired me
with confidence ; and I conſented.
You avow yourſelf, ſaid the eccleſiaſtic, to
be the irreconcileable enemy of happineſs;
yet you appear to have a feeling and virtuous
mind. This is all that is requiſite to happi-
neſs ; and I would gladly lead you into the
way of felicity. Pardon me for the inter-
ruption, ſaid I, but if you have any new
ſcheme of fortune to propoſe to me, I can-
not hear any further. Yes: ſaid he, I would
propoſe a fortune which is open to all the
world, which you have but to will and to
poſſeſs; a fortune which never periſhes; and
which alone inſures happineſs.
“You aſtoniſh me!”—“This wealth, this
happineſs, is integrity.” “Integrity I
ſhould bluſh to have wanted it.”—“I will
ſuppoſe ſo; and what is it?”—“To fulfil
all the duties, all the obligations, impoſed
on us by ſociety.”—“You are far from it;
an automaton might do as much without
motives; a vicious mind, with improper
motives.”—“What then is it *-* Inte-
grity is a ſingleneſs of will and affection-A

* ºf E N E G ºr 0. 73
will informed only by love. That love which
has no bounds within the ſcope of being-
From this ſpring, preſerved pure, happineſs
inevitably, invariably, flows: But In Prº-
portion as any thing extraneous mixes with
it, in proportion, miſery enters with the
corruption.”
New light ſprang into my mind. I had
thirſted for happineſs ; and I now flew to
ſlake my thirſt in the fountain. I need not
repeat to you all the converſations which I
had with this worthy eccleſiaſtic. He never
quitted me till he had conſummated his
work ; and I owe to him a new life a new
being :
This principle, this ſentiment, ſleeps not
in a ſtate of inactivity, I burned to ſerve
mankind. The countrymen of my affecti-
onate Osmyn preſented themſelves to my
mind, Oh! cried I, that I could pluck their
European tyrants from the throne of their
cruelty Yet ſhall I withhold the feeble ef.
fort of my fingle arm No.: I will haſten to
inform their minds; I will fly to ſoften their
calamities :
I took the ſacerdotal habit; and keeping
my eye on this object, in a few years I ob-
tained an appointment to the ſacred office
which I now fill, and in which I do find un-
ceaſing happineſs.
Bruno having thus terminated his recital,
we all preſſed upon him, to embrace him in
Vol. II. G.
47 ºr H E N E & R a.
our turns; to thank him for the pleaſure we
had all received, and the inſtruction which
we might draw from a life now crowned
with virtue.
Otourou (who ſat cloſe beſide me, and whom
I could ſcarce reſtrain in certain paſſages of
the hiſtory), Otourou threw himſelf at the
feet of the good old man. Ah, benefactor,
deliverer of my father he cried. They
were the only words which could ruſh from
his heart. -
The following day releaſed us from pri-
ſon, and the ceremony was a ſort of triumph
to us. The people attended us in crowds.
They were heard to cry, theſe are the ne:
groes who were to have periſhed for having
defended a European . Theſe are the Eu.
ropeans who did not doubt the innocence of
negroes! Behold, cried Bruno, addreſſing
himſelf to the European ſpectators–Theſe
are your brethren: Why reject you the name:
Is it more painful to pronounce than that of
ſlave : Deprive them not of the love you owe
to all men. Love them : nature inſpires it
humanity requires it : God commands it.
God, humanity, nature . Where are the pa.
gans, the idolators, who could reſiſt their
united voice? Ah, you are Chriſtians.
Some carriages had been prepared for us.
and we all left the city; but I was at firſt ig-
norant whither our friends deſigned to con-
dućt us. I ſoon diſcovered we were pro-
ceeding toward the plantation of M. d.


















* tº E N E G ſº 0. 73
Q- ; and Ferdinand, having º, re-
laws of horſes on the road, we arrived t .
the ſame day: the unworthy overſeer had
been diſmiſſed from his employment.
To find myſelf in the midſt of my friends,
in the very place that had been ſo fatal to me,
gave me exquiſite delight : but ſoon I
thought of Amelia, Dumont : and my heart
funk into ſorrow. This plantation, indeed
was of all others moſt capable of bringing to
each of us ſome unhappy remembrance. To
Ferdinand, it recalled his father. To Ho-
moria, a guilty brother, whoſe unhappy death
had haſtened that of her father. To Otou-
row the fatigues and anxiety which he had
here endured ; and I did nothing but weep
in the apartment which the unfortunate Ame-
a had occupied.
I was aſtoniſhed that Ferdinand had cho.
fen this abode, for the ſcene of a feſtival,
over which he deſigned joy alone ſhould
reign. Ah! I knew not, yet, all the gene-
rofity of a heart, whoſe days were marked
by unceaſing acts of beneficence
On the following morning, all aroſe early,
ºpt myſelf. The good Osmºn entered
my chamber, and informed me that on
friends were aſſembled, and that breakfaſt
waited for me. I found them fitting round
***-table, and they all roſe when tered.
We are very rude to diſturb you, thus, ſaid
Ferdinand. “Rather his I, who have
*ot ſooner attended you; but a gentle ſleep
76 * H E N E & R 0,
overpowered me.” Or was it not, ſaid
Bruno, that the maſter of the houſe had bu-
fineſs which engaged him : What would you
ſay, my good father: I cried. The truth,
replied Honoria, you are here at home. This
plantation is yours. This is your title ; and
ſhe preſented to me a deed of gift, duly exe-
cuted. Ah! I cried, what do you? I have
no need of riches; your love, your heart,
my friends, theſe ſhall be my only wealth
Take back, take back your favour ! You re-
fuſe me then? ſaid Ferdinand, folding me in
his arms. But what have I done ſaid I, to
merit If, replied Ferdinand, if I were
vile enough to put a price upon your bene-
fačtions, I could recall them all. I would
ſay that you have ſaved my life I
would ſay that you once ſaved the life of
ºny father, would again have ſaved it
would declare that my injuſtice had con-
ducted you to the gates of death! I would
acknowledge that Honoria and I have de-
prived you of the man who educated you in
the principles of truth, of your beſt friend:
and of Amelia, of the obječ of your affecti-
on I would add that your affection is ſtill
an unabating zeal . Think you that ſuch
things are paid by gifts : I ſhould bluſh to
have imagined ſo It is to my friend that
I offer the juſt tribute of my love!
I would have anſwered. All ſurround-
ed me : they cloſed my mouth. Osmºn,
even Otourou, joined them. In vain did
I defend myſelf. I was compelled to
wield,



ºf E N E & R 9. 77-
well, I cried, I accept it, I accept it with
joy. The names of Ferdinand and Honora
would have been graven only on my heart.
Here, the air which I reſpire, every object
of my fight, will recal, without ceaſing: their
dear names to me !
They looked as if they had gained a vic-
tory ! Exalted friends ! They had ſaid that
it was I who was their benefactor .
Iſtood for ſome time contemplating the
luxury of their feelings. Suddenly, I cried
with tranſport–Am I then maſter here I
ſprang from them. I flew to the habitation
of the negroes. They had already gone to
labour. I ran to find them. They ſaw me;
recollected me; furrounded me. My coun-
trymen, my countrymen! They tell me that
I am your maſter ah! I am your friend
Liberty This ſhall be the firſt exerciſe of
my power
Inſtantly there aroſe a confuſed found of
joy, fighs, applauſe, benedictions. The
neareſt, embraced me! thoſe further of ten-
dered their arms to me. What a fight !
Europeans, if you enjoy it not, anſwer it to
-
yourſelves |
Receive our oath—cried they. Never
will we quit you. On this land will we pay
ºur debt to you. We will render it tenfold
fertile.
- Come, my friends, cried I. Thank you?
real benefactors. The generous Europe-
G 2. -
73 - ºr H E N E G R g.
-
ans, to whom we owe the happineſs which
penetrates all our minds.
I march. They follow me. I arrive at
the houſe, ſurrounded with this crowd leſs
brilliant, without doubt, than that which fur-
rounds monarchs; but, ſurely, more faithful,
more zealous ! I call Honoria and Ferdinand
Come, ſay I, contemplate your work I had
but one heart to love you: I had but one
voice to bleſs you. I have found an hun-
dred to adore you : an hundred to bear wit-
neſs to your beneficence : My friends could
not ſpeak. Seized with aſtoniſhment, with
joy, with pleaſure, they mingled among the
negroes, and received their careſſes, they
careſſed them. The names of friends, chil-
dren, brethren were laviſhed with profu-
ſion.
God of men cried theſe unfortunate peo-
ple—give to all Europeans the goodneſs of
our deliverers, and negroes will periſh for
them with joy! -
This happy day was indeed a feſtival for
the heart. My poor negroes, crowned with
flowers, paſſed it with ſongs and in dances.
Honoria and Ferdinand did not decline to
partake of theſe pleaſures. The negroes
drank to their health with the trueſt grati-
tude, and they returned this expreſſion of aſ-
ſection with fincereſt truth. The good Bru-
mo, the worthy old man, deigned alſo to for-
get his age and his condition; and yielded
himſelf entirely to the general gaiety. And



* h ∈ N E G R 0, 79
-- , ſº
Osmºn, Otourou, and I—what a ſcene for
... iſ arts: Europe guided by humanity,
- - - * -- -
and ſmiling on the virtues of Africa
My worthy friends did not forget Otº-
º, and his father. They ſecured to each
an annuity for his life. This I ardently op-
poſed. I was rich enough, and deſigned
that we ſhould make only one family. But
we muſt again ſubmit to a duty, which they
deemed ſacred.
They paſſed fifteen days—ſhall I ſay
with me. Yes: for I cannot write the word
without renewing in my heart the gentleſt
ſenſations. They paſſed, then, fifteen days
with me. Ferdinand informed me that he
had made every arrangement for his future
reſidence in France. The health of Hono-
ria had been much impaired, and the phy-
ficians had aſſured her that a more temper-
ate climate would probably reſtore it.
Ferdinand ſaw that this intelligence grie-
ved me. Why afflict yourſelf: ſaid he.
We ſhall only be ſeparated as much as your-
ſelf may wiſh. I have always hoped that
you would not leave me, but if you cannot
enure yourſelf to the climate or manners of
Europe ; or any other cauſe ſhould render
it diſagreeable to you, you have here an atº-
lum which appertains to you, independent
of any will. Dumenil (who defires to re-
ºurn to his native country with us) and we
ſhall make but one family. Will not you.
make one of the family, Itanoko & -
8 o ºr in E N E G ºr tº:
I will follow you over the earth, ſaid I.
tneeded ſuch a ſentiment as my affection
for you to overcome, in a negro, the re-
membrance of his country. I no longer,
think of it; but I feel that, ſhould I loſe
you, this abode would become odious to me.
The deſire of reviſiting my country too
would return with vigour. Ah, what
ſhould I ſeek there New torments : ſince
it would only offer to me the aſhes of a de-
parted father, the remembrance of a loſt lo-
ver. For /) ºf and Amelia without ºne
will never return there.
My only unhappineſs, ſaid Ferdinand, is
to leave Brºc behind us. I tremble to bid
him a laſt adieu. Yet his age, ſtill more
the zeal which binds him to his duty, do
not permit me to hope that he will accom-
pany us. Ah, do not deſpair to overcome
his repugnance, ſaid I. He loves us as a fa-
ther.
Our venerable old friend had quitted us
ſome days before : the cares of his miniſtry
(which he never forgot) having called him
back to the city. M. and Madame de
0. were preparing alſo to depart : Fer-
dinand had taken the name of de C. at
the requeſt of Honoria’s father. I promiſ-
ed to follow them when I ſhould have eſta-
bliſhed, in my plantation, the regulations
that I had projected ; and they left me with
Osmyn and Glourou.
The new order of things which I had de-


ºr ºf a N E G R 9. 8 :
ſigned to adopt had not an improvement ºf
ºn eſtate for its object. A care dearer to
my heart, occupied my mind. It was the
condition of my poor negroes: Regarding
diſcipline as the baſis oftranquility, happineſs.
and good order, I paid my firſt atteº
to that I cauſed them all to be aſſembled,
and I ſpoke thus to them.
Myfriends, I have reſtored liberty to you,
and you have promiſed to ſerve me in re-
turn. I wiſh not by a ſurpriſe, unworthy
of me and of your conduct, to abuſe the
firſt emotion which gratitude cauſed in your
hearts. I have not deſtroyed your chains
to impoſe new ones on you. If any of you
turn your eyes toward your country, let him
ſpeak ; let him behold me ready to conduct
him thither.
A very ſhort pauſe enſued. No was
the unanimous cry. We will yet remain
with you. We wiſh to die in our country
in our old age ; but we wiſh alſo to conſe-
crate our youth to our deliverer.
My countrymen, I replied, I thank you
for your friendſhip. Hear what I deſign for
your welfare. To aboliſh all rule would
be to nurture crimes. I believe you inca-
pable of committing any but I will ſhew
myſelf inexorable to the perverſe man who
ſhall be guilty of them. Yet will I not
puniſh you. The puniſhment of crimes is
in the hand only of the laws. Exped not,
from me, an undue compañon which ſnai
82. º n > N E c ºr o-
make me conceal the criminal. No : Iwill
myſelf conduct him to the hands which are the
depoſitary of public authority. Yet, again,
I believe that not one of you will oblige me
to employ this ſeverity.
Butlet us quit this ſubject for one that is
indiſpenſible to man. It is the order ever
neceſſary in a numerous ſociety. Aſſem-
bled as you were in this place by misfor-
tune, retained here as you ſtill are by grati-
tude, henceforth united by your mutualla-
bour, your happineſs depends on concord.
You ought to love each other. It is the
firſt duty of men. I will give you the ex-
ample; but my friendſhip ſhall not be with-
out diſtinétions; if you will compell me to
make diſtinctions. I will give it, without
reſerve to him who ſhall exalt himſelf by
his love for his brethren. It ſhall be weak.
er to the negro who ſhall attempt to diſturb
the repoſe of this ſociety. But I ſhall eter.
nally withdraw it from him who ſhall mani-
feſt incorrigible hatred againſt other men:
even though they be Europeans. Loaden
with my indignation, I will chaſe him from
this ſpot, as the invader of the general peace.
No longer ſhall any taſks be ſet in your
labour. You will calculate the quantity by
your ſtrength : you will execute it by your
love; and you will continue it, as reaſon
ſhah dictate. If the land ſhould remain un-
cultivated, I could not give you clothing
and nouriſhment. Your intereſt, then pro-
ceeds hand in hand with mine. Man is



gº ºf E N E G R 9- 83
not born for idleneſs. If ſome diſſipated
negro forgets this firſt law, whips ſhall not
aſ it to his remembrance ; having done
nothing, he ſhall receive nothing from us.
He witherefore, have no ſupport. Then,
mali we ſee if, compelled to tender a ſuppli-
eating hand toward me or toward his com-
panions to obtain ſomething for his poſitive
wants, then we ſhall fee, if he will not re-
member that it is neceſſary he ſhould la-
bour.
I wiſh that my fight may always inſpire
confidence. I would not have your coun-
tenance teach me that you fear it. I would
that friendſhip alone ſhould be viſible at my
approach ; for, when I mingle with you, it
ſhall be to conſole you in your troubles ; to
ſpeak to you of mine ; and to bleſs, with
you, that eternal truth and wiſdom which
has attached the ſatisfaction of the heart and
tranquility of the mind to an upright and
exact performance of our duties: it ſhall
be to liſten to your complaints, to remedy
or convince you of the injuſtice of them:
finally, it ſhall be to unbend myſelf from
my cares (for all need indulgence) by the
proofs of your attachment; and to ſoothe
yours by the effuſions of my friendſhip.
Is this mode of life agreeable to you,
my friends Swear then, among your-
º to obſerve the order and well being
of it.
Yes, we do ſwear ! we do ſwear they

43 * H E N × G. R. o.
cried with one voice: and may he be pun.
iſhed with ſeverity who violates his oath.
It is enough, ſaid I to them. Go: the reſt
demands my care.
On the following morning, I aroſe be-
fore the break of day, and, going to the ha-
bitation of the negroes, I ordered the come
mander to aſſume his uſual functions, and
to purſue exactly the practice to which he
had been accuſtomed during the time that
the management of the plantation had been
under the direction of the overſeer. I
wiſhed, now, that my mind was ſome-
what at liberty to give a ſcope to its obſer-
vation, to judge myſelf of the ſyſtem which
has been adopted for the government of the
negroes.
The hour of labour having arrived, ſleep
was ſoon baniſhed from the habitation by
the frightful noiſe of enormous whips. In
a ſhort time, I beheld the poor negroes, al-
moſt naked, and with their eyes half open-
ed, crawling out of this humble dwelling,
in which the magic of dreams ſometimes
conſoled them for the injuſtice of men.
Scarcely yet aſſured of the truth of what
they had heard and ſeen reſpecting their li-
berty, in ſhort, almoſt believing the whole
to be a delirium, I ſaw the impreſſion of
peace ſlowly vaniſh from their counte-
nance; and an idea of the continuation of
their wretchedneſs, by degrees, ariſing to
convićtion.

ºr ºf E N E G R 6. 8;
And now I learned that five hours fe-
were labour muſt precede their firſt re-
freſhment. And they are men, ſaid I,
who have dićtated ſuch laws to men like
themſelves? Are there then two ſpecies of
men
As ſoon as all the negroes were aſſem-
bled, I took the unworthy whips, and tear-
ing them into a thouſand pieces, I trod
them under my feet ; my unhappy coun-
trymen gave a ſhout of joy; and, with one
voice, one heart, praiſed the God of the
univerſe for this confirmation of their li-
berty and happineſs; and thus (too ſeldom
the caſe) was the name of the Creator
heard in this land unſullied by a figh or
tear.
I cauſed a cordial to be given to each of
them; a precaution that intereſt, at leaſt,
ſhould take in the abſence of humanity; to
preſerve them from the conſequences of
their exceſſive perſpiration, and the heat of
the ſun a principal cauſe of the frequent
maladies of theſe poor people. I aſſured
them that they ſhould, each morning, re-
ceive the ſame refreſhment; and that,
henceforth, the ſound of a bell ſhould be
the ſignal of their raiſing to labour.
We afterwards proceeded to the employ-
men of the day; and the commander, ac-
cording to his uſual practice, aſſigned to
each his taſk. My friends, ſaid I, will you
oblige, me by labouring a ſhort time as you
Vol. II. H

86 * H E N E G R 0.
have been accuſtomed to do? The moment
I made the requeſt, one of them began
a ſong (2) and all of them inſtantly
ſtooped to the ground, and applied them.
ſelves to their labour with vigour. This
ſong will continue till the hour of taking
their food, ſaid the commander to me, and
during that time no one dares to raiſe his
head. I obſerved that they laboured with
their faces to the fun, whoſe increaſing heat
could not fail greatly to oppreſs them. It
an European were in my place, ſaid I, to the
commander, you would not dare to change
their poſition? No, he anſwered; the work
muſt be executed preciſely as it is ordered.
Suppoſe, however, ſaid I, you were to
make the alteration, what would be the
conſequence to yourſelf: “Probably, fifty
ſtrokes of the whip.” * Would it be
injurious to the proprietor were theſe peo:
ple to begin their work at the other end of
the ground º-" No : it would be the
ſame thing.”
Oh, Europeans, does your barbarity thus
pervade all! Does it extend evento the moſt
indifferent things :
Still, they continued to labour with in-
credible activity. One of them ceaſed a
moment from his work. By the violent
manner in which the humid drops ruſhed
from his pores, and by the working of his
breaſt and fides, I imagined that fatigue
had compelled him to take breath-You
ſee that poor man, ſaid I, to the command-
er.—What do your inſtructions inform you

ºr ºr E N E G R 0. 87
to do with him : To go, and remind him
of his labour by a dozen ſtrokes of the
horſe-whip. What, ſaid I, without enquir:
ing into the cauſe of his ceaſing to work :
He ſtands ſtill, replied the commander: that
is ſufficient. .
I approached the negro. Alas, the unfor-
tunate man had been ſo long accuſtomed to
the mandates of oppreſſion, that, forgetting
his preſent condition, without ſpeaking to
me, he lowered his timid head, and ſeemed
to await the puniſhment which he fancied
hung over him. Friend, ſaid I, why have
you not continued your labour? He ſhew-
ed me an enormous thorn which had pe.
netrated his foot, almoſt to the bone.
Tears, in deſpight of my efforts, ſprang
into my eyes. And this, cried I, is a crime
which Europeans deem worthy of puniſh-
ment
I had dwelt long enough on this ſcene;
and, interrupting the labour, I placed the ne:
groes in a ſituation where they ſuffered leſs
from the ſcorching rays of the ſun. I wiſh
for no taſks, ſaid I to them. Let each of
You, my friends, perform as much as is
ſuitable to his ſtrength; and let each reſt as
his wearineſs ſhall require. Forget not that
you are no longer ſlaves.
Their uſual refreſhment was now brought
them. It conſiſted of ſome boiled fruits of
the banana, and mouldy biſcuits. Have
they no other proviſion than this? ſaid I.
88 ºf H E N E G R 9.
Very rarely, anſwered the commander; but,
ſometimes, we give them a little dry rancid
cod, or a little damaged beef, the refuſe of
ſhip ſtores, which are bought at an inferior
price. I caſt away this infamous meal.
and diſtributed among them more whole-
ſome aliments which I had taken care to pro-
vide : for I knew the neceſſity.
They afterwards returned to their la:
bour ; but as freemen. They ceaſed, at
the uſual hour in the evening, with leſs fa-
tigue, although they had performed much
more than the common work of the day.
And why? It was becauſe the foul had re-
ſumed part of her energy. In chains the
ſoul languiſhes, and the body becomes en-
ervated.
Nations of Europe Dogs have divided
with you the glory of your conqueſts in
America. You have been ungrateful to
them ; and relied too little on their powers:
or, to them, you would have confided the
culture of your new countries. They would
have ſerved you better than negroes. The
weakeſt of animals is man enſlaved
My friends returned from the field with
ſongs of triumph and joy. An European
would ſcarcely have believed they were ne-
groes in the American iſles. He would
have been deluded, for a moment, with the
picture, which he had often ſeen in his own
happy country, of the contented reaper, the
joyful vine-gatherer returning to the peace-



* H E N E G ºr 0. 39
ful home, where repoſe and happineſs wait-
ed his arrival.
Meanwhile, report had ſpread theſe oc-
currences to a conſiderable diſtance, and I
ſaw a number of negroes, who had formerly
deſerted from this plantation, return to
place themſelves under my protection. Of
ſome of theſe I enquired into the cauſes
which had induced them to eſcape. The
firſt that anſwered me was an old negro.
One day, ſaid he, after the uſual hour of
repaſt, I was ſurpriſed by ſleep, under the
ſhade of a tree; and did not hear the fig-
nal given for us to reſume our labour. I
was awakened by violent ſtrokes of a horſe
whip, which lacerated my body to ſuch a
degree that, in my agony, an involuntary
cry eſcaped me. The overſeer, who was pre-
ſent, ſaid–Has the wretch the audacity to
complain : I mildly anſwered, no fir: my
pain forced me to cry out, in ſpite of my-
ſelf. This anſwer was conſidered as a ſcan-
dalous outrage. The next day I was pu-
niſhed with an hundred laſhes of the whip ;
and, as I had not the happineſs to die, as I
vainly hoped, I preferred a flight into the
mountains where, at leaſt, death would
not be attended with ſuch ſufferings.
A female negro informed me that ſhe
had been employed as a domeſtic in the
houſe of the overſeer. One day, continued
the that I was in the apartment of the o-
verſeer's lady, ſhe let her handkerchief fan
ºn the ground. My back was turned to her.
H2

90 * H E N E G R 0.
The fall of an handkerchief does not make
much noiſe ; and, as I did not hear it, ſhe
was reduced to the fatigue of opening
her mouth to call me. As a puniſhment
for my fault, ſhe gave me ten ſevere laſhes.
One of theſe blows wounded my breaſt.
At that time I fuckled my infant, but my
milk left me, and my child waſted : it was
not my fault. Madam the overſeer's lady,
perceived it, and told me, that ſhould my
child continue to fall away ſhe would pu-
niſh me with laſhes in proportion. If that
would have made my infant thrive I ſhould
have taken them patiently, but I had nothing
to give him, and he continued waſting eve-
ry day. The firſt time I received twenty
laſhes ; and fifty at the ſecond ; but my child
became ſtill more meagre, and that grieved
me ſadly. I reſolved to leave him and take
to flight : for I thought, when I ſhould be
gone, they would give the infant to another
woman to ſuckle, and that he would thrive
again ; and ſo I ran away.
I found by each of their ſtories, that they
had all much the ſame cauſe for taking their
flight. I enquired of the commander what
puniſhment was inflicted on ſuch negroes as
deſert. The firſt time, he anſwered, the
proprietor orders the deſerter to be flogged
according to his pleaſure ; the ſecond time,
they increaſe the number of laſhes, and be-
ſide faſten a heavy iron collarround his neck,
to which is fixed horizontally a long bar, al-
to of iron, which prevents him from pene-
trating among the trees; and this burden

* ºf E N E G ſº 0. 9.
he is condemned to carry for life. If he de-
ſerts the third time, he dies.
But, replied I, if I have not miſtaken
that which the Europeans call the Black
Code, they are forbidden to put a negrº
who ſhall deſert, to death. That is true, an-
ſwered he with an arch ſmile ; the negro
dies, but they do not put him to death ; ſor
they do not kill him at once : he only dies
in conſequence of his puniſhment. They
give him ſo many laſhes to-day, ſo many to-
morrow, and ſo many the day after. If the
negro dies, it is not the European's fault
that he had not ſtrength to ſupport a thou-
ſand, or ten thouſand laſhes.
Ah Europeans you indulge in the luxu-
ries which the American iſlands produce,
without ſuſpecting that theſe luxuries have
precipitated generations of men to the tomb.
With exacteſt truth may it be ſaid, that not
a berry of coffee, not an ounce of ſugar or
indigo, is exported from the iſlands which
does not coſt a drop of ſome negroes blood
Alas, think you of the calculation .
How if an handkerchief falls by the care-
lºſineſs of an European lady, may a negroeſs
therefore be laſhed to death What then
ſhall reſult when negroes commit real
crimes What when ſevereſt puniſhments
have been the conſequence of a negro's
misfortune in breaking a china cup, or his
aukwardneſs in dreſſing the head of a Euro-
pean : (3)

92 * If E N E G ºr º,
|
I pardoned all the deſerters; if I could
pardon thoſe who had committed no crime.
Nor had I among the whole number any
more faithful, more induſtrious than thoſe.
Another obječt intereſted me ſtrongly.
I interrogated the negroes ſeparately con-
cerning their faith. There was not one
who did not anſwer that he was a Chriſtian,
but when I demanded what they underſtood
by the word, I found them all in the pro-
foundeſt ignorance. Such as they had been
in Africa, ſuch did I ſtill behold them a-
mong an enlightened people. Yet it is deem-
ed a ſufficient compenſation for the ſuffer-
ings of theſe unhappy people that they are
ſaved from error. Saved from error
Of what importance is the name of Chriſ.
tian to them, if they are not taught the vir-
tues of Chriſtianity: And how ſhall they ac-
quire them : By inſtruction and example.
Inſtruction they receive none. Example.
you know, Europeans, that which you give
them .
I engaged a well informed and virtuous
eccleſiaſtic to dwell with me : and dedicate
his labours to the inſtrućtion of the negroes.
As purity of manners facilitates the intelli-
gence of the mind, Iturned my whole atten-
tion to their conduct; and I ſoon ſaw con-
cord, attachment to the duties, and, in fine.
happineſs reigning around me.
Otourou and his father, zealouſly ſeconded
my endeavours. I enjoyed the happy fruits
7 m E N E G R 0. 93
of my labour: and was as a father ſurrounded
... an immenſe family, who counts his hºurs
tº theiove of his children. What could be
wanting to my felicity: Alas, you who have
loved, you will eaſily imagine. I frequent-
ly painted to myſelf Amelia, unfortunate;
wandering, perhaps dead. I repreſented
her father deprived of his daughter in his
old age, regretting the death from which he
had formerly fled upon the coaſt of Africa :
Such was the cauſe which poiſoned the
happineſs of the moſt valuable days which I
had paſſed from the moment of my birth,
One day that I had retired after dinner to
take ſome repoſe (agreeable to the uſage of
warm countries) the idea of Amelia preſen-
ted itſelf to me with ſuch ſtrength that
I could not ſleep. It purſued me more
importunately than ever. I accuſed
myſelf of ingratitude. Did ſhe not, ſaid
I to myſelf, quit every thing to ſeek
me Was I not in fact a ſtranger to her
father And what was there which could
prevent his flying to my ſuccour? And I-
an unfaithful friend, an unfeeling lover—
have not I, during ſix months, remained in
opulence without an effort to diſcover them.
Have thus, then, repaid their cares, their
fatigues, their ſacrifices But were to ſeek
them I have no clue to direct my ſteps.
What then ſtill, Qught I to depart : my
heart tells meſo, and it has never dºeived ºn.
applauded the reſolution; and I was re-
*8. In my own mind, the probable

º 4 ºf ºn E M A G if ºne
means of executing it, when a domeſtic
came to inform me that a man had arrived
from the city and earneſtly preſſed to ſee me.
I ordered him to be condućted to me, and
he ſoon entered my apartment.
Sir, ſaid he, may I take the liberty to en-
quire if you have not in your houſe a negro
of the name of Otomºrow 2 Yes, I anſwered.
He is one of my friends. My commiſſion,
returned the ſtranger, is of a delicate nature.
I am not ignorant of your conſequence here,
and I have been very unwilling to do any
thing which would be diſagreeable to you.
I have relied on your honour ; and al-
though my orders are extremely peremp-
tory, I have preſented myſelf alone to exe-
cute them. -
To the matter, ſaid I, with inquietude.
I have, ſaid he, the expreſs orders of the
king to ſecure the perſon of Otourou.
The word was thunder to me. Otourou !
Ah, what has he done I cried with agony.
The ſtranger ſaid, I am entirely ignorant.
“ And whither do you mean to con-
dućt him *-* To France : to Paris. Such
are my orders.”—“But, Sir, Otourou is no
ſlave; and he is rather under the protec-
tion of the king of France than his ſubject.
It was his own free will which led him to
this iſland, and my houſe ought to be re-
ſpected as his ſacred aſylum.”—“ Pardon
me, I cannot enter into diſcuſſions. I have
my orders, and I muſt obey them.”-















* H E N E G R 0. 95
* What under my eyes?”—“I feel, per-
ſectly, that it will be eaſy for you to oppoſe
the execution of my orders. But conſider
all the dangerous conſequences of ſuch a
conduct.”
While he ſpoke to me, I ſought ſome
means of amuſing him and gaining time to
remove Otourou from the danger. The
door opened, and Otourou entered my a-
partment. I could not maſter an emotion
of terror, and it clearly pointed out to the
officer the verything I would have conceal-
ed.
You are the perſon, ſaid the officer, of
whom I am in ſearch. Otourou, I arreſt
you in the name of the king.
Otourou looked at me, but without emo-
tion. I threw my arms around him, with-
out the power of a word. A negro, who
was entering the room with Olourou, ran to
inform his father of the inexplicable affair.
Osmyn haſtened to us.
Your ſon cried 1–but be the conſe.
quence what it may, I will not ſuffer him to
be torn from me! Sir, I ſaid to the officer,
I have an hundred negroes: they will each
of them periſh ſooner—
A moment's attention, ſaid Osmyn in-
terrupting me: be ſo good, he continued,
addreſſing himſelf to the officer, as to ac-
quaint me with the buſineſs. The officer

96 * H E N E G R or
|
|
- -
-
repeated the whole affair, and when he had
finiſhed, Osmyn turned with a ſevere air to
his ſon, Otourou, ſaid he, you are a negro:
be not guilty of a falſehood. You have tra.
velled through part of France: does your
recollection reproach you with any crime?
It is your father who queſtions you. None,
replied Otourou, with firmneſs.
- - - -
I am proud of it, ſaid Osmyn. Sir, I am
his father; he ſhall follow you. I lay my
command on me.
What cried I with bitterneſs, will you
ſuffer it 2
Shall we tremble for innocence replied
Osmyn. I have but one uneaſineſs. I can-
not follow him. That care, anſwered I ea-
gerly, concerns me. If he muſt periſh, be
it ſo. I will periſh with him.
You have, I hope, no ſuch misfortune to
fear, ſaid the officer. But my veſſel waits
and we muſt depart. Your affairs, the re-
commendations which it is neceſſary you
ſhould procure, will not permit you to ac-
company us. Yet, be ſatisfied that he ſhall
want no attentions of mine to render his
ſituation as little painful as it can be. And,
although ſcarcely am permitted to give
you the intimation, I inform you that it is
to Vincennes I conduct him. When you
arrive at Paris, come to me; this is my ad-
dreſs; and I will facilitate the means of
your ſpeaking with your friend.


7 ºf E N E G Jº 0. 97
I felt that the reaſoning of the officer was
juſt; and that even Otour ow’s intereſt would
not permit me to depart in leſs than two or
three days. I ran to my cheſt, took out
two hundred louis d’ors, and gave them to
Otºrow. Go: ſaid I. Heaven will pro-
test us. You ſhall not be long at Paris
before ſºanoko. Ah, my friend be with-
out inquietude.
Inquietude, ſaid Otourou ſmiling: I know
of none.
I aſſembled in haſte the little effects that
might be uſeful to him. The officer urged
us to haſten a ſeparation which only became
more cruel by delaying the moment of it.
Diſmayed, almoſt frantic, I threw myſelf
into the arms of Otourou. You ſuffer, ſaid
he to me: what has become of your cou-
rage : Firmneſs ſhould always accompany
purity of heart.
I yielded my place to his father. He ap-
proached with a colle&led look. He took
the hand of his ſon; and fixing his eyes up-
on him—You have not deceived me, ſaid
he No, my father: replied Otourou, Go
then, ſaid Osmyn, I perhaps ſhall neverſee
you more. I give you my bleſfing. What-
ever may happen, live and die an honeſt
man. He embraced him without ſhedding
a tear.
I Was far from imitating this conſtancy
of ºil. In pity to * Osmyn and the

98 º H. E. Aſ º C ºr 0.
officer forced Otourou from my arms.
They placed him in a carriage, and he de-
parted.
What a ſtroke It was ſo much more
terrifying ; as, fince the iſſue of our laſt
misfortune, I had believed Otourou, as well
as myſelf, ſecure from any ſuch oppreſſion.
I was without doubt reſpecting Otourou’s
innocence, but I began to have an idea of
the manners of Europe, of France eſpecial-
ly. Of what imprudencies was not an un-
fortunate ſtranger ſuſceptible, who like
him had no guide but his reaſon, and the
voice of nature? Might not his virtuous
mind lead him into ſome act, while he re-
mained in France, which might be deem-
ed a crime in the eyes of a poliſhed na-
tion 2
Thus I waſted an hour in vain conjecture,
in paſſionate agitation ; and, at length, ar-
rived at the reſolution I ſhould at firſt have
taken—to fly, inſtantly, to M. and Madame
ºe C. to procure their recommendati-
ons; and to embark for Europe.
I called Osmyn, I go, ſaid I to him.
You cannot accompany your ſon, and to
me alone devolves the right of fulfilling to-
ward him the duties of a father, and a
friend. Govern my little republic in my
abſence. I cannot leave, to our poor coun-
trymen, any one who will be ſo dear to
them, as yourſelf.

º' tº º N E G R 0- 99
I had given my orders, and my ºrºgº
was now ready with everything i deſigned
to take with me. I cauſed the negroes tº
be aſſembled. My friends ſaid to them,
my concerns compel me to make a long
voyage; but I leave Osmyn with you. Re-
member me ſometimes; and, if I am dear
to you, love him as myſelf.
I then took Osmyn in my arms. Who
could have foreſeen, ſaid I to him, that we
ſhould have been ſo ſoon ſeparated Yet be
tranquil : my friend, I will return with
your ſon, or I will ceaſe to live. I embra-
ced him; ſprang into my carriage; and de-
parted: while the negroes heaped bleſfings
on me. Happy preſage cried I. God
muſt be ſenſible to the wiſhes of pure minds !
I travelled with ſuch diligence, that in
fix hours I was with my friends. What new
misfortune 3 cried Ferdinand, repeated
Honoria, both terrified by my air. I ac-
quainted them in two words; and inform-
ed them of my reſolution. They ſent to re-
queſt the preſence of Bruno ; and, the good
old man having come, we all eſſayed to diſ-
cover whence ſo unforeſeen a misfortune
could ariſe; and ſuch is the effect of pre-
judice, that Ferdinand and Honoria could
ſcarcely perſuade themſelves that Otourou
had not given ſome cauſe of complaint while
he reſided in France. Ah, my friends !
ſaid I, fear to outrage virtue by an injurious
ſuſpicion .
roo ºr a E. N. E. g. r. o.
We converſed, afterwards, on the means
which ought to be purſued. M. and Ma-
dame de C. counſelled me to defer my
departure for a few days. Their affairs in
the iſland were nearly terminated ; and, in
leſs than a fortnight, they expected to em-
bark for Europe. Ferdinand promiſed to
haſten his departure, and repreſented to me
how proper it was that I ſhould enter a coun-
try, unknown to me, with ſuch an object
to accompliſh, accompanied by powerful
friends; in fine, the weight that his pre-
fence would give to his recommendations.
This might be prudent, replied Bruno, if
we knew the nature of Otºrow's ſituation;
but, in our uncertainty, a few days may be
fatal to him. You know Otourou, his incon-
ceivable frankneſs, that kind of ſtoiciſm
which permits him not to bend to his op-
preſſors, and his indifference as to his fate,
when he ſees himſelf tormented by injuſ-
tice: with this character, if we leave him
to his enemies he is loſt ; and that he has
enemies this event declares. At leaſt, Ila-
noko will counſel him. He will temper the
inflexible ſeverity of Otomºrou's anſwers. He
will ſee your friends. He will announce,
to them your approaching arrival; and
they will be the leſs liable to neglect an object
in the purſuit of which they find you will
be ſoon perſonally engaged. I have ſtudi-
ea Otºroi, the farther he finds himſelf
removed from any ſtain, the more will he
himſelf increaſe his own danger, Ah, leave


7 m & N E G R 0, * QL
him not to be entanged in the ſnares of in-
juſtice
The advice of Bruno was a law to us; and
we heard him with entire ſubmiſſion. Fer-
ºnand ran to the port. They pointed out
to him a Bourdeaux veſſel which was ex-
pected to ſail the following day; He en-
quired if there were no other veſſel ready.
They informed him that a ſmall veſſel had
that inſtant weighed anchor for Nantz; but
that it would be impoſſible to ſave a paſſage
in her.
He did not doubt but it was that in which
the officer had embarked with Otourou. Fer-
dinand could do no better ; and took my
paſſage in the Bourdeaux veſſel.
My friends employed the time which
preceded my departure to prepare their
letters of recommendation, Bruno gave
me one to the worthy eccleſiaſtic, of whom
he had ſpoken when he related the events
of his life. He has powerful friends, ſaid
Bruno to me, an informed mind, and a
zealous heart: place your confidence in
him. Ferdinand, who knew the world bet.
ter than I, and who knew that gold is ne-
ceſſary even to innocence, added an unli-
mited letter of credit on his banker; com.
pelled me to accept it; and promiſed to
follow me ſpeedily to France.
Dºmeº, whom I had not yet ſeen, an.
tered. I was about to ſeek you, ſaid I,
I 2

*o- * in E N E G R 0.
to bid you farewell; and I explained to
him the ſubject of my abrupt departure.
He pauſed a moment; then ſaid to my
friends, alone In France where he has ne-
ver been . He will be cruelly embarraſſed:
Why may not I, my dear Ferdinand, as I
deſigned to have embarked with you, haſten
my departure and ſail with Itanoko I will
immediately prepare my papers and the
neceſſaries for my voyage, and leave to your
care the reſt of the property I deſign to con-
vey to Europe.
His friendly reſolution was applauded by
all; and I felt it pour an unlooked for com-
fort into my heart. I ſhould now be bleſ-
fed with the company of a man, who ac-
cuſtomed to European manners would le-
vel difficulties that I ſhould find inſur-
mountable ; and a boſom in which I could
depoſit my tears, my anxieties, my alarms.
At midnight, our friends conducted Du-
menil and I to the ſhip. They embraced
us tenderly. They recommended me to
moderate a ſenſibility which might injure
my health, and that warmth of mind which,
in France, might act contrary to the inter-
eſts of the unfortunate Otourou, and we ſe-
parated with the flattering hope of ſoon
meeting again.
Our voyage was fortunate and ſpeedy;
and Dumenil, to ſatisfy the eagerneſs of
my wiſhes, bought a carriage in which we

ºr ºf E N E & ſº ſº. 103
-
poſted to Paris without a moment's ſtay at
Bourdeaux.
-
A crowd of objects, which in this jour-
ney, in a different temper of mind, would
have ſo ſtrongly intereſted my curioſity, al-
moſt all eſcaped my attention; and would
altogether, had it not been for Dºmeniſ,
who compelled me to admire the opulence
of the country, the magnificence of the ci-
ties, and the wonderful vivacity of the peo-
ple. He would not ſuffer me to paſs the
banks of the Loire without noticing the
prodigious aſſemblage of antique ſimplicity,
and modern pomp. There we ſaw the
proud palace and the modeſt cottage ap-
proach each other, without jealouſy. There
we beheld the peaceful ſhepherd abandon-
ing himſelf to a tender and innocent flame,
at the feet of monuments on which were
engraven the follies of kings.
We arrived at Paris. I flew, at once, to
the officer who had given me his addreſs.
I found him; he had arrived but four hours
before us. He ſpoke to me of my friend.
Otourou had betrayed, he informed me, no
ſorrow during the voyage; but had always
ſpoken with the tranquility of an undiſtur-
bed mind, and with a proud indifference for
the opinions of men. I recogniſed the cha-
racter of Otourou. I then recalled to the
officer's memory the promiſe he had given
me to conduct me to my friend. That does
not altogether depend on me, he anſwered;
but prepare a memorial, and I will procure

to 4 º' ºr sº N. E. G. ſº ge
it to be preſented to the miniſter; and I do
not doubt but he will grant the permiſſion
you require. -
I was compelled, then, to moderate my
impatience; and I began to experience the
fatal delays of form. The officer humane-
ly endeavoured to calm my mind by aſ-
ſuring me my friend was well; and that if
there was any thing which I judged might
leſſen the inconvenience of his ſituation,
he would be in haſte to procure it for
him.
Acquaint him of my arrival, ſaid I;
that will, at leaſt, be ſome comfort to him.
The officer promiſed to oblige me; and I.
informed of European cuſtoms in this re-
ſpect by Duménil, left a rouleau of five and
twenty guineas on his chimney, as a reward
for his care of Otourou.
Dumenil and I afterwards viſited all thoſe
to whom Ferdinand's letters of recommend-
ation were addreſſed ; and we were obli-
ged to detail to each all the reaſons which
led us to claim their protection. Their po-
liteneſs did not aſtoniſh me: I looked for
it. But the character of the French fur-
prized me at each inſtant. I ſaw them
give a vague kind of attention, and even
that interrupted by meereſt trifles, to a re-
cital which, I imagined, ought to have en-
tered into their ſouls. In this place, the
arrival of a head-dreſs would not permit
our patrons to hear anything further at that

7” H E N E G R 9. 105.
time. In another, a party to the theatre
accidentally compelled them to poſtpºne
our audience to a future day. Here, cho-
colate was offered us in the moſt impaſſion-
ed moment of our narration. There, the
awkwardneſs of a lacquey rouzed, by the
fall of a little porcelain, the ſenſibility of the
maſter who had coldly liſtened to us. Were
we ready to quit them, we were then, over-
whelmed with vows, promiſes, proteſtati-
ons, aſſurances.
We reſerved our viſit to the friend of
Bruno for our laſt. With him, we found
modeſt ſimplicity, tender intereſt, and pru-
dence matured by years. He could not
repreſs ſome gentle tears at the name of
Bruno. Is he happy ſaid he, Yes: we
anſwered, happy in the enthuſiaſm of a feel-
ing mind, and in the exerciſe of univerſal
benevolence. It is well; returned the ven-
erable eccleſiaſtic. He enjoys the reward
which I promiſed to the exerciſe of his
virtue. -
He now turned his attention to our ini-
mediate buſineſs. He ſpoke to us, alike
without pride or meanneſs, of the powerful
perſons whom he reckoned amonghis friends.
Too wiſe to talk of the certainty of a ſucceſs
which depended on the judgment of men, he
confined himſelf to aſſurances of his am.
duties, which he promiſed without affec.
tation. -
He requeſted a memorial from us. He

to 6 ºr H E N E c ºr 0.
undertook to deliver it himſelf to the mini-
ſter; and to ſtrengthen it by the intereſt of
perſons of the firſt rank.
Notwithſtanding the hope which this in-
valuable patronage gave me, my mind was
harraſſed with delays that to me were incon-
ceivable. A ſavage, as I might yet call my-
ſelf, I had no comprehenſion why the truth
ſhould be enveloped in ſuch numerous veils,
or why men ſhould be ſo tardy to remove
them. Next to the deſire of ſeeing Otourou
I was moſt tormented by my ignorance reſ-
pećting his accuſer and the crime with which
he was charged. Why, ſaid I, ſhould not
theſe be as conſpicuous as the burning fun
Yet is all hid in darkeſt obſcurity I muſt
wait with patience (if patience can viſit ſuch
a mind as mine, in ſuch a fituation) till time
ſhall give me the information which I can-
not otherwiſe procure.
In a few days I received a letter from the
officer which announced to mea permiſſion to
fee Olourou : but in his preſence. Dumenil
had gone with the eccleſiaſtic to the court
which was then at Fontainbleau. I was
alone then. I flung myſelf into a carriage.
I haſtened to the officer's dwelling, and we
were ſoon at Vincennes, where the gates
were open to us. I flew into the arms of
Otourou. Neither of us could ſpeak. Our
feelings during ſome moments impoſed fi-
lence on us.
Øtourzu was the firſt to find words. What

ºf E N E G R 9- 167
anguiſh do I not collyou * And my father-
is not my father with you º
I informed him of all: of the time of our
arrival, the delays we experienced: the hope
entertained. Afterwards I led him, de-
ſignedly, into a converſation on the period
... which he had travelled in France with
pºmont. He detailed this journey to us
with his uſual frankneſs; omitting not the
ſmalleſt circumſtance.
The officer, who ſaw my motive, ſaid–I
have no degree of certainty, but I believe
that the facts of which Otourou is accuſed
are of a later date, and have happened in the
iſles. Ah then. I cried, again I breathe.
His innocence, there, is within the reach of
proof.
We paſſed four hours with Otourou. Well
as I knew him, I was compelled to view him
with new admiration. The terror of the
place, in which he was, moved him not.
My preſence had even produced the gaity it
was always wont to do; and, far from my
being obliged to ſolace him, he was compell-
ed to be my conſolation.
At length, the officer informed me that his
duty compelled him to retire ; and Glourou
and I embraced and ſeparated.
I returned to Paris, and fled to the houſe
of the Abbe de S**, (that was the name of
Bruno's friend); he had arrived from Fon-
tog * h E N E G ºr de
-
-
-
tainbleau with Dumenil. Ah! I demanded,
what ſucceſs? What have you learned : My
worthy Itanoko, anſwered the Abbe de Sº,
be patient, alarm not yourſelf; yet, this bu-
fineſs is involved in more difficulty than I ex-
pected, and I fear it will conſume much
time. How I cried with diſmay. Come,
ſaid he, we will have no deſpair. We ſhall
yet ſee a happy iſſue to all. But your unfor-
tunate friend muſt, in the mean time, en-
dure much ; and this cauſes me great in-
quietude.
-
The miniſter received us, continued the
Abbee de Sº, with goodneſs; and, in re-
ſpect to my age, inſtantly examined the ſub-
ject of our memorial. The liberty of the
perſon in queſtion, ſaid he to us, is not in
my power. The crime is of too enormousa
nature. He is charged with a rape.
Impoſſible! I cried. I believe as you, re-
turned the Abbe de Sº, that it is impoſſi-
ble : but attend to me. My lord, I ſaid to the
miniſter, the manners of this young negro
are well known. He is no ſlave ; and if you
knew the circumſtances of his life you would
agree that no one is more worthy of your
ſervices. Pardon me the obſervation, re-
plied the miniſter, but is it not poſſible that
your candour has been deceived : The me-
morial which has been preſented to me per-
haps might be ſufficient to convince you;
but it is accompanied by documents that
include ſuch proofs as are unqueſtionable.
The woman herſelf complains, in her own



* H E N E & R 0. 139
hand writing, of the unworthy raviſher.—
You feel, continued the miniſter, that after
this I could not refuſe the interference of
authority: however, as you intereſt yourſelf
in the fate of this young man, ſee the bank-
er de L (he preſented the memorial to
me) and endeavour to ſuppreſs this affair
before it comes into the courts of juſtice.
Let the banker be contented, and I will re-
ſtore the young man to liberty. You will
ſee that this is all I can do for you.
Ever ſurrounded with obſcurity Ever
entangled with obſtacles I cried with bit-
terneſs.
Our impatience is uſeleſs, ſaid the Abbe
de Sºº. Here is the banker’s addreſs. Viſit
him to-morrow. All depends on his ex-
plications.
I looked at the addreſs. The circumſtance
is ſurpriſing, I ſaid: this is the ſame banker
on whom Ferdinand has given me his letter
of credit. And fortunately ſo; ſaid the
Abbe de Sºº. It is already a happy com-
mencement of your connection. Adieu :
I muſt retire to reſt; but I will expect you
both to-morrow. You ſhall dine with a
youth who is my nephew; he has viſited the
iſles, and may be able to amuſe vou. D.
menil and I took our leave, for the night of
the worthy eccleſiaſtic.
It was impoſſible for me to ſleep. Dread-
VoI. II. K

1 to ºf H E N E G R 9.
ful condition of humanity ſaid I. Vices
have ſo diſguiſed themſelves as to compel
the laws to trouble the peace of innocenceſ
Yet we deſire to live with theſe men! We
ſeek their ſociety : Ah! let us fly them :
In proportion as the night advanced ſo
did my agitation increaſe. Fain would I
have deſtroyed the unhappy tendency of my
thoughts. Otourou, ſaid I, is not fullied by
being ſuſpected; and has not Providence
drawn us both from a labyrinth yet more
dark, more terribly involved than this? And
do I now doubt his aſſiſtance His protećti-
on is not like that of men, ſubject to caprice,
to time, to circumſtances.
Such were the weapons which my reaſon
oppoſed to my heart. But this indefinable
heart combated with yet more violence than
reaſon. I could not ſubdue it: I could no
longer reſiſt it: I ſprang out of my bed.
Inconceivable circumſtances cried I.
explain yourſelves, and finiſh my torture!
In the morning I found Dumenil indiſpo-
fed with fatigues and vexation; and I was
compelled to proceed to the banker's with-
out his company. I aſked the porter if his
maſter could yet be ſeen. He anſwered
coarſely that he was not at home. “And
when will he return ?” “I know nothing
of it. He is in the country.” “Well,
but I wiſh to ſpeak to him.” “You are
not ſingular. Every body wants to ſpeak to

* If E N E G R 0, I I I
him.”—“My buſineſs is urgent.”
“Well. He is not here.” “But is there
no one to whom I can addreſs myſelf? Does
your maſter confide in no perſon of his
houſe º “Yes: his caſhier.” “It is
fortunate: condućt me to him.” ** He
has been in Brittany theſe eight days.”
* And when does he return ?” ** To-
morrow night: ſo, if you will wait, you
may ſee him.” “Wait – Wait
But ſhall I be ſure ſº-ºº Yes: he will
be here to-morrow evening at five : certain-
ly.”
Dumenil was ſurpriſed to ſee me return ſo
ſoon. I recounted to him what had paſſed.
He exhorted me to be patient. Such is Pa-
ris, ſaid he. The moſt preſſing buſineſs
languiſhes there. It is a world, in which
you never encounter thoſe whom you want.
Duménil would now accompany me to the
Abbe de Sº we proceeded to his houſe;
and I informed him alſo of my bitter diſap-
pointment. I feel your ſufferings, ſaid he:
but what can be done? To-morrow, you
will be more fortunate. This caſhier muſt
know ſomething. The banker cannot be
abſent without confiding his concerns to
him. Courage, then; and a truce to vex-
*ons Come: let me enjoy without mix-
ºre the pleaſure which I promiſe myſelf in
ſeeing you, for the firſt time, at my table.
My nephew writes a letter in my library-
He will ſoon have finiſhed, and I will intro-
duce him to you,
1 I-2 * H E N E G R 9.
In a little time the Abbe ſent to ſee if his
nephew was ready and we ſaw him appear
with the meſſenger. -
Oh thou firſt ray of happineſs which per-
vaded the darkeſt gloom of my life! ah!
never fade from my memory !
I raiſed my eyes to the young man.
Ah, my God . I cried. But I had not pow-
er to move. He recolle&ted me ; and ea-
gerly flew to embrace me.—It was the youth
who had been equerry to Theodore. Itano-
£o he exclaimed. Does ſtanoko live 2–
Alas! Have I not injured you? Ah, Ihave
too readily believed appearances, in oppoſi-
tion to the virtue of a man :
The Abbe de S**, to whom I had related
my adventures, ſpeedily recogniſed in his ne-
phew, the man who had aided my flight when
my life was threatened by Theodore. While
I had recounted my hiſtory to him, my re-
ſpect for Honoria had made me conceal the
name of her brother.
But how came it, ſaid I to this young
man (whoſe name was Francis) that you
were ſo ſuddenly and ſo ſpeedily ſnatched
from my affection and (gratitude : twenty
times have I made enquiries concerning
you, yet learnt not any thing of your fate.
Alas, he anſwered, humanity called me a-
way. Dreading the fight of Honoria's
tears, deteſting a place which preſented no-
thing to me but the goring blood of the vic-


* H E N E G R 0. I 13
tims of vice, ſhall I alſo confeſs-yield-
in to the general prejudice againſt you. In
- Fº ... º º unfortunate object,
who, in the midſt of this ſcene of horror.
ſeemed the only one that ought to intereſt
my feeling, was in a place of ſecurity, I de-
parted to join her. I travelled into the
Spaniſh territory to which I had directed
her flight, and ſoon found her. I pro-
miſed her (it was all I had to promiſe) my un-
wearied cares, and the goodneſs of my un-
cle, to protect her till we ſhould gain intel-
ligence of her father. We embarked for
Europe. Flying from a country whoſe re:
membrance wounded our hearts, we arrived
at Paris; where the beneficence of my un-
cle fulfilled the hope I had entertained in be-
half of an object at once demanding my eſ:
teem and pity.
Ah! of whom do you ſpeak I cried.
How then, anſwered Francis, have you for-
got the crimes of Theodore ? His odious
paſſion The woman whom
Every word beſide was loſt to me. I
would have pronounced the name of Amelia.
It expired on my lips. I trembled. The
good abbe and his nephew ſupported me.
I had need of their aid, for my ſtrength
abandoned me.
The worthy eccleſiaſtic haſtened to tem.
per the violence of one ſentiment by the re-
membrance of another. He tool. my hand,
and ſaid with gentleneſs to me, ind a I dº
º o
- *-

II.4. * H E N E G Jº ºn.
not now recogniſe Itanoko. You who have
ſupported ſuch fearful changes of fortune,
have you not now courage to withſtand the
firſt emotions of joy: Do you thus aban-
don yourſelf? What then will become of the
unfortunate Otourou ? Your condition is in.
gratitude to him
This wife condućt did more to recal me,
than all the aſſiſtance which could have been
laviſhed on me. It abated the vehement
heat which had been ſuddenly precipitated,
as a torrent of fire, into my veins.
I will live! cried I, making an effort to
recall my thoughts. Yes, I will live for
Otourou / Butlet me ſee Amelia / Let me
ſee her if you would preſerve my reaſon.
I will conduct you, ſaid Francis. Stay, re-
plied the Abbe ; your unexpected appear-
ance might deſtroy her. She is perſuaded
that you no longer exiſt. I have placed her
in a religious houſe ; an aſylum which her
ſituation ſeemed to require. I will write
to the Abbeſs. I will beſeech her to com-
municate the intelligence to Amelia by de-
grees. The delay will be favourable even
to yourſelf. Your joy will be the purer;
becauſe, leſs the impulſe of momentary emo-
tions. He left us to write the letter.
I cannot conceive, ſaid Dumenil, how
Amelia could have preſerved ſuch an aſto-
niſhing filence She muſt, doubtleſs, have
ſpoken to you of Itanoko You would not
conceal from her that he was known to you?

* n E N E G R 6. 15
Why then not write to him : Why not in-
form herſelf—
Francis interrupted him. Amelia herſelf,
Paid he, ſaw ſtanoko. But I will leave to
her the taſk of recounting her own misfor-
tunes. Her ſilence ſurpriſes you. Lay the
guilt of it on me alone. Yes: my dear Ita-
moºd, it was my crime.
Francis confeſſed, with unfeigned ſorrow
and unreſtrained candour, that he had not
relied on my innocence, and had commu-
nicated the frightful intelligence to the
wounded mind of Amelia. I believed it to
be neceſſary, ſaid he, to extinguiſh a hope
which I thought vain, and which I ſaw prey-
ed on her foul. My attachment for the un-
fortunate Amelia was the cauſe. Will you
not pardon it, Iºanoko º Ah the excuſe is
too dear to me!—cried I, ſolding him in
my arms. But how was ſhe perſuaded to
follow you? She knew that Otºroi, waited
for her. So has ſhe ſince told me, replied
Francis. But chance conducted the myſ-
terious ſcene. Otourou wiſhed to ſave Ame.
* I alſo wiſhed it; and the deſign of oºoº-
rºw which I knew not, inſured the ſucceſs
of mine, of which he was ignorant.
You recollect, he continued, the indigna-
tion with which the conduct of ryeº.
inſpired me? The unfortunate female, who
teemed deſtined to fall a victim to his º.
Hainy, reproached my feelings; nor could I
reſt till I had reſolved to hazard all for her
116 * tº E. N. E. g. ſº o,
ed the apartment of Amelia, underpretence
deliverance. The firmneſs with which ſhe
had oppoſed her tyrant aſſured me that ſhe
would ſeize, with joy, the firſt opportunity
of flight. I made myſelf maſter therefore
of the confidence of two negroes. The em-
ployment of one of theſe lay in the outer
parts of the dwelling: and that of the other,
within the houſe. I deſigned the latter to
facilitate her eſcape; and I propoſed that
the other ſhould conduct her to the Spaniſh
territory. They were intelligent and ex-
pert. They comprehended my plan en-
tirely, and ſerved me with fidelity. Eve-
ry thing ſeemed to forward my attempt.
The overſeer, to whom alone the care of
Amelia had been entruſted, was confined to
his bed by a wound in his leg, which was a
ſmall part of the puniſhment that his baſe-
neſs had well deſerved. I therefore now
fixed, for the time of Amelia's eſcape, the
evening of the day on which (I have before
told you, Iºanoko). Theodore was to depart
for the city.
On the evening, (Francis continued) the
- g - -
negro who reſided within the houſe enter-
of carrying her ſome refreſhment. Fear-
ing a ſurprize if the affair was not executed
ſpeedily, I had ordered this negro to ſtay
not a moment with Amelia, further than to
ſpeak the few words which I had put into
his mouth. He accordingly ſaid to her in
a low voice-Ali is ready for your flight;
the negro waits for you below. Be pre-
pared: in a quarter of an hour, I will re-















* H E N E G ºf 2* II?
turn, and conduct you. So ſtrangely did
events concur, that this was the ſame even-
ing on which ſhe expected Otaurau. She
inſtantly, then, imagined that the meſſage
came from him; and did not heſitate. She
was ready when the negro returned ; they
deſcended without noiſe; got out of the
houſe ſucceſsfully ; and the other negro
took her under his care. The firſt (accord-
ing to the inſtructions I had given him, and
which were deſigned to prevent ſuſpicion
reſting on any of the domeſtics) again en-
tered the apartment of Amelia; bolted the
door within: attached a ladder to the
window; got out of the houſe by this lad-
der; left it there; and retired, without
being diſcovered.
Judge of the fury and terror of the over-
feer, when the next day he was informed
of Amelia's flight. By the moſt awful
threats, he impoſed filence on the whole
houſe. He cauſed the ladder to be left in
the ſame poſition: and when we returned
the following night the impoſtor ſwore to
ºre that he had ſcarcely quitted Ame-
** a few minutes before. The ſuſpicions
of all were turned toward you. I ran to
Warn you of your danger; and you know
the reſt.
The Abbe de Sºº, entered at this mo.
ment. He had diſpatched a ſervant with
his letter, and we placed ourſelves at table.
thought only of the return of the mºmen.
8° not could any effort of my friends di-
Vert my attention.

is 7 º’ E N E G ºr de
At length, he came with the anſwer of
the abbeſs. She invited us to attend her at
ſix in the evening. She condeſcendingly
promiſed to receive us in the exterior part
of the houſe without the grate, to leave us
more at liberty, and ſeemed to hope that
ſhe ſhould be able ſufficiently to prepare the
mind of Amelia, We had not more than
two hours to wait. Years have appeared
ſhorter to me! The Abbe procured a carri-
age; and we departed.
Often have I endured an anguiſh which
I have thought could not be increaſed to
greater agony. Often, have I thought my
foul would not exiſt beneath it. Yet, ne-
yer had I ſuffered ſo much as in this in-
ſtance. An univerſal trembling ſeized my
limbs; and the wildeſt apprehenſions ſhook
my heart.
The carriage had ſtood a moment ſtill:
and they had twice told me that we had
reached the houſe, before I could at all re-
fume my recollection. I then attempted
to ſpring to the door: in vain. My friends
ſaw themſelves compelled to take me in
their arms. I ſomewhat recovered myſelf,
and with difficulty aſcended the ſtairs. The
abbeſs received me with the tendereſt pity.
Fear nothing, ſaid ſhe, Amelia is informed
of all.
She appeared—I ſaw her—She ran with
open arms—I fell at her feet—I felt her

* H E N E G R 0- II)
hand preſſing on my heart–No words, nº
ſighs, no tears, came to expreſs our feelings :
The ſpectators trembled for our ſafety.
They approached us. They ſpoke to us.
They would have ſeparated us. It was in
vain: ſhe was now in my arms. It ſhall
be for ever ! I cried. Speech ruſhed upon
me, and I raved out all my joy. My fa-
ther! Oh, my father exclaimed Amelia.
You are not here He ſhall be reſtored to
us I cried.
My hope mounted on the wings of rap-
ture, and ſaw everything within its reach.
Happily, by degrees, the delirium ſub-
ſided. The murmur of ſentiment ſucceed-
ed; and, then, for a moment, happineſs
without a mixture of anguiſh
The Abbeſs, whoſe reſpectable old age
added dignity to the virtues of a feeling
mind, had conceived the affection of a mo-
ther for Amelia. At length I perceived the
little attention which I had paid to this ve-
nerable woman. Pardon, ſaid I, madam,
the diſorder of my conduct; but happineſs
is not familiar to me; pardon my matten-
tion You need no excuſe, ſhe replied.
What reſpect, what attention, is worth the
pleaſure you have given me! But, added
ſhe, ſmiling, you owe me your gratitude,
and I will have an immediate proof of it.
You may imagine there is nothing that is
hid from me which concerns you, and which
* 20 ºr n E N E & I, c.
is within the knowledge of Amelia. It is
yours, to make me altogether acquainted
* . - -
with the man whom I am now impatient to
know.
I ſaw in the eyes of Amelia the burning
deſire ſhe had to hear me ; and I ſuffered
not myſelf to be further intreated. The re-
cital coſt her many tears. But what tears?
How different from thoſe which ſhe had
ſhed in Africa. Which ſhe had ſhed in a
place made for negroe's tears, in the bale-
- ful iſlands of America! We were again uni-
ted, and all wretchedneſs effaced .
But have I not, ſaid I, acquired a right to
make a requeſt in my turn ? You have, ſaid
Amelia, who underſtood my wiſhes; and,
though I would gladly forbear to recal ſome
cruel moments to my mind, my heart is yet
too proud of its fidelity to Iºanoko, to deny
the recital of any part of what it coſt me.
-
Otourou has faithfully informed you of
every circumſtance ſince our loſing you in
- Africa, till the hour I was torn from his
protection in that fatal iſland. May I ſoon
ſee him again! Not even the ſatisfaction of
this moment, Itanoko, can make me forget
what I owe to his conſtant friendſhip !
- -
You know the manner in which I was
taken from him. But Otourou has been too
modeſt to give you all the truth of his cou-
rage. Wholly engaged in defending me,
be thought not of himſelf. He long made the
- --- --
----


* H E N A c. 1: º, 121
nobleſt reſiſtance againſt a multitude, and it
was in this unequal combat that he laid
Theodore at his feet. At length, he was
overpowered, and I doubted not that my
eyes had ſeen him for the laſt time.
Ah, Jºanoko, think what paſſed at that
inſtant in the mind of the unfortunate Ame-
haſ Yet, I felt that the moment required
courage, and I collected all the powers of
my mind. Be proud, my heart! I exclaim-
ed. In misfortune, inflexibility is a virtue.
It is the ſafeguard of honour!
I was not long in diſcovering the cauſe
which led to my misfortune. I ſaw it in
the elegance of the dwelling to which I was
conducted, in the attentions which were
paid me, and in the language of an old wo.
man who never quitted me. In a few days,
Theodore, the deteſtable enemy of my peace,
entered the apartment in which I was con-
fined. Prayers, tears, profeſſions of love,
menaces, preſents, all were eſſayed with
profuſion; and all were diſdained. At
length, the miſerable wretch offered me his
hand; and I felt my indignation rouſed
more by that than by all his other inſults.
Think you that forms, cried I, alter the na-
ture of things? Know, European, that I will
have, for a ſpouſe, none but the man whom
I eſteem.
Incenſed by my refuſal, excited by the
baſe counſels of the deſpicable woman,
whom he had placed over me; in fine,
Vol. II. L -
122 * H E N E G R 0.
yielding up his mind to the fierce cruelty of
his character, violence ſucceeded to impor.
tunities. He thought that fear, want, and
ſufferings, would ſubdue my reſolution; but
he knew me not.
I was ſuddenly hurried from my chamber,
dragged into a dark and damp vault, and
my limbs were loaden with chains. The
wretched inhabitants of the houſe in which
I was confined had baſely ſold themſelves,
and had become the tools of the ſtill baſer
Theodore. Ah, what a condition for a wo.
man who had been educated amid tender-
neſs, and reared on the lap of happineſs! I
had but one hope left. I had concealed a
knife in deſpight of all their vigilance.
In my moments of ſolitude, I preſſed it
to my boſom as the guardian of my ho-
In Our.
Thus paſſed eight days, and ſtill my mind
did notabate of its independence. Yet, Theo-
dore believed that the aſpect of eternal ſlave-
ry would compel me to bend before him,
and to throw myſelf on his mercy. I par-
don him the ſuſpicion. His heart was not
made to know me. He appeared in my
dungeon; a man accompanied him. Here,
ſaid he, is the obſtinate ſlave whom I wiſh
to ſell you. Your ſlave! ſaid I. Your ſet-
ters have not changed my condition! While
my ſoul ſhall remain pure, Amelia ſhall be
free I ſhall be glad to buy her, ſaid the
ſtranger; and then they both remained he
lent during ſome minutes. Theodore fought,













* H E N E G R 0. 123
with an attentive eye, for the effect which
he thought this anſwer would produce on
me, I was unmoved. My condition for a
moment ſeemed to touch his ſoul. Aſto-
niſhing woman ſaid he: at leaſt condeſcend
to entreat my pardon. Your pardon
cried. Find a tiger, let him looſe upon
me, and I will fly to meet him with joy!-
My words rekindled his fury. I will periſh,
ſaid he, as he left me, or I will triumph
º you! Then, replied I, you ſhall pe.
riſh 1.
On the following day, the horrible old
woman whom I had not ſeen during my
abode in the dungeon, a great Indian Moor
who ſerved Theodore, and another man, en-
tered my diſmal abode. They removed my
fetters ; and, doubtleſs, fearing my cries,
they bound an handkerchief upon my mouth.
I could not walk. They were obliged to
carry me in their arms, and they placed me
in a carriage, on the ſame ſeat with Theo-
dore. When we were at ſome diſtance from
the city, they removed the handkerchief
from my mouth, which had almoſt ſtifled
ºne ; and Theodore preſſed me to ſpeak—
During the whole way, I ſuffered not a
word to eſcape me. Whither do they con-
duct me thought I. I knew not, nor what
I was next to endure :
Ah, they were conducting me to the place
in which was my ſtanoko! To a place which
I would have preferred to a world, and from
which Theodore, had he known all, would
have fled as from death

124 * H E N E G ºf 0.
The ſolitary ſituation of this houſe cruelly
alarmed my mind. I now thought myſelf
totally loſt. Ah! ſaid I, ſhrink not, my
ſoul! and dear inſtrument of my ſafety, I
continued preſſing the knife to my lips, fail
not my purpoſe t
It was about three in the morning when
we arrived at this plantation. Theodore
paſſed the greater part of the day with me,
and the evening drew near, and I had not
yet ſpoke. At length I could no longer con-
tain my feelings, and our converſation was
earneſt on both fides. I boldly repreſented
to him the injuſtice, the barbarity, the cow-
ardice of his condućt to me. The energy
of truth, the vehemence of feeling confound-
ed him. I ſaw him turn pale. He almoſt
repented; and, confiding in the aſcendency
of virtue over vice, I began to hope that I
ſhould ſubdue him. He liſtened to me ſit-
ting ; I was on my feet: and, in my agita-
tion, I ſometimes croſſed the room. I ap-
proached the window, and by accident caſt
my eyes over a garden. Ah, gracious God!
I ſaw my ſtanoko / Nature is ſtronger than
prudence. A word might bring ruin on
myſelf, might bring ruin on ſtanoko, Na-
ture ſnatched the word from me: I ſhrieked
and cried—Oh, my Itamoko
The fury of Theodore was now madneſs.
Is this, then, he cried, the cold virtue
which diſdains me? Deſpicable woman-
who cannot feel the honour I would do
you! But, I will deſtroy the object of your
baſe paſſion,

* H E N E G R 9. 125
Ah, this was the rock on which alone
my honour could be deſtroyed. I threw my-
feifat his feet. To yield or loſe you ſta-
nº was the choice which he gave me :
and he left me to a combat, from the re-
collection of which my ſoul now flies with
terror .
He came on the following night to hear
my reſolves. My honour triumphed; and
he pronounced my fatal ſentence, with the
coldneſs of premeditated cruelty. He left
me. Otourou appeared at my window. I
concluded this muſt be the dream of my
imagination. But I heard him; he ſpoke
to me; and I no longer doubted. To my
other terrors were now added the alarms
of friendſhip. My agitation bewildered my
mind. I ſcarce knew what he ſaid to me,
what I ſaid to him : but I preſſed him to be
gone. He did go, and I had not pronoun-
ced your name! Ah, I have not told him,
ſaid I, the ſecret that would have ſaved us
all! The courage of Itanoko and Otourou
would have cruſhed my baſe oppreſſors –
As I refle&ted my mind fled from this idea
with fear, and I was happy in a filence which
the confuſion of my ideas had alone occa-
fioned. What a ſcene had not a ſingle
word produced Ah, no, Otourou, Itano-
£o I cried. You ſhall weep for Amelia
without your tears being mingled with
blood
All remained in ſilence till the noon of
the following day, I heard not the uſual
I, 2

126 ºr n e n e g ºr 6.
tumult of the houſe, and the ſtilneſs chilled
me. I was ignorant that my butcher had
removed all but the immediate inſtruments
of his purpoſe from the houſe. At noon,
I heard him at my door. It was faſtened,
and he threatened to break it down if I did
not open it. I felt my courage prepared
for all, and I threw open the door to him.
Terrifying moment! Theodore appeared,
accompanied by the baſeſt of his agents.
Without the preparation of a word, he ſwore
that I ſhould now yield to his deſires, or be
dragged to view Itanoko's death.
I have, ſaid I, made my choice. I love
Itanoko. To preſerve him I would give
my blood, my life, my eternal exiſtence, but
not my virtue. Let him die. I will not
ſave him at a price which would render me
unworthy of him.
Vainly, during more than an hour, he
employed ſupplications, menaces, careſſes,
all the fallies of paſſion, all the meanneſs of
vice. Silence (confounding him almoſt be-
yond his endurance) was my ſole anſwer,
and he left me with the wildeſt words of
fury, My firmneſs died away. Never ſhall
woman incur a greater danger! I would
have recalled him. My enfeebled cry
could not paſs my lips. Soon he returned,
with a bloody poignard in his hand. Ah,
God I cried—and have you dared—
Come! he anſwered. See him weltering
in his blood! Come, and enjoy the pangs
of his death Yes, villain, I replied, I will

ºr ºf E N E G R Ge 127
go. Yes, you ſhall ſee me bid him a laſt
farewel !
Rage and deſpair animated me, and I
roſe. I wiſhed to proceed, but I could not
take a ſtep. He dragged me himſelf to a
diſtant room, where I ſaw a negro exten-
ded on the floor. His height appeared to
be yours. But his face was covered ; the
blood flowed profuſely from his breaſt and
fide. I flew to throw myſelf on his expi-
ring body. I ſnatched the covering from
his face. I ſaw the baſe, the monſtrous
artifice. The ſwifteſt joy, the profoundeſt
diſdain, took the place of terror in my heart.
I caſt a look of contempt on Theodore and
his accomplices ; and with a tranquil pace,
I returned to my chamber.
Rouſed with ſhame, perhaps with re-
morſe, for this waſte of barbarity, they fol-
lowed me, and I now beheld the laſt inſtant
of my danger. I ſeized the inſtrument
which I had kept concealed. Approach
me! ſaid I. Theadore turned pale, and
recoiled. His mercenary accomplice, re-
folved to ſerve him at all events, ſuddenly
advanced and ſeized me. We ſtruggled ;
I fell; and in the conflićt, he received a
deep wound in his leg. The anguiſh of
his wound gave me opportunity to diſen-
gage myſelf, and I roſe. Rage gave me
ſtrength, and I ruſhed upon Theodore.
They were both ſeized with terror, and
they fled. -

tas ºr ºf E N E G ºr tº:
I will no longer abuſe your patience, con-
tinued Amelia. You know the important
ſervice which was rendered me by the wor-
thy nephew of the Abbe de S**; the good-
neſs of his uncle; and yours, my benefac.
treſs, ſaid ſhe, taking the hand of the Ab-
beſs. You, madam, have been witneſs of
the tears I have ſhed over the fate of Ita.
noko, and the loſs of my father. But you
never will perfectly know the gratitude of
Amelia.”
The hours filled with ſenſations like theſe,
eſcape as a dream. It was paſt midnight,
and we had no thought of retiring. The
Abbe de Sº recolle&ted the time, and
would have apologized to the Abbeſs.
Why ſo? ſaid this worthy woman. I have
never known a more delicious evening ;
and if I conſent that we now ſeparate, it is
on condition that you dine with me, and
that the day ſhall be at my diſpoſal. We
º her; for it ſeemed as though we
ormed but one family; and the deſire
of meeting again was equally earneſt in
each.
When Dumen?] and I returned to our ho-
tel, we found a packet addreſſed to me from
Ferdinand. I opened it with tranſport, and
learned that Ferdinand and Honoria had
landed at Havre after a fortunate paſſage.
But he informed me that Honoria was ſo
much indiſpoſed by the voyage, that ſhe
was not in a condition to travel poſt to Pa-
ris; and, as ſome buſineſs required his own

* H E N E & R 0, *29
preſence there immediately, he requeſted
that Dºmenii (unleſs his aſſiſtance ſhould
be particularly needful to me) would join
him with as much ſpeed as poſſible : that
he might be able to leave Honoria with leſs
uneaſineſs, to follow him, by eaſy journies
to Paris, accompanied by Duménil.
Dument/reſolved to ſet off immediately ;
and, it being then about two in the morn-
ing, he hoped to reach Havre before the
enſuing night. I ſcarce could reſtrain my
deſire of going with Dumenil. Even the
happineſs of paſſing the day with Amelia
would have yielded to the ſacred engage-
ments of gratitude; but fix in the evening
of the ſame day was the hour in which I ex-
pečted to ſee the banker's caſhier, and friend-
ſhip and humanity impoſed ſilence on every
other confideration.
As Dumenil prepared for his departure,
I ſaid to him—do you not find an air of ſor-
row in the letter of Ferdinand; his wearineſs,
replied Dumenil, after along voyage; or ra-
rather, perhaps, his being compelled to leave
Hºnºria for a few days, may have ſomewhat
effected him; butlet not your ſenſibility ima-
gine cauſes of diſtreſs. He eaſily perſuaded
me that my apprehenſions were groundleſs. I
embraced him; he departed; and I went to
my chamber to take ſome repoſe, of which I
now flood greatly in need after the violent
tumults of the preceding day.
I had found Amelia; I ſhould ſoon ſee

I 3G * H E N E G R p,
Honoria and Ferdinand; I had powerful
friends, who would make the moſt diligent
enquiries reſpecting Dumont, and I flatter-
ed myſelf we ſhould diſcover his retreat;
my fortune ſurpaſſed even my wiſhes, for
my friends had made me maſter of an an
nual income of more than five and twenty
thouſand livers; Otourou was innocent, and
muſt again be free –ſleep overtook my
mind engaged in theſe reflections, and ne-
ver was ſleep more gentle.
Francis entered my chamber while I yet
flept. You forget, ſaid he, waking me, that
ſleep is ſo much dedućted from the enjoy-
ments of the ſoul. True, I anſwered, it
ſhould have been made for the unfortunate
alone. I aroſe and informed him of Dºº-
menil's departure. We took our chocolate
together, and then proceeded to the con-
vent, to which his uncle the Abbe was al-
ready gone.
y 3
The hiſtory of this day will be eaſily ima-
gined. But oh, what a day! Filled with
tender effuſions, with mutual remembran-
ces, each word leading to a new thought,
and the mouth at length becoming inſuffici-
ent for the crowd of thoughts The Abbeſs
ſpoke of our marriage, and wiſhed us to fix
a day for its ſolemnization. Amelia con-
feſſed that ſhe thought not of that day with-
out pleaſure; but ſhe called to our mind
the uncertainty in which ſhe was reſpecting
her parents. The feeling was too pure to
be oppoſed by any argument; and notwith-

* h > N E G R 0. 131
ſtanding the violence it did my affection, I
yield to it; not without ſome degree of fa-
tisfaction. The Abbe de Sº undertook
to make every enquiry reſpecting Dumont,
and ſcarce ſeemed to doubt ſucceſs.
The clock ſtruck five, and I aroſe to go
to the banker’s houſe. I left my friends,
who intereſted in the fate of Otourou, pro-
miſed to wait my return.
The porter recolle&ted me, and informed
me that the caſhier had arrived, and ex-
pected my viſit. He condućted me to his
apartment, but left me in the antichamber
to announce my arrival. This ſingle mi-
nute was awful to my feelings. He returned,
and deſired me to enter. I advanced, and
ſaw the caſhier riſe to receive me.
He flew and caught me in his arms. Ah,
it was * that preſſed me to his bo.
ſom My friend! my child my Iºanoko ,
He uttered as if doubting himſelf. Ah! I
cried—and do I ſee you, my too generous
friend And may I yet pay you for all the
forrows, all the fatigues, which you have
ſuffered for me! Oh Itanºo, he ſaid, what
a loſs have I endured To ſee you recals
all my anguiſh. What is become of my
unhappy daughter? Why is not ſhe here
to augment our joy: -
I was inſtantly ready to inform him of all
that reſpected Amelia, but prudence as in-
ſtantly ſtayed me; and I trembled when I

132 * A E w tº c Ro,
conſidered how fatal the ſudden and violent
emotion might be to him. He appeared to
be extremely meagre, and borne down by
infirmities; and I ſaw that much prepara.
tion was neceſſary to introduce the intelli-
gence which my heart almoſt refuſed to con-
ceal. When our mutual tranſports had
ſomewhat ſubſided, I turned the converſa.
tion, as if careleſsly to the latter part of my
adventures, and I entered into the matter
which immediately concerned Otourou.
Ah! ſaid he—ſpeak not of him Forget
a wretch who has unworthily betrayed me,
and given me the deepeſt wound which can
be ſtruck to the heart of a father Alas,
how did I once love him, and how has he
paid me for all my tenderneſs But this-
Itanoko, and we will name him no more :
the banker did but lend me his influence;
it was at my inſtance that Otourou was caſt
into priſon, I have no longer a daughter
you no longer a lover! and º crimes of
that traitor has torn her from us both
The inſtantaneous pardon of Otourou could
not have delighted me more than than this
diſcourſe. To know his accuſer and the
crime imputed to him, was to be ſure of his
innocence and his liberty. Beware, ſaid I
to Dumont, that ſome appearances do not
deceive you. When you know Otourou, you
will be ſorry to have ſuſpected him. Would
to God! replied he—that it were nothing
but ſuſpicion! I have but too many proofs.
He aroſe, and brought me ſome papers

* H E N E G R (9. 133
from his cabinet. Alas! he continued-on
the frightful day in which I thought you al-
ready reſtored to us, and in which you was a
ſecond time torn from us, having been with
the magiſtrate to obtain from him an aſſiſt-
ance which might enable us to diſcover you,
I returned on bºard my veſſel: I expected to
have found my daughter there, who, my
heart told me, muſt need all my conſolations.
She had not been ſeen. Conceive my in-
quietude my torments! What could ſay to
a mother, yielding to her apprehenſions?
Ah! what could I ſay to my agonizing
heart? The night paſſed, and yet no news :
Scarcely was it day when a letter was brought
to me, by a boat belonging to the port. It
came from a young man, a ſtranger to me,
who ſubſcribed himſelf. Theodore de C. -
Alas Heaven has not permitted me to repay
his kind benefaction . This is the letter.
I took it, and read it as follows:
“Sir,
You are unknown to me, yet my heart
feels for you. Yeſterday evening, as I
walked on the ſhore, a young perſon (whom
I believe to be your daughter, having ſeen
her more than once land from your ſhip, and
alſo having ſeen your ſailorstreather with reſ.
pect) was on the point of ſtepping into your
boat. A negro, who belongs to you, forcibly
prevented her ; and, notwithſtanding her
cries and reſiſtance, he hurried her away with
violence aſſiſted by ſome accomplices. His
name isºtourou, your daughter too often pro-
nounced the name with rage and indignation
M
VoI, II,

I34 * H E N E G m a.
to permit me ever to forget it. Humanity
urged me in behalf of the ſufferer, but I ſaw
it would be in vain to oppoſe myſelf to the
brutality of theſe men; and to inform you
of the diſaſter was all that remained in my
power. As this deed has all the air of a
rape, the villain undoubtedly fled with his
prey to the Spaniſh part of this iſland. I
ſhould judge, therefore, it would be moſtad-
viſeable for you to haſten to the Spaniſh
ports, as it is probable he deſigns to ſail from
one of them. Trouble not yourſelf to ſeek
for me : too young to offer you any aid, all
my ſervices muſt be included in this advice,
which, though cruel to your feelings, is yet
neceſſary.
I am, &c.
Theodore de C-.”
Are not, I thought, the perſecutions of
the wicked during their life ſufficient; muſt
they yet purſue virtue from the depth of the
tomb: But how could Theodore, at that pe.
riod, have made himſelf maſter of Otourou's
name: Ah-now I ſee it. He has inter-
cepted the letter which the unfortunate
Otowrov wrote to Dumont when he entered
his priſon.
While theſe reflections paſſed in my
mind, Dumont continued: this letter was the
inſtant death of my wife; and, though I
could ſcarce reſiſt the crowd of misfortunes
which ſurrounded me, I went on ſhore to
give information to the miniſters of juſtice
of what had happened. I ſailed ſoon after

* H E N E G R 0, 13;
and ran through the Spaniſh ports; but all
my reſearches were in vain. At length, the
diminution of my funds compelled me to
ſail for France. There Iſold my veſſel, and
my commercial knowledge procured me the
ſituation which I have held in this houſe.
Ever occupied with the cauſe of my ſorrow,
ever revolving all the circumſtances of it in
my mind, I confeſs to you I felt, at times,
extreme difficulty to believe Otourou culpable
on the mere credit of Theodore de C. *s
letter; but too ſoon even the ſmall conſola-
tion of doubt was not left me. The banker
received letters from his correſpondent at
St. Domingo, requeſting him to make en-
quiries concerning me ; and, if poºible, to
remit to me the written evidence which was
ſubjoined to his packet of letters. The
banker inſtantly gave it to me, and I read
in it, that a negro named Otourou, having
been apprehended for a murder, had been
ſearched, and that the billet annexed to the
evidence was found upon him : that this
billet having an immediate connection with
the declaration made by M. Dumont, ſome
time paſt, it had been thought proper to re-
mit it to him, in caſe he ſhould chuſe to pro-
ſecute the negro. This is the billet, added
Dºnant: it is the hand-writing of my poor
daughter:
How great was my ſurprize when I re-
cogniſed the words which Amelia had writ-
ten to Theºdore at the inſtant of her flight,
and which Otourou had taken from her cham.
ber! Again, and again, had I read it, and

136 ºr H E N E G tº 0.
knew every word, every letter, which it con-
tained. What an incredible chain of events
ſaid I, to myſelf, and how weak is the means
which Providence has uſed to conduct us to
the height of felicity? Without this billet,
never, in all probability, ſhould I have found
the very perſons who were neceſſary to my
happineſs:
You imagine, ſaid I to Dumont, that you
poſſeſs the proof of Otourou's guilt, and you
hold in your hand, my dear Dumont, the fa-
cred teſtimony of an exalted friendſhip.
I then entered into the hiſtory of the ſuf-
ferings of Amelia and Otourou. Dumont
liſtened ; yet, at times, almoſt yielded to
the oppreſſion of various feelings. At the
concluſion, doubt was ſuperior to all, and he
aſcribed what I had related to my blind
friendſhip for Otourou.-Well, I ſaid, I will
pardon the father the injury which he does
to the honour of my friend, to his own
friend. But would you not believe incon-
teſtible evidence : Would you have courage
to hear the witneſs? Oh, he anſwered, it
would be felicity to be aſſured of the inno-
cence of a man whom I have loved, as I
Hoved Otourou ! I will bring, replied I, this
invaluable witneſs; but prepare for the moſt
exquiſite, the moſt voluptuous ſurprize!
What would you ſay? cried Dumont,
with ſomething like expectation in his looks.
Ah! what a hope ruſhes into my mind!

* H E N E & R 0, 137
I felt that the firſt difficulty was ſurmount-
ed. I fly, ſaid I, to bring my witneſs
Dream of nothing but happineſs, till I re-
turn
I flew with the ſwiftneſs of joy to the con-
vent. My friends turned their eager eyes
upon me. I felt myſelf embarraſſed—I
knew not in what manner I could ſpare the
ſenſibility of Amelia—I endeavoured to mo-
derate my own agitation—My friends, I
ſaid, I have the happieſt tidings to commu-
nicate Otourou ſhall be free! cried Amelia,
Yes, I anſwered—but does your heart inti-
mate nothing better? He is already free!
ſaid ſhe. Then, ſaid I, you can ſuppoſe the
fight of Otourou ſtanding inſtantly before
you. Do not doubtit, ſhe replied. Lethim
come! Let me ſee him! With ſuch courage,
continued I, you could reſiſt the violence of
a more powerful ſurprize? Ah! cried Amelia
—either you are the crueleſt man on earth,
or you have ſeen my father! Do you think
me cruel? I anſwered. Ah I underſtand
you, ſaid ſhe-Helives—You have ſeen him
—Where is he 3–Ah, fly with me to his
feet!
Amelia threw herſelf into my arms; our
friends ſurrounded us ; I communicated,
with a word, the moſt delicious tranſports to
their hearts. -
The abbeſs inſtantly ordered her carriage,
and in a minute we were all at the banker's
houſe. I have not yet named you to Du.
M 2.

138 * H E N E G R 0.
mont, ſaid I, to Amelia. Yet he almoſt ex-
pects to ſee you... My friends, you ſhall re.
main in his antichamber. I will enter his
apartment, and leave the door open, and
Amelia can ſeize the fitteſt inſtant to appear.
We aſcended to the antichamber. I en-
tered Dumont's room. He walked with haſty
ſtrides, expecting me.
“Well, are you prepared to receive my
witneſs * “Yes: though it were my
daughter.” “Could you ſtill think Oron-
row culpable?” “Ah! I would to God,
he were yet worthy of being my friend.
Amelia could no longer withhold herſelf.
She cried out, ran, appeared, fell at Dumont's
feet. My father! cried ſhe-My father,
do not accuſe him . He is the model of hu-
man virtues .
Ah, what an intereſting ſcene paſſed be-
fore our eyes! The daughter and father
could not be ſeparated: yet the eyes of
Amelia fought for ſomething further. Du-
mont underſtood them; for nature explained
them to him. Do not demand your mother
—ſaid he, to Amelia, preſſing her to his bo.
ſom. She enjoys the recompenſe of her
virtues. This ſorrowful information ſpread
a cloud over the gentle moment; but the
preſent happineſs, ever ſo powerful over the
heart of men, ever ſo irreſiſtible in its influ-
ence, inſenſibly diffipated this tranſient
gloom, and joy took entire poſſeſſion of the
hour.

* If E N E G R 0- 139
Amelia having ſatisfied the ardent curioſi-
ty of her father, I interrupted their conver-
ſation to recal Otourou's ſituation to their
mind. Each minute which now prolongs
his impriſonment, ſaid I, would be a minute
of guilt to us. And of anguiſh to my mind!
—ſaid Dumont.
The miniſter was at Paris, and the Abbe
de Sº propoſed to Dumont that they ſhould
both wait upon him while we ſhould return
with the Abbeſs, and expect their arrival
at the convent. This benevolent lady, who
never ſuffered an occaſion of doing good to
eſcape her, ſaid to them—No: let the
young people go to the convent, but it will
be better that I ſhould accompany you to
the miniſter. It is late, and you will pro-
bably be refuſed an audience; but a viſit,
at ſuch an hour, from a perſon of my de-
ſcription, will itſelf ſpeak ſomething extra-
ordinary, and will probably open the mini-
ſter’s cloſet to us. We all thanked the Ab-
befs for this obliging care, and Dumont and
the Abbe de S** proceeded with her in
her carriage to the miniſter’s reſidence;
while Amelia, Francis, and I returned to
the convent. We did not long expect them
there. They came with a mandate for
Otourou's releaſe, and they were deſired to
go and receive Otourou early on the follow-
ing morning.
Freed from all cares, we placed ourſelves
at table, and this was the firſt repaſt which
I had enjoyed without a mixture of anxiety

149 * H E N E G R a.
ſince the time in which my peaceable youth
had fed on fruits cultivated by the hand of
Amelia.
When the deſert was placed on the table,
and the ſervants had withdrawn, the Ab-
befs, addreſſing herſelf to Dumont, ſaid–
There is no one but myſelf, fir, who loſes
by your preſence. I was the mother of
Amelia, and her only parent; but you have
come to rob me of my rights. I regret them
much ; for it would have been a delightful
office to me to have given her to Itanoko.
Command, madam, replied Dumont; my
daughter can never prove her reſpect to me
more perfectly than in obeying your plea-
ſure. Then, ſaid the Abbeſs with good-
neſs, Itanoko's happineſs ſhall not be delay-
ed. My friend, ſaid Dumont, taking my
hand, you know my daughter's virtues, and
thoſe are her only portion. A poverty,
which I do not lament, is all that I can of
fer you in my alliance. Ah, ſaid I, caſting.
myſelf at Amelia's feet.—Let my Amelia
conſent to my happineſs, and I ſhall be too
rich. ... ſmile avowed her ſenti-
ments. You, madam, ſaid I, to the Ab-
beſs, have deigned to take the title of a mo-
ther; confirm, then, my happineſs and
conſent to our ſigning our marriage con-
tract inſtantly on the arrival of Ferdinand.
I conſent, ſaid the Abbeſs; but I muſt pre-
ſerve my rights entire; the ceremony muſt
paſs under my roof. Dumºnt, Amelia, and
I, thanked her with unfeigned gratitude.
The tears of beneficence flowed from her
eyes: you are happy, ſaid ſhe, but I am ſtill

* H E N E G R 0. I41
more ſo—and ſhe was eager to relieve her-
ſelf from the effuſions of gratitude, which do
but oppreſs generous minds.
The exceſs of my felicity had not made
me forget my ſuffering friend. Before the
break of day, Dumont, Amelia, and I flew
to the Abbe de Sº, who accompanied us
to Vincennes. The gates of Otourov's pri-
ſon were opened to us, and ſoon we prefied
him to our boſoms. The fight of Amelia
and her father appeared a dream to him.
He could not forbear to contemplate them,
to aſſure himſelf by repeated embraces that
his ſenſes did not delude his heart.
We were in haſte to bear him from the
ſcene of his ſuffering, and ſoon preſented
him to the Abbeſs. I explained to him the
obligations which had been conferred on
him by that lady and the Abbe de Sºk.
Otourou poſſeſſed not the poliſh of Europe-
an manners: his thanks were thoſe of na-
ture. You have pitied an unfortunate man,
ſaid he, May Heaven bleſs you ; and as
your reward, preſent you frequent opportu-
nities of comforting the afflicted
I employed the reſt of the day in redu-
sing my marriage contract into form, and
in purchaſing jewels which I deſigned for
Amelia and my friends. According to my
calculation, Ferdinand muſt arrive during
the night; or in the morning at the furtheſt;
and I was impatient to terminate all my
*gements that nothing might interrupt

142 ºr ºf E N E G R 0.
the delightful moments which I promiſed
myſelf I ſhould enjoy with my friends.
Otourou, ſeldom thinking of himſelf, and
now participating in the confuſion of our
joy, had made no enquiries into the unjuſt
motives which cauſed his impriſonment;
but ſome words which eſcaped Dumont in
the tranſports of his friendſhip, his grati-
tude, his remorſe, ſurpriſed and inquieted
Glourou. In the evening, we being toge-
ther alone, he demanded an explanation of
his unfortunate affair, and I did not ſcruple
to give it him without reſerve. Imprudent
For a moment, I had forgotten Clourou,
He heard me with an aſtoniſhment which I
cannot expreſs; I recollected his diſpoſiti-
on, and bitterly repented my imprudence.
At the concluſion of my recital, he remain-
ed a minute filent, and then ſaid–with a
look of indignation which almoſt arreſted
my blood in its courſe—I could never have
imagined myſelf liable to the ſuſpicions of
Dumont. He changed the converſation :
and we afterwards ſeparated to take ſome
repoſe, without my daring again to name
the ſubject.
I went into his chamber, early on the fol-
lowing morning and was ſurpriſed not to
find him there. I made enquiries among
the domeſtics concerning him, and one of
them informed me that Otourou had deſired
him to ſay that he found himſelf indiſpoſed,
and had gone out to endeavour to diſipate
his illneſs. I concluded that he went to

* † E N E G R 0- 143
ſeek amuſement in viewing Paris, and that
we ſhould ſee him return in the courſe of
the day. While the ſervant ſpoke to me I
heard a poſt-chaiſe arrive at the houſe, I
looked out and ſaw Ferdinand. I ran to
meet him, and threw myſelf into his friend-
ly, faithful arms. I thought he appeared
ſomewhat altered, but I attributed that to
the fatigues of his voyage and journey. , 1
eagerly interrogated him reſpecting the
health of Honoria. Her indiſpoſition, ſaid
he, is light; ſhe follows me by ſhort jour-
neys; and I am without inquietude, as Du-
menil accompanies her.
I now conducted him into my apartment,
and he was in haſte to know Otourou’s fate.
I told him all that had happened, without
the omiſſion of a circumſtance, for it is one
of the enjoyments of happineſs to talk with
our friends. My marriage contract, I add-
ed, waited only your preſence to be com-
pleted. Yes: I will fign it, ſaid he. It is
all that heaven permits me at preſent to do
for your happineſs. I will dreſs; you ſhall
preſent me to the Abbeſs; and, however
preſſing my affairs may be, I will conſecrate
this day entirely to you. But, ſaid I, look-
ing earneſtly in his face, you muſt pardon
my anxious friendſhip; you are no longer
the ſame. You are ſorrowful. Let us, he
replied, think only of your happineſs. My
happineſs, returned I, is already infected if
you no longer place any confidence in Ita-
noka. What would you know ſaid Ferdi-
mand. Shall an affectionate friend cover
I44. ºr H E N E g º 0.
with clouds the happieſt day of your life?
If you are now ſilent, I cried, I ſhall believe
this friend has ceaſed to be ſuch. Well,
ſaid, he, liſten; but, while I confide my
troubles to you, I expect from you—not
regret, but an example of courage. Afflict
not yourſelf with a misfortune which I be-
gin to regard with indifference. You have
known the extent of my fortune. It is loſt.
Oh heaven! I exclaimed. What do you
tell me: My whole property, continued
Ferdinand, was remitted to the banker, on
whom I gave you a letter of credit; and at
whoſe houſe you found Dumont. The firſt
news that ſtruck my ears, on landing, was
his bankruptcy; and I have nothing but his
uſeleſs acceptance, which will never be paid
* Does Honorja know it?”—“ Yes:
the dignity of her mind taught me to diſ-
dain a loſs which, at firſt, Ilamented. The
wrecks of my fortune, the little ready mo-
ney I have, added to the ſale of mine and
Honoria's jewels, will leave us yet a yearly
income of fix thouſand livres, and we ſhall
live happily.”—“ Reduced from four
hundred thouſand livres income to fix thou-
ſand : the fall is dreadful!”—“ It is ſo,
to people who found their happineſs on
wealth; but not to thoſe who make it con-
ſiſt in peace of mind.”
I remained ſome time in a profound tº
lence; but, finally, Iſprang from theſe reflec-
tions, and, though not free from anguiſh, yet
was I at leaſt ſatisfied with my heart. You
expect from me, ſaid I, an example of cou-


7' H E N E G R 9. 145
rage, and I will give it you. I ſcarcely feel
your loſs. The loſs of a vile metal, which
is too frequently the property of vice. For-
tune cannot deprive you of your virtues,
nor of the heart of your friends: and theſe
are the only wealth of man. Dreſs: let us
not change any thing in the preparations
that are making to celebrate my union with
Amelia.
Ferdinand preſſed my hand. Now, ſaid
he, I behold my Itanoko. I fee that firm-
neſs which I have ſo often admired. You
flatter my glory by ſparing your conſolations.
You have done juſtice to my heart.
He dreſſed himſelf with magnificence,
leſs through inclination than to honour the
nuptials of his friends, and his dreſs added
to the natural graces of his perſon. We
proceeded to the apartment in which I knew
the abbeſs would be waiting for us. In fact,
my friends were already aſſembled. Joy
ſhone in every eye. Joy! ah! what would
not a ſingle word from me have placed in its
ſtead?—There are moments in which even
virtue is painful.” I then felt it.
No one preſent knew Ferdinand. Ma-
* Never: Itanoko deceived himſelf. It was not
his virtue that was painful. He ſecretly lamented
Ferdinand's loſs: this was his error, and this was
his torture. Conſidering how the fortune had been
gained, the loſs of it was no evil; and, through
whatever channel it might have come to Ferdinand,
it was not worth a thought T.
Vol. II. N
146 ºr n E N E G R 0,
dam, ſaid I to the abbeſs, permit me to pre-
ſent this gentleman to you. His name will
be the beſt title I can give him to your friend.
ſhip. This, madam, is Ferdinand. Inſtantly
all ſurrounded him, all equally impatient to
embrace him. Intereſting, inſtructive fight!
which too ſeldom meets the eyes of youth,
or ſurely men would be otherwiſe. Ferdi-
mand, in the midſt of ſtrangers, found a re-
ception which too many look for in vain in
the boſom of their own families. Such are
the rights of a good man! Lethin be named,
and he finds friends.
The abbeſs aſked me in a whiſper, when
the marriage contract ſhould be brought for
us to fign. I sequeſted that it might be at
eight in the evening. I have yet, ſaid I,
ſome trifling arrangements to make, and I
ſhall requeſt your permiſſion to withdraw for
a couple of hours after dinner. I ſpoke
theſe laſt words that Amelia mighthear them.
I was defirous ſhe ſhould be thus accidentally
informed of my abſence, that ſhe might be
without inquietude, and that ſhe ſhould
ſpare me ſome queſtions which I ſhould have
been at a loſs to anſwer.
But all this time Otourou did not appear.
ºf informed our friends that he had gone out
to amuſe himſelf, and his motive for it. Yet,
though this explained the cauſe of his ab-
fence, we could not repreſs our uneaſineſs.
As ſoon as dinner was removed, I arole
from table, and ran to conſummate my ſacri.


7 H E N E G R 0. 147
fice: it was done. I returned to join my
friends; and, whatever tranſient apprehen-
fions I might entertain of the future, my
ſoul enjoyed the pureſt felicity.
I approached the abbeſs, to whiſper a re-
queſt in her ear; while I ſpoke, ſome one,
who had ſtolen behind me, placed their
hands over my eyes, and the whole company
burſt into laughter. My dear Iſanoko, ſaid
the abbeſs, I am ſorry for you; but ſuch is
the condition of our agreement.—You muſt
name the perſon who holds you priſoner, or
there is no marriage for you this day. I
hope, madam, anſwered I, that dºneſia is not
a party to the agreement. Pardon me, ſaid
ſhe-certainly ſo. Then, I replied, I divine
the matter; Amelia knew that my heart
would not deceive me ; theſe are a lady’s
hands that cover my fight, and there is but
one wanting to complete our felicity: Hono-
ria is the tyrant that holds me; I am ſure of
it. I was not miſtaken, it was Honoria.
Her impatience to join her huſband had ſub-
dued her indiſpoſition, and ſhe had proceed-
ed poſt with Dumeniſ. Ah, my dear Dume-
nil / I ſaid, taking his hand—how much are
we obliged to you! Recompenſe him then,
ſaid Dumont to me, by loving him as your
uncle. My uncle! I exclaimed. You re-
member, ſaid Dumont, my dear brother, of
whom I often ſpoke to you during your child-
hood. You now ſee him. What a happy
event ſaid I, embracing them both.
congratulated myſelf on ſeeing ſo many
148 º H E N E G R 3.
.
-
perſons aſſembled, each of whom had con-
ferred the greateſt benefactions on me; and
I felt a ſecret pride as I ſaw the hour ap-
proach, in which I hoped to ſhew their
friend was worthy of them.
A ſervant entered to inform me that the
notary waited below. I requeſted permiſſion
of the abbeſs to introduce him. When he
came, I made him advance, and placed him
at a table. He laid the parchment open be-
fore him, and was preparing to read. Come,
ſaid I, theſe forms of law, among friends,
are diſguſting. Here, every one knows my
manner of thinking: and happily, we are all
of one mind. A moment's delay would be
to commit a robbery on my felicity. Let us
fign, and we will read it afterwards. Ita-
nº is right, ſaid the abbeſs: we will leave
the reading of contračis to marriages of in-
tereſt. I took the pen, and having executed
the deed, preſented it to Ferdinand. He po-
litely offered it to the abbeſs. Pardon me.
I ſaid, I know all the reſpect which is due to
a lady, but you muſt permit me to govern
abſolutely during a few minutes. Having
directed each of them to ſign as I thought
proper, I took the deed, and ſaid to Amelia
—fill this day, I flattered myſelf that I was
in poſſeſſion of all which could make my
Amelia happy. I have no longer anything
to offer you but my heart, and that is not
ºfficient. Pardon me, that I have yielded
to duties which appeared to me yet more
ſacred than love, I read aſtoniſhment in
your eyes, but my conduct ſhall never bein-



* H E N E G R 0. I49
explicable to you. You ſee before you Hº-
ºzºa and Ferdinand: there was a time in
which their benefactions conſtituted my glo-
ry; at preſent, it might become my ſhame.
They had immenſe wealth; they poſſeſs it
no longer. I will not become the accom-
plice of fortune, and (the inſolent witneſs of
their indigence) revel in their property with
indifference. Ferdinand, if I had a right to
diſpoſe of my eſtate, I have ſold it to you,
and you have juſt ſigned the bargain. This
is your title. I gave him the deed which had
juſt been executed.
I would have retired for the preſent; my
friends detained me. Honoria and Ferdi-
mand embracing me, ſaid–We will not ac-
cept of this gift. We have been ſurpriſed
into the execution of the deed, and it is null:
we recal our conſent. Ah, Itanoko, have you
thought of Amelia 2 Would you behold her
death? You diſhonour me! cried Amelia.
Think not ſo of me! Then turning to me—
never have I loved you more, Itanºo. Your
loſs, if I muſt loſe you, is frightful to my
heart. But I am worthy of you. For the
world, would I not ſee you act otherwiſe,
though I ſhould never behold you again.
Ah! ſaid Ferdinand, with grief–To
whom then ſhall we have recourſe Too
dear enemy he continued, taking my hand
—Force me not to hate you ! The hatred of
Ferdinand think of it, Iºanokº Ferdinand,
I replied, I know you: never will you hate
a man of honour, And ah, ſaid Fergº
2

15C * H E N E G R 0,
—Do I not know that you can never love a
man who has diſhonoured himſelf—“ But
how diſhonoured, Ferdinand 2* * By
ſuffering myſelf thus to be vanquiſhed.”—
Charming example of a ſublime virtue, ſaid
Dumenil. One of you ſacrificing an ardent,
ſucceſsful love, and the other, ſacrificing
wealth—to his honour! My young friends,
you teach to each of us how delicious it is
to produce the happineſs of others. Ferdi-
mand, accept the gift of Itanoko , and you
ſhall do it without a bluſh. Amelia, give me
your hand: I tender it to you, Itanoko, and
I will add to it my fortune. Ah, great God,
I cried—this felicity is too much for my
heart!
Honoria and Ferdinand ſtill defended
themſelves, and could not be perſuaded to
yield. During this time, Dumonthad taken
up the deed, and ſeemed to be looking on it
with profound meditation. At length, he
waved his hand for ſilence, and we all liſ-
tened. Why ſaid he, do I fee on this deed
the name of de C-2 This gentleman is not,
however, the Theodore de C– whoſe letter
I have ſhewn to you, Iºanoko, You have
told me he was the ſon of M. Urban. It is
true, I anſwered; and you muſt pardon my
negligence. I ought to have preſented him
here by the name to which he is entitled :
but the endearing habit of calling theſe my
friends—Honoria and Ferdinand, has pre-
valled over ceremony. Honoria is the filter
of Theodore de C-, who is no more; and
her huſband, when he received her hand,

ºr ºf E N E G R 0. I51
took the name of de C– at the requeſt of
her dying father. This gentleman then,
ſaid Dumont, is the M. de C–who lately re-
mitted his property to Europe. The ſame,
replied Ferdinand. Then fir, ſaid Dumont,
your fortune is entire.
Let the effect of theſe words be imagined,
if it be poſſible to imagine ſuch extreme aſ-
toniſhment and joy as they produced. De-
lightful ſcene though my pencil would ob-
ſcure with its cold colours, thy glowing
flame, yet can I ſtill enter into my heart, and
view thee there in all thy brightneſs :
Ferdinand availed himſelf of the calm
which inevitably ſucceeds to ſuch moments,
to enquire into a myſtery which he could
not comprehend. By what happy chance,
ſaid he to Dumont, am I indebted to you
for this fignal benefaction : You owe it
chiefly, anſwered Dumont, to gratitude,
though miſtaken in its application ; but God
judged my intention—that was pure; and,
as my reward, he has directed the effect to
the worthieſt object.
It is about ſix months, continued Dumont,
fince I entered into my employment with
this banker. He fought for a caſhier, and I
preſented myſelf to him ; fixty thouſand
francs, the ſole remains of the wealth which
had been given by the two African ſove-
reigns, became ſecurity for me; he accepted
my offer, and my ſmall fortune was ſunk in-
to his capital. I entered on my duty, and

* 52 ºr ºf E N E G is o.
four months paſſed without my perceiving
any alteration in his affairs. Two months
ſince, things began to aſſume another appear.
ance. He collected conſiderable ſums, and
which I knew much exceeded the engage-
ments he had to fulfil. One day he cauſed
theſe to be removed from his bank. I ima-
gined this was to ſuit ſome purpoſe of ſpe-
culation, and it gave me no uneaſineſs.
However, the firſt ſucceeding payment was
made by a loan; and, afterwards, all de-
mands on his bank (which have been diſ-
charged) were ſettled by the ſame means;
while the returns have diſappeared, as the
former fund, without any apparent employ.
A caſhier is not to be impoſed upon for any
length of time; and I explained my fears to
the banker. He amuſed me during fix
months longer with artful excuſes; but ſoon
it was almoſt impoſſible for me to doubt his
unworthy deſigns; and I found myſelf re-
duced to the unhappy alternative of loſing
my ſmall fortune, and ſuffering him to de
ceive thoſe who confided in him, or of be-
coming his accuſer, and perhaps when he
ſhould yet be innocent. This latterpart was
ſo ſtrongly repugnant to my feelings, that I
choſe rather to ſacrifice my little property;
yet, I reſolved to prevent the extenſion of
the evil, and to preſerve myſelf free from all
ſuſpicion of any connivance with him. Four-
teen days ago I made up the account of the
payments for the enſuing day, which amount:
ed to three hundred and forty thouſand
livres. This I carried to him. He ſigned
it and returned it to me, You know, ſaid I,

* H E N E G R 0. 133
that I have only twelve hundred franks in
bank. I know it, he anſwered me, and it is
my affair. He went out; and was, as uſual,
at the 'Change. At three the letters of the
houſe were delivered to me. Among others,
was a letter from a celebrated commercial
houſe at Nantz, the ſubſtance of which was,
that their partners at Cape Francoiſe (in
the iſland of St. Domingo) had received fix
millions of livres from a gentleman whoſe
name was de C–, who was coming into
France to reſide, and who had given them
an order to remit it to our banking houſe.
They incloſed drafts to the amount of four
millions, which was all they could procure,
and ſaid they would ſend the remainder by
the firſt opportunity.
In the name of de C–, I recogniſed that
of the young man who had rendered me
what I then deemed an important ſervice;
and my firſt wiſh was to ſave the fortune of
my benefactor. Yet, with every appear-
ance againſt the integrity of my employer,
I might be ignorant of his funds and his
commercial dealings; and I might be the
ruin of a man who deſerved otherwiſe, and
whoſe only fault might be the failing to
place his confidence in me. After confider-
able heſitation, however, I reſolved to with-
hold this letter, and to obſerve the effect it
would produce on the banker. I acted ac-
cordingly, and he did not teſtify any fur-
priſe or inquietude; as if he had other ad-
vice of this tranſaction. In the courſe of
the day, he had turned ſome bills of ex-
154 ºf H E N E G R a.
change into caſh; and, in the evening, I
remarked ſeveral circumſtances in the houſe,
which no longer left any doubt in my mind
that he prepared for his departure. I reſol-
ved to ſet off at midnight for Nantz, in or-
der to anticipate the courier, that would,
doubtleſs, carry the news of this bankrupt.
cy. I felt however, anxious as I was to
ſave the fortune of M. de C-, that my
own ſecurity and my duty to the creditors
of my employer made it neceſſary for me to
take ſome previous ſteps. I was about to
run to the firſt conful, when one of the
clerks of our houſe came to inform me,
with the greateſt alarm, of the banker's
flight. I haſtened to the conſul, related the
whole affair, the condući which I had pur-
fued during the day, and my preſent deſign.
He approved of the whole; and, my horſes
being ready, I departed for Nantz. I ar-
rived there eight hours before the news of
the bankruptcy; and you will conceive the
joy of the houſe which, had I not ſaved
them, would have been compelled to have
ſtopped payment. They gave me an ac-
knowledgment, duly executed, that the pro-
perty of M. de C– was in their hands, with
a promiſe to pay it to his order. Here is
the deed, and I am proud to be the in-
ſtrument of ſaving the fortune of a worthy
man, and of diſplaying the elevated feelings
of Itanoko.
Our ſenſations will never be appreciated
but by the good. We experienced all the
delights which the ſucceſs of virtue gives tº
-




* * * N & G R 0. 155
thoſe who are the lovers of virtue. In fact,
there was not one amongſt us whoſe vir-
tues had not, by a wonderful ſucceſſion of
events, forwarded the happineſs of thoſe
who ſurrounded him.
Who can calculate, to its utmoſt extent,
the progreſſive impulſe which a ſingle wor-
thy act may produce on the world? It is
the hand which drops a ſtone on the tran-
quil ſurface of the ſea : circles ſwiftly ſuc-
ceed each other, till they have enlarged
themſelves beyond the bounds of fight! Au-
guſt idea! The virtuous man becomes, even
unknown to himſelf, the benefactor of the
univerſe :
On this happy day was I united to Ame-
lia. We received the nuptial benediction
from the Abbe de Sºº, and heaven heard
vows which we have never violated.
Still we wanted Otourou, and now each of
us became apprehenſive of ſome misfor-
tune. A ſervant entered, and delivered a
letter to me. It was from Ofotºrow. I
opened it eagerly. All anxiouſly watched
my looks, and I ran through it with equal
rapidity, emotion, aſtoniſhment . Theſe
were the words: -
“I leave you. America wºn ſe . . . .
-- ~ vº III ICC me re-
turn. I ſhall embrace my father, Bruno,
and our negroes. They will make me well.
come, and I ſhall inform them of vour hap-
pineſs. You will ſay, why am i not the



#56 º' H E N E G R 0,
witneſs of it? Ah, Itanoko, this is the great.
eſt ſorrow of my life! But nature condemns
me to endure it. What man can ſupport
an injury without taking vengeance Du-
mont has ſuſpected me: the death of Dumont
would delight my vengeance: but I fee the
tears of his daughter, your tears; I hear
the name of father, which you, at preſent,
laviſh on him ; and all that is ſacred to me.
No: never, Itanoko, could I do more for
you, for his daughter, for himſelf; than fly
from you. He ſuſpected me: yet he might
have done otherwiſe. The effort was not
impoſſible. I thought I knew him by expe-
rience ; and while abandoned by him, with-
out aid, without counſel, without conſolati-
on, I languiſhed in irons, which my defence
of his daughter had laid upon me; nothing
ſuggeſted to me his ingratitude—Every
thing accuſed him : I alone juſtified him.
Had he no reaſon to juſtify me . Yet
there have exiſted men who have re-
ceived from him the right of pronouncing
with diſdain the name of Otourou ! I receiv-
ed this name in my cradle. It was my on-
ly property. I preſerved it pure, and he has
dared to ſtain it. Oh, fury! Thank heaven,
Dumont, that it does not, at this moment,
offer you to my wrath!
But what do I ſay? Let the victory be
complete. Let me ſpeak that terrible word
—that word from which my frame ſhrinks.
Oh, nature cloſe your eyes while I write it
I pardon him. It is written : yes, it
ſhall not be effaced. But, ah indulge me
with a moment's pauſe !

* H E N E G & ºr 157
Adieu. Yield to no inquietude reſpect-
ing me. Thanks to your beneficence, I
have money. You gave me two hundred
Louis dºors, and I poſſeſs them entire. Vin-
cennes coſt me nothing. I ſhall be far from
you when you ſhall receive my letter. I
charge you make no attempt to purſue me:
I ſhould then ſee Dumont, and my wound
would bleed afreſh. One day I ſhall em-
brace you again. Ah, God if I muſt die
without ſeeing you more But let us
chaſe this idea: it is terrifying. I know
you, and you will wiſh, once again, to re-
ceive the benedićtions of your negroes.
At nine in the morning, on the 15th
day of October.
Ofotº.”
I feel that his ſentence is juſt, cried Du-
mont. I have outraged innocence, and it is
a true crime. It is my duty to purſue
him, to fall at his feet, and to obtain his
pardon.
He would have departed: and it required
all the aſcendency which I had over him to
withdraw him from this reſolution. I knew
Otourou, and ſaw that it would be better to
leave to time to abate the bitterneſs of his
reſentment. I did not fear but the argu-
ments of Bruno would make an impreſſion
on him ; and I informed the good old man,
by a letter, which I diſpatched inſtantly, of
all that had happened.
I had fortunately judged truly of the
Vol. II. y J º y -

58 * H E N E G is º.
event. Dumont and Otourou ſaw each other
ſome years after. The natural goodneſs of
Otourou's heart had finally prevailed. He
felt that nature has rights which ſilence all
others; and that the deed, which would
have been an injury under any other cir-
cumſtance, was a duty—taking its ſource
as it did in paternal affection. The in-
terview was intereſting. Dumont, alrea-
dy bending beneath age, advanced with
a trembling pace, which timidity rendered
ſtill more ſlow and feeble. Otourou had
premeditated to preſerve all the dignity of
a man who pardons an outrage; his firſt
look betrayed that deſign. He had no pow-
er to ſuſtain a part which oppoſed his huma-
nity, oppoſed his ancient friendſhip. Tears
rolled down his cheeks: he opened his arms:
he ran: he had not even reſolution to em.
brace Dumont : he fell at his feet.
The departure of Otourou was the laſt
ſtroke of adverſity which I experienced; and
my days have ſince paſſed without a cloud.
Honoria, Ferdinand, Dumenil, Dumont, my
dear Amelia and I, have made but one fa-
mil º, but one heart. Dumont thought it
his duty, before he laid himſelf down in his
tomb to reſt, to account (as he had pro-
miſed)to Siratik and Damel for their bene-
factions. The latter had terminated his
career in a new war; the ſorrowful fruit of
his ambition. But my uncle ſtill ſuſtained,
with an arm almoſt yielding to age, a ſceptre
honoured by his virtues. He ſent me his
laſt farewell, accompanied by treaſures which
the pleaſure of relieving misfortune have ren-
dered dear to me.

7 H E N E G R 9. 159
olºurou had propheſied truly, when he
ſaid I ſhould again ſee my countrymen em-
ployed in my plantation. I flew to pay
them one more viſit; and to offer to Bruno
the laſt tribute of my affection. It fermed
that this venerable old man waited only for
my preſence to ſleep in peace in the boſom
of eternity. He gave me his benediction s
and, with it, the laſt, the greateſt leflon in
his power; the ſpectacle of a juſt man’s
death.
I found my countrymen happy. The re-
membrance of ſlavery was almoſt effaced
from their minds. Alternate labour, and
innocent pleaſures had united them; and
liberty had unfolded their virtues. They
were no longer wretched, abandoned crea-
tures, but a numerous family bound toge-
ther by the fame inclination, the ſame ob-
ject. It was not without regret that I ſaw
myſelf compelled to diſſolve this peaceable
republic: but their intereſt preſcribed the
law to me. The good Osmyn was dead; I
wiſhed to condućt Otourou back to Europe;
and I loved my poor friends too well to en-
truſt their happineſs with any one whoſe
virtues I did not know, and who, relying on
my diſtance from them, might render them
unhappy. Sufficiently enriched by the be-
nefactions of my uncle to make the ſacrifi-
ces which my heart approved; I aſſembled
them: I gave them my laſt bleſfing, and con-
veyed them to their country. I then ſold
the plantation: It was in a flouriſhing con-
dition ; yet, deprived of negroes, I could

to * H E N E G R 9.
obtain only a ſmall price for it—but I could
not expect a double price, and I obtained that
which flattered my ambition, the happineſs
of unfortunate men.
Nature, love, and friendſhip, called me
back to Europe. There, in the boſom of
the gentleſt paſſions, I proceed without fear
and without regret to old age; ſurrounded
by my children, my wife, my friends. In-
ſtructed, by misfortune, to value the ſatis-
faction which ariſes from circumſtances on-
ly as it contributes to purer felicity, I wait
in peace for the approach of him from whom
the man who cheriſhes virtue would not fly
for a moment. And, thanks to my God,
death will find me without prejudices.
Born a negro, I have loved Europeans.
May they imitate me. May they feel that
the moſt deteſtable of all prejudices, the
prejudice that moſt retards virtue in its pro-
greſs, is the abſurd opinion which ſepa-
rates man from man, and cuts off entire na-
tions from the eſteem of other nations.
Oh, Europeans! if you were ſuddenly
endowed with that eternal fight which, with
a glance, embraces all time and ſpace, you
would be terrified with a view of the enor-
mous maſs of crimes with which your pre-
judices againſt negroes have weighed down
Europe—almoſt beyond the reach of vir-
tue You would tremble to behold the im-
menſity of virtues which you have deſtroy-
ed in the ſeed, and which but for you
would have produced the happineſs of ne-
groes—your own happineſs. Ah, haſten

* H E N E G R v. ión
Europeans Seize the inſtant, or the re-
turn of barbarity will remove the epoch,
poſterity will ſnatch the glory from you !
Refer not the happineſs of future times to
miſerable calculations, but act. Surround
the front of your age with the diadem of
beneficence, which ſhall aſſure to it an em-
pire over every memorable revolution con-
ſecrated in the Temple of Time! Break
down the walls of braſs which prejudice
has reared Sweep it from your fight! It
conceals men, it conceals brethren from
you.
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163 |
* +, +, +, +, +, +, +, +, +, + + 0 + 4 + 4 + 4 + 4 + 4 +
N O T E. S
TO THE
SE COND VOL U M E.
(1.) ONº of my friends was at Port-au-Prince.
Among the number of his negroes, he had a boy of
about twelve years old, whoſe employment it was
to wait on him. This friend of mine was the Che
valier de M...al, deſcended from one of the beſt
houſes of Franche-Comté; he was at that time aid-
de-camp to the Chevalier de Valliere, governor of
St. Domingo. He was a humane man; for I have
no friends but what are the friends of humanity.
He treated with kindneſs the little negro boy; and
the boy was proud of the confidence with which his
maſter honoured him. If ſome other negro anti-
cipated him in any little attention which might
flatter his maſter, you immediately ſaw that his
native gratitude was grieved to have loſt an occa-
tion to expreſs itſelf. One day, the Chevalier de
º!...al made a little tour on horſeback. The ne-
gro boy followed on foot. They entered a place
which was extremely retired, and appeared to be

164 |
dangerous. This was their converſation, word for
word:
The Chevalier. What would you do, Azor, if
we ſhould he attacked: This place does not appear
to be very ſafe. -
Azor. Me no fear, maſter: me fight bravely.
The Chevalier. You are ſo young you would
do better to run away.
Azor. Me no run away, maſter. You good:
me love you!
The Chevalier. Well, and what would you do?
Azor. Me defend you!
The Chevalier. You would not have ſtrength
enough: what then would you do?
Azor. Die!
(2.) One would imagine that the negroes ex-
preſs both their ſorrow and joy by ſongs. They
fing in their ſports; they fing at their labour; they
fing always.
(3.) At Cape Francois, at Port-au-Prince, &c.
you ſend for a hair-dreſſer. He arrives. He is an
European. You imagine that he is to dreſs your
hair. No ſuch thing: for it is the privilege of
the Europeans in that country, to gain their mo-

[ 165
ney by doing nothing. This hair-dreſſer, then, is
followed by four negroes. One of theſe combs
out your hair; a ſecond, fills it with powder and
pomatum; a third, puts it in papers; and the
fourth, finiſhes the buſineſs. During this operati-
on, the ſuperb hair-dreſſer, in a habit of filk, his
hat under his arm, a ſword dangling at his heel,
and his cane hanging at his wriſt, preſides over the
important ceremony. The leaſt in attention, the
leaſt aukwardneſs, in any of his negroes, is followed
by a blow on the cheek, which often lays him, on
the ground. If ſo, the negro humbly riſes again, and
continues his work. He, whoſe head is dreſſed at
ſuch a price, is to be pitied :
Let us remark here that Itanoko has ſaid–the
negroes equal the Europeans in addreſs. Viſit the
American iſlands, and you ſhall be convinced of it.
There the negroes do every thing. Arts, trades,
are entirely in their hands. With ſuch facility to
conceive, ſuch aptitude to learn, nothing is wanting
but the nurture of liberty fully to develope their
genius.
The miſſionaries repreſent the negroes as ſtupid,
as not being able to reckon beyond three ; and
the inſtant after, paint them to us as eloquent.
Stupid! eloquent! Strange mixture! But into ſuch
errors muſt men fall when they write only to make
books, and travel only to liſten to prejudices. Yes:
doubtleſs, they are eloquent : and natural elo-
quence is the firſt ſpark of genius. Hear a negro

166
expreſs his attachment to you; defend himſelf from
a falſe imputation; recount an event which inter-
eſts him; then ſpeak of his eloquence And why
ſhould they not be eloquent? They poſſeſs the three
firſt qualities of oratory : ſenſibility, memory, and
and the power of perſuaſion. Inſtructed and free,
they would have their Ciceros,
- -
-
P O E. M. S
O N
V. A. R. I O U S S U B J E C T S,
R. E. L. I. G. I O U S AND M O R. A. L.
- -
By PHILLIS WHEATLE2,
Necro SERVANT to MR. John WHEATLEy,
of Boston, in New-ENGLAND.
-
-
DEDICATED TO
The Countess of Huntingdom.
PHILADELPHIA :
Pºinted by AND for WILLIAM W. Woodware,
N°. 17, Chesnut STREET.
-


1801.


| 169 |
ºcco coeococº coºo-ºooo tooooºoo-ºooo ºccas ºccº toº º core ºccº toº
Preface.
THE following PopMs were written
originally for the amusement of the Author, as
they were the products of her leisure moments.
She had no intention ever to have published
them; nor would they now have made their
appearance, but at the importunity ºf many ºf
her best and most generous friends; to whom
she considers herself, as under the greatest
ºbligations.
As her attempts Žn poetry are now sent into
the world, it is hoped the critic will not severely
censure their defects, and we presume they
have too much merit to be cast aside with con-
tempt, as worthless and trifting effusions.
As to the disadvantages she has laboured
under, with regard to learning, nothing needs
to be affered, as her master's letter in the fol-
lºwing page will sufficiently shew the difficul-
ties in this respect she had to encounter.
With all their imperfections, the poems are
nº humbly submitted to the perisal of the
public. -
Vol. II. P


Advertisement.
-
-
-
-
The following is a copy of a Letter sent by
the Author's Master to the publisher.
PHILLIS was brought from Africa to
America, in the year 1761, between ſeven and
eight years of age. Without any aſſiſtance
from ſchool education, and by only what ſhe
was taught in the family, ſhe, in ſixteen
months time from her arrival, attained the
Engliſh language, to which ſhe was an utter
ſtranger before, to ſuch a degree, as to read
any, the moſt difficult parts of the Sacred
Writings, to the great aftoniſhment of all
who heard her.
As to her writing, her own curioſity led
her to it; and this ſhe learnt in ſo ſhort a
time, that in the year 1765, ſhe wrote a let-
ter to the Rev. Mr. Occoni, the Indian mi-
niſter, while in England.
She has a great inclination to learn the
Latin tongue, and has made ſome progreſs
in it. This relation is given by her maſter
* bought her, and with whom ſhe now
1 Wes.
JOHN WHEAT LEY.
Boston, Nov. 14, 1772.


to ºne public.
As it has been repeatedly ſuggeſted to the pub-
liſher, by perſons, who have ſeen the manuſcript,
that numbers would be ready to ſuſpect they were
not really the writings of PHILLIS, he has pro-
cured the following atteſtation, from the moſt re-
ſpectable characters in Boston, that none might have
the leaſt ground for diſputing their Original.
We whoſe Names are under-written, do aſſure
the World, that the PoEMs ſpecified in the follow-
ing page,” were (as we verily believe) written by
PHILLIs, a young Negro Girl, who was but a few
Years ſince, brought an uncultivated Barbarian
from Africa, and has ever fince been, and now is,
under the diſadvantage of ſerving as a Slave in a
family in this town. She has been examined by
ſome of the beſt judges, and is thought qualified to
write them.
His Excellency Thomas Hurch IN son, Governor,
The Hon. ANDREw OLIvº R, Lieutenant-Governor.
Hon. Thomas Hubbard, Rev. Mather Byles,
Hon. John Erving, Rev. Ed. Pemberton,
Hon. James Pitts, Rev. Andrew Elliot,
Hon. Harriſon Gray, Rev. Samuel Cooper,
Hon. James Bowdoin, Rev. Samuel Mather,
John Hancock, Esq. Rev. John Moorhead,
Joſeph Green, Esq. Mr. John Wheatly, ber
Richard Cary, Esq. Master,
Rev. Charles Chauncy,
* The Words “following page,” ºude to the
Cºntents ºf the Manuscript coºy, whº are wrote
at tº back ºf the above attestation.
P 2


*****, +++++++++++++++++++++++++**
p o E M s
V. A R I O U S S U B J E C T S.
To M A C E N A S.
ECENAS, you, beneath the myrtle ſhade,
Read o'er what poets ſung, and ſhepherds
play’d.
What felt thoſe poets but you feel the ſame :
Does not your ſoul poſſeſs the ſacred flame :
Their noble ſtrains your equal genius ſhares 5
In ſofter language, and diviner airs.
While Homer paints lo! circumfus'd in air,
Celeſtial Gods in mortal forms appear;
Swift as they move hear each receſs rebound,
Heav'n quakes, earth trembles, and the ſhores re-
* ſound. - Io
Great Sire of verſe, before my mortal eyes,
The lightnings blaze acroſs the vaulted ſkies,
And, as the thunder ſhakes the heav'nly plains,
A deep felt horror thrills through all my veins.
When gentier ſtrains demand thy graceful ſong, 13
The length'ning line moves languiſhing along.
When great Patroc's courts Achilies' aid,
-

176 7 H E P o E M S or
The grateful tribute of my tears is paid :
Prome on the ſhore he feels the pangs of love,
And ſtern Pelides tendereſt paſſions move. 20
Great Maro's ſtrain in heav'nly numbers flows,
The Nine inſpire, and all the boſom glows.
O could I rival thine and Virgil's page,
Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan Sage;
Soon the ſame beauties ſhould my mind adorn, 25
And the ſame ardors in my ſoul ſhould burn:
Then ſhould my ſong in bolder notes ariſe,
And all my numbers pleaſingly ſurpriſe;
But here I fit, and mourn a grov'ling mind,
That fain would mount, and ride upon the wind.
Not you, my friend, theſe plaintive ſtrains be-
Come,
Not you, whoſe boſom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire,
But I leſs happy, cannot raiſe the ſong, 35
The fault’ring muſic dies upon my tongue-
The happier Terence" all the choir inſpir’d,
His ſoul repleniſh'd, and his boſom fir’d;
But ſay, ye Muses, why this partial grace,
To one alone of Afric's fable race; 40
From age to age tranſmitting thus his name
With the firſt glory in the rolls of fame?
Thy virtues, great Mºcenas' ſhall be ſung
In praiſe of him, from whom thoſe virtues ſprung:
while blooming wreaths around thy temples
ſpread. 45
I'll ſnatch a laurel from thine honour'd head,
While you indulgent ſmile upon the deed.
* He was an African yº.

* If I L L I S. W. H. E. A 2 L E 2'. 177
As long as Thames in ſtreams majeſtic flows,
Or Naiads in their oozy beds repoſe,
While Pºebus reigns above the ſtarry train 59
While bright Aurora purples o'er the main,
So long, great Sir, the muſe thy praiſe ſhall fing,
So long thy praiſe ſhall make Parnassus ring :
Then grant, Mecenas, thy paternal rays,
Hear me propitious, and defend my lays.
-
On v I R T U E.
Thou bright jewel in my aim I ſtrive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words de-
clare
Wiſdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I ceaſe to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height tº explore, or fathom thy profound, 5
But, O my ſoul, fink not into deſpair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, howers o'er thine head.
Fain would the heav'n-born ſoul with her con-
verſe,
Then ſeek, then court her for her promisid blºſs.
Auſpicious queen, thiſe heav'nly pinions ſpread,
And lead celeſtial Chastity along;
Lo now her ſacred retinue deſcends,
Array'd in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years! is
Q leave me not to the falſe joys of time !
But guide my ſteps to endleſs life and bliſs.
Greatness, or Goodness, ſay what I ſhall call thee,
To give an higher appellation ſtill,
Teach me a better ſtrain, a nobler lay, 20
O thou, enthron'd with Cherubs in the realms of
day !
178 * H E P o E M S o F.
To the UNIVERsity ºf cAMBRIDGE, in New-
ENGLAND.
\ M THILE an intrinſic ardor prompts to write,
The muſes promiſe to aſſiſt my pen;
'Twas not long ſince I left my native ſhore
The land of errors, and Egyptian gloom:
Father of mercy, 'twas thy gracious hand 5
Brought me in ſafety from thoſe dark abodes.
Students to you 'tis giv'n to ſcan the heights
Above, to traverſe the etherial ſpace,
And mark the ſyſtems of revolving worlds.
Still more, ye ſons of ſcience ye receive -o
The bliſsful news by meſſengers from heav'n,
How jesus' blood for your redemption flows.
See him with hands out-ſtretcht upon the croſs;
Immenſe compaſſion in his boſom glows;
He hears revilers, nor reſents their ſºn: 15
What matchleſs mercy in the Son of God!
When the whole human race by fin had fall'n,
He deign'd to die that they might riſe again,
And ſhare with him in the ſublimeſt ſkies,
Life without death, and glory without end. --
Improve your privileges while they ſlay,
Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears
Or good or bad report of you to heav'n-
Let fin, that baneful evil to the ſoul,
By you be ſhunn'd, nor once remit your guard; 25
Suppreſs the deadly ſerpent in its egg.
Ye blooming plants of human race divine,
An Ethiop tells you 'tis your greateſt foe:
Its tranſient ſweetneſs turns to endleſs pain,
And an immenſe perdition finks the ſoul.
3.
º



p ºf r * : 1 s W H E 4 º’ L E *. 179
On being brought from AFRICA to AMERICA:
2 WAS mercy brought me from my Pagan
land,
Taught my benighted ſoul to underſtand
That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too :
Once I redemption neither ſought nor knew.
Some view our ſable race with ſcornful eye, 5
* Their colour is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin'd, and join thangelic train.
-
-
On the Death ºf the Rev. Dr. Sºwell, 1769.
RE, yet the morn its lovelieſt bluſhes ſpread,
See Sewell number'd with the happy dead.
Hail, holy man, arriv'd th’ immortal ſhore,
Though we ſhall hearthy warning voice no more.
Come, let us all behold with wiſhful eyes 5
The ſaint aſcending to his native ſkies;
From hence the prophet wing'd his raptºrous way
To the bleſt manſions in eternal day.
Then begging for the Spirit of our God,
And panting eager for the ſame abode, Io
Come, let us all with the ſame vigour riſe,
And take a proſpect of the bliſsful ſkies;
While on our minds Christ's image is impreſt,
And the dear Saviour glows in ev'ry breaſt.
Thrice happy ſaint to find thy heav'n at laſt, I5
What compenſation for the evils paſt! -
Great God, incomprehenſible, unknown
By ſenſe, we bow at thine exalted throne.
O, while we beg thine excellence to feel,
Thy ſacred Spirit to our hearts reveal, º

186 ºr H E P o E ºf s 6 F.
And give us of that mercy to partake,
Which thou haſ promis'd for the Saviour's fake.
“Sewell is dead.” Swift-pinion'd Fame thus
cry’d.
“Is Sewell dead,” my trembling tongue reply'd,
O what a bleſfing in his flight deny'd 25
How oft for us the holy prophet pray'd
How oft to us the Word of Life convey'd :
By duty urg'd my mournful verſe to cloſe,
I for his tomb this epitaph compoſe.
* Lo, here a Man, redeem'd by jesus' blood, so
* A finner once, but now a ſaint with God;
* Behold ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wiſe,
“Nor let his monument your heart ſurpriſe;
“'Twill tell you what this holy man has done,
* Which gives him brighter luſtre than the ſun.
* Liſten, ye happy, from your ſeats above.
“I ſpeak ſincerely, while I ſpeak and love,
* He ſought the paths of piety and truth,
“By theſe made happy from his early youth;
* In blooming years that grace divine he felt, to
* Which reſcues ſinners from the chains of guilt.
* Mourn him, ye indigent, whom he has fed,
* And henceforth ſeek, like him, for living bread;
* Ev’n & Brist, the bread deſcending from above,
“And aſk an intºreſt in his ſaving love. 45
tº Mourn him, ye youth, to whom he of has told
* God's gracious wonders from the times of old.
* I too have cauſe this mighty loſs to mourn,
* For he my monitor will not return.
& Q when ſhall we to his bleſt ſtate arrive 50
* When the ſame graces in our boſoms thrive."

P ºf I. L. L J S W H E A * L E 7". 13 *
On the Death of the Rev. Mr. GEora E
WHITEFIELD. 1770.
AIL, happy ſaint, on thine immortal throne,
Poſſeſt of glory, life, and bliſs unknown;
We hear no more the muſic of thy tongue,
Thy wonted auditories ceaſe to throng.
Thy ſermons in unequall'd accents flow'd, 5
And ev'ry boſom with devotion glow'd ;
Thou didſt in ſtrains of eloquence refin'd
Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.
Unhappy we the ſetting ſun deplore,
So glorious once, but ah! it ſhines no more. Ie
Behold the prophet in his tow ring flight!
hº
He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmea
height,
And worlds unknown receive him from our º
There Whitefield wings with rapid courſe his way,
And ſails to Zion through vaſt ſeas of day. 15
Thy pray'rs, great ſaint, and thine inceſſant cries
Have pierc'd the boſom of thy native ſkies.
Thou moon haſt ſeen, and all the ſtars of light,
How he has wreſtled with his God by night.
He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell, zo
He long'd to ſee America excel;
He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine
Should with full luſtre in their condućt ſhine;
That Saviour, which his ſoul did firſt receive,
The greateſt gift that evºn a God can give, 25
He freely offer'd to the num’rous throng,
That on his lips with liſt'ning pleaſure hung.
* Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,
“ Take him ye ſtarving finners, for your food;
“Ye thirſty, come to this life-giving ſtream, So
* Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;
Vol. II.

182 ºf H E P o E M S or
* Take him my dear Americans, he ſaid,
“Be your complaints on his kind boſom laid:
“Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,
* Impartial Saviour is his title due: -
“Waſh'd in the fountain of redeeming blood,
* You ſhall be ſons, and kings, and prieſts to God.”
Great Countess,” we Americans revere
Thy name, and mingle in thy grief ſincere;
New-England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn, 40
Their more than father will no more return.
But, though arreſted by the hand of death,
Whitefield no more exerts his labºring breath,
Yet let us view him in th' eternal ſkies,
Let ev'ry heart to this bright viſion riſe; 45
While the tomb ſafe retains its ſacred truſt,
Till life divine re-animates his duſt.
ºn the Death of a Young Lady of Five years
of age.
ROM dark abodes to fair etherial light
| Thº enraptured innocent has wing’d her flight;
On the kind boſom of eternal love
She finds unknown beatitude above.
This known, ye parents, nor her loſs deplore, s
She feels the iron hand of pain no more :
The diſpenſations of unerring grace: -
Should turn your ſorrows into grateful praiſe;
Let then no tears for her henceforward flow,
No more diſtreſs'd in our dark vale below: …
* The Countess of Huntingdon, to whom Mr.
Whitefield was Chaplain.

p if I L I r s iſ h e 4 º’ L E r. 183
Her morning ſun which roſe divinely bright,
Was quickly mantled with the gloom of might;
But hear in heav'n's bleſt bow'rs your Nancy fair,
And learn to imitate her language there.
* Thou, Lord, whom I behold with glory crown'd,
“By what ſweet name, and in what tuneful found
* Wilt thou be prais'd? Seraphic pow'rs are faint
“Infinite love and majeſty to paint.
* To thee let all their grateful voices raiſe,
“And ſaints and angels join their ſongs of
praiſe.” 2.0
Perfect in bliſs ſhe from her heav'nly home
Looks down, and ſmiling beckons you to come; .
Why then, fond parents, why theſe fruitleſs groans?
Reſtrain your tears, and ceaſe your plaintive moans.
Freed from a world of fin, and ſhares, and pain, 25
Why would you wiſh your daughter back again?
No-bow reſign'd. Let hope your grief control,
And check the riſing tumult of the ſoul.
Caim in the proſperous, and adverſe day,
Adore the God who gives and takes away; 32
Eye him in all, his holy name revere,
Upright your ačtions, and your hearts ſincere,
Till having ſail'd through life's tempeſtuous ſea,
And from its rocks, and boiſt’rous billows free,
Yourſelves, ſafe landed on the bliſsful ſhore,
35
Shall join your happy babe to part no more.
On the Death of a young Gentleman.
HO taught thee conflict with the pow'rs of
night,
To vanquiſh Satan in the fields of fight :
Who ſtrung thy feeble arms with might unknown,
How great thy conqueſt, and how bright thy
crown .
184 ºf H E P o E M S o F.
War with each princedom, throne, and powº is
o'er,
The ſcene is ended to return no more.
O could my muſe thy ſeat on high behold,
How deck'd with laurel, how enrich'd with gold
O could ſhe hear what praiſe thine harp employs,
How ſweet thine anthems, how divine thy joys! is
What heav'nly grandeur ſhould exalt her ſtrain.
What holy raptures in her numbers reign
To ſooth the troubles of the mind to peace,
To ſtill the tumult of life's toſſing ſeas,
To eaſe the anguiſh of the parents heart, 15.
What ſhall my ſympathizing verſe impart?
Where is the balm to heal ſo deep a wound .
Where ſhall a ſov’reign remedy be found
Lock, gracious Spirit, from thine heav'nly bow'r,
And thy full joys into their boſoms pour; º
The raging tempeſt of their grief control,
And ſpread the dawn of glory through the ſoul,
To eye the path the ſaint departed trod,
And trace him to the boſom of his God.
-
º
-
To a Lady on the Death ºf her Husband.
RIM monarch ; ſee, depriv'd of vital breath,
A young phyſician in the duſt of death:
poſt thou go on inceſſant to deſtroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waſte our jºy:
Enough thou never yet waſ known to ſay,
Though millions die, the vaſſals of thy way:
Nor youth, nor ſcience, nor the ties of love,
Nor ought on earth thy flinty heart can move:
The fiend, the ſpouſe from his dire dart to ſave,
In vain we aſk the ſovereign of the grave. º
Fair mourner, there ſee thy lov'd Leonard laid,
And o'er him ſpread the deep impervious ſhade;



P ºr 1 L I r S W H E A * L E *. 185
Clos'd are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His ſenſes bound in never-waking ſleep,
Till time ſhall ceaſe, till many a ſtarry world 15
Shall fall from heav'n, in dire confuſion hurl’d,
Till nature in her final wreck ſhall lie,
And her laſt groan ſhall rend the azure ſky:
Not, not till then his ačtive ſoul ſhall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame. 2O
But ſee the ſoftly-ſtealing tears apace
Purſue each other down the mourner's face;
But ceaſe thy tears, bid ev'ry figh depart,
And caſt the load of anguiſh from thine heart:
From the cold ſhell of his great ſoul ariſe, 25
And look beyond, thou native of the ſkies;
There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyſelf prepare to paſs the vale of night
To join for ever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace his joyful ſpirit moves
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleaſures more refin'd,
And better ſuited to th’ immortal mind.
Gº O L I. A. H. O. F. G. A. T. He
1 Sam, chap. xvii.
7′E martial pow'rs, and all ye tuneful nine,
Inſpire my ſong, and aid my high deſign.
The dreadful ſcenes and toils of war I write,
The ardent warriors, and the fields of fight:
You beſt remember, and you beſt can fing 5
The acts of heroes to the vocal ſtring: -
Reſume the lays with which your ſacred lyre,
Did then the poet and the ſage inſpire.
Q 2 -
-

186 * H E P o E M S a pº
Now front to front the armies were diſplay'd,
Here Israel rang'd, and there the foes array'd; to
The hoſts on two oppoſing mountains ſtood,
Thick as the foliage of the waving wood;
Between them an extenſive valley lay,
O'er which the gleaming armour pour'd the day,
When from the camp of the Philistine foes, 15
Dreadful to view, a mighty warrior roſe;
In the dire deeds of bleeding battle ſkill'd,
The monſter ſtalks the terror of the field.
From Gath he ſprung, Goliath was his name,
Of fierce deportment, and gigantic frame: -C
A brazen helmet on his head was plac'd,
A coat of mail his form terrific grac'd,
The greaves his legs, the targe his ſhoulders preſt;
Dreadful in arms high-tow'ring o'er the reſt
A ſpear he proudly wav'd, whoſe iron head, 25
Strange to relate, ſix hundred ſhekels weigh'd;
He ſtrode along, and ſhook the ample field,
While Pºebus blaz'd refulgent on his ſhield:
Through jacob's race a chilling horror ran,
When thus the huge, enormous chief began: 36
“Say, what the cauſe that in this proud array
“You ſet your battle in the face of day?
* One hero find in all your vaunting train,
* Then ſee who loſes, and who wins the plain;
* For he who wins, in triumph may demand 35
* Perpetual ſervice from the vanquiſh'd land:
* Your armies I defy, your force deſpiſe,
* By far inferior in Philistia's eyes:
* Produce a man, and let us try the fight,
* Decide the conteſt, and the vićtor's right.” 4o
Thus challeng’d he: all Israel ſtood amaz'd.
And ev'ry chief in conſternation gaz'd;
But jesse's ſon in youthful bloom appears,
And warlike courage far beyond his years:

p if r i i r s tº it e a r e P. 187
He left the folds, he left the flow'ry meads, 45
And ſoft receſſes of the ſylvan ſhades.
Now Israel's monarch, and his troops ariſe,
With peals of ſhouts aſcending to the ſkies; }
In Elab's vale the ſcene of combat lies.
When the fair morning bluſh'd with orient
red, 59
What David's fire enjoin'd the ſon obey'd,
And ſwift of foot towards the trench he came,
Where glow'd each boſom with the martial flame.
He leaves his carriage to another's care,
And runs to greet his brethren of the war. 55
While yet they ſpake the giant chief aroſe,
Repeats the challenge, and inſults his foes:
Struck with the ſound, and trembling at the view,
Affrighted Israel from its poſt withdrew.
* Obſerveye this tremendous foe, they cry’d, 60
“Who in proud vaunts our armies hath defy'd :
“Whoever lays him proſtrate on the plain,
* Freedom in Israel for his houſe ſhall gain;
“And on him wealth unknown the king will pour,
“And give his royal daughter for his dow’r.” 65
Then jesse's youngeſt hope : “My brethren
“ ſay,
“What ſhall be done for him who takes away
* Reproach from jacob, who deſtroys the chief,
“And puts a period to his country's grief.
“. He vaunts the honours of his arms abroad, Co
“And ſcorns the armies of the living God.”
Thus ſpoke the youth, th’ attentive people ey'd
The wond’rous hero, and again reply'd :
“Such the rewards our monarch will beſtow,
* On him who conquers, and deſtroys his foe.” 75

133 * H E * 0 E M S or
Eliab heard, and kindled into ire
To hear his ſhepherd brother thus inquire,
And thus begun: “What errand brought thee!
“ ſa
“Who keeps thy flock? or does it go aſtray?
“I know the baſe ambition of thine heart, so
“But back in ſafety from the field depart.”
Eliaſ thus to jesse's youngeſt heir,
Expreſs'd his wrath in accents moſt ſevere.
When to his brother mildly he reply'd,
“What have I done or what the cauſe to
“ chide 2* 85
The words were told before the king, who ſent
For the young hero to his royal tent:
Before the monarch dauntleſs he began,
& For this Philistine fail no heart of man :
“I’ll take the vale, and with the giant fight: go
* I dread not all his boaſts, nor all his might.”
When thus the king : “ Darſt thou a ſtripling go,
“And venture combat with ſo great a foe:
* Who all his days has been inur'd to fight,
tº And made its deeds his ſtudy and delight: 95
* Battles and bloodſhed brought the monſter forth,
* And clouds and whirlwinds uſher'd in his birth.”
When David thus: “I kept the fleecy care,
tº And out there ruſh'd a lion and a bear;
* A tender lamb the hungry lion took, Loc
“And with no other weapon than my crook
tº Bold I purſu'd and chas'd him o'er the field,
* The prey deliver'd, and the felon kill'd:
* As thus the lion and the bear I flew,
* So ſhall Goliath fall, and all his crew : 195.
* The God, who ſav'd me from theſe beaſts of
“ prey,
* By me this monſter in the duſt ſhallay."

P. H. I. L. L. 1 s ºr H E A * r * 2°. 189
So David ſpoke. The wond'ring king reply'd
* Go thou with heav'n and victory on thy fide:
* This coat of mail, this ſword gird on,” he
ſaid, I lo
And plac'd a mighty helmet on his head :
The coat, the ſword, the helm he laid aſide,
Nor choſe to venture with thoſe arms untry'd,
Then took his ſtaff, and to the neighbºring brook
Inſtant he ran, and thence five pebbles took. 115
Mean time deſcended to Philistia's ſon
A radiant cherub, and he thus begun :
* Goliath, well thou know'ſt thou haſ defy'd
* Yon Hebrew armies, and their God deny'd :
* Rebellious wretch audacious worm for-
“ bear, I 2 ºn
“Nor tempt the vengeance of their God too far:
* Them, who with his omnipotence contend, -
* No eye ſhall pity, and no arm defend:
“Proud as thou art, in ſhort liv'd glory great,
“I come to tell thee thine approaching fate. 12;
* Regard my words. The Judge of all the gods,
* Beneath whoſe ſteps the tow’ring mountain nods,
* Will give thine armies to the ſavage brood,
* That cut the liquid air, or range the wood,
* Thee too a well-aim'd pebble ſhall deſtroy, 132
“And thou ſhalt periſh by a beardleſs boy:
“Such is the mandate from the realms above, l
“And ſhould I try the vengeance to remove,
“Myſelf a rebel to my king would prove. y
* Goliath ſay, ſhall grace to him be ſhown, 135
“Who dares heavºus monarch, and inſults his
“ throne º’”
º
* Your words are loſt on me," the giant cries,
While fear and wrath contended in his eyes,
When thus the meſſenger from heav'n replies:
“Provoke no more jehovah's awful hand 14C
“To hurl its vengeance on thy guilty land:

199 * H E P 2 E M S º F.
“He graſps the thunder, and, he wings the ſtorm,
“Servants their ſov’reign's orders to perform.”
The angel ſpoke, and turn'd his eyes away,
Adding new radiance to the riſing day. 145
Now David comes: the fatal ſtones demand
His left, the ſtaff engag’d his better hand:
The giant mov’d, and from his cowring height
Survey'd the ſtripling, and diſdain'd the fight,
And thus began: Am I a dog with thee?
* Bring'ſt thou no armour, but a ſtaff to me?
“The godson thee their vollied curſes pour,
“And beaſts and birds of prey thy fleſh devout.”
150
David undaunted thus, “ Thy ſpear and ſhield
* Shall no protection to thy body yield: 55
* jehovah's name no other arms 1 bear,
* I aſk no other in this glorious war.
“To-day the Lord of Hoſts to me will give
“Victºry, to-day thy doom thou ſhalt receive;
* The fate you threaten ſhall your own be
* come, I Go
“And beaſts ſhall be your animated tomb,
* That all the earth's inhabitants may know
* That there's a God, who governs all below:
* This great aſſembly too ſhall witneſs ſtand,
* That needs nor ſword, nor ſpear, th’Almighty's
hand: *65
* The battle his, the conqueſt he beſtows,
* And to our pow'r configns our hated foes.”
Thus David ſpoke; Goliatº heard and came
To meet the hero in the field of fame.
Ah! fatal meeting to thy troops and thee, 179
But thou waſ deaf to the divine decree;
Young David meets thee, meets thee not in vain;
Tis time to periſh on thenſanguin'd plain.

P H P L L r s ºr H E M P L E *. 191
And now the youth the forceful pebble flung,
Philistia trembled as it whizz'd along : 175
In his dread forehead, where the helmet ends,
Juſt o'er the brows the well-aim'd ſtone deſcends,
It pierc'd the ſkull, and ſhatter'd all the brain,
Prone on his face he tumbled to the plain:
Goliath's fall no finaller terror yields 18o
Than riving thunders in aerial fields:
The ſoul ſtill ling’red in its lov’d abode,
Till conqºring David o'er the giant ſtrode:
Goliath's ſword then laid its maſter dead,
And from the body hew'd the ghaſtly head; 185
The blood in guſhing torrents drench'd the plains,
The ſoul found paſſage through the ſpouting veins.
And now aloud th’ illuſtrious vićtor ſaid,
* Where are your boaſtings now your champi-
on’s dead?”
Scarce had he ſpoke, when the Philistines fled: 190_j
But fled in vain; the conqu'ror ſwift purſu'd :
What ſcenes of ſlaughter and what ſeas of blood :
There Saul thy thouſands graſp'd th’ impurpled
ſand
In pangs of death the conqueſt of thine hand:
And David there were thy ten thouſands laid : 13;
Thus Israel's damſels muſically play’d.
Near Gatº and Ekron many an hero lay,
Breath'd out their ſouls, and curs'd the light of
ay :
Their fury, queuch'd by death, no longer burns,
And David with Goliató's head returns, 2CO
To Salem brought, but in his tent he placid
The load of armour which the giant grac'd,
His monarch ſaw him coming from the war,
*And thus demanded of the ſon of Mer
“Say, who is this amazing youth " he cry'd, 225
When thus the leader of the hoſt reply'd,
192 ºr ºf E P or ºf s or
“As lives thy ſoul I know not whence he prung
* So greatin proweſs though in years ſo young.” -
“Inquire whoſe ſon is he,” the ſov’reign ſaid,
“Before whoſe conqu'ring arm Pºlistia fled,” are
Before the king behold the ſtripling ſtand,
Goliath's head depending from his hand:
To him the king: “Say of what martial line
* Art thou, young hero, and what fire was thine;”
He humbly thus: “the ſon of jesse I: 2 I-
“I came the glories of the field to try. º
“Small is my tribe, but valiant in the fight;
* Small is my city, but thy royal right.”
“Then take the promis’d gifts,” the monarch
cry'd,
Conferring riches and the royal bride: --0
* Knit to my ſoul for ever thou remain
* With me, nor quit my regal roof again.”
-
- - - -
- -
-
Thoughts on the works ºf Provinºcº.
RISE, my ſoul, on wings enrapturd, riſe
To praiſe the monarch of the earth and
ſkies,
Whoſe goodneſs and benificence appear
As round its centre moves the rolling year,
Or when the morning glows with roſy charms, 5
Or the ſun ſlumbers in the ocean's aims:
Of light divine be a rich portion lent
To guide my ſoul, and favour iny intent.
Celeſtial muſe, my arduous flight ſuſtain,
And raiſe my mind to a ſeraphic ſtrain Lo
Adorºd for ever be the God unſeen,
which round the ſun revolves this vaſt machine,
Though to his eye its maſs a point appears :
-



P ºr 1 r. 1, 1 s iſ H E A * L E zº- 193
Adorºd the God that whirls ſurrounding ſpheres,
which firſt ordain'd that mighty Sol ſhould reign 15
The peerleſs monarch of th’etherial train :
Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
And yet his radiance dazzles mortal fight
So far beneath—from him th’extended earth
Vigour derives, and ev'ry flow'ry birth: -o
Vaſt through her orb ſhe moves with eaſy grace
Around her Phaedus in unbounded ſpace;
True to her courſe th' impetuous ſtorm derides,
Triumphant o'er the winds, and ſurging tides.
Almighty, in theſe wond’rous works of thine, 25
What Pow'r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness
ſhine !
And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explorºd,
And yet creating glory unador'd :
Creation ſmiles in various beauty gay,
While day to night, and night ſucceeds to day: so
That Wisdom, which attends jehovah's ways,
Shines moſt conſpicuous in the ſolar rays:
Without them, deſtitute of heat and light,
This world would be the reign of endleſs night:
In their exceſs how would our race complain, 35
Abhorring life . How hate its length'ned chain :
From air aduſt what num’rous ills would riſe 2
What dire contagion taint the burning ſkies?
What peſtilential vapours, fraught with death,
Would riſe, and overſpread the lands beneath 46
Hail, ſmiling morn, that from the orient main
Aſcending doſt adorn the heav'nly plain :
So rich, ſo various are thy beauteous dies,
That ſpread through all the circuit of the ſkies,
That, full of thee, my ſoul in rapture ſoars, 45
And thy great God, the cauſe of all adores.
Vol. II. R

194 ºf H E P o E M S or
O'er beings infinite his love extends,
His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow'r defends.
When taſks diurnal tire the human frame,
The ſpirits faint, and dim the vital flame, so
Then too that ever active bounty ſhines,
Which not infinity of ſpace confines.
The fable veil, that Night in filence draws,
Conceals effects, but ſhews th’Almighty Cause:
Night ſeals in ſleep the wide creation fair, 55
And all is peaceful but the brow of care.
Again, gay Phebus, as the day before,
Wakes ev'ry eye, but what ſhall wake no more;
Again the face of nature is renew’d,
Which ſtill appears harmonious, fair and good. 60
May grateful ſtrains ſalute the ſmiling morn,
Before its beams the eaſtern hills adorn.
Shall day to day, and night to night conſpire
To ſhow the goodneſs of the Almighty Sire?
This mental voice ſhall man regardleſs hear. 65
And never, never raiſe the filial pray’r:
To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn
For time miſpent that never will return.
But ſee the ſons of vegetation riſe,
And ſpread their leafy banners to the ſkies. 70
All-wiſe Almighty providence we trace
In trees, and plants, and all the flow'ry race;
As clear as in the nobler frame of man,
All lovely copies of the Maker's plan.
The pow'r the ſame that forms a ray of light, 75
That call'd creation from eternal night-
* Let there belight,” he ſaid: from his profound
Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the found:
Swift as the word, inſpir’d by pow'r divine,
Behold the light around its maker ſhine, so
The firſt fair product of th’ omnific God,
And now through all his works diffus'd abroad.

n II 1 L I. I. S. W H E 4 º’ L E 2'- 195
As reaſon's pow'rs by day our God diſcloſe,
So we may trace him in the night's repoſe:
Say what is ſleep? and dreams how paſſing
ſtrange 85
When action ceaſes, and ideas range
Licentious and unbounded o'er the plains,
Where Fancy's queen in giddy triumph reigns.
Hear in ſoft ſtrains the dreaming lovers figh
To a kind fair, or rave in jealouſy; 90
On pleaſure now, and now on vengeance bent,
The labºring paſſions ſtruggle for a vent.
What pow'r, O man thy reason then reſtores,
So long ſuſpended in nocturnal hours?
What ſecret hand returns the mental train, 95
And gives improv'd thine active pow'rs again?
From thee, O man what gratitude ſhould riſe
And, when from balmy ſleep thou op'ſt thine
eyes,
Let thy firſt thoughts be praiſes to the ſkies. _j
How merciful our God who thus imparts IQ-
O'erflowing tides of joy to human hearts,
When wants and woes might be our righteous lot,
Our God forgetting, by our God forgot!
Among the mental pow'rs a queſtion roſe,
“What moſt the image of th’ Eternal ſhows?” Io;
When thus to Reason (ſo let Fancy rove)
Her great companion ſpoke immortal Love.
“Say, mighty pow'r, how long ſhall ſtrife pre-
wail,
“And with its murmurs load the whiſp'ring gale :
* Refer the cauſe to Recollection's ſhrine, IIC,
“Who loud proclaims my origin divine,
“The cauſe whence heav'n and earth began to be,
“And is not man immortaliz’d by me?
* Reason let this moſt cauſeleſs ſtrife ſubſide.”
*Thus Love pronounc'd, and Reason thus re-
ply'd, 1 ſ 5
196 3 m e º or at s of
“Thy birth, celeſtial queen! 'tis mine to own,
“In thee reſplendent is the Godhead ſhown;
“Thy words perſuade, my ſoul enraptur'd feels
* Refiftleſs beauty which thy ſmile reveals.”
Ardent ſhe ſpoke, and, kindling ather charms, tºo
She claſp'd the blooming goddeſs in her arms.
-
Infinite Love where'er we turn our eyes
Appears: this ev'ry creature's wants ſupplies;
This moſt is heard in Nature's conſtant voice,
This makes the morn, and this the eve re-
joice; 25
This bids the foſt’ring rains and dews deſcend
To nouriſh all, to ſerve one gen'ral end,
The good of man : yet man ungrateful pays
But little homage, and but little praiſe.
To him, whoſe works array'd with mercy ſhine, 1so
What ſongs ſhould riſe, how conſtant, how di-
wine!
-
- - -
Tº a Lady on the Death aſ Three Relations.
V E trace the pow'r of Death from tomb to
tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
'Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Pºwbus, and diſſolve the ſky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
From its firm baſe to ſhake the ſolid world;
His fatal ſceptre rules the ſpacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
Awful he moves, and wide his wings are ſpread:
Behold thy brother number'd with the dead! to
From bondage freed, the exulting ſpirits flies


F. H. I. L. L. 1 S W H E A 2 L E 2. 197
Beyond Olympus, and theſe ſtarry ſkies.
Loſt in our woe for thee, bleſt ſhade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never muſt return.
Thy fiſters too, fair mourner, feel the dart 15
Of Death, and with freſh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, who wiſh thine happy mind
To riſe with them, and leave the world behind.
As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born— 2d
But 'midſt the bright ethereal train behold
It ſhines ſuperior on a throne of gold :
Then, mourner, ceaſe; let hope thy tears reſtrain,
Smile on the tomb, and ſooth the raging pain.
On yon bleſt regions fix thy longing view, 25.
Mindleſs of ſublunary ſcenes below ;
Aſcend the ſacred mount, in thought ariſe,
And ſeek ſubſtantial and immortal joys;
Where hope receives, where faith to viſion ſprings,
And raptur'd ſeraphs tune th’ immortal ſtrings 30
To ſtrains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praiſe divine.
To a Clergyman on the Death ºf his Lady.
HERE contemplation finds her ſacred
ſpring,
Where heav'nly muſic makes the arches ring,
Where virtue reigns unfully'd and divine,
Where wiſdom thronºd, and all the graces ſhine,
There fits thy ſpouſe amidit the radiant throng, 5
While praiſe eternal warbles from her tongue;
There choirs angelic ſhout her welcome round,
With perfect bliſs, and peerleſs glory crown'd.
R 2

198 * H E P o E M S 9 F.
While thy dear mate, to fleſh no more confine
- - - -
Exults a bleſ, an heav'n-aſcended mind, 1-
Say in thy breaſt ſhall floods of ſorrow riſe?
Say ſhall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes?
Amid the ſeats of heav'n a place is free,
And angels open their bright ranks for thee;
For thee they wait, and with expectant eye º
Thy ſpouſe leans downward from th’ empyreal ſky;
“O come away, her longing ſpirit cries,
“And ſhare with me the raptures of the ſkies.
“Our bliſs divine to mortals is unknown;
“Immortal life and glory are our own.
“There too may the dear pledges of our love
“Arrive, and taſte with us the joys above;
“Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,
“And join with us the tribute of their praiſe
“To him, who dy'd ſtern juſtice to atone, ->
“And make eternal glory all our own.
“He in his death ſlew ours, and, as he roſe,
“. He cruſh'd the dire dominion of our foes;
* Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,
* Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light.” So
-
º
She ſpoke, and turn'd from mortal ſcenes her
eyes,
Which beam’d celeſtial radiance o'er the ſkies.
º - -
Then thou, dear man, no more with grief re-
tire,
Let grief no longer damp devotion's fire,
But riſe ſublime, to equal bliſs aſpire. 35
Thy fighs no more be waſted by the wind,
No more complain, but be to heav'n reſign'd.
*Twas thine tº unfold the oracles divine,
To footh our woes the taſk was alſo thine;
Now ſorrow is incumbent on thy heart 40
Permit the muſe a cordial to impart;
P ºf r ſ r. 1 S- nº ºf E A P L E *. 199
Who can to thee their tendºreſt aid refuſe?
To dry thy tears how longs the heav'nly muſe !
-
An H. Y. M. N. to the M o R N I N G.
TTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,
Aſſiſt my labours, and my ſtrains refine;
In ſmootheſt numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my ſong.
Aurora hail, and all the thouſand dies, S.
Which deck thy progreſs through the vaulted
ſkies :
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
Harmonious lays the feather'd race reſume,
Dart the bright eye, and ſhake the painted
plume. I. O.
Ye ſhady groves, your verdant gloom diſplay
To ſhield your poet from the burning day:
Calliope awake the ſacred lyre,
While thy fair ſiſters fan the pleaſing fire:
The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated ſkies 15
In all their pleaſures in my boſom riſe.
See in the eaſt th' illuſºrious king of day!
His riſing radiance drives the ſhades away—
But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too ſtrong,
And ſcarce begun, concludes th’ abortive ſong. 2d


200 ºr H E P 0 E M S & F
An H. Y. M. N. to the E v. E. N. 1 N. g.
OON as the ſun forſook the eaſtern main
The pealing thunder ſhook the heav'nly plain;
Majeſtic grandeur ! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incenſe of the blooming ſpring.
Soft purl the ſtreams, the birds renew their notes, 5
And through the air their mingled muſic floats.
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are
ſpread
But the weſt glories in the deepeſt red:
So may our breaſis with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below : IQ
Fill'd with the praiſe of him who gives the light,
And draws the ſable curtains of the night,
Let placid ſlumbers footh each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refind;
So ſhall the labours of the day begin 15
More pure, more guarded from the ſnares of fin.
Night's leaden ſceptre ſeals my drowly eyes,
Then ceaſe, my ſong, till fair Aurora riſe.
-
Is AIAH ºxiii. 1–8.
AY, heav'nly muſe, what king, or mighty
God,
That moves ſublime from Idumea's road?
In Bozrab's dies, with martial glories join'd,
His purple veſture waves upon the wind.
why thus enrob’d delights he to appear 5
In the dread image of the Pºw'r of war?

* † I L L I S W H E M º' L E *. 2C-1
Compres'd in wrath the ſwelling wine-preſs
groan'd,
It bled, and pour'd the guſhing purple round.
* Mine was the ağ,” th' Almighty Saviour ſaid,
And ſhook the dazzling glories of his head, -->
* When all forſook I trod the preſs alone,
“And conquer’d by omnipotence my own ;
* For man's releaſe ſuſtain'd the pond’rous loºd:
* For man the wrath of an immortal God:
* To execute th’ Eternal's dread command 15
“My ſoul I ſacrific’d with willing hand;
* Sinleſs I ſtood before the avenging frown,
“Atoning thus for vices not my own.
His eye the ample field of battle round
Survey'd, but no created ſuccours found; 2O
His own omnipotence ſuſtain'd the fight,
His vengeance ſunk the haughty foes in night;
Beneath his feet the proſtrate troops were ſpread,
And round him lay the dying, and the dead.
Great God, what light'ning flaſhes from thine
eves
What pow'r withſtands if thou indignant riſe:
Againſt thy Zion though her foes may rage,
And all their cunning, all their ſtrength engage,
Yet ſhe ſerenely on thy boſom lies,
Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies. 39

2.92. * H E P o E M s a ſº
On R. E. co I. I. E. c T to N.
NEME begin. Inſpire, ye ſacred nine,
Your ventºrous Afric in her great deſign.
Mneme, immortal pow'r, I trace thy ſpring :
Aſſiſt my ſtrains, while I thy glories ſing:
The acts of long departed years, by thee s
Recover'd, in due order rang'd we ſee: -
Thy pow'r the long-forgotten calls from night,
That ſweetly plays before the fancy's fight.
Mneme in our nocturnal viſions pours
The ample treaſure of her ſecret ſtores;
Swift from above ſhe wings her ſilent flight
Through Phæðe's realms, fair regent of the night;
And, in her pomp of images diſplay'd,
To the high-raptur'd poet gives her aid,
Through the unbounded regions of the mine, is
Diffuſing light celeſtial and refin'd
The heav'nly phantom paints the actions done
By ev'ry tribe beneath the rolling ſun.
Mneme, enthron'd within the human breaſt,
Has vice condemn'd, and ev'ry virtue bleſt. 2^
How ſweet the ſound when we her plaudit hear?
Sweeter than muſic to the raviſh'd ear,
Sweeter than Maro's entertaining ſtrains
Reſounding through the groves, and hills, and
plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race, 25
Who ſcorn her warnings and deſpiſe her grace?
By her unveil'd each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
Days, years miſpent, O what a hell of woe:
Hers the worſt tortures that our ſouls can know, 3-

P. H. f. L. L. 1 s by H E A * L E *. 2e3
Now eighteen years their deſtin’d courſe have
runs
In faſt ſucceſſion round the central ſun.
How did the follies of that period paſs
Unnotic'd, but behold them writ in braſs'
In Recollection ſee them freſh return, 35
And ſure 'tis mine to be aſham’d, and mourn.
O Virtue, ſmiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy pow'r, and change the ſcene;
Be thine employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praiſe. 4o
Of Recollection ſuch the pow'r enthronºd
In ev'ry breaſt, and thus her pow'r is own'd.
The wretch, who dar'd the vengeance of the ſkies,
At laſt awakes in horror and ſurpriſe,
By her alarm’d, he ſees impending fate, 45
He howls in anguiſh, and repents too late.
But O what peace, what joys are hers tº impart
To ev'ry holy, ev'ry upright heart!
Thrice bleſt the man, who, in her ſacred ſhrine,
Feels himſelf ſhelter'd from the wrath divine 5o
On I M A G T N A T 1 o' N.
HY various works, imperial queen, we ſee,
How bright their forms' how deck'd with
pomp by thee!
Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order ſtand,
And all atteſt how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon's refulgent heights attend, 5
Ye ſacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my ſong.
2.04 º H E P o E M S o F.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
Till ſome lov'd object ſtrikes her wand'ring eyes, is
Whoſe ſilken fetters all the ſenſes bind,
And ſoft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination who can ſing thy force?
Or who deſcribe the ſwiftneſs of thy courſe?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode, 1:
Th’ empyreal palace of the thundring God,
We on thy pinions can ſurpaſs the wind,
And leave the rolling univerſe behind:
From ſtar to ſtar the mental optics rove,
Meaſure the ſkies, and range the realms above. 2d
There in one view we graſp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze the unbounded ſoul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes
The fields may flouriſh, and gay ſcenes ariſe;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands, as
And bid their waters murmur o'er the ſands.
Fair Flora may reſume her fragrant reign,
And with her flowery riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuſe his honours round,
And all the foreſt may with leaves be crown'd : ge
Show’rs may deſcend, and dews their gems diſcloſe,
| And nectar ſparkle on the blooming role.
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought, 3.5
. And thine the ſceptre over the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the ſubject-paſſions bow,
|- Of ſubject-paſſions ſov’reign ruler Thou;
At thy command joy ruſhes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the ſpirits dart. As
Fancy might now her filken pinions try
To riſe from earth, and ſweep th’ expanſe on high;



* * r * * r s ºr H E A 7' L E r. 29s
-
From Titãon's bed now might Aurora riſe, D
Her cheeks all glowing with celeſtial dies,
While a pure ſtream of light o'erflows the }
ſkies. 45]
The monarch of the day I might behold,
And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
But I reluctant leave the pleaſing views,
Which Fancy dreſſes to delight the Muse;
Winter auſtere forbids me to aſpire, 5o
And northern tempeſts damp the riſing fire;
They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing ſea,
Ceaſe then, my ſong, ceaſe the unequal lay-
A Funeral PoEM on the death ºf C. E. an
Infant ºf Twelve Months.
HROUGH airy roads he wings his inſtant
flight
To purer regions of celeſtial light;
Enlarg’d he ſees unnumber'd ſyſtems roll,
Beneath him ſees the univerſal whole,
Planets on planets run their deſtinºd round, 5
And circling wonders fill the vaſt profound.
Th’ ethereal now, and now th’ empyreal ſkies
With growing ſplendors ſtrike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Preſs his ſoft hand, and ſeat him on his throne; to
Then ſmiling thus. “To this divine abode,
“The ſeat of ſaints, of ſeraphs, and of God,
“Thrice welcome thou.” The raptur'd babe re-
plies,
* Thanks to my God, who ſnatch'd me to the ſkies,
“Eer vice triumphant had poſſeſs'd my heart, is
* Eer yet the tempter had beguild my heart,
“E'er yet on fin's baſe actions I was bent,
Vol. II. S

266 ºf H. P. P. d e ºf s = ºr
º
“Eer yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
“E'er yet the laſh for horrid crimes I felt,
“E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
“But, ſoon arriv'd at my celeſtial goal,
* Full glories ruſh on my expanding ſoul.”
Joyful he ſpoke: exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults reſound.
º
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan 2.
Why heave your penſive boſoms with the groan :
To Charles, the happy ſubject of my ſong,
A brighter world, and nobler ſtrains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtleſs wiſhes, and prepoſt’rous love? 36
Doth his felicity increaſe your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliſs: with a ſuperior air
Methinks he anſwers with a ſmile ſevere,
* Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me
there.” 35
But ſtill you cry, “Can we the figh forbear,
“And ſtill and ſtill muſt we not pour the tear?
“Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
* Twelve moons revolvd, becomes the prey of
death;
* Delightful infant, nightly viſions give 40
* Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
* We ſain would claſp the Phantom to our breaſ,
* The Phantom flies, and leaves the ſoul unbleſt.”
Prepare to join your deareſt infant friend 45
To yon bright regions let your faith aſcend,
In pleaſures without uneaſure, without end.

P iſ r. 1. L. I. S. W. H. E. A 7" L E *. 2.97.
To Captain H-D, of the 65th Regiment.
AY, muſe divine, can hoſtile ſcenes delight
The warrior's boſom in the fields of fight?
Lo! here the chriſtian and the hero join
With mutual grace to form the man divine.
In H D ſee with pleaſure and ſurpriſe, 5
Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:
Go, hero brave, ſtill grace the poſt of fame,
And add new glories to thine honour'd name,
Still to the field, and ſtill to virtue true:
Your country glories in no ſon like you. lo-
To the Right Honorable willi AM, Earl of
DARTMoUTH, His Majesty’s principal Se-
cretary of State for North-America, &c.
AIL, happy day, when, ſmiling like the
- morn;
Fair Freedom roſe New-England to adorn:
The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
Dartmouth, congratulates thy bliſsful ſway:
Elate with hope her race no longer mourns, s
Each ſoul expands, each grateful boſom burns,
While in thine hand with pleaſure we behold
The filken reins, and Freedom's charms unfold.
Long loſt to realms beneath the northern ſkies.
She ſhines ſupreme, while hated faction dies: to
Soon as appear'd the Goddess long deſir’d,
Sick at the view, ſhe languiſh'd and expir’d;
Thus from the ſplendors of the morning light
The owl in ſadneſs ſeeks the caves of night.
303 º’ ºf E * o E M S & F.
No more, America, in mournful ſtrain 15
Of wrongs, and grievance unredreſs'd complain,
No longer ſhalt thou dread the iron chain,
Which wanton Tyranny with lawleſs hand
Had made, and with it meant tº enſlave the land.
Should you, my lord, while you peruſe my
ſong, º
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom ſprung,
Whence flow theſe wiſhes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone beſt underſtood,
I, young in life, by ſeeming cruel fate
Was ſnatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy ſeat: 25
What pangs excruciating muſt moleſ,
What ſorrows labour in my parent's breaſ
Steel'd was that ſoul and by no miſery mov’d.
That from a father ſeiz'd his babe belov'd : .
Such, ſuch my caſe. And can I then but pray sº
Others may never feel tyrannic ſway?
For favours paſt, great Sir, our thanks are due,
And thee we aſk thy favours to renew,
Since in thy pow'r, as in thy will before,
To ſooth º griefs, which thou did'ſ once de-
plore: 35
ſay heav'nly grace the ſacred ſanction give
To all thy works, and thou for ever live
Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
Though praiſe immortal crowns the patriot's name,
But to conduct to heav'n's refulgent fame, 40
May fiery courſers ſweep th’ ethereal plain,
And bear thee upwards to that bleſt abode,
Where, like the prophet, thou ſhalt find thy God.
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pe ºf r L. L. r S ºr H E 4 º' Lºº º 2C9
O DE TO N E P T U. N. E.
Øn Mrs. W-'s Voyage to England.
I,
HILE raging tempeſts ſhake the ſhore,
While ƺlus' thunders round us roar,
And ſweep impetuous o'er the plain
Be ſtill, O tyrant of the main ; -
Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray, 5.
While my Susannah ſkims the wat'ry way.
II.
The Pow'r propitious hears the lay,
The blue-ey'd daughters of the ſea
With ſweeter cadence glide along,
And Thames reſponſive joins the ſong. IQ
Pleas'd with their notes Sol ſheds benign his ray,
And double radiance decks the face of day.
III.
To court thee to Britannia's arms
Serene the climes and mild the ſky,
Her region boaſts unnumber'd charms, 15
Thy welcome ſmiles in ev'ry eye.
Thy promiſe, Neptune keep, record my pray’r,
Nor give my wiſhes to the empty air.
Boston, October 19, 1772-

2 to * H E P o E M S a r
To a LADY on her coming to North-America
with her Son, for the Recovery of her
Health. º/ ºf
NDULGENT muſe! my growling mind inſpire,
fi And fill my boſom with celeſtial fire.
See from jamaica's ſervid ſhore ſhe moves,
Like the fair mother of the blooming loves,
When from above the Goddess with her hand
Fans the ſoft breeze, and lights upon the land;
Thus ſhe on Neptune's wat'ry realm reclin'd
Appeard, and thus invites the ling’ring wind.
“Ariſe, ye winds, America explore,
* Waft me, ye gales, from this malignant
ſhore; C.
“The Northern milder climes I long to greet,
“There hope that health will my arrival meet.”
Soon as ſhe ſpoke in my ideal view
The winds aſſented, and the veſſel flew.
Madam, your ſpouſe bereft of wife and ſon, is
In the grove's dark receſſes pours his moan:
Each branch, wide-ſpreading to the ambient ſky,
Forgets its verdure, and ſubmits to die.
From thence I turn, and leave the ſultry plain,
And ſwift purſue thy paſſage o'er the main ; 26
The ſhip arrives before the favºring wind,
And makes the Philadelphian port aſſign'd,
Thence I attend you to Bostonia's arms,
Where gen’rous friendſhip ev'ry boſom warms:
Thrice welcome here may health revive again, 25
Bloom on thy cheek, and bound in ev'ry vein.
Then back return to gladden ev'ry heart,
And give your ſpouſe his ſoul's far dearer part,

p H 1 r. º. 1 s ºr H E 4 º’ L E zº. 2 m x
Receiv'd again with what a ſweet ſurpriſe,
The tear in tranſport ſtarting from his eyes go
While his attendant ſon with blooming grace
Springs to his father's ever dear embrace.
With ſhouts of joy jamaica's rocks reſound,
With ſhouts of joy the country rings around.
To a LApy on her remarkable Preservation ºne
an Hurricane in North-Carolina.
HOUGH thout didſt hear the tempeſt from
afar,
And felt'ſt the horrors of the wat'ry war,
To me unknown, yet on this peaceful ſhore
Methinks I hear the ſtorm tumultuous roar,
And bow ſtern Boreas with impetuous hand 5
Compell'd the Nereids to uſurp the land.
Reluctant roſe the daughters of the main,
And ſlow aſcending glided o'er the plain,
Till folus in his rapid chariot drove
In gloomy grandeur from the vault above: iQ
Furious he comes. His winged ſons obey
Their frantic fire, and madden all the ſea.
The billows rave, the wind’s fierce tyrant roars,
And with his thund'ring terrors ſhakes the ſhores:
Broken by waves the veſſel's frame is rent, 15
And ſtrows with planks the wat'ry element.
But thee, Maria, a kind Nereid's ſhield
Preſerv'd from finking, and thy form upheld :
And ſure ſome heav'nly oracle deſign'd
At that dread criſis to inſtruct thy mind 2d
Things of eternal conſequence to weigh,
And to thine heart juſt feelings to convey
Of things above, and of the future doom,
And what the births of the dread world to come,

at 2 * H E P o E if s 6 F.
From toſſing ſeas I welcome thee to land, as
* Reſign her, Nereid,” 'twas thy God's command.
Thy ſpouſe late buried, as thy fears conceiv'd,
Again returns, thy fears are all reliev'd :
Thy daughter blooming with ſuperior grace
Again thou ſee'ſt, again thine arms embrace; as
Q come, and joyful ſhow thy ſpouſe his heir,
And what the bleſſings of maternal care!
To a LADY and her Children, on the death
ºf her Son and their Brother.
O'º" ſorrow now demands my
ſong:
From death the overwhelining ſorrow ſprung.
What flowing tears: What hearts with grief op-
reſt?
What fighs on fighs heave the fond parent's breaſt
The brother weeps, the hapleſs ſiſters join 5.
Th’ increaſing woe, and ſwell the cryſtal brine;
The poor, who once his gen’rous bounty fed,
Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.
In death the friend, the kind companion lies,
And in one death what various comfort dies! is
Th’ unhappy mother ſees the ſanguine till
Forget to flow, and nature’s wheels ſtand ſtill,
But ſee from earth his ſpirit far remov’d,
And know no grief recals your beſt-belov'd:
He, upon pinions ſwifter than the wind, 15
Has left mortality's ſad ſeenes behind
For joys to this terreſtrial ſtate unknown,
And glories richer than the monarch's crown.
Of virtue's ſteady courſe the prize behold!
What bliſsful wonders to his mind unfold' 20
- -

P # 1 1 r. 1 s ºr n E A * r * r. 2 (3.
But of celeſtial joys I fing in vain:
Attempt not, muſe, the too adventºrous ſtrain.
No more in briny ſhow’rs, ye friends around,
Or bathe his clay, or waſte them on the ground :
Still do you weep, ſtill wiſh for his return ? 25.
How cruel thus to wiſh, and thus to mourn!
No more for him the ſtreans of ſorrow pour,
But haſte to join him on the heav'nly ſhore,
On harps of gold to tune immortal lays,
And to your God immortal anthems raiſe. QQ
~
To a GENT LEMAN and LADY on the Death
ºf the Lady’s Brother and Sister, and a
Child of the Name Avis, aged one Year.
N Death's domain intent I fix my eyes,
Where human nature in vaſt ruin lies:
With penſive mind I ſearch the drear abode,
Where the great conqu'ror has his ſpoils beſtow'd;
There there the offspring of fix thouſand years 5
In endleſs numbers to my view appears : -
Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thruſt,
And nations mix with their primeval duſt:
Inſatiate ſtill he gluts the ample tomb;
His is the preſent, his the age to come. IQ
See here a brother, here a ſiſter ſpread,
And a ſweet daughter mingled with the dead.
-
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aſide,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd;
In vain they flow to wet the duſly plain, IS
Your fighs are wafted to the ſkies in vain;
Your pains they witneſs, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal ſhore.

214. ºr ºf E. P. O. E. M. S. ſº F.
The glowing ſtars and ſilver queen of light
At laſt muſt periſh in the gloom of night: 2-
Reſign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
Thine Avis give without a murm'ring heart,
Though half thy ſoul be fated to depart.
To ſhining guards conſign thine infant care 25.
To waft triumphant through the ſeas of air:
Her ſoul enlarg’d to heav'nly pleaſure ſprings,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And leaning forward with a filial love, sº
Invite you there to ſhare immortal bliſs
Unknown, untaſted in a ſtate like this.
With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace ariſe,
And ſeek beatitude beyond the ſkies.
-
On the Death of Dr. SAMUEL MARSHALL,
1771.
HROUGH thickeſt glooms look back, im-
mortal ſhade,
On that confuſion which thy death has made;
Or from Olympus' height look down, and ſee
A Town involved in grief bereft of thee.
Thy Lucy ſees thee mingle with the dead,
And rends the graceful treſſes from her head;
Wild in her woe, with grief unknown oppreſt
8:gh follows figh deep heaving from her breaſt.
Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?
Ah! loſt for ever to thy wife and ſon! IQ
The hapleſs child, thine only hope and heir,
Clings round his mother's neck and, weeps his ſor-
rows there.

ºr ºf I L I. r.s ºr n E a 7" L E *. 215
The loſs of thee on Tyler's ſoul returns,
And Boston for her dear phyſician mourns.
When fickneſs call'd for Marshall's healing
hand, I 5
With what compaſſion did his ſoul expand
In him we found the father and the friend :
In life how lov’d how honour’d in his end
And muſt not then our Esculapius ſtay
To bring his ling'ring infant into day? 26
The babe unborn in the dark womb is toſt,
And ſeems in anguiſh for its father loſt.
Gone is Apollo from his houſe of earth,
But leaves the ſweet memorials of his worth :
The common parent, whom we all deplore, 25
From yonder world unſeen muſt come no more,
Yet 'midſt our woes immortal hopes attend
The ſpouſe, the fire, the univerſal friend.
-
-
To a GENTLEMAN on his Voyage to Great-
Britain for the Recovery of his Health.
- HILE others chant of gay Elysian ſcenes,
W Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow'ry plains,
My ſong more happy ſpeaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
For thee, O R–, the muſe attunes her ſtrings, 5
And mounts ſublime above inferior things.
I fing not now of green embow'ring woods,
I ſing not now the daughters of the floods,
I fing not of the ſtorms o'er ocean driv'n,
And how they howl'd along the waſte of heav'n : 1s.
216 º' H E P tº E ºr S tº ºr
But I to R– would paint the British ſhore,
And vaſt Atlantic, not untry'd before:
Thy life impair’d commands thee to ariſe,
Leave theſe bleak regions and inclement ſkies,
Where chilling winds return the winter paſı, , ;
And nature ſhudders at the furious blaſt.
O thou ſtupendous, earth-encloſing main
Exert thy wonders to the world again :
If ere thy pow'r prolong'd the fleeting breath,
Turn'd back the ſhafts, and mock'd the gates of
death, --
If ere thine air diſpens'd an healing pow'r,
Or ſnatch'd the victim from the fatal hour,
This equal caſe demands thine equal care,
And equal wonders may this patient ſhare.
But unavailing, frantic is the dream 25
To hope thine aid without the aid of Him
Who gave thee birth, and taught thee where to
flow,
And in thy waves his various bleſſings ſhow.
May R-return to view his native ſhore,
Replete with vigour not his own before, sº
Then ſhall we ſee with pleaſure and ſurpriſe,
And own thy work, great Ruler of the ſkies!


a n n + 2 r s ºr H E 4 º’ L E 2'- 2 I)
To the Rev. Dr. THoMA's AMoRy on read-
ing his Sermons on DAILY DEvotion, in
which that Duty is recommended and
assisted.
O cultivate in ev’ry noble mind
Habitual grace, and ſentiments refin'd,
Thus while you ſtrive to mend the human heart,
Thus while the heav'nly precepts you impart,
O may each boſom catch the ſacred fire, 5
And youthful minds to Virtue's throne aſpire :
When God's eternal ways you ſet in fight,
And Virtue ſhines in all her native light,
In vain would Vice her works in night conceal,
For Wisdom's eye pervades the fable veil. lo
Artiſts may paint the ſun's effulgent rays,
But Amory's pen the brighter God diſplays:
While his great works in Amory's pages ſhine,
And while he proves his effence all divine,
The Atheiſt ſure no more can boaſt aloud I5
chance, or nature, and exclude the God;
As if the clay without the potter's aid
Should riſe in various forms, and ſhapes ſelf-made,
Or worlds above with orb o'er orb profound
Self-mov’d could run the everlaſting round. 20
It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides
With eye propitious, and o'er all preſides.
Still proſper, Amory ſtill may’ſ thou receive
The warmeſt bleſfings which a muſe can give,
And when this tranſitory ſtate is o'er, 25
When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame's no more,
May Amory triumph in immortal fame,
A nobler title, and ſuperior name :
Vol. II. T

218 * H E P o E M s or
On the Death of J. C. an Infant.
Nº. more the flow'ry ſcenes of pleaſure riſe,
Nor charming proſpects greet the mental
eyes, -
No more with joy we view that lovely face
Smiling, diſportive, fluſh'd with every grace.
The tear of ſorrow flows from ev’ry eye,
Groans anſwer groans, and fighs to fighs reply;
What ſudden pangs ſhot thro’ each aching heart,
When, Death, thy meſſenger diſpatch'd his dart?
Thy dread attendants, all-deſtroying Pow'r,
Hurried the infant to his mortal hour. C.
Could'ſt thou unpitying cloſe thoſe radiant eyes?
Or fail'd his artleſs beauties to ſurpriſe:
Could not his innocence thy ſtroke controul,
Thy purpoſe ſhake, and ſoften all thy ſoul?
The blooming babe, with ſhades of Death o'er-
ſpread, 15
No more ſhall ſmile, no more ſhall raiſe its head,
But, like a branch that from the tree is torn,
Falls proſtrate, wither'd, languid, and forlorn.
* Where flies my james * 'tis thus I ſeem º
hear
The parent aſk, “Some angel tell me where 20 *
* He wings his paſſage thro' the yielding air?” J
Methinks a cherub bending from the ſkies
Obſerves the queſtion, and ſerene replies,
* In heav'ns high palaces your babe appears:
* Prepare to meet him, and diſmiſs your tears" as
Shall not th' intelligence your grief reſtrain,
And turn the mournful to the chearful ſtrain?
Ceaſe your complaints, ſuſpend each riſing agº,
Ceaſe to accuſe the Ruler of the ſky.
Parents, no more indulge the falling tear: Sº

* If I L I. 1 s ºr H E A * L E r. 219
Let Faith to heav'n's refulgent domes repair,
There ſee your infant, like a ſeraph glow:
What charms celeſtial in his numbers flow
Melodious, while the ſoul-enchanting ſtrain
Dwells on his tongue, and fills th’ethereal plain? 35
Enough—for ever ceaſe your murm'ring breath;
Not as a foe, but friend converſe with Death;
Since to the port of happineſs unknown
He brought that treaſure which you call your
own.
The gift of heav’n intruſted to your hand
*
Chearful reſign at the divine command :
Not at your bar muſt ſov’reign Wisdom ſtand.
An H. y M N to H U M A N I T Y.
To S. P. G. Esq.
I.
Lº ! for this dark terreſtrial ball
Forſakes his azure-paved hall
A prince of heav'nly birth!
Divine Humanity behold.
What wonders riſe, what charms unfold 5
At his deſcent to earth .
II.
The boſoms of the great and good
With wonder and delight he view’d
And fix’d his empire there:
Him, cloſe compreſſing to his breaſt, to
The fire of gods and men addreſs'd,
“My ſon, my heav'nly fair :
-20 * H E * o E M S ºr
III.
* Deſcend to earth, there place thy throne;
* To ſuccour man’s afflicted ſon
- * Each human heart inſpire:
“To act in bounties unconfined
* Enlarge the cloſe contracted mind,
“And fill it with thy fire.”
IV.
Quick as the word, with ſwift career
He wings his courſe from ſtar to ſtar,
And leaves the bright abode.
The Virtue did his charms impart;
Their G then thy raptur'd heart
Perceiv'd the ruſhing God:
V.
For when thy pitying eye did ſee
The languid muſe in low degree,
Then, them at thy deſire
Deſcended the celeſtial nine;
O'er me methought they deign'd to ſhine,
And deign'd to ſtring my lyre.
Can Afric's muſe forgetful prove?
Or can ſuch friendſhip fail to move
| VI.
- A tender human heart? -
Immortal Friendship laurel-crown'd
The ſmiling Graces all ſurround
- -
With ev'ry heav'nly Art.
- -
5





p ºf r ſ r. 1 s ty. H E A * L E r. - 2 -
Tº the Honourable T. H. Esq. on the death
of his Daughter.
HILE deep you mourn beneath the cypreſs
ſhade
The hand of Death, and your dear daughter laid
In duſt, whoſe abſence gives your tears to flow,
And racks your boſom with inceſſant woe,
Let Recollection take a tender part, 5
Aſſuage the raging tortures of your heart,
Still the wild tempeſt of tumultuous grief,
And pour the heav'nly ne&lar of relief:
Suſpend the figh, dear Sir, and check the groan,
Divinely bright your daughter’s Virtues ſhone: to
How free from ſcornful pride her gentle mind,
Which ne'er its aid to indigence declin'd.
Expanding free, it fought the means to prove
Unfailing charity, unbounded love!
She unreluctant flies to ſee no more 15
Her dear-lov’d parents on earth's duſky ſhore :
Impatient heav'n's reſplendent goal to gain,
She with ſwift progreſs cuts the azure plain,
Where grief ſubſides, where changes are no more,
And life’s tumultuous billows ceaſe to roar; 26
She leaves her earthly manſion for the ſkies,
Where new creations feaſt her wond'ring eyes.
To heav'n's high mandate chearfully reſign'd
She mounts and leaves the rolling globe behind;
She, who late wiſh'd that Leonard might return, 25
Has ceas'd to languiſh, and forgot to mourn;
To the ſame high empyreal manſions come,
She joins her ſpouſe, and ſmiles upon the tomb :
And thus I hear her from the realms above:
* Lo! this the kingdom of celeſtial love : 39.
- T 2 -

2.2.2 ºr n e º O E ºf s of
“Could ye, fond parents, ſee our preſent bliſs,
“How ſoon would you each figh, each fear diº.
miſs
* Amidſt unutter'd pleaſures whilſt I play
“In the fair ſunſhine of celeſtial day,
“As far as grief affects an happy ſoul 35
“So far doth grief my better mind controul,
“To ſee on earth my aged parents mourn,
* And ſecret wiſh for T I to return :
“Let brighter ſcenes your ev’ning-hours employ:
* Converſe with beav'n, and taſte the promis'd
joy.” 4o
-
Niobe in distress for her Children slain by
Apollo, from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book
VI. and from a view of the Painting of
Mr. Rich ARD wilson.
POLLO's wrath to man the dreadful ſpring
Of ills innum’rous, tuneful goddeſs fing :
Thou who did'ſ firſt th' ideal pencil give,
And taught'ſ the painter in his works to live,
Inſpire with glowing energy of thought,
What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote.
Muſe! lend thy aid, nor let me ſue in vain,
Tho' laſt and meaneſt of the rhyming train!
O guide my pen in lofty ſtrains to ſhow
The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe: º
'Twas where Meonia ſpreads her wide domain
Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign :
See in her hand the regal ſceptre ſhine,
The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine:
He moſt diſtinguiſh’d by Dodonean jove, Is
To approach the tables of the gods above:

P ºf 1 L L I s W H E A * L E 2". 223
Her grandfire Atlas, who with mighty pains
Th’ etherial axis on his neck ſuſtains:
Her other grandfire on the throne on high
Rolls the loud pealing thunder thro' the ſky. 20
Her ſpouſe, Amphion, who from jove too ſprings,
Divinely taught to ſweep the founding ſtrings.
Seven ſprightly ſons the royal bed adorn,
Seven daughters beauteous as the op'ning morn,
As when Aurora fills the raviſh'd fight, 25
And decks the orient realms with roſy light,
From their bright eyes the living ſplendors play,
Nor can beholders bear the flaſhing ray.
Wherever, Niobe, thou turn'ſt thine eyes,
New beauties kindle, and new joys ariſe : 3o
But thou had'ſt far the happier mother prov’d,
If this fair offspring had been leſs belov'd :
What if their charms exceed Aurora's teint,
No words could tell them, and no pencil paint,
Thy love too vehement haſtens to deſtroy 35
Each blooming maid, and each celeſtial boy.
Now Manto comes, endu’d with mighty ſkill,
The paſt tº explore, the future to reveal.
Thro' Thebes' wide ſtreets Tiresia's daughter came,
Divine Latona's mandate to proclaim: 40
The Theban maids to hear the orders ran,
When thus Mºonia's propheteſs began :
“Go, Thebans great Latona's will obey,
“And pious tribute at her altars pay :
“With rights divine, the goddeſs be implorºd, 45
“Nor be her ſacred offspring unador'd.”
Thus Manto ſpoke. The Theban maids obey,
And pious tribute to the goddeſs pay.
The rich perfumes aſcend in waving ſpires,
224. - * H E P o E ºr S 2 ºr
And altars blaze with conſecrated fires;
The fair aſſembly moves with graceful air,
And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair.
So
Niobe comes with all her royal race,
With charms unnumber'd, and ſuperior grace:
Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue, 55
Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view,
Beyond deſcription beautiful ſhe moves
Like heav'nly Venus, 'midſt her ſmiles and loves:
She views around the ſupplicating train,
And ſhakes her graceful head with ſeru diſdain, Go
Proudly ſhe turns around her lofty eyes,
And thus reviles celeſtial deities.
* What madneſs drives the Theban ladies fair
“To give their incenſe to ſurrounding air:
“Say why this new ſprung deity preferr'd : 6;
“Why vainly fancy your petitions heard?
* Or ſay why Caus' offspring is obey'd, -
* While to my goddeship no tribute's paid?
* For me no altars blaze with living fires,
* No bullock bleeds, no frankincenſe tranſpires, wo
* Tho' Cadmus' palace, not unknown to fame,
* And Phrygian nations all revere my name.
* Where’er I turn my eyes vaſt wealth I find.
* Lo! here an empreſs with a goddeſs join'd.
* What, ſhall a Titaness be deity'd, 75
* To whom the ſpacious earth a couch deny'd?
* Nor heav'n, nor earth, nor ſea receiv'd your
queen,
* Till pitying Delos took the wand'rer in.
* Round me what a large progeny is ſpread!
* No frowns of fortune has my ſoul to dread. So
“What if indignant ſhe decreaſe my train
* More than Latona's number will remain;
* Then hence, ye ſººn dames, hence haſte
away,
“Nor longer of rings to Latona pay;
-














P # 1 I L I s nº ºf E a 2° E. E. r. 225
* Regard the orders of Amphion's ſpouſe, 85
“And take the leaves of laurel from your brows.”
Niobe ſpoke. The Theban maids obey'd,
Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid.
The angry goddeſs heard, then ſilence broke
On Cynthus' ſummit, and indignant ſpoke; 90
“Phaibus ' behold, thy mother in diſgrace,
“Who to no goddeſs yields the prior place
“Except to juno's ſelf, who reigns above,
“The ſpouſe and ſiſter of the thund'ring jove.
“ Niobe ſprung from Tantalus inſpires 93
“. Each Theban boſom with rebellious fires;
* No reaſon her imperious temper quells,
“But all her father in her tongue rebels;
* Wrap her own ſons for her blaſpheming breath,
“Apollo / wrap them in the ſhades of death.” Ioo
Latona ceas'd, and ardent thus replies,
The God, whoſe glory decks th’ expanded ſkies.
“Ceaſe thy complaints, mine be the taſk aſſign'd
“To puniſh pride, and ſcourge the rebel mind.”
This Phºebe join'd. They wing their inſtant
flight; 105
Thebes trembled as th’ immortal pow'rs alight.
With clouds incompaſs'd glorious Phºebus ſtands:
The feather'd vengeance quivºring in his hands.
Near Cadmus' walls a plain extended lay,
Where Thebes' young princes paſs'd in ſport the
ay : - I Io
There the bold courſers bounded o'er the plains,
While their great maſters held the golden reins.
Ismenus firſt the racing paſtime led,
And rul'd the fury of his flying ſteed.
“Ah me,” he ſudden cries, with ſhrieking
breath, I 1.5

226 * H E P o E ºf s or
While in his breaſt he feels the ſhaft of death;
He drops the bridle on his courſer's mane,
Before his eyes in ſhadows ſwims the plain,
He, the firſt born of great Amphion's bed,
Was ſtruck the firſt, firſt mingled with the
- dead. - (20
Then didſt thou, Sºylus, the language hear
Of fate portentous whiſtling in the air:
As when th’ impending ſtorm the ſailor ſees
He ſpreads his canvas to the favºring breeze,
So to thine horſe thou gav'ſ the golden reins, 25
Gav'ſ him to ruſh impetuous o'er the plains:
But ah! a fatal ſhaft from Pºchus' hand
Smites through thy neck, and ſinks thee on the
ſand.
Two other brothers were at wrestling found,
And in their paſtime claſpt each other round: 1so
A ſhaft that inſtant from Apollo's hand
Transfixt them both, and ſtretcht them on the
ſand :
Together they their cruel fate bemoan'd,
Together languiſh'd, and together groan'd:
Together tooth' unbodied ſpirits fled, 135
And ſought the gloomy manſions of the dead.
Alphenor ſaw, and trembling at the view,
Beat his torn breaſt, that chang'd its ſnowy hue.
He flies to raiſe them in a kind embrace;
A brother's fondneſs triumphs in his face: 140
Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed,
A dart diſpatch'd him (ſo the fates decreed:)
Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound,
His iſſuing entrails ſmoak'd upon the ground.
What woes on blooming Damasichon wait 145
His fighs portend his near impending fate.

p ºr r i i r s by in E A ºr L E 2^. 227
Juſt where the well-made leg begins to be,
And the ſoft ſinews from the ſupple knee,
The youth fore wounded by the Delian god
Attempts tº extract the crime-avenging rod, iso
But, whilſt he ſtrives the will of fate tº avert,
Divine Apollo ſends a ſeconddart;
Swift thro’ his throat the feather'd miſchief flies,
Bereft of ſenſe, he drops his head, and dies.
Young Ilioneus, the laſt, directs his pray’r, 155
And cries, “My life, ye gods celeſtial ſpare.”
Apollo heard, and pity touch'd his heart,
But ah! too late, for he had ſent the dart:
Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doom'd to fall,
The fates refuſe that arrow to recal. 16o
On the ſwift wings of ever-flying Fame
To Cadmus' palace ſoon the tidings came :
Wiobe heard, and with indignant eyes
She thus expreſs'd her anger and ſurpriſe :
“Why is ſuch privilege to them allow'd? 1.65
“Why thus inſulted by the Delian god?
* Dwells there ſuch miſchief in the pow'rs above?
“Why ſleeps the vengeance of immortal jove º'
For now Amphion too, with grief oppreſs'd,
Had plung'd the deadly dagger in his breaſt. 17°
Niobe now, leſs haughty than before,
With lofty head directs her ſteps no more.
She, who late told her pedigree divine,
And drove the Thebans from Latona’s ſhrine,
How ſtrangely chang'd yet beautiful in
Woe, - 175
She weeps, nor weeps unpity’d by the foe.
On each pale corſe the wretched mother ſpread
Lay overwhelm'd with grief, and kiſs'd her dead,
Then rais'd her arms, and thus, in accents ſlow,
“Be fated cruel Goddess! with my woe: 1 tº
“If I’ve offended, let theſe ſtreaming eyes,

228 * * r P o E M s or
“And let this ſevenfold funeral ſuffice.
“Ah! take this wretched life you deign'd to ſave,
“With them I too am carried to the grave-
“Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe, 185
“But ſhow the cauſe from whence your triumphs
flow :
“Tho' I unhappy mourn theſe children ſlain,
* Yet greater numbers to my lot remain.”
She ceas'd, the bow ſtring twang'd with awful
found,
Which ſtruck with terror all th’ aſſembly round,
Except the queen, who ſtood unmov’d alone,
By her diſtreſſes more preſumptuous grown.
Near the pale corſes ſtood their fiſters fair,
In fable veſtures and diſhevell'd hair;
One, while ſhe draws the fatal ſhaft away, 195
Faints, falls, and fickens at the light of day.
To ſooth her mother, lo! another flies,
And blames the fury of inclement ſkies,
And, while her words a filial pity ſhow,
Struck dumb-indignant ſeeks the ſhades be-
low. 2 o'c
Now frem the fatal place another flies,
Falls in her flight, and languiſhes, and dies.
Another on her ſiſter drops in death:
A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath;
While the ſixth ſeeks ſome gloomy cave in
vain, 205
Struck with the reſt, and mingled with the ſlain.
One only daughter lives, and ſhe the leaſt;
The queen cloſe claſp'd the daughter to her breaſt.
* Yeſheav'nly pow'rs, ah ſpare me one,” ſhe cry'd,
* Ah! ſpare me one,” the vocal hills reply'd: 2 to
In vain ſhe begs, the Fates her ſuit deny,
In her embrace ſhe fees her daughter die.

* * * L. L J S ºr H E 4 º' L E *. 229
* “The queen of all her family bereft,
* Without the huſband, ſon or daughter left,
* Grew ſtupid at the ſhock. The paſſing air 215
“Made no impreſſion on her ſliſiºning hair.
* The blood forſook her face: amidſt the flood
“Pour'd from her cheeks, quite fix'd her eye-balls
“ ſtood.
“ Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew,
* Her curdled veins no longer motion knew : 226
“The uſe of neck, and arms, and feet was gone,
* And evºn her bowels hardºned into ſtone:
“A marble ſtatue now the queen appears,
* But from the marble ſteal the ſilent tears.”
To S. M. a young African Painter, on see- -
ing his Works.
"O ſhow the labºring boſom's deep intent,
T And thought in living characters to paint,
When firſt thy pencil did thoſe beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did thoſe proſpects give my ſoul delight, 5
A new creation ruſhing on my fight?
Still, wondrous youth each noble path purſue,
On deathleſs glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter's and the poet's fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verſe conſpire : IO
And may the charms of each ſeraphic theme
Conduct thy footſteps to immortal fame .
High to the bliſsful wonders of the ſkies
Elate thy ſoul, and raiſe thy wiſhful eyes.
* This Verse to the End is the Work of another
Hand.
Vol. II. U
230 ºr ºf 2 P 0 E M s 6 p.
Thrice happy, when exalted to ſurvey 15
That ſplendid city, crown'd with endleſs day,
Whoſe twice ſix gates on radiant hinges ring:
Celeſtial Salem blooms in endleſs ſpring.
Calm and ſerene thy moments glide along,
And may the muſe inſpire each future ſong! 26
Still, with the ſweets of contemplation bleſs'd,
May peace with balmy wings your ſoul inveſt!
But when theſe ſhades of tune are chas'd away,
And darkneſs ends in everlaſting day,
On what ſeraphic pinions ſhall we move, 2.
And view the landſcapes in the realms above?
There ſhall thy tongue in heav'nly murmurs flow,
And there my muſe with heav'nly tranſport glow:
No more to tell of Damon's tender fighs,
Or riſing radiance of Aurora's eyes, so
For nobler themes demand a nobler ſtrain,
And purer language on th' ethereal plain.
Ceaſe, gentle muſe! the ſolemn gloom of night
Now ſeals the fair creation from my fight-
Tº his Honour the Lieutenant-Governor, on
the Death of his Lady. March 24, 1773.
L L conquering Death by thy reſiſtleſs
pow'r,
Hope's tow'ring plumage falls to riſe no more!
Of ſcenes terreſtrial how the glories fly,
Forget their ſplendors, and ſubmit to die!
who ere eſcap'd thee, but the ſaint” of old º
Beyond the flood, in ſacred annals told,
And the great ſage, whom fiery courſers drew
* Enoch. i Eljah.


P H I L I. I s ſy. H E A * L E r. 231
To heav'n's bright portals from Elisha's view ;
Wond'ring he gaz'd at the refulgent car,
Then ſnatch'd the mantle floating on the air. Io
From Death theſe only could exemption boaſt,
And without dying gain'd th’ immortal coaſt.
Not failing millions ſate the tyrant's mind,
Nor can the victor's progreſs be confin'd.
But ceaſe thy ſtrife with Death, fond Nature,
ceaſe: 15
He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace;
His to conduct to the immortal plains,
Where heav'n's Supreme in bliſs and glory reigns.
There ſits, illuſtrious Sir, thy beauteous ſpouſe;
A gem-blaz'd circle beaming on her brows. 2.9
Hail'd with acclaim among the heav'nly choirs,
Her ſoul new-kindling with feraphic fires,
To notes divine ſhe tunes the vocal ſtrings,
While heav'n's high concave with the muſic rings.
Virtue's rewards can mortal pencil paint? 25
No—all deſcriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
Nor canſ thou, Oliver, aſſent refuſe
To heav'nly tidings from the Afric muſe.
As ſoon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
As the faint miſs the glories Irelate; 3o
Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
Which wip'd the trick'ling tear from Mis’ry's eye.
Whene'er the adverſe winds were known to blow,
When loſs to loſsº enſu'd, and woe to woe,
Calm and ſerene beneath her father's hand 35
She ſat reſign'd to the divine command.
No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
And let us hear the mournful figh no more;
* Three amiable Daughters who died when just
arrived to Women's Estate.
232 * H E P º E ºf s p r
Reſtrain the ſorrow ſtreaming from thine eye,
Be all thy future moments crown'd with joy! 46
Nor let thy wiſhes be to earth confin'd,
But ſoaring high purſue th' unbodied mind.
Forgive the muſe, forgive th' adventºrous lays,
That ſain thy ſoul to heav'nly ſcenes would raiſe.
A Farewel to AMERica. To Mrs. S. W.
I.
DIEU, New-England's ſmiling meads,
\ Adieu, the flow'ry plain :
I leave thine op'ning charms, O ſpring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow'rets riſe, s
And boaſt their gaudy pride
while here beneath the northern ſkies
I mourn for health deny'd.
-
III.
Celeſtial maid of roſy hue,
O let me feel thy reign! --
I languiſh till thy face I view,
Thy vaniſh'd joys regain.
IV.
Susannah mourns, nor can I bear
To ſee the cryſtal ſhow'r,





F. H. f. i. z. z S ºr in E A 7' L * *. 233
Or mark the tender falling tear IS
At ſad departure's hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I ſee
Her ſoul with grief oppreſt:
But let no fighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her penſive breaſt. 2e
VI.
In vain the feather'd warblers fing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the boſom of the ſpring
Breathes out her ſweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia's diſtant ſhore 25
We ſweep the liquid plain,
And with aſtoniſh'd eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celeſtial dame :
Complacent and ſerene, 3°
With Hebe's mantle o'er her Frame,
With ſoul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With miſty vapours crown'd,
2
234 ºf H E P o E ºr s a F
Which cloud Aurora's thouſand dyes, 35
And veil her charms around.
Why, Phabus, moves thy car ſo ſlow :
So ſlow thy riſing ray :
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day ! 40
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I reſign
New-England's ſmiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the proſpect yields:
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once ſeduce my foul away,
By thine enchanting ſtrain.
XIII.
Thirce happy they, whoſe heav'nly ſhield
Secures their ſouls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow'r diſarms!
Boston, May 7, 1773.




in ºf I. L. L. 1 s ºr ºf E A 7" L E 2'.
235
A REBUs, by J. B.
BIRD delicious to the taſte,
On which an army once did feaſt,
Sent by an hand unſeen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britain's royal ſtandards grace;
A gem of vivid green;
II.
A town of gaiety and ſport,
Where beaux and beauteous nymphs reſort,
And gallantry doth reign;
A Dardan hero fam'd of old
For youth and beauty, as we're told,
And by a monarch ſlain ;
III.
A peer of popular applauſe,
Who doth our violated laws,
And grievances proclaim.
Th’ initials ſhow a vanquiſh'd town,
That adds freſh glory and renown
To old Britannia’s fame.
ro

236 * H E P o E M s, &c.
An ANswer to the REbus, by the Author ºf
these popMs.
HE poet aſks, and Phillis can't refuſe
To ſhow th’ obedience of the infant muſe.
She knows the ºuail of moſt inviting taſte
Fed Israel's army in the dreary waſte;
And what's on Britain's royal ſtandard borne, 5
But the tall, graceful, rampant Unicorn ?
The Emerald with a vivid verdure glows
Among the gems which regal crowns compoſe;
Boston's a town, polite and debonair,
To which the beaux and beauteous nymphs repair,
Each Helen ſtrikes the mind with ſweet ſurpriſe,
While living lightning flaſhes from her eyes.
See young Euphorbus of the Dardan line
By Menelaus' hand to death reſign:
The well known peer of popular applauſe
Is C—m zealous to ſupport our laws.
ºebec now vanquiſh'd muſt obey,
She too muſt annual tribute pay
To Britain of immortal fame,
And add new glory to her name.

[ 237
CONTENTS.
Page
y-
To Maccenas - - - 175
On Virtue - - - 177
To the Univerſity of Cambridge, in New-
England - - - 178
On being brought from Africa - - 179
On the Rev. Dr. Sewell - - - ib.
On the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield - 1 ºr
On the Death of a young Lady of five Years
of Age - - - - 182
On the Death of a young Gentleman - 183
To a Lady on the Death of her Huſband 184.
Goliath of Gath - - - 185
Thoughts on the Works of Providence - 192
To a Lady on the Death of three Relations 196
To a Clergyman on the Death of his Lady 197
An Hymn to the Morning - - 199
An Hymn to the Evening - - 2 CO
On Iſaiah lziii. 1–8 - - - ib.
On Recolle&lion - - - 2 oz.
On Imagination - - -
A funeral Poem on the Death of an Infant
aged twelve Months - - 2O3
To Captain H. D. of the 65th Regiment 2O7
To the Rt. Hon. William, Earl of Dartmouth ib.
Ode to Neptune - - - 2C9
To a Lady on her coming to North America -
with her Son, for the Recovery of her Health 2ce
To a Lady on her remarkable Preſervation in
a Hurricane in North Carolina - 2 I I
To a Lady and her Children on the Death of
her Son, and their Brother - - 2 12
2O3

ºš C on T E N ºr s.
page
To a Gentleman and Lady on the Death of the
Lady's Brother and Siſter, and a Child of the
Name of Avis, aged one Year - - 213
On the Death of Dr. Samuel Marſhall - 214
To a Gentleman on his Voyage to Great-Bri-
tain, for the Recovery of his Health 215
To the Rev. Dr. Thomas Amory on reading his
Sermons on Daily Devotion, in which that
Duty is recommended and aſſiſted - 217
On the Death of J. C. an Infant - - - 18
An Hymn to Humanity - - - - 219
To the Hon. T. H. Eſq. on the Death of his
Daughter - - - --
Niobe in Diſtreſs for her Children ſlain by
Apollo, from Ovid's Metamorphoſes, Book
VI, and from a View of the painting of
Mr. Richard Wilson - - - 2 --
To S. M. a young African Painter, on ſee-
ing his Works - - - 229
To his Honour the Lieutenant-Governor, on
the Death of his Lady - - - 23 o
A Farewel to America - - 232
A Rebus by I. B. - - -
An Anſwer to ditto, by Phillis Wheatley 236

Subscribers’ Names.
A.
ALLEN RIcha Rio Rev.
Alexander Solomon
Anderſon Andrew
Anderſon George K.
Adams Eliza
Arbutton William
Anderſon Rebecca
Auſtin Thomas
Ates Fortune
Andrews Robert
Alexander Richard
Alftan Margaret
Anderſon Ann Miſs
B
Beatty Sanuel
Brolly Thomas
Brown Nathaniel
Biggs Thomas
Brewton Robert
Brobſton Robert
Bunting P. S.
Bamfield George
Bowen James
Bird George
Beck John
Bailey Barzillai
Brown Frederick & co.
Plair John
Brown, Captain
Berryman John
Barnes Fortune
Byrne James R.
Bivins Joſeph
Buchanam William
Briand Catherine
Baker Henry, jun.
Brown James
Becket Sarah
Blakey William, jun.
Benfell Engle
Black John
Baker John
Beale Pennell
Budd Willian,
Blair William
Brown Samuel
Buckley Anthony M.
Bartho Philip
Bampfield George
C
Campbell Margaret
Coombs Rodger
Counor Ann
Crappiº Cato
Corby Mary
Clark Mary
Crumback Godfrey
Carpenter John
Crunille Rebecca
Copes Joſeph
240
Subscribers? Names.
Currie William M. D.
Connaway Patrick
Carr Robert
Carpenter John
Cooper Samuel
Croxford William
Cotterill Thomas
Cole Sarah
Cunningham Matthew
Courſey Emely Miſs
Chriſtopher Ann
Canayan Michael
O
Dover John
Duval Mrs.
Daily Peter
IDufief Nicholas Gouin
Dupleſis P. le B. jun.
Darrach James
Doling John
Douglas William
Duncan Ann Mrs.
Dinnin Mrs.
Dennett Mrs.
Doig John
Davis John
Donghetty James
Draper J.
Delawau James
Dilworth Richard
- Defenbech & Newton
Dominick John
Doogan Joſeph
Davis Elizabeth
Davis Clark
eveney William
Dick Charles
Derrick John
Dobelbower L.
Duché John
Dea born Samuel H.
Daniels Margaret
E.
Evitt William
Evans George
Eaſton John
Engle Richard
Engles Silas, jun.
Eckendorff Martin
Edwards Joſeph
Elbert Richard
Ettinger Martin
Ehringhaus Adolph
E.
Finley James
Forten James
Francis Michael
Froman Catherine
Froman Margaret
Fletcher Johnſon
Fowler Abraham
Folkrod Michael
Ferguſon Ebenezer
Fry Jacob
Fogal Mary
Farr William
Finch John
Fennelly Thomas
Foering Samuel
Frické C. Mrs.
Ferree Joſeph
Forſyth David
Ferguſon Benjamin
Francies John
G.
Gray Jane
Giºvan James
Germon John


Subscribers’ Names.
Graham Edward
Gardiner Henrietta
Gardiner William
Gibbs Jonathan
Goldtrap John
Getty Nathaniel
Godfrey John W.
Godfrey Edward
Grant John (4 copies)
Gibbs Hannah
Gray William
Grant Peter
Garrett Philip
George William
Gilbert John
Gray John
Gillingham Moſes
Gwin Mary Mrs.
Giller John E.
George Richard
Gardiner William
Gillon John
Gray Nathaniel
H
Holliday John
Haines Ephraim
Hubley Henry
Harper Jacob
Haines George
Hirſt Thomas
Humphreys Thomas
Heſſer George
Hurly John
Harris Charles
Harden Abraham
Holly Suſannah
Hanſon Greenberry D.
Hamlet Godfrey
Hanſe Conrad
Vol. II.
Hopton Robert
Holman Richard
I & J.
Jones Abſalom Rev.
Irving George
Jones William
Johnſton Margaret
Jacques William
Johnſon Klincken
Johnſen Richard
Jack Ann Mrs.
Jones William (12 copies)
Joſeph John
Johnſton John
Heffries William
Jaſłop Iſaac
Jones Jehu
K.
Kinſey Edmund
Keller George
Kunius John
Kelly Michael
Keighly Nebo
Keen Thomas
Kaufelt Nicholas
Kelſey John O.
Knight Daniel P.
Knox William, jun.
L
Lippard John
Leibert William
Livingſton John -
Logan James
Limeburner Philip
Laus Robert
Lewis Frank
Loyd Mary
Lambert Peter
Lukens Thomas

242.
Subscribers’ Names.
Love Benjamin
Lownes Joſeph
Lewis Thomas
Logue Joſeph
Latta William
Lewis Plater
Laws Stephen
Lawſon Rachel
Lancaſter Jacob
Lee Richard
M
M’Calla David
M'Coy Abraham
M’Culley Willians
M’Curdy John
M’Donald Mrs.
MºR inzie Caleb
M’Koy Robert
Mines Atticus
Myer Godlieb
Munford Rebecca
Marim Charles
Matthews James
Miller Heſter A.
Mannierck Anty. Van
Miller Abraham
Mount Thomas
Momury Philip
Miſkelly Samuel
Morrow Samuel
Mechlin Samuel, jun.
Murry Joſeph
Mudey Ann Mrs.
Maris William
Morton & De Silver
Montgomery William
Miller Henry
Mears Jeſſe
Mount Thomas
Means John
Maxfield Hannah
Malcolm Joſeph G.
Montgomery Wm. jun.
Mendenhall Thomas jun.
Mawhorter Thomas
Newnam Daniel
O
O'Brien Mary Iſabella
Onyx Michael
P
Phillips Zalegman
Plankinhorn J. jun.
Pittman Ephraim
Palmer William
Playter Watſon
Potts Joſephus
Potts Peter
Potts Thomas.jun.
Perkins Jacob
Pennell Alice
Peck George
Payran Stephen
Peterſon Mary Mrs.
Paul Jeremiah
Pedrick William
Pearſon Eliza Mrs.
Phillips Samuel
Phillips George
Peters Mary
Porter Thomas C.
Porter Cyrus
Pearce William
Parker Joſeph
Quinlan John
R.
Rogers William Rev.

Subscribers’ Names. 243
Read Mrs.
Randolph Joſeph
Reed Iſaac
Richmond Joſeph
Roberts Iſaac
Richards Richard
Richards William
Robinſon Hugh
Richards Henry
Ritſon Thomas
Rowland Thomas
Richards Samuel, jun
Robinſon James, jun.
Rodgers Thomas
Richman John
Read Collinſon
Ridgway Robert
Roſemary Frederick
Riever John
Rieley Warrick
Rayner Sarah
Ruſſel Alexander capt.
Rodney Suſannah
Richmond Peter
Rowan James, jun.
Rivera Abraham
Stafford Cornelius W.
Stewart Henry
Sinclair James
Scaife Elizabeth
Sackriter David
Smith John
Sharp Henry
Stevenſon James
Smith Richard
Smith John, jun.
Stimmel Philip
Shaw Alexander
Sellers John
Sharpleſs George
Starke John, jun.
Strouſe George
Smith John B. N.
Shelmerdine Samuel
Sturgis Stokely
Stille Benjamin
Shaw William A.
Saurman M.
Schrack Abraham
Scott William
Sophey Peter
Smith Elizabeth Mrs.
Smith Samuel
Scott David
Simon John
Suttliff Catherine
Sourbey Mary
Stokes Thomas
Smith William
Scott Henry
Smith Elizabeth Mrs.
Stewart Elena
Smith Jacob
Smith Roſetta
Smith James
Sellenir ['eter St.
Soullier John Mary
Smith Ann Mrs.
Smith Mrs.
Sullivan Joſhua
Scates Lawrence
Thornton Ann
Taylor John M.
Tiebout Connelius
Tatem Samuel
Twaddell James

244.
Subscribers’ Names.
Thompſon David
Teas John
Taſh Joſeph
Thompſon Henry
Thompſon Jonah
Tod Elijah
Trimble John
Thompſon lavid
V
Vauchey Jean S.
Voigt Sebaſtian
Vanhorne James
Wiggleſworth William
Watmough J. H.
White William
Willis Thomas Y.
Woodbridge John E.
Walker George
Wilſon Robert
White James
Williams Terryl
Worrell Iſaac
Worrell Robert
Whitelock Iſaac
Wynn Moſes
Waters John
Waterman Jeſſe
Warren Henry
Wright Caleb
Williams Elizabeth
Widdifield James
Wilkins Caleb
Willits James
Weyman Jacob
White Margaret
Wernecke Lewis W.
W. L. Mrs.
Wotherſpoon Thomas
Widdiſfield William
Willard Parr
Walls Jonathan
Y
Yarmall Ellis
Young Mary Mrs.
Young Charles
Young Chriſtian