MY name is Selim. I come from the Valley of Amoim, in Arabia the Happy; where the wiſdom and virtues of Abudah, my father, procured him, in a private ſtation, a reſpect more ſin⯑cere, than that which is uſually paid to wealth and power. Much had he read, and thought ſtill more. He had alſo tra⯑velled through many nations; and by a compariſon of their manners, diſpelled the prejudices which too often ſpread a cloud over a contracted ſphere.

But he was ſtopped in his purſuit of knowledge, by the nearer duties of do⯑meſtic life. The cultivation of his mind had refined, not extinguiſhed the paſ⯑ſions of nature. He viewed in a light of juſt contempt, the miſtaken, imper⯑fect happineſs of celibacy; and in obe⯑dience to the firſt purpoſe of his Crea⯑tion, took a wife into his boſom.

[6]Heaven ſeemed at firſt to ſmile upon his marriage-bed; but the bloſſoms of his hope were ſoon blaſted; the hour which gave him a ſon, depriving him of a wife.

Severely as he felt this loſs, he ſunk not under it. Reaſon ſucceeded the firſt emotions of nature; and his piety trem⯑bled at the apprehenſion of offending heaven, by repining at its irreſiſtible decrees. — Pardon, gracious lord, this mention of a father, to whom life is my leaſt obligation. It is a neceſſary intro⯑duction to the ſtory of my misfortunes. It is a tribute to his memory, which Nature will obtrude through all re⯑ſtraint.

His firſt care was to lay a foundation for that health, which is neceſſary for the enjoyment of life, and the perform⯑ance of all its duties. He taught me to feel no wants but thoſe of nature, whoſe inevitable imbecilities were not aggra⯑vated by injudicious fondneſs. Hunger ſweetened the moſt ſimple fare; and exerciſe made me find refreſhment in ſleep, which was never allured by luxu⯑ry, nor indulged to enervating exceſs; while my body, gradually inured to the viciſſitudes of the ſeaſons, required not [8] the voluptuous incumbrance of cloath⯑ing to ſcreen it from the ſevereſt incle⯑mencies of weather. My food was vege⯑tables. I drank of the brook: and I wore no cloaths but barely what the laws of decency demanded.

Yet intent as he was on eſtabliſhing my health, his care was not confined to that alone. As ſoon as the firſt dawn of reaſon began to enlighten my mind, he directed my thoughts to ſuch objects, as neceſſarily led to wiſdom and virtue. He imprinted upon my ſoul a juſt ſenſe of the obedience which I owed to the Author of my being, by explaining to me my dependance on him. He taught me to read the ſacred proofs of his wiſ⯑dom, his goodneſs, and his power, in the tremendous volume of his works. The ſtars of heaven ſhewed me the glory of their Maker. The ſun by day, and the moon by night bore witneſs to his power. My ſoul was humbled before the Lord of the Univerſe, and adored [9] the goodneſs which inceſſantly ſupports the creatures of his hand.

‘As the life of man is deſigned for action,’ he would ſay, ‘all knowledge which leadeth not to the practice of virtue, is but vanity.’—While my mind therefore was expanded by theſe ſublime ſpeculations, he explained to me the principles and reaſon of every duty of ſocial and civil life; proving that obedience, which ariſeth not from conviction of the juſtice and neceſſary obligation of a law, has no more real merit, than the habitual ſervility of a brute animal.

He then unfolded to me the compli⯑cated relations in which man ſtands to man, both as an individual, and as a member of a community; and from them deduced all the various duties of either ſtate. ‘The higheſt degree of perfection,’ would he frequently ſay, ‘to which the human nature can ariſe, [10] conſiſteth in the imitation of the divine, which is poſſible only in benevolence; and conſtitutes the eſſence of all the moral, ſocial, and civil virtues, how⯑ever varied in their appearances, in the various circumſtances and connections of life, from the peaſant in the field, to the prince upon his throne.’

The example of his actions enforced the precepts of his wiſdom, and led me inſenſibly to practiſe the virtues he in⯑culcated, as riſing years afforded ability. I ſuffered hunger, to feed the hungry; the feeble and aged found a ſupport in the ſtrength of my youth; and I ruſhed into danger to reſcue the diſtreſſed.

Nor were his inſtructions limited to the narrow ſphere of our private ſtation. As the powers of my mind became capa⯑ble of more extended exertion, he raiſed my view to higher ſcenes. He traced government to its origin in the gene⯑ral welfare and happineſs of mankind, [11] the ſource, from which ultimately and equally flow the different, but reci⯑procal duties of ſubjection and com⯑mand; and reconciled their apparent oppoſitions, on the unerring principles of reaſon.

The avidity with which he ſaw my ſoul imbibe the inſtruction of his words, made him happy. ‘Power, my ſon,’ he would ſay, the tear of paternal ten⯑derneſs and pride gliſſening in his eye, ‘was originally conferred as a reward of ſuperior merit and virtue; and ſtill the hand of heaven doth often moſt unex⯑pectedly raiſe from the cottage to the throne, the man who is found worthy to govern. It is a duty, therefore, to qualify ourſelves to fill properly what⯑ever ſtation is appointed for us.’

In the pleaſing illuſion of theſe fond reflections, he unfolded to me the ordi⯑nances of peace, he taught me the arts, and inured me to the toils of war. ‘That [12] general happineſs, he ſaid, which was the cauſe, and ſhould be the invariable aim of ſovereign power, can be enjoyed only in the ſhade of public tranquillity, the cultivation of which therefore, as it is the firſt duty, ſo is it the true glory of a prince. But then, as the follies and vices of mankind make it impoſſible always to maintain that moſt deſirable ſtate, it is alſo indiſpenſibly neceſſary for him to be able to repel injuſtice, and aſſert his rights by war; of which how⯑ever, as theſe are the only juſt motives, ſo when they are accompliſhed, he ſhould never let revenge, avarice, or a paſſion for falſe glory, inflamed by the deceitful ſmiles of ſucceſs, urge him to purſue it farther. He ſhould never for⯑get that his foes are his fellow-creatures; that his very victories are purchaſed with the inevitable miſeries of his own ſub⯑jects.’—But whither do I fondly run? Why ſhould I repeat the maxims of an humble minded recluſe to the Conqueror of the world?

MY mind had followed the words of my father, continued the captive, without difficulty or doubt, while he explained the duties of life upon the principles of reaſon, and truth; but when he deſcended from them to the practice of mankind, when he came to ſpeak of the cauſes, and conſequences of war, the ſcene was changed. I loſt the awe of divine juſtice, which had led me hitherto; and wandered in the perplex⯑ing labyrinth of human life. I ſaw no⯑thing but contradictions in the ways of man. All profeſſed to ſeek happineſs, but wilfully turned away from the paths, which led directly to it. All profeſſed virtue, but practiſed vice.

[14]Falſe ſhame, (ſhould I not rather call it pride!) would not permit me to diſ⯑cloſe the difficulties in which I was en⯑tangled, to my father. I thought I could ſtruggle through them, by the ſtrength of my own mind, without be⯑traying my weakneſs, by having re⯑courſe to his aſſiſtance. A preſumption, juſtly puniſhed by all the miſeries I have ſuffered ſince.

Deſtitute thus of the guide, who had always led my ſteps in ſafety, I attempted in vain to grope my way, through the darkneſs, with which I was enveloped on every ſide. I attempted to trace conſequences to their cauſes; but the attempt ſtill left me in greater uncer⯑tainty. I ſaw vice triumphant! I ſaw virtue depreſſed! I was utterly at a loſs to know, whence this could proceed. If from good, why was the contrary preſcribed? If from evil, why was it permitted? My mind was perplexed with many doubts. I attempted to [15] meaſure the ways of heaven with the line of human reaſon, but it was too ſhort; and the more I thought of the ſubject, I was only perplexed the more; in ſo much, that I was at ſometimes al⯑moſt tempted to doubt, whether virtue and vice differ'd more than in name! Whether heaven really interfered in the government of the world, or left it merely to chance.

As I ſat one evening, on the bank of the rivulet, which runs through the vale of Amoim, wrapt in theſe ſpeculations, my ſenſes were ſuddenly overwhelmed with ſleep, and I ſaw, as in a viſion, a Being, ſuch as the celeſtial ſpirits, who watch over the actions of mankind, are repreſented to be, ſtanding beſide me.

Regarding me for ſome time, with a look of reprehenſion ſoftened by pity, ‘Son of Abudah,’ methought he ſaid, in a voice which thrilled my ſoul, ‘thy un⯑happineſs is beheld with compaſſion. I [16] come to put a ſtop to reſearches, which if purſued too far, would over-turn reaſon. Thy knowledge is only ſpecu⯑lative. Thou ſeeſt man, but as in a mirrour; and doſt thou attempt to in⯑veſtigate all the myſteries of his nature! Vain preſumption! Firſt look into real life; nor pretend to judge of the ſub⯑ſtance from the ſhadow.’—Saying this he vaniſhed from my ſight; and at that inſtant I awoke.

It was ſome moments before I re⯑covered from the extatick awe, with which this viſion ſtruck me. Starting up at length, and continuing the illuſion of imagination, I looked eagerly around for my kind inſtructor; and could hard⯑ly believe that I had ſeen him only in a dream.

Nor did the diſcovery put an end to that illuſion. I conſidered the words of my father, ‘that heaven often opens its will in the viſions of ſleep, when the [17] ſoul, freed from the clogs of ſenſe, is more capable of entering into inter⯑courſe with the ſpiritual beings, which continually ſurround us, though im⯑perceptible to corporeal ſight.’ — And I looked upon the reverential awe, with which I had been over-powered, as an inconteſtible proof, that the being, I had ſeen, was my better angel, ſent to me with a command from heaven, to which it was my duty to pay implicite, and inſtant obedience.

But this obedience was attended with difficulties of the weightieſt nature. Againſt the will of my father, I was ſenſible that it would be impious to be⯑gin, in vain to expect ſucceſs in any undertaking: And the anxiety he al⯑ways ſhewed, if the ardour of the chace, or any other accident detained me out of his ſight, only a few minutes longer than he expected, left me no room for hope, that he would conſent to my plunging thus alone, into [18] the difficulties and dangers of the world.

In a cooler moment, this reflection would have been ſufficient to deter me from any attempt: but my ſoul was now on fire; and inclination, co-ope⯑rating with the power of imagination, proved too ſtrong for reaſon. I thought I only preferred the ſuperior duty, ex⯑preſsly commanded by heaven, when I reſolved to leave my father's houſe, that very night; and launch into the bound⯑leſs ocean of life, without giving him any notice of my deſign; an expedient, by which I flattered myſelf, that by avoid⯑ing an expreſs inhibition, I evaded the crime of direct diſobedience, never re⯑membering the maxims invariably incul⯑cated by him, ‘that candour is of the eſſence of every virtue;’ and that ‘no good, in the end propoſed, can juſtify any evil in the means made uſe of to attain it.’

[19]Vain as this evaſion was, it ſilenced all my ſcruples; and I attended the call of my father to our evening's repaſt, with a ſerenity in my looks, which my heart was far from feeling.

But my ſoul ſoon ſhrunk back from ſuch deceit, and I dared not to meet his eye, or return with equal warmth the kiſs of love, with which he ſealed his benediction, when he diſmiſſed me, as he fondly hoped, to reſt. Inauſpicious omen! Alas, too ſtrictly fulfilled by the unhappy event. Oh! where was then my guardian angel? Why had not my ſoul ſome preſage, that this kiſs would be the laſt, with which I ſhould ever be bleſſed by him! That thought would have opened my eyes; and brought me back to reaſon, and to virtue.—

The ſacred awe which always accom⯑panies acts of devotion, ſtilled for ſome moments the tumult in my mind, and turned my thoughts in upon myſelf. I ſtarted at the firſt glimpſe of my ſitua⯑tion, which now began to open upon me. I dared not to look back; and before me, all was darkneſs and diſmay.

[22]I pauſed to conſider how I ſhould pro⯑ceed; but before I could determine upon any thing, the power of determin⯑ing for myſelf was taken from me. A troop of Bedouins ruſhed from the co⯑vert of ſome trees, near to which I had ſtopped, and ſeized me as I lay proſtrate on the earth.

All the horrors of my ſituation in⯑ſtantly aroſe to my view. The more than brutal ignorance and barbarity of thoſe lawleſs ravagers, of which I had heard too many melancholy inſtances, left me but little hope of favour at their hands. However, in the inſtinctive im⯑pulſe of ſelf-preſervation, I threw myſelf at the feet of their leader, and embracing his knees, conjured him to take compaſ⯑ſion on my youth, and ſuffer me to return to an aged father, whoſe grey hairs the loſs of his only ſon would other⯑wiſe bring with ſorrow to the grave.

[23]But I prayed to the winds. Inſtead of being moved by my intreaties, the ruffian ſpurned me from him with his foot; and nodding to his followers, they inſtantly bound my arms, and putting me on my horſe, led me away with them.

What I now felt, at the thought of being thus torn, probably forever, from the arms of my father, ſuggeſted to me the anguiſh of his ſoul, on miſſing me that morning. I ſaw, tho' too late, my crime in its proper colours; I owned the juſtice of heaven, in my own fate; and only grieved for the unhappineſs with which I had overwhelmed him.

But I was not ſuffered to indulge ſuch reflections. The rapidity, with which the ravagers hurried me along, kept my ſpirits in involuntary motion; and the novelty of their manners excited a cu⯑rioſity, which in ſome degree diverted my attention from my own diſtreſs.

[24]On a diviſion of the captives of the expedition, I fell to the lot of the leader of the troop, by whom I was appointed to the loweſt offices in his ſqualid oeco⯑nomy. But I repined not. I remem⯑bered the words of the prophet, that ‘the days of man are numbered; and the events of his life written on the table, which ſtandeth before the throne of God, from the beginning of the world.’—I therefore humbled myſelf before heaven; and ſubmitted without murmuring to its decrees.

Nor did this reſignation, to the divine will, paſs without reward. It was taken by my maſter for a willing acquieſcence under his authority; and in a ſhort time gained me his good opinion ſo far, that he ſet me over the other ſlaves of his houſehold.

THE firſt uſe which I made of my new authority, was to lighten the yoke of bondage upon my fellow-captives. They received ſufficient ſuſtenance; their labours were ſuited to their ſtrength and capacities; and their ſouls were not wounded by unmerited inſult or re⯑proach.

The conſequence ſoon juſtified this conduct. The work of our maſter was performed to his ſatisfaction; and he ſlept in ſafety among ſlaves, who had no cauſe to wiſh him evil.

But I was far from enjoying ſuch happineſs as they ſeemed to feel at this change of their condition. My ſoul, impreſſed with the deepeſt ſenſe of piety and virtue, was ſhocked at ſuch an ab⯑ſence of both, as degraded man below the level of the brutes which periſh; and I trembled with fear, that the force [26] of example might infect my heart, and ſink me down to their degenerated ſtate. Moral virtue and religion, my father had often and moſt earneſtly inculcated to me, are ſo eſſentially connected, that the one cannot exiſt without the other. Of the truth of this maxim I had abun⯑dant proof in my preſent ſituation.

As the revelations of the divine will, vouchſafed as guides to reaſon in mat⯑ters above the inveſtigation of its own powers, were either utterly unknown, or at leaſt ſo corrupted as to bear no reſemblance to the ſacred originals; ſo were the very rules of conduct, and mutual intercourſe invariably imprinted by the hand of Nature on the human heart, for the moſt part effaced among them. Their knowledge of a Deity was uncertain, and debaſed with notions contradictory to thoſe principles of his eſſence, which open themſelves to rea⯑ſon in its firſt efforts. For beneficence or gratitude they had not even a name; [27] and juſtice was no farther known or re⯑garded by them, than as it ſerved the convenience of preſerving their reſpec⯑tive property, and having that recourſe to force among themſelves by which all their diſagreements with others were decided.

Though the horrors inſeparable from ſlavery, were aggravated an hundred fold under ſuch maſters, I never loſt hope; nor ſlackened my aſſiduity in the execution of the truſt committed to me. ‘I will do my duty,’ ſaid I, whenever deſpair began to ſteal upon me, ‘and depend upon the juſtice of Heaven.’ A reſolution, which by keeping my thoughts employed, prevented them from brooding over my own unhap⯑pineſs, and thereby enabled me to ſupport its weight.

The effects of my management ſoon became too evident to remain unno⯑ticed; though my maſter, who held it [28] beneath him to look ſo low, was the laſt to perceive the change. Awakened at length from his inattention, he gazed around him in ſtupid amazement; and enquiring the cauſe of what he ſaw, opened his eyes and mouth into a broad ſtare, while I explained the reaſons, and inſtanced the advantages of my con⯑duct; then awkwardly relaxing his fea⯑tures into the firſt ſmile of complacency they had ever felt, expreſſed ſomething like approbation.

Nor did he ſtop here. He repre⯑ſented me in ſo favourable a light to the tribe, that looking upon me now as one of themſelves, they admitted me to accompany them in their excurſions for prey; an honour never before con⯑ferred upon a captive.

THOUGH ſuch a courſe of life was equally contrary to the principles inſtilled into me by my father, and to the diſpoſition of my own heart, the hope of one day regaining my liberty, and returning to him, which it ſeemed to open to me, outweighed every other conſideration, and ſtrengthened my hand on ſeveral occaſions in ſuch a manner as gained the approbation of my new companions.

I had not been long in this ſtate, when in one of our expeditions, we happened to fall in with a caravan, ſo numerous and well provided for de⯑fence, that it appeared madneſs in us to attack them.

But the proſpect of rich plunder, over-balanced every thought of danger; [30] and we fell upon them with the fury of wild beaſts enraged by hunger, rather than like human creatures.

The event was ſuch as the raſhneſs of the attempt deſerved; and we were repulſed, with the loſs of more than half our number.

As I was not blinded by the ſame paſſions with the reſt of our troop, I had preſence of mind to effect our re⯑treat, after they had all given up every hope of it; the importance of which ſervice raiſed me ſo high in their opi⯑nion, that their leader being among the ſlain, they conferred his poſt upon me.

This ſeeming honour, only added anxiety to additional fatigue; for as they pay implicit obedience to the orders of their leader, during their excurſions, the care of conducting which is thrown entirely upon him; [31] ſo every failure of ſucceſs is imputed to him as a crime, and expoſes him to worſe than brutal outrage.

But the faſcination of command, made me blind to every objection; and I entered upon my new office with all the eagerneſs of inexperience, encouraging myſelf with this reflection, that at any rate it was better to rule than to ſerve ſuch ſavages: and that I ſhould have it in my power to direct their motions to the way moſt favour⯑able to my eſcaping from them.

As I ſaw that diſappointment of the plunder ſat heavier upon the ſurvivors than the loſs of their fellows, I conſi⯑dered whether it might not ſtill be poſſible to compaſs by ſtratagem, what we had failed of by force; and revolv⯑ing in my mind various ſchemes, I at length hit upon one, which proved ſucceſsful.

[32]For ſome days after our defeat, we hovered about the caravan, unable to bear the thought of quitting it, and giving up our hopes, though we could ſee no proſpect of obtaining them.

Having advanced thus a conſiderable way into the deſart, a ſtrong wind aroſe one morning, juſt after the caravan had begun to march. This incident in⯑ſtantly ſuggeſted to me, what I had hitherto wearied my thoughts in fruit⯑leſs ſearch of.

Drawing our people out in a ſingle line, at ſome interval from each other, I led them above the caravan, in the wind; and galloping rapidly along, we raiſed a cloud of ſand, which the wind poured down upon them in a torrent horrible to imagination.

As ſoon as I had reached the end of the caravan, in this manner, I turned off with the foremoſt of my followers, [33] and taking a ſufficient compaſs, to avoid incommoding our own men, I was time enough back in the rear, to continue the line, as the laſt begun to move.

Having repeated this, as long as I thought it poſſible for human nature to ſupport it, we attacked them in the midſt of their diſtreſs, when ſinking under what they had ſuffered, and con⯑cluding, from the manner in which I had kept up the line, that our numbers muſt be many times greater than they were, they loſt all ſpirit, and made but feeble reſiſtance.

It was impoſſible for me, in the firſt tranſports of victory, to prevent a car⯑nage, to which the inequality of num⯑bers unhappily gave the appearance of neceſſity; but as ſoon as their fury be⯑gan to cool, I exerted myſelf to put a ſtop to that, and all the other outrages, too generally offered to captives.

[34]The booty gained on this occaſion was ſo great, as for ſome time to ſatisfy deſires which had never known bounds before; a circumſtance moſt favourable to my farther deſigns.

When the captives were ſecured, the next thing was to take meaſures for our ſafe return home, which it was far from being eaſy to effect, as we were liable to be attacked by the other troops of Bedouins, who range theſe boundleſs deſarts, and make no diſtinction of perſons, where there is a proſpect of prey.

As this care fell entirely upon me, I reſolved to execute it in ſuch a man⯑ner, as to procure the liberty of as many as I could of the captives, whoſe lives I had ſaved. Accordingly, when all things were in readineſs for our march, I ſelected thoſe whoſe youth made them beſt able to bear the yoke of ſlavery; and then diſmiſſed the reſt [35] in peace, with proviſions ſufficient for their journey: an act of humanity un⯑known to the Bedouins, whoſe cuſtom it was to ſlay all ſuch captives as they thought uſeleſs to them.

The diſpoſitions I made for our march, and the vigilance with which it was conducted, ſecured our retreat through the midſt of many dangers, ſeveral troops of much ſuperior force having met us on our way; but deceived by our appearance, they did not dare to attack us.

THOUGH the authority of the leaders of thoſe tribes has relation only to the conduct of their excurſions, and ceaſes at their return home, I flattered myſelf with a fond hope, that the great ſervice I had done them would procure me an influence which might enable me to do them ſervices ſtill greater, by [36] enlightening the brutal ignorance of their minds, and humanizing their manners.

I was not inſenſible of the difficulties and dangers of attacking prejudices, grown ſacred by long uſe; and that ignorance, always captious, ſeldom fails to revenge the imaginary affront of in⯑ſtruction; but the thought of ſucceſs was ſo pleaſing, that I was not to be diſcouraged from the attempt by any apprehenſion.

The firſt thing, neceſſary for accom⯑pliſhing my deſign, was to ſelect ſome perſon, on whom my inſtructions might be beſtowed to beſt advantage, that he might aſſiſt me by communicating the information he ſhould receive, and re⯑commending it from his own experience. Nor was I long at a loſs, whom to chuſe. Khaled, the ſon of my late maſter, was the one in the whole tribe, with whom I had the greateſt intimacy, [37] whether from the circumſtance of our having lived together, while I belonged to his father; or that my having once ſaved his life at the imminent hazard of my own, had attached him to me. With him therefore I reſolved to begin, not more encouraged by our intimacy, than becauſe I thought I perceived in him ſomething more like that rational cu⯑rioſity, which is the firſt incitement to knowledge, than in any other of the tribe.

The only ſcience of which the Bedou⯑ins had even the fainteſt conception, was that which regards the motions of the heavenly bodies. But though the clearneſs of their hemiſphere, and the circumſtance of their being obliged by the heat of the ſun, to perform the greateſt part of their occupations in the night, gave them the moſt favourable opportunities for purſuing this ſtudy to advantage, they had made no farther progreſs in it, than barely what was [38] neceſſary to direct their ſteps through the pathleſs deſart, where they could have no land-marks to guide them in their way. On this ſcience therefore, as that moſt likely to intereſt their at⯑tention, I propoſed to found my at⯑tempt.

For this purpoſe, I took occaſion to enter into converſation with Khaled, as if accidentally, on the various appear⯑ances of the heavens; and beginning with the firſt rudiments of the ſcience, led him, as it were, ſtep by ſtep, up to the Creator of them, proving the ne⯑ceſſity of his exiſtence from the exiſtence of his works; and his wiſdom, his power, and his goodneſs, from the wonderful conſtruction, and ſupport of them.

Having thus eſtabliſhed in his mind, the firſt principle of religion, in the belief of a Deity, I proceeded to de⯑duce from thence the duties of piety, [39] and moral virtue. But my endeavours, in this latter inſtance, were far from being attended with equal ſucceſs.

While my inſtructions had been con⯑fined to matters of meer ſpeculation, he liſtened to me with willing attention; and not only aſſented to truths, which interfered not with the tenour of his life, but alſo exerted his utmoſt aſſiduity to communicate and inculcate them to others.

But when he ſaw, that an utter change in his whole conduct was to be the con⯑ſequence, that paſſion was to be ſub⯑jected to reaſon, and juſtice made the rule of action, no evidence, however clear and concluſive, was of force ſuffi⯑cient to combat habits, pleaſing in practice; and as it were ſanctified by long and general reception. On the contrary, from that moment, he with⯑drew his confidence from me; and I [40] ſoon found that he counteracted, inſtead of aſſiſting my endeavours.

Though I was well aware of the dif⯑ficulties, which this defection of Khaled threw in the way of my deſigns, I was too ſanguine in the purſuit to be deterred by it; and reſolved to try, whether I could not effect by example, what I had failed of by the force of reaſon; taking care to commence with ſuch things, as from their obvious advantage in a political, as well as rectitude in a moral light, I concluded muſt neceſ⯑ſarily command inſtant aſſent.

THE loſs, ſuſtained in the late ex⯑pedition, had reduced the numbers of the tribe ſo low, that they were obliged to remain at home, for fear of being over-powered by ſome of the other tribes, whom they might meet in their excurſions.

As they were ſenſible of this diſad⯑vantage, the ſevereſt to them, of which [...] had any ſenſe, I judged that an [...] to remedy it, muſt be embraced with the greateſt readineſs and joy.

Though the violation of the marriage bed, was guarded againſt among them, by every preventive care, every terror of puniſhment, the female ſex, before that bond, was abandoned to the moſt ſhameleſs proſtitution.

[42]Criminal as this cuſtom was, the me⯑thod taken to remedy what were looked upon to be the only bad effects of it, was ſtill a greater crime. The wretched fruits of this licentious commerce were expoſed to periſh in the deſart, without regard to the duty of paternal tender⯑neſs, or the welfare of the community thus robbed of its ſupport.

Againſt a practice, ſo contradictory to nature, as well as to reaſon, I urged every argument which either could ſug⯑geſt; and to give weight to my words, began the reformation of it among my own ſlaves, branding with a mark of infamy every female perſiſting in pro⯑miſcuous proſtitution; and obliging every male to rear, and maintain by ex⯑traordinary labour, every infant aſſigned to him.

Though, as I have before obſerved, the public advantage was as obvious, as [43] the private virtue of this regulation, a general outcry was inſtantly raiſed againſt it. The unmarried of both ſexes exclaimed that they were robbed of the liberties and rights of nature; and the whole tribe declared againſt the intoler⯑able tyranny and crime of ſuch an inno⯑vation, which, as they alledged, would compel people to rear children againſt their wills; and contrary to their con⯑venience.

It is impoſſible to expreſs what I felt at this utter diſappointment of hopes, upon which I had ſo ſtrongly ſet my heart. I now, too late, remembered what I had often heard from my father, that ‘though it is the duty of every perſon, and eſpecially of thoſe, whoſe ſtation may give influence to their ex⯑ample, to live according to the dictates of reaſon and virtue, yet a general re⯑formation of manners is not to be too ſanguinely expected from the moſt emi⯑nent example, or beſt concerted ſcheme, [44] if the circumſtances of the times are not aſſiſting; but when theſe co-operate, the moſt inconſiderable, and improbable means are found ſufficient to accompliſh the greateſt ends.’—But my thoughts were ſoon diverted from theſe reflections, to matters of nearer concern to me.

The charge of making innovations in their eſtabliſhed cuſtoms, was looked upon to be ſo atrocious a crime, that they reſolved inſtantly to put a ſtop to it, by the moſt exemplary puniſhment, in order to deter any future preſumption of the kind; for which purpoſe, they ſuddenly ſurrounded my tent, and having ſeized me before I could attempt either defence or eſcape, were proceeding to drag me out of the camp, in order to ſtone me to death, when I owed my ſafety to a principle, from which I had never ex⯑pected to receive ſo great a benefit.

Khaled, who had totally eſtranged himſelf from me, for ſome time, and [45] was now become one of my loudeſt ac⯑cuſers, no ſooner perceived their inten⯑tion, than he ruſhed out of the croud, and claimed me for his ſlave, as having been the property of his father.

I availed myſelf of the momentary check, which this claim gave to their fury, to ſpeak in my own defence. I demanded to know my crime, and my accuſers. I pleaded my ſervices. I cal⯑led upon their gratitude. I argued, up⯑braided, and beſought; but all equally in vain. My voice was drowned in the cry of innovation, which was roared from every mouth; and without deigning to make any other reply, they directly gave me up to Khaled, to return to a ſtate of ſlavery, from which I was deemed unworthy to be freed, ſeizing upon my ſlaves, and every thing which belonged to me, as public property; or rather I ſhould ſay, as proper objects of public rapine.

[46]As ſoon as the croud was diſperſed, I turned to Khaled, and thinking he had deviſed this claim only to ſave my life, was advancing to embrace him, in teſti⯑mony of my gratitude; but I was ſoon undeceived. Without ſhewing the leaſt concern for my misfortune, or even taking notice of ever having known me before, he ordered me to be thrown into a kind of dungeon, where they were wont to keep ſuch ſlaves, as were found unſerviceable to them, till a certain ſea⯑ſon of the year, when they diſpoſed of them, and ſuch other parts of their ſpoil, as they had no occaſion for them⯑ſelves, to merchants, whom they went to meet for that purpoſe, in exchange for matters of more immediate uſe.

Theſe occurrences were far from clear⯑ing up the doubts, which had been the cauſe of my leaving the boſom of my father. On entering the dungeon, my ſoul ſhrunk in upon itſelf in horrour. ‘If this be real life,’ ſaid I, ‘better did [47] it appear in the mirrour of ſpeculation. More favourably was the ſhadow to be judged of, than the ſubſtance!’—

It was ſome happineſs to me however, not to be left long to theſe reflections. That very evening, a party of the Bedouins ſet out to meet the merchants, and took me with them, among the other uſeleſs lumber, which they wanted to diſpoſe of; when Khaled ſhewed his proficiency in knowledge, and virtue, by the value he ſet upon his inſtructor, giving me in exchange for a wallet, made of the ſkin of an aſs.

THE merchant, whoſe property I thus became, thinking he ſaw ſomething in my appearance, not unworthy of his favour, as ſoon as the Arabs had con⯑cluded their markets, and departed, aſked me in a humane manner, ‘for what fault I had been ſold at ſo low a price?’

As my tongue knew no language but that of truth, I not only informed him of what he enquired, but alſo of the firſt motive and manner of my leaving my father, and the end propoſed by my travels: to all which he liſtened with attention; and then told me, when I had concluded, that ‘theſe were mat⯑ters, about which he had never con⯑cerned himſelf; that all his care was to buy and ſell as well as he could; and that he was content to take the world as he found it, without enquiring [49] farther into the actions of men, than as they might affect his own intereſt.’

Contracted as theſe ſentiments then appeared to me, I was ſoon ſenſible of the advantage in my change of ſituation. My new maſter had much experience of the world, and its ways; and where a view to intereſt did not interfere, formed juſt concluſions from what he ſaw.

The converſation of ſuch a man, which I enjoyed in the moſt unreſerved intimacy, ſweetened the bitter cup of ſlavery, affording me pleaſure, and in⯑ſtruction, at the ſame time. Without attempting to trace motives, or conſe⯑quences, he related plain facts; and in them ſupplied a kind of artificial expe⯑rience, unincumbered with thoſe diſ⯑quiſitions, which for the greater part only obſcure what they pretend to illu⯑ſtrate, and are more apt to miſlead, than guide reaſon to the right way.

[50]One evening, as I was ſitting by my⯑ſelf in his tent, indulging the fond hope, which my maſter's favour ſeemed to open to me, of returning to my father, he entered, and ſeating himſelf near me, ‘Selim,’ ſaid he, ‘I have obſerved your demeanor ever ſince you have been with me, and ſee that your wiſdom much exceeds your age. I have therefore reſolved to conſult you on an affair, which gives me much anxiety; and if your ſentiments concur with mine, ſhall be glad of your aſſiſtance to carry them into execution.’

There was ſomething ſo uncommon in the nature of this propoſal, that it [53] raiſed a curioſity I had never felt before. Totally engaged in the purſuit of know⯑ledge, under the eye of my father, I had never had any particular intercourſe with the female ſex; nor formed any notion of that power, which nature has given them over the heart of man.

I had a deſire therefore to ſee a wo⯑man, on whom were founded expecta⯑tions, which appeared to me ſo extraor⯑dinary; and readily undertook a com⯑miſſion, with the dangers of which I was unacquainted; if I ſhould not rather ſay, that the mention of thoſe dangers was my firſt motive for under⯑taking it, as it ſeemed to promiſe an opportunity of raiſing myſelf ſtill higher in the opinion of my maſter, by my ſurmounting them.

THE firſt time I ſaw her, ſhe was ſitting in her tent, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and motionleſs, as if the action of every ſenſe was ſuſpended.

Struck with the ſight, I gazed on her, and while my eyes eagerly devoured her beauties, thought I was only ſtudy⯑ing how to addreſs her in the manner moſt likely to anſwer the hopes of my maſter.

I had ſtood thus for ſome moments, melting in ſenſations utterly new to me, when the fair ſlave, not having perceived my entrance, exclaimed with a ſigh, which ſeemed to burſt her heart, ‘Un⯑happy Sappho! To what new miſery am I reſerved?’—

The ſound of her voice awoke me from the extaſy, in which I had ſtood [55] entranced. Throwing myſelf eagerly at her feet, ‘Lovely Sappho!’ ſaid I, ſeizing her hand, and preſſing it to my heart, ‘unfold the cauſe, the nature of your unhappineſs, and depend upon every effort, in the power of man to make, for your relief.’

Her ſurprize at ſo unexpected an ad⯑dreſs deprived her of utterance for ſome moments. Recovering at length, ‘Inſi⯑dious man,’ ſaid ſhe, tearing away her hand with indignation, ‘to intrude upon my ſolitude, in order to ſteal the ſecrets of my ſoul! But your baſe arts ſhall not avail! In my name, you know more, than I ever intended to diſcover! But more than that ſhall you never know.’—Saying which ſhe wrapped herſelf in her veil; and reſumed her ſilence, which my moſt paſſionate en⯑treaties could not prevail upon her to break.

[56]This repulſe threw a damp upon my ſpirits, which I knew not how to ac⯑count for. I was ſurprized at what I felt. I queſtioned my heart, whence it could proceed; and at length reſolved it into my anxiety to ſerve my maſter, heightened perhaps, as I thought, by compaſſion for ſo fair a creature.

This thought encouraged me to pro⯑ceed, with double aſſiduity; in the execution of the taſk aſſigned me. I walked beſide her camel, as ſhe tra⯑velled, beguiling the way, with tales of entertainment; and verſes, which I hourly compoſed in praiſe of her beauty. I lulled her to ſleep with ſongs of love, and conſolation.

Such a conduct could not fail to affect an heart naturally ſuſceptible of the ten⯑dereſt impreſſions. She relaxed her reſerve. She received my ſervices with complacency; and admitted me to a familiarity, which was ſoon improved [57] into that tender kind of friendſhip, which can ſubſiſt only between the dif⯑ferent ſexes.

As I was walking one evening, by the ſide of her camel, converſing with her on indifferent ſubjects, ſhe dropped ſome expreſſions of ſurprize, at my never having ſhewn any curioſity to know who ſhe was, or by what means ſhe had been brought into her preſent unhappy ſtate.

This was an opening, which I had anxiouſly watched for. I replied, ‘that far from being incurious about any thing which concerned her, my heart panted with the eagereſt deſire to know every incident of her life, in hope of making ſome diſcovery, which might ſuggeſt the means of removing her unhap⯑pineſs; but that I had been kept ſilent by reſpect, and fear of awakening that grief, which I had the pleaſure to ſee in ſome meaſure beginning to ſubſide.’

[58]Thanking me for my delicacy, ſhe ſaid with a reprehenſive ſmile, that her griefs were too deeply imprinted on her heart, ever to be forgotten; but though ſhe could not flatter herſelf with the fainteſt hope, of its being poſſible for me to afford her relief, ſhe owed too much to my humanity to refuſe gratify⯑ing me, with the information I deſired.

Saying this, ſhe pauſed for a few minutes, to recover her ſpirits; then wiping away a tear, which accompanied the recollection of her misfortunes, ſhe began in theſe words.

MY name you already know. I was born in the iſland of Mytilene, of a family which never knew diſgrace, be⯑fore I was unhappily added to it.

The fondneſs of my father viewing, in too favourable a light, the poor en⯑dowments beſtowed upon me by na⯑ture, he ſpared no pains to improve them, by every accompliſhment of education, flattering himſelf with the hope, that they might raiſe me to a more exalted rank in life, by alluring the affection of ſome of our young nobility, whoſe own riches could enable them to conſult inclination only in the matrimonial choice, as he had not him⯑ſelf a fortune to give with me, equal to his wiſhes.

We often owe the diſappointment of our deſigns to the very means, upon [60] which we build our moſt ſanguine hopes of their ſucceſs.

The power of pleaſing, in which nature was thought to have been moſt liberal to me, was my voice. Fond of muſic himſelf, my father omitted no⯑thing, which could conduce to perfect me in an accompliſhment ſo univerſally admired. I was inſtructed in the uſe of every inſtrument. I had maſters of every country to modulate my voice, and form my judgment, and fame ſaid that their endeavours were not un⯑ſucceſsful.

Among theſe maſters, the moſt cele⯑brated was one, who had been educated in the ſeraglio of the Khalif of Bag⯑dat. The care taken in that jealous court, to prevent the miniſters of plea⯑ſure from abuſing the acceſs, which their occupations neceſſarily give them to the female ſex, prevented alſo my father's having any apprehenſion of dan⯑ger, [61] from the familiarity of his acceſs to me. I practiſed with him every hour, alone, in every dreſs and every attitude he thought proper; to try, as he pretended, which ſuited beſt the powers of my voice.

Of all the pleaſures of ſenſe, that which captivates the ſoul moſt ſtrongly is muſic. By its command over the paſſions, it commands the heart, while it ſilences reaſon by its union with ſenti⯑ment.

Nor is this command exerted only over the hearer. The feelings of the performer advance with his execution, till he becomes inſenſibly the ſlave of his own art, as I ſoon unhappily ex⯑perienced.

The praiſes, which I received for my proficiency, warmed my heart with gratitude to my teacher, to whoſe inde⯑fatigable aſſiduity I was ſenſible of my [62] being indebted for them; and doubled my attention to his inſtructions.

In vocal expreſſion, the attitude of the body naturally accompanies the ſen⯑timent. My teacher practiſed this to an extreme, which I at firſt thought ridiculous, and diſguſting. But that diſguſt ſoon wore off. I ſaw him, if I may uſe the expreſſion, only with my ears; and found ſuch pleaſure in his voice, that every thing he did pleaſed me.

Such a prepoſſeſſion in his favour could not long eſcape his obſervation. He perceived it too plainly; and took an advantage of it, equally baſe and ab⯑ſurd, to attempt improving my admi⯑ration of his voice into a paſſion for himſelf.

With this intent, whenever we prac⯑tiſed alone together, he choſe none but the moſt tender themes of love for his [63] leſſons; and not content with my accompanying his voice, as before, taught me alſo to imitate his looks and geſtures, in which he proceeded to every endearment of the paſſion he expreſſed, till Nature, catching fire, realized the imitation on my heart, and I felt the flames he only acted.

My ſoul had, till now, been ſo to⯑tally engroſſed by my paſſion for muſic, that I had never before felt the impulſe of any other. Pleaſed therefore with ſenſations I did not un⯑derſtand, I took no pains to conceal them.

It is impoſſible to deſcribe the rage of my father, at a diſcovery ſo deſtruc⯑tive to his hopes, ſo fatal to his fond⯑neſs for me. He directly turned off my teacher in the moſt opprobrious manner; and loading me with every reproach of ingratitude, degeneracy, [64] and folly, interdicted my ever ſeeing him, with the ſevereſt menaces.

Nothing ſhews the natural right of the human ſoul to liberty ſo ſtrongly, as the reluctancy with which it bears every ſemblance of reſtraint.

Though my heart had been warmed by the careſſes of my teacher, I was ſo far from having a confirmed paſſion for him, that I knew not even what that warmth meant; and would have rejected any direct offer of love from him with indignation. But my pride was now piqued on the oppoſite ſide, by this treatment from my father; and I thought it no more than a juſt aſſertion of my liberty, to do that which he had unjuſtly attempted to prevent my doing.

My teacher, who had found means to have intelligence of every thing which paſſed upon the occaſion, ſoon [65] availed himſelf of this ſpirit of liberty, (ſhould I not rather call it contradic⯑tion?) which my father had raiſed in me. He requeſted a private interview, which in the preſent ſtate of my mind I made no difficulty of granting; when preſſing his ſuit with all the ardor of deſire, and treating the charge of its abſurdity with contempt, as a calumny deviſed only to deceive my inexpe⯑rience, he worked up my paſſions, par⯑ticularly my reſentment, to ſuch an height, that he obtained from me a promiſe of marriage under the ſanction of the moſt ſolemn vows.

A moment's reflection ſhewed me all the miſery into which I had plunged myſelf; but I was not long permitted merely to reflect upon it.

My promiſed huſband could not con⯑ceal his triumph over the contempt and contumely with which he had been treated by my father. The conſequence of this indiſcretion was equally ſevere upon us both. He was thrown into the common priſon, where he ſuffered all the indignities and wretchedneſs of poverty and guilt among the vileſt male⯑factors, for having ſeduced a pupil, whom he had been entruſted to teach for hire; while my father, in virtue of his paternal authority, confined me to my chamber, in which I was guarded with the moſt rigid vigilance, and de⯑nied every thing like pleaſure, or even comfort; in order to puniſh me for my [67] paſt diſobedience, and bend me to his purpoſe of breaking the engagement into which I had entered.

But this ſeverity diſappointed itſelf, and only hardened my reſolution into obſtinacy. Though I ſaw all the wretch⯑edneſs I had to expect, with ſuch a huſband, in a life of vagrant poverty, dependance and diſgrace, I dreaded ſtill more the ſcoffs of my acquaintance, and the bad treatment of my family, of which I had already taſted ſo bit⯑terly, ſhould I remain among them.

I therefore determined to feign a paſſion which I did not feel, as the only excuſe for my folly; and take my fate, however hard, among ſtran⯑gers, away from the ſlights and re⯑proaches of my friends.

I ſay, a paſſion which I did not feel. For upon examining my heart, I found in it none of that enthuſiaſm, [68] that madneſs of love, which is de⯑ſcribed as delighting in dangers, and ſweetening diſtreſs. I found it had been the muſic I had loved, not the man; and that the connection between them had even leſſened that love. I had dreamed of happineſs, but I awoke to miſery.

My obſtinacy at length ſo effectually weaned me from my father's love, that he caſt me off from his care, and aban⯑doned me to my fate; when the firſt uſe I made of my liberty was to fly to my teacher, and perform my pro⯑miſe of marriage, amid all the horrors of his priſon.

Formed by nature for love, the hu⯑man heart ſympathizes inſtinctively in the misfortunes too often occaſioned by it. This act of mine had ſuch an ap⯑pearance of the infatuation of that paſ⯑ſion, that it moved the pity of all who were not immediately intereſted in the [69] honour of my family; and my huſband found protectors, who ſoon reſtored him to liberty.

Our ſituation, however, ſeemed to be but little amended. We were at liberty to go whither we liſted; but we wanted the means; and to remaining where we were, could we even have ſubſiſted there, I would have preferred periſhing of famine in any other place.

At length the cold hand of charity, ſcantily enabled us to travel to the me⯑tropolis; where curioſity to hear a voice, which had had power to invert the laws of nature, for ſome little time drew ſuch crowds to my huſband's per⯑formances, that we were relieved from the immediate preſſure of poverty.

But moſt dearly did I purchaſe this relief. The curioſity of the public was not confined to my huſband. They muſt alſo ſee the ſubject of his triumph; [70] the fool, who had ſacrificed ſenſe to ſound. Every one, who patronized, aſſumed a right to viſit him. I was ſhewn from morning till night, to a ſucceſſion of ſtrangers, who broke in at all hours, without reſpect or cere⯑mony; and gazed at me with as much indelicacy and inſolence, as if I had been a monſter exhibited to ſight for hire.

Nor did I ſuffer from their gazing only. They inſulted me inceſſantly, with ſuch ribbald queſtions, and ſuch baſe propoſals, as were an outrage upon the female character: and when I ven⯑tured to expreſs diſapprobation of their behaviour, though in the moſt humble terms, they treated my tears with ridi⯑cule; and threatened to puniſh me for ſuch preſumptuous affectation, as they gibingly called it, by withdrawing their favour from my huſband.

[71]Much as I was humbled in my own eyes, my ſpirit was not yet ſufficiently ſubdued to ſubmit to ſuch uſage. I complained to my huſband, in bitterneſs of ſoul; and declared my reſolution to ſhut myſelf up from the ſight of the world, rather than ſuffer a repetition of it.

But I was far from receiving the ap⯑probation of my conduct, much leſs the protection I expected from him. He anſwered me coldly, that my ſenſi⯑bilities were too lively, and took unne⯑ceſſary offence; that what I complained of was merely a thing of courſe; that we muſt humour the caprices of thoſe, by whoſe favour we lived; and that other women, inſtead of being offended by the propoſals made to me, would have turned them to good advantage, as they were indeed one of the beſt reſources in our way of life.

[72]It is impoſſible to expreſs what I felt on his ſaying this. I thought I had before ſeen all the horrors of my ſitua⯑tion; but theſe words opened new, of which I had not had the remoteſt conception; and betrayed the infa⯑mous origin of all his baſe deſigns upon me.

As ſoon as the fullneſs of my heart permitted me to ſpeak, I anſwered him with a look of the moſt poignant diſ⯑dain, ‘that what he meant by his way of life, I knew not, nor deſired to know; but that mine, though a life of folly and misfortune, had ever been, and ever ſhould be, a life of virtue and honour, nor would I add to the diſ⯑grace I had already brought upon my family, by departing from thoſe prin⯑ciples, to ſave myſelf from periſhing of famine, as I juſtly deſerved.’— Saying which, I retired to my cham⯑ber; nor could all his expoſtulations, [73] menaces, or entreaties, ever prevail upon me to alter my reſolution.

The curioſity which our ſtrange ad⯑venture had raiſed, was no ſooner gra⯑tified, than my huſband's voice loſt its attraction; and we ſunk back into our former diſtreſs; for ſuch a ſlave was he to the appetites which he could indulge, that he always laviſhed his acquiſitions in the inſtant; nor ever let the wants of yeſterday, warn him to make proviſion for the morrow.

I was now obliged to fly my native country, and enter upon a life of va⯑grancy, literally for a morſel of bread; without the illuſion of hope, or gratifi⯑cation of paſſion to ſilence the reproaches of reaſon, and divert my thoughts from dwelling upon the wretchedneſs into which I had plunged myſelf.

The ſcene was the ſame wherever we went. Curioſity, for he took care to [74] make my folly known, at firſt procured us momentary relief, which was as quickly diſſipated; ſo that we were always in the extremes of poverty or profuſion.

My only ſhadow of ſatisfaction was, that my huſband deſiſted from his baſe ſollicitations; in expectation, as I ſoon ſaw, that the converſation of ſuch com⯑pany, of either ſex, as I was obliged to conſort with, would in time under⯑mine my principles, and reconcile me to enter willingly into all their ways.

But his neceſſities ſoon became too urgent, to permit his waiting for an effect, of which he thought himſelf ſo ſecure; and he compleated the villainy of his firſt ſeduction, by ſelling me for a ſlave to this merchant.

My reſentment, as the baſe wretch never dared to ſee me more, fell juſtly upon myſelf; and I reſolved to ſhorten [75] the days of my miſery gradually, by abſtinence, as the leaſt painful way. But your kind conſolations have ſhaken that reſolution. In the ſeraglio of the ſultan, for which you ſay I am de⯑ſtined, I ſhall have tranquillity at leaſt, and that is the neareſt approach to hap⯑pineſs which I have any right to hope for in this world.

WHEN the fair ſlave had finiſhed, I left her to recover her ſpirits, which appeared to be exhauſted by the length and nature of her ſtory; and upon conſidering the circumſtances of it, I thought I had found the object of my ſearch, in the ſource of her misfortunes. ‘All the evil in this world, all the errors in the conduct of man,’ ſaid I, ‘cer⯑tainly proceed from wrong education. How could ſhe eſcape the ſnare, into which ſhe was led by thoſe, whom Na⯑ture and Reaſon taught her to look [76] upon as her ſafeſt guides? With what colour of juſtice could her father blame her, for a conduct which was the neceſ⯑ſary conſequence of his own indiſcre⯑tion? From wrong education certainly proceed all the evils which deform human life.’

I was pleaſed with this diſcovery; and plumed myſelf not a little upon the ſaga⯑city which had made it. But my exul⯑tation laſted not long.

‘But if her father's indiſcretion,’ I continued on farther reflection, ‘was the cauſe of her firſt error, was his exertion of the ſacred right of paternal authority, a juſt cauſe for perſiſting in that error? For aggravating it by di⯑rect diſobedience to his juſt command? Did this indiſcretion of the father, in giving his daughter ſo wrong an educa⯑tion—Did the villainy of the huſband in baſely ſelling into ſlavery the victim of his baſe ſeduction, proceed from [77] errors in their education alſo?—There is more in this matter than I was aware of. I ſhould be acquainted with every particular, to be able to form a juſt judgment of the whole.’

‘And even, if I knew all theſe cir⯑cumſtances, is it ſafe to extend a judg⯑ment formed upon one event, or one ſeries of events, to the infinitely varied tenor of human life? I muſt ſuſpend my opinion, till I ſhall have ſeen far⯑ther into the interior principles on which it is conducted. A wrong education is certainly the ſource of many evils; but it is not equally certain, that it is the ſource of all.’

Though many circumſtances in the ſtory of the fair ſlave had neceſſarily lowered her in my opinion, they ſeemed to have a contrary effect upon my heart. To the compaſſion which I had before felt for her ſufferings, was now added a deſire to correct the errors from which [78] they ſprung; a taſk which I flattered myſelf would be as eaſy as pleaſing, from the candor with which ſhe had con⯑feſſed them.

Happy in this thought, I entered abruptly, at our next meeting, into thoſe particulars, in which I thought ſhe had been moſt to blame; and exa⯑mining them cloſely, proved by argu⯑ments more concluſive than complaiſant, that all her misfortunes had proceeded from herſelf.

Though her looks ſufficiently ſhewed that this ſubject was far from being pleaſing to her, ſhe heard me to the end, without interruption; when inſtead of making any reply to the purpoſe of what I had been ſaying, ſhe hummed a tune for a few minutes, and then aſked me, if I had heard whether the ſultan was fond of muſic.

[79]So contemptuous a repulſe embarraſſed me ſo much, that it was ſome time be⯑fore I could make her any anſwer. At length, bowing coldly, I told her, that the ſultan's taſte was one of theſe ſecrets of the ſeraglio, with which the voice of fame preſumed not to meddle: adding, with a ſignificant ſmile, that I had pleaſed myſelf with the hopes of turn⯑ing her attention to objects more worthy of it.

She ſaw my embarraſſment, and ſeemed unwilling to encreaſe it. ‘Your inten⯑tion,’ ſhe anſwered, ‘did not eſcape my notice; but I cannot accommodate myſelf to it. You have drawn ſo favour⯑able a picture of the life led in the ſeraglio, that I have fixed my heart upon entering into it. If the ſultan is fond of muſic, I have no fear but I ſhall gain his favour. Such a conqueſt only can compenſate for my paſt mis⯑fortunes; and I would attempt it to⯑morrow, if I were at liberty, and able [80] to follow my own inclinations. Any advice therefore, which you can give me to accompliſh this, I ſhall receive with gratitude. To any other purpoſe it will be in vain for you to ad⯑viſe me.’

So peremptory a declaration effectu⯑ally ſilenced me. I bowed my head reſpectfully, and left her, without ſay⯑ing another word, reſolved never to think of her more.

I was ſoon ſenſible, that the only way to fulfil this reſolution was to avoid her company. I therefore told the mer⯑chant what ſhe had ſaid to me, who thanked me in the warmeſt terms for the ſervice I had done him, in reconciling her to his views; and acquieſced in my opinion, that it was not neceſſary for me to continue my viſits to her.

Such a ſacrifice to reaſon was not un⯑attended with pain; nor am I certain [81] that I could have perſiſted in my reſo⯑lution, but that our arrival at Cairo produced ſuch an unexpected change in my ſituation, that if the remembrance of the fair ſlave would at times force itſelf upon me, it ſoon gave place to other objects.

But ſtop! The appearance of the morning calls my attention to other matters. I have not leiſure to liſten to thee longer now. At ſome other time, my curioſity may poſſibly require [82] the continuation of thy ſtory. In the mean while, remain at thy liberty among my attendants; and ſet thine heart at eaſe. Thou art not now among the Bedouins.

[84]

From the general tenour of the mer⯑chant's converſation, I had been led to think his principles ſtrictly juſt, and generous to the beſt of his conception; but I ſoon found that the difference be⯑tween ſpeculation and practice is equally great, in every ſtation of life. On the third day, after our arrival at Cairo, he fulfilled his profeſſions of friendſhip, and gratitude for the ſervice I had done him, by ſelling me as a ſlave to the grand viſier.

I muſt not, however, in juſtice to him, omit a particular circumſtance, which happened on this occaſion. When he was delivering me to the viſier, he told me, as an excuſe of his diſappoint⯑ing the hopes of liberty, which he had always given me, that it had not been his intention to ſell me, but the viſier, who had been pleaſed with ſomething in my appearance, offered him ſo high a price, that he could not poſſibly refrain from accepting it; ‘for you know, he [85] concluded, that it is a rule with us, who live by buying and ſelling, never to refuſe a good offer.’

This excuſe took effect, though not in the manner it was intended. It gave me ſuch a contempt for the man, who made it, that I left him with pleaſure, though to continue in ſlavery.

The accounts which I had received from my father of the perfection, to which every power of human art and genius had been carried in Egypt, had raiſed my curioſity ſo high to ſee the country, that I almoſt forgot the wretch⯑ed ſtate, in which I went thither. But how was my expectation diſappointed! The ruins of ancient magnificence only made preſent miſery the more remarkable. The rulers prided themſelves in brutal violence, in the deſtruction of works they could not imitate; and the con⯑tempt of ſciences above their compre⯑henſion. The people, a mixture of that [86] draff of all nations, who deſtitute of principle or ſentiment, ramble from their native homes, and ſubmit to all the in⯑ſults and oppreſſion of foreign tyranny for the ſordid ſake of ſcraping up wealth, which they dare not enjoy, had neither leiſure, genius, nor ſpirit to cultivate either art or ſcience.

My ſoul ſickened in the contempla⯑tion of ſuch degeneracy. I would have preferred returning to the Bedouins in the deſart, to remaining in a country, once the pride of nature, had I been maſter of myſelf. There was a poſſi⯑bility at leaſt that thoſe ſavages might be reclaimed in time; but here, every thing was evidently growing worſe; nor could imagination ſet bounds to their fall, when the height, from which they had already fallen, was conſidered.

But I was ſoon delivered from the pain of ſuch contemplations. In leſs than a moon, after I was ſold to the [87] viſier, he was depoſed, and ſtrangled; and all his property confiſcated to the uſe of the ſultan.

In the diſſipation, uſual on ſuch oc⯑caſions, it fell to my lot, to be given to an officer, who was ſent the very next morning to execute a like ſentence, on Almanzor, the brother of the late viſier, who commanded the Egyptian army on the confines of Biledulgerid, and took me in his train.

As it was neceſſary to the ſucceſs of his commiſſion, that he ſhould execute it, before the fate of the late viſier ſhould come to the knowledge of his brother, to put him on his guard, as his great abilities and virtues had endeared him ſo highly to his troops, that they would, to a man, have defended his life, with their own, we traverſed the inhoſpitable deſart of Barca, with the utmoſt expe⯑dition.

ON the fourth morning of our jour⯑ney, as we ſat upon the bank of a river, to refreſh nature after ſo ſevere a fatigue, we were ſurprized at the ſight of a troop, which came pouring down upon us, from every ſide.

The ſtate of univerſal war, in which we knew the rovers of thoſe deſarts live with all mankind, left us no room to doubt of their intentions; at the ſame time, that their numbers ſhewed it was in vain to attempt reſiſtance.

In ſuch a ſituation, there was not a moment to deliberate. I ſprung inſtantly upon my horſe, whom I had learned from the Bedouins never to quit; and calling to all thoſe, who preferred death to ſlavery, to follow me, I plunged into the river: But not above three or four [89] followed my example; the reſt, ſtupe⯑fied by the affright, and fond of life, even in its moſt abject ſtate, not daring to make ſo deſperate an effort to preſerve their liberty.

The rapidity of the ſtream hurried me away, with a violence which ſoon di⯑verted my attention from every thing, but the immediate danger of my life. Thrice was I ſwallowed in the whirl⯑pools, which foamed among the rocks, that broke the current of the river; but the ſtrength and ſpirit of my horſe, to whom I clung in the inſtinctive impulſe of ſelf-preſervation, after I had loſt ſenſe of every thing elſe, bore me through to the oppoſite ſhore.

When I had recovered myſelf a little, and returned thanks to heaven, for ſo ſignal a mercy; I looked wiſhfully around for my companions, but all in vain. However as I had been borne by the [90] torrent, out of the view of the enemy, I lingered awhile on the bank, to ſee if they might not happily have gained ſome other part; till at length loſing every ſhadow of ſuch hope, and growing ap⯑prehenſive, that the rovers might find ſome ſafer place to paſs the river, and purſue me, I turned about, and plunged into the pathleſs wilderneſs, ignorant whither to direct my ſteps.

I proceeded thus, guided only by de⯑ſpair, till the approach of night, when the roaring of the various beaſts iſſuing from their dens in ſearch of prey, warned me to provide for the ſafety of the preſent moment, however dreadful the farther proſpect, which lay before me. Accord⯑ingly faſtening my horſe to the root of a lofty tree, I climbed its ſummit, and imploring the divine protection, diſpoſed myſelf to reſt among the branches, in the beſt manner ſuch a ſituation would admit.

[91]Nature was ſo exhauſted by the ac⯑cumulated fatigue, which I had under⯑gone, both in mind and body, that I ſoon ſunk into a profound ſleep, in which I loſt, for ſome happy hours, the remembrance of my misfortunes.

At the approach of morning, when my ſenſes were refreſhed, and the facul⯑ties of my mind had recovered their vigour, I ſaw a viſion, and in the power of imagination beheld the ſame celeſtial being, which had appeared to me, in my dream, the morning before I left the houſe of my father.

‘Selim,’ methought he ſaid, regarding me with a look of reprehenſion, ‘from thine own preſumptuous folly have ariſen thy misfortunes. Let experience teach thee wiſdom. Thou art now launched forth into the great ocean of the world. Purſue thy courſe ſteadily through it, under the direction of rea⯑ſon; [92] nor while thou ſhalt merit its pro⯑tection by virtue, fear being deſerted by that power, which hath hitherto ſo eminently protected thee. Remember, that though the days of man are num⯑bered, and the hour of his death ap⯑pointed from the beginning, the man⯑ner of that death depends upon himſelf, whether in infamy or glory.’—

My viſion was broken off, as he ſpoke theſe words, by a moſt tremendous noiſe, at which I inſtantly awoke; when the firſt object I ſaw was an huge-lion, which had juſt ſeized upon my horſe, and was tearing him piece-meal.

The diſtreſs, with which I was affected at this ſight, is not to be expreſſed. The ſenſe of my dreadful ſituation, deprived thus of my beſt aſſiſtance to traverſe thoſe boundleſs wilds, was heightened by gratitude to the noble creature, which had ſo lately ſaved my life. I wept in the weakneſs of my ſoul; and was [93] tempted by deſpair to precipitate myſelf upon him, and either revenge, or ſhare his fate.

But a recollection of the words, which I had juſt heard in my viſion, prevented my being guilty of ſuch raſhneſs. I conſidered that the dangers, which made my preſent proſpect ſo terrifying, were yet leſs immediately terrible, than thoſe which I had ſo lately eſcaped; and gathering hope from thence, I implored a continuance of the divine protection, and reſigned myſelf with humility to the diſpenſations of heaven.

This reſtored my mind to ſome ſe⯑renity, and enabled me to conſider, which way I ſhould direct my courſe, as ſoon as the departure of the lion ſhould permit me to deſcend from my place of ſafety; but ſo many obſtacles preſented themſelves on every ſide, that reaſon could find no hope, whereon to form a choice.

[94]In this perplexity, it occurred to me at length to purſue the journey, in which I had been engaged; and ſtrive to join, if poſſible, the army of Almanzor, though with a different intention from that with which I had been ſent.

No reſolution, which was not abſo⯑lutely impoſſible, could have been at⯑tended with greater difficulties. I had ſtill an immenſe tract of this inhoſpitable wilderneſs to traverſe. I knew not my way through it. I knew not even where the army of Almanzor lay. My only direction was, that I had heard our journey pointed to the weſt; and I im⯑agined that the traces of ſo great an army, would be eaſily diſcovered, when once I ſhould come into an inhabited country.

On the ſupport of this ſlender hope, I ſet out accordingly, as ſoon as I de⯑ſcended from the tree, and travelled through the wilderneſs for the ſpace of [95] forty days, without meeting the footſtep of any human creature, or having the ſatisfaction of any certainty, that I was not involving myſelf deeper in thoſe inexplicable wilds; chuſing my ſteps by day with the moſt anxious dread of the ſerpents, and other venemous reptiles, which hiſſed continually on every ſide; and flying at the approach of night to ſome tree for ſafety from the various beaſts, whoſe roarings tore the air around me; while I fed on wild fruits, with the birds of the air, except when failing of them I was forced to feed upon the birds themſelves, which I ſlew with my bow and arrows.

At length even theſe reſources failed me. I was ſeveral days without meeting any fruits; and conſequently met very few birds, which ſeldom reſort any places, but thoſe in which they find their food.

[96]My ſpirits loſing by degrees the ſup⯑port of hope, ſunk with my ſtrength. I thought it in vain to ſtruggle longer with a fate, which ſeemed inevitable; and therefore layed me down to wait for death, in whatever ſhape he ſhould pleaſe to attack me.

THE place I choſe for this purpoſe was of itſelf ſufficient to throw a gloom over the happieſt mind. Stupendous ruins, inhabited by every animal, the moſt fierce and poiſonous of the ſavage race, and ſurrounded with woods, al⯑moſt impervious to them, hung over a rapid ſtream, broken into numberleſs cataracts, by the fragments of the build⯑ings, which had fallen into it.

Imagination wearied itſelf, in the pre⯑ſent contemplation, in reflection on the former grandeur of this ſcene of deſo⯑lation, [97] till I ſunk into a kind of ſlumber. But the impreſſion made upon my mind, by ſuch objects, had heightened the ſenſe of my own miſery, too much, to permit my ſleeping long. I ſoon awoke, and raiſing my eyes, what was my aſtoniſhment to ſee a being, whoſe ap⯑pearance was ſuch as muſt ſtrike the moſt inſenſible heart with awe. His ſtature aroſe, above the common ſize of man. His beard fell bright as burniſhed ſilver down his breaſt. A looſe veſture ſhewed his large limbs; and a ſtaff ſup⯑ported him, as he ſtooped over me.

My heart almoſt died within me, at the ſight. I was ſenſible that I was awake; and wanted that intrepidity, with which ſleep prepares us to behold its own creatures. I thought I beheld a being of another world; and though deſpair had ſteeled me againſt every com⯑mon attack of fear, a ſacred horrour ſeized my whole ſoul; and for a time ſuſpended all its faculties.

[98]Recovering at length the power of utterance, ‘Defend me, heaven!’ I ex⯑claimed, ‘my life is in thine hand.’— Then proſtrating myſelf at his feet, ‘O gracious being,’ I continued, ‘of what⯑ſoever ſtate, for my ſoul feels thou art above mortality, receive into thy pro⯑tection, the moſt forlorn of man⯑kind; and direct me to ſome end of the miſery, under which I am now ſinking.’

He ſaw the diſtreſs of my ſoul, and reaching his hand with a look of in⯑effable benevolence, ‘Ariſe, my ſon!’ ſaid he, ‘ariſe; and fear not. You behold a man, like yourſelf! A man, once as unhappy, as you can poſſibly be, till reſignation, and the lenient hand of time, in ſome degree healed the wounds of misfortune; and reſtored peace to my heart. Nature, at the long diſuſed ſight of man, firſt led me toward you; and ſympathy now bids [99] me offer you all the conſolation and aſſiſtance in my power.’

Encouraged by theſe words, and more by the manner, in which the venerable ſpeaker of them addreſſed me, I aroſe; and bowing my head, in ſign of grate⯑ful obedience, for I was not yet ſuffi⯑ciently aſſured to ſpeak, I followed him toward his habitation, which he ſhewed me at ſome diſtance from the other ruins, by the ſide of the river.

It was a circular building of vaſt ex⯑tent, the walls of which had been ſo high, that though a great part of them was fallen, in ſeveral places, that which remained ſtanding, was ſtill ſufficient to exclude every creature, without wings: nor could I perceive a place of entrance, for any other, as he led me all around it.

I was juſt going to expreſs my ſur⯑prize at this, when my conductor [100] ſtooped; and taking a ladder, which lay concealed at a little diſtance, he applied it to a narrow aperture in the wall, at a conſiderable height from the ground, into which, when we had aſcended, he drew the ladder after him.

I found myſelf, now, in a large gal⯑lery, arched over-head, and ſupported by maſſy pillars, of the moſt exquiſite workmanſhip. It looked into an open ſpace, in the center of the building, part of which was planted with fruit-trees of different ſorts, and the reſt cul⯑tivated as a garden, and filled with various kinds of vegetables.

When I had indulged my curioſity for ſome minutes, in gazing at objects ſo new to me, we deſcended into a ſpacious apartment, under the gallery; in the middle of which there aroſe a fountain, that filled a bath of the whiteſt marble; [101] and with its over-flowing watered the garden, through which it was led in channels, cut for that purpoſe.

She ſtarted at the ſight of me; and gazing with the moſt eager aſtoniſh⯑ment, turned her eyes frequently to my conductor, as if to enquire, who I could be.

He ſoon underſtood her; and ſmiling at her ſurprize, ‘Receive, my child,’ ſaid he, ‘a ſtranger whom heaven hath ſent to enliven this ſolitary ſcene. Bring your gueſt a garment to put on, when he comes out of the bath; and then prepare us a repaſt, from thoſe ſtores, which the bounty of heaven ſupplies faſter than we can conſume; and are always beſt beſtowed upon thoſe who want them moſt.’

On his ſaying this, ſhe withdrew; and returning directly with a veſture, [103] her father and I went into the bath to⯑gether.

When I had purified and refreſhed my⯑ſelf, after my fatigue, he led me back into the gallery, where ſhe had laid for us, a variety of fruits, ſome dried in the ſun, and others freſh-plucked from the trees, with a vaſe of living water, juſt drawn from the fountain.

My hoſt, having thanked heaven for its bleſſings, reached me ſome of the fruits; and encouraged me to eat by his example.

Having ſatisfied the cravings of na⯑ture; and being in ſome degree re⯑lieved by his beneficence, from the awe, with which his appearance had ſtruck me, I began to recover my ſpirits; and look around me, with leſs embar⯑raſſment.

[104] ‘I congratulate you, my ſon,’ ſaid my hoſt, obſerving the alteration in my looks, ‘on the comfort, which this ſcene of deſolation has adminiſtered to your diſtreſs. Be not aſhamed. It argues not any malevolence of diſpo⯑ſition. Nature receives conſolation from ſociety, even in miſery; from the thought of not being marked for the ſole object of the wrath of heaven.’

‘Think that you lie this night, among the ruins of a city, once the habita⯑tion of myriads; but now for ages loſt to human knowledge; and ſleep contented and ſecure, in juſt contempt of every thing which can happen, in ſuch a world.’—Saying this, he led me to another apartment in the gallery; and recommending me to the protection of heaven, left me to my reſt.

But it was a conſiderable time, before the working of my mind would permit me to ſleep. The change of my ſtate, from the preceding day, appeared too great and ſudden to be real. I doubted my ſenſes; and feared that all was no [107] more than a fond illuſion of imagina⯑tion.

Revolving at length the whole pro⯑greſs of my life, my eyes were opened; and I ſaw the clue, with which I had been led by heaven, through the laby⯑rinth. Elevated by this thought, I offered up my ſoul, in prayer and thankſgiving; and reſigning myſelf, in humble aſſurance, to the ſame pro⯑tector, ſoon found the bleſſing of quiet ſleep.

WHEN I joined my beneficent hoſt, the next morning, he ſaw the change in my looks, and congratulated me upon it. ‘I rejoice, my ſon,’ ſaid he, ‘at your having found that comfort, which reſignation to the will of heaven, never fails to bring to a virtuous heart. A placid countenance ſhews a mind at peace. As ſoon as we ſhall have taken ſome food, I will fulfil my promiſe of ſhewing you my dominions.’

We then ſat down, and eating of ſome fruits, which had been laid in rea⯑dineſs for us, ‘Had there never been a leſs innocent banquet made in this place,’ ſaid he ſmiling, ‘it would not now be an heap of ruins.’

Then obſerving, that I ſtill looked with wonder at every thing around me, ‘I ſee,’ he continued, ‘that you are [109] ſurprized at the ſtructure of my habi⯑tation. From ruins of the ſame kind, which I have ſeen in places, once under the dominion of a people from the regions of the ſetting ſun, called Ro⯑mans, a name perhaps unknown to you, I judge that this edifice was raiſed for the exhibition of ſhews, to entertain the populace, who, after feaſting in theſe galleries, beheld with ſavage pleaſure the fierceſt of the brute creation, let looſe in yonder open ſpace to indulge their natural antipathies; and to the diſgrace of humanity, men ſtill more brutal, entering into deadly combat with them, or with each other, compelled by tyrant force, or for the ſordid ſake of hire.’

Struck with horror at ſuch an account, I could not forbear exclaiming in the indignation of my ſoul, ‘Juſtly hath ſuch an abandoned people been exter⯑minated from the face of the earth! [110] Juſtly hath a place polluted with ſuch crimes, fallen to ruin!’

‘Take care, my ſon,’ he returned; ‘man muſt not preſume to direct the juſtice, or trace the wrath of heaven, whoſe ways are all above his compre⯑henſion. If the moſt virtuous people were brought to a ſtrict account for their actions, the moſt ſacred places judged by what is done in them, the whole earth would long ſince have been an uninhabited deſart; a ſcene of deſo⯑lation and ruin.’

The ſcenes, through which he led me, were ſufficient to humble human pride; and damp the ardour of am⯑bition, in their higheſt flights. Every effort of art to elude oblivion, and guard againſt the waſte of time, was here defeated in the moſt mortifying manner. Statues, whoſe remains ſhewed traces of the moſt exquiſite workman⯑ſhip; and columns, which ſeemed to have been built as firm, as the foun⯑dations of the earth, lay defaced and tumbled on each other, in heaps of pro⯑miſcuous rubbiſh.

‘Theſe ſtatues,’ ſaid my guide, ‘ſee⯑ing me ſtruck by the ſight, were finiſhed with ſo much care to perpetuate the name of ſome noted perſon; theſe columns raiſed with ſuch ſtrength to [112] eternize the memory of ſome famous action; but ſo effectually hath the vain deſign been defeated, that during a reſidence of more than five hundred moons among theſe ruins, never have I met in all my ſearches a ſingle in⯑ſcription, which might direct me to the moſt diſtant conjecture, even of the name of a city, on the magnificence of which ſo much labour and coſt were evidently expended; never have I ſeen the face of an human being, before your's, except my own immediate com⯑panions.’

Such reflections were too painful to be purſued. I turned away from the objects, which ſuggeſted them; and my conductor ſeeing how deeply I was af⯑fected, diſcontinued his intended walk, for that time; and kindly returned with me, to his habitation; where ſeating ourſelves, on the verge of the fountain, I requeſted him to relate the hiſtory of his life, which he began in theſe words.

Though the recital I am now entering upon, will lift up the oblivious veil, which time hath kindly thrown over my griefs; and the wounds of my heart open at the recollection of misfortunes too mighty to admit of redreſs, yet for thy ſake, O my ſon, do I willingly under⯑take the painful taſk; as a view of the evils inevitably incident to humanity, cannot fail of adminiſtering a melan⯑choly conſolation under your preſent diſtreſſes, and may convey inſtruction for your future conduct; the events which rule the life of man, in all its various ſituations, ariſing from cauſes eſſentially alike, however they may hap⯑pen to differ in circumſtances merely accidental.

But firſt, as my misfortunes aroſe im⯑mediately from thoſe of my country, and were in every ſenſe connected with [114] them, it will be neceſſary for me to look back for a moment to diſtant ages, in order to give a juſt view of the latter, and of the cauſes from which they ſprung.

When the inteſtine diviſions, which had ſo long diſtracted the councils of the mighty city of Carthage, had at length made that queen of Africa fall a prey to the ambition of the Romans, the few who remained of the illuſtrious houſe of Barcas, diſdaining to live in ſubjection to enemies, whom they had ſo often vanquiſhed in the field, and preferring liberty, under the heavieſt inconvenien⯑cies which nature could ſupport, to all the luxury and magnificence of their enſlaved country, reſolved to leave it, and ſeek ſome happier habitation.

Communicating their deſign accord⯑ingly, to as many as they imagined wil⯑ling and worthy to ſhare in it, they all put themſelves under the conduct of [115] Narbal, nephew to the great Annibal; and ſecretly embarking their families and wealth in ſhips provided by him for the purpoſe, they ſet ſail in a propitious hour, committing themſelves, and all their hopes, to the guidance and pro⯑tection of the gods of their country.

The melancholy cauſe of their flight convincing them of the neceſſity of di⯑recting their courſe to ſome very diſtant region, Narbal, whoſe genius, turned to purſuits of a milder nature than the reſt of his illuſtrious family, had led him into every climate under heaven to pro⯑mote the commerce of his country, de⯑termined to ſeek a ſettlement on the iſland of Serendib, as the place moſt likely to be ſafe from the invaſion of the Romans, thoſe enemies to human liberty.

Sailing therefore along the coaſt of Africa, they paſſed the mouths of the Nile, and landing at Calixene, journied [116] by land from thence to Suez; where Narbal, who was well known, and high in reſpect, ſoon procured other ſhips, in which he purſued his intended voyage, till he came within ſight of Dira; when a violent ſtorm of wind aroſe, which in ſpite of all the ſkill and efforts of the mariners, drove him back upon the coaſt of Saquem. I call places by their pre⯑ſent names, to avoid obſcurity.

A wiſe man turns every event to ad⯑vantage. Narbal having landed his people, to refreſh them after the fatigues of the ſtorm, went to take a view of the country, which he found beautifully bleſſed by nature, and wanting only proper cultivation to make it afford all the neceſſaries of life; the few inhabi⯑tants, who had fled at his approach, living poorly, content with the ſponta⯑neous produce of the earth.

Pleaſed with this diſcovery, and con⯑ſtruing the ſtorm as a direction from [117] heaven, he immediately choſe a ſpot, on the banks of a beautiful river, the mouth of which formed a ſpacious har⯑bour; and laid the foundations of a city, which he named Byrſa, in pious remem⯑brance of the revered place of his nati⯑vity, whoſe unhappy fate made him afraid to adopt the inauſpicious name of Carthage.

Misfortune had ſoftened the minds of this new people; and taught them all thoſe duties of humanity, which are too often neglected in the high blood of a proſperous eſtate. The tenderneſs with which they treated ſuch of the na⯑tives as happened to fall into their hands, whom they conſtantly diſmiſſed with preſents, ſoon won the love and confidence of all the neighbouring peo⯑ple, ſo far that they came to them in crowds, and ſubmitted gladly to an au⯑thority, which they ſaw promoted their happineſs.

[118]With ſuch an acceſſion, their city ſoon aroſe to a conſiderable degree of ſtrength and convenience, for the ſafety as well as for the neceſſary purpoſes of life; and the inhabitants, encouraged by ſucceſs, applied themſelves to every art of induſtry and genius, to advance their general intereſt.

The hills echoed with the voice of their flocks and herds. The plains and vallies ſmiled in the rich livery of har⯑veſt; while the ſhips, which had ſerved the melancholy purpoſe of their flight, now brought them the moſt precious merchandizes of the Eaſt, in return for their manufactures, and the ſuperfluous produce of their new country.

WHEN all things were ſettled in this proſperous courſe, Narbal, whoſe views were too extenſive to be confined to the preſent moment, aſſembled his whole people; and laying before them the preſent flouriſhing ſtate of their affairs, reſigned into their hands the authority with which they had entruſted him; adviſing them to eſtabliſh ſome permanent form of government, which might give a rational hope of ſecuring the continuance of their happineſs.

But they, who had learned wiſdom in the ſchool of adverſity, were not to be tempted by any allurements of power, to forego the advantages which they ex⯑perienced under his care. They not only refuſed to accept his reſignation, but in the warmth of their gratitude and confidence, offered to chuſe him directly for their king.

[120]Though this far out-went the intention of Narbal, he thought proper to accede in appearance to their propoſal for the preſent, as the method for accompliſh⯑ing the great deſign he had in view; but declined actually receiving the crown, till he ſhould make ſome preparations, which he eſteemed neceſſary for ſo ſolemn a ceremony.

The opportunities Narbal had had of comparing the various forms of govern⯑ment, in all the various countries thro' which he had travelled, having enabled him to diſcover the defects and advan⯑tages in each, he directly applied him⯑ſelf with the utmoſt aſſiduity and atten⯑tion, to ſelect from all, ſuch particular parts, as when digeſted into one con⯑ſiſtent ſyſtem, might be moſt likely to procure the happineſs of the community, the great end of all government, in the purity of its original intention.

[121]When he had compleated his deſign, he again convened the people, on a mount which aroſe in the midſt of the city; and having offered up ſacrifices and prayers to the gods, to be propi⯑tious to his undertaking, the moſt vene⯑rable of the elders informed them of the cauſe of their being aſſembled.

An univerſal burſt of joyful acclama⯑tion teſtifying their aſſent, Narbal ad⯑vanced to the altar, and waving his hand to demand attention, declared with a determined look and accent, that as he was come there that day, to take upon him the government of the ſtate, at their requeſt, not by his own deſire, he expected they would permit him to explain the terms, on which alone it was his invariable reſolution to enter upon that equally difficult and impor⯑tant charge.

A ſilence, ſtill as death, following his words, he drew forth from his boſom a [122] written roll, and read aloud to them a particular account of the form of govern⯑ment which he propoſed to eſtabliſh, deſiring them to make their objections to the whole, or any particular part thereof, which they ſhould diſapprove; as the ſanction of their approbation that day was to be for ever after irrevocable.

IT is not neceſſary to enter into a minute detail of all the ſeveral parts of his ſyſtem. A ſhort ſketch of the lead⯑ing principles of it, will ſufficiently ſhew its excellence.

Juſtly ſenſible that the proſperity of a ſtate is neceſſarily derived from and dependent on the favour of heaven, he ordained, that all the ſacred rites of religion ſhould be conſtantly performed with piety and proper order; and to enable the perſons ſet apart for the per⯑formance of them to attend to that [123] duty, without interruption from the anxieties and avocations of domeſtic care, and give them that reſpect in the eyes of the people, which is indiſpen⯑ſibly neceſſary to add weight and in⯑fluence to precepts, he appointed them a competent ſupport out of the public revenue, without laying them under the dangerous neceſſity of receiving that ſupport from the voluntary con⯑tributions of particulars, who might either want ability or inclination to give it, and therefore would hold the de⯑mander in diſeſteem; as a right to enforce ſuch demand, by compulſive means, the only remedy in ſuch a ſitua⯑tion, muſt raiſe animoſities which would prejudice the people againſt his pre⯑cepts, as well as againſt himſelf.

The miſeries which he had invariably ſeen the people groan under, in thoſe countries where the prince knows no law but his own will, and executes that law himſelf, over-balanced every temp⯑tation [124] with which power could aſſail his generous heart, and determined him againſt a form of government, where greatneſs is purchaſed at ſo dear a price; as on the other hand, he had before his eyes, in the unhappy fate of his native country, a melancholy proof of the evils attending thoſe governments, in which the ſupreme power is lodged ſolely in the collective body of the people, whoſe councils are too often dictated by caprice or intrigue, and whoſe motions, where the object is not inſtantly preſent, are as ſlow and feeble, as their reſolutions are precipitate and raſh.

Between theſe two extremes, the wiſ⯑dom of Narbal choſe a mean, in which he hoped to avoid the evils incident to both.

To give dignity and vigour to the ſtate, he ordained, that it ſhould be governed by a king; as he alſo ordained, that the crown ſhould deſcend by regu⯑lar [125] ſucceſſion in one family, to obviate the fatal conſequences which attend the ſtruggles of ambition; being too well read in the human heart, to truſt the people with the right of chuſing their ſovereign on every ſucceſſion; a right ineſtimable in its firſt principle, where reaſon directs the choice to merit only, but liable to ſuch abuſe in the practice, as over-balances every advantage.

To prevent the abuſe of power, when thus rendered hereditary and certain, he appointed limits to the authority of the crown, by laws which aſcertained the rights of the people; which laws were to be acknowledged by every ſucceſſive ſovereign, on his aſcending the throne; and his obſervation of them made the condition of the people's obedience.

To aſſiſt the ſovereign with their ad⯑vice, in the arduous affairs of govern⯑ment, he inſtituted a council compoſed of the elders and chiefs of the Cartha⯑ginian [126] families, who had been the com⯑panions of his flight, to whom he joined a few of the natives, moſt eminent for their virtue, to obviate any apprehen⯑ſion, that their intereſts might be ſacri⯑ficed to thoſe of their new fellow-ſubjects.

That this council ſhould not be ſub⯑ject to the influences of fear or merce⯑nary motives, he appointed them ſeveral honourable and important privileges, and conſigned to each a conſiderable property out of the public ſtock, which privilege and property were to deſcend to their poſterity, who were to be the hereditary counſellors of the king, and guardians of the laws, ſo long as they perſevered in the principles of private as well as public virtue, for which they were raiſed to ſuch honour; but on their falling off from them, or diſſipating the property thus given to ſecure their inde⯑pendance, all thoſe advantages were to be forfeited, their families reduced to a [127] private rank, and their places filled with perſons more worthy of them.

Leſt this preeminence ſhould tempt this hereditary council to infringe upon the authority of the ſovereign, or join him in oppreſſing the people, above whom they were thus raiſed, Narbal inſtituted a ſecond council, inferior in rank, to be choſen annually by the people from among themſelves, to watch over their intereſts, and defeat any at⯑tempt which might be made either by the ſovereign, or the ſuperior council, to exceed the limits reſpectively ap⯑pointed to them; which ſecond council was to be convened at a certain time in every year, to examine paſt tranſactions, and concert future meaſures; during their attendance on which duties, they were to enjoy the ſame privileges as the ſuperior council; but at the end of that attendance, to return to their former private ſtate; and this ſhort duration of their authority was ordained, that in caſe [128] this repreſentative council, or any of its members, ſhould deviate from the ſenſe of their conſtituents, or betray their confidence, the people might have a timely remedy in their power, by cor⯑recting their choice; and entruſting their rights into more faithful hands, before any evil or error committed by them ſhould take too deep a root.

By theſe two councils, in conjunction with the ſovereign, were to be framed all future laws for the government of the ſtate, as well in its interior policy, as in reſpect to its connections and inter⯑courſe with other ſtates; which con⯑junction was ſo eſſential, that the diſſent of the ſovereign, or either council, pre⯑vented the eſtabliſhment of the law pro⯑poſed: and of all laws, the execution was committed to the king, with a power of appointing perſons proper for that purpoſe; but under this reſtriction, that no perſon ſhould be appointed to [129] execute the laws, who was himſelf known to perſiſt in the violation of any law.

And laſtly, to ſupport the dignity of the crown, and defray the neceſſary ex⯑pences of the ſtate, he appointed a cer⯑tain portion of lands to be cultivated by ſuch delinquents, as by their crimes ſhould deſerve the loſs of liberty; being ſenſible of the abſurdity and injuſtice to the public, of depriving it of the ſervice of its members, by puniſhing any crime, beſide murder, with the death of the criminal; and that as all other crimes proceed ultimately from idleneſs, their proper puniſhment is labour, the appre⯑henſion of which accumulated as far as the ſtrength of the criminal could poſ⯑ſibly ſupport, and continued for his life, muſt be much more effectual to prevent the commiſſion of ſuch crimes, than any other puniſhment, however ſevere, but of ſhort duration; and till there ſhould be a ſufficient number of ſuch delinquents, or if happily there never ſhould, then [130] by the lower ranks of the people for hire, to be paid out of the produce of their labour.

To ſuch a ſyſtem of government it was impoſſible to make any objection. The people unanimouſly teſtified their approbation of it in the ſtrongeſt man⯑ner; and Narbal, having ſworn at the altar to preſerve it inviolably, in every reſpect and inſtance, to the utmoſt of his power; and imprecated the ven⯑geance of heaven upon any of his ſuc⯑ceſſors who ſhould attempt to ſubvert it, he received the crown from the hands of the chief prieſt, amid the univerſal acclamations and bleſſings of all pre⯑ſent; who in return ſwore fidelity to him, and obedience to the government, which he planned for their mutual bene⯑fit; concluding the ſacred ſolemnity with oblations and prayers to the gods for their bleſſing and protection.

THE ſame wiſdom and public ſpirit which had dictated this form of govern⯑ment, appeared in every act of Narbal's reign. He promoted virtue, and pu⯑niſhed vice. He ſecured the civil rights and private property of his ſubjects, by plain and equitable laws. He eſtabliſhed order in the ſtate; and regulated its in⯑ternal policy. He reſtrained oſtentatious expence, luxury, and exceſs. He en⯑couraged induſtry, and application to the uſeful arts; and his own conduct was the beſt comment on his laws.

When he had ſettled theſe moſt im⯑mediate objects of his care, he extended it to others more remote, though not leſs important.

He knew that induſtry is the true parent of ſtrength; and commerce the only inexhauſtible fund of wealth to a [132] ſtate: but he had learned from the un⯑happy fate of Carthage, that even com⯑merce may be purſued too far, and that exceſs of wealth is weakneſs. He there⯑fore directed the ſpirit of induſtry to a more ſolid object.

Of all the ways, in which the com⯑bined force of the human mind and body can be exerted, the moſt advan⯑tageous, and at the ſame time the moſt truly honourable, is agriculture. It creates that wealth, which commerce only collects: it ſupports the arts, by ſupporting life for the exerciſe of them: it increaſes population, and provides for that encreaſe. In a word, as much as the ſupply of natural, is more important than that of artificial wants; as much as life itſelf, than the phantaſtic emolu⯑ments of it, by ſo much is agriculture ſuperior to every other art: and for this reaſon, the firſt and great aim of Nar⯑bal's policy, through the whole courſe of his reign, was to improve agriculture, [133] and promote it by every encouragement of intereſt and honour.

Nor was his care confined within the circle of his own kingdom. He ſtudied the genius and intereſts of all the neigh⯑bouring nations; and laid down rules for the conduct proper to be obſerved in every poſſible intercourſe with them.

Though the firſt aim of Narbal's po⯑licy was peace, and his firſt laws calcu⯑lated for the cultivation of it, he was too well acquainted with human nature to expect that ſuch a bleſſing could be pre⯑ſerved to his people without the ſupport of force, to repel the attacks of envy, intereſt, and ambition.

To eſtabliſh this force therefore, in conſtant readineſs for ſo neceſſary a pur⯑poſe, he ordained that all the Byrſan youth ſhould learn the warlike arts, and appear at certain ſtated times in every year before him, to ſhew their expert⯑neſs [134] at them; encouraging emulation by honorary prizes; but at the ſame time taking every poſſible precaution to ſuppreſs ambition and an indiſcriminate paſſion for war.

The wiſdom of theſe inſtitutions ſoon appeared. His people were held in eſteem and reſpect by all the neighbour⯑ing nations. They were happy in them⯑ſelves; and their country flouriſhed in all the bleſſings of induſtry and peace; and as far as human reaſon could look forward into time, the firmneſs of the baſis upon which his happineſs was founded, ſecured its duration.

The kingdom of Byrſa flouriſhed for many ages, under a long ſucceſſion of princes of the race of Narbal; who all adhered faithfully to the great prin⯑ciples of his government, every change which became neceſſary, in the change of times, being regulated by them.

But unhappily the ſame care was not obſerved, perhaps was not poſſible to be obſerved, in the minuter matters of domeſtic policy. A long courſe of proſ⯑perity made the Byrſans forget, that their ſtate owed its origin to misfortune; and wealth, accumulated by frugality, [137] was thought to remove the neceſſity of that virtue.

The natural wants of man are few, and eaſily ſupplied; but the artificial are infinite, and inſatiable. Not content with the neceſſaries of life, he looks around for the conveniences, from which to the luxuries the aſcent is inſenſible.

No ſooner had the ſumptuary laws, ſo ſtrictly enjoined by Narbal, began to be relaxed, than the ſpirit of commerce, conſequentially, and deſignedly reſtrained by them, broke through all bounds; and ranſacked every quarter of the earth to gratify the phantaſtick demands of luxury and caprice.

The opportunities, which this opened, of bartering from one to another, the various products of all the various na⯑tions, with whom they traded, afforded them ſuch gain, that as their wealth had [138] made them luxurious, ſo their luxury made them wealthy.

The effects of this were ſoon felt. The wealth of individuals exceeded that of the ſtate, in every degree of juſt pro⯑portion: and their expence exceeded that wealth. A falſe refinement uni⯑verſally took place of that ſublime ſim⯑plicity of ſentiment and manners, which had been the honourable characteriſtic of the Byrſan nation. Their buildings were raiſed more for oſtentation than uſe. Their garments were faſhioned by vanity. Their food was choſen meerly for its expence, however diſagreeable to the taſte, or deſtructive to health. Reſpect was meaſured by riches. Ho⯑nours were openly ſold; or conferred for ſervices, in their nature moſt diſ⯑honourable. Virtue and merit were de⯑preſſed by contempt and neglect; while vice found favour, and injudicious mercy encouraged crimes, by diſarming juſtice of its terrors.

[139]In a word, the whole buſineſs of life was diſſipation; and every thing ſerious, every regard to decency, moral virtue, and religion, was turned into ridicule.

In order to carry on their commerce to greater advantage, the Byrſans planted colonies, in different parts of the earth, which drained their own country of its moſt uſeful inhabitants; none who were not poſſeſſed of conſiderable wealth, or whoſe profeſſions did not immediately miniſter to the gratification of luxury, finding any encouragement, or even being able to live at home, where the faſcination of example had made a pro⯑fuſion in expence unavoidable; and idle⯑neſs and vanity had ſo far enhanced the price of the indiſpenſible neceſſaries of life, as to involve the induſtrious poor, whoſe labour is the natural ſupport, as their numbers make the real ſtrength of a ſtate, in all the miſeries of want; and oblige them to ſeek ſubſiſtence elſe⯑where.

[140]Time ſhewed the conſequence of this conduct. Theſe colonies, encreaſing in numbers, in proportion to the depopu⯑lation of their mother country, by ſuch emigrations; and flouriſhing in all the arts carried from thence, at length felt their own ſtrength; and ſcorning a de⯑pendance no longer ſupported by ſuffi⯑cient power, took the firſt plauſible occaſion to ſhake it off; and ever after carried themſelves like ſtates allied upon equal terms, rather than ſubjects.

Nor was the exterior polity of the Byrſans, ruled by principles of greater wiſdom, or virtue. Proud of their wealth, they looked with contempt on every poorer nation; and blindly miſtak⯑ing that wealth for ſtrength, ſcrupled not to invade their rights, as views of intereſt or ambition chanced to tempt them.

Such a conduct often neceſſarily en⯑gaged them in wars, with the neigh⯑bouring [141] nations; and gave the ſanction of juſtice to the attacks, which envy of their proſperity had before deſigned againſt them; but as theſe attacks were always made on ſome particular occaſion, and ſingly by the people then aggrieved, they conſtantly failed of their effect, and only encreaſed by ſuch exertion, the power they were intended to over-turn.

In this manner did they proceed for many ages, flouriſhing in a falſe proſ⯑perity, the cauſe of which inſenſibly undermined its foundation, like a tree, growing by the ſide of a river, whoſe waters, at the ſame time, that they make its branches ſpread, and cover them with bloom, waſh away the earth from its roots; till it falls unexpectedly in the midſt of its glory, over-turned by the ſlighteſt guſt of wind; and buries every thing near it, in its ruins.

IN the commotions which ſhook the earth, when the Arabians, under the pretext of propagating their religion, im⯑piouſly ravaged and enſlaved the greater part of the world, as if the benign Father of creation could be pleaſed with the miſery and deſolation of his works, a body of Egyptians, who had eſcaped their fury, ſettled themſelves in a moun⯑tainous and barren tract of land, which lay between the country of the Byrſans, and the deſart, over which they had fled with their families, in their de⯑ſpair.—

Appalled at this arraignment of the religion, in which I had been educated; of principles, which I had ever been taught to hold moſt ſacred, all my re⯑ſpect for my hoſt could not prevent my interrupting him.

[143]Mercy, gracious heaven! I exclaimed, what do I hear? Can any duty be more incumbent on man, than to propagate the true religion, even by force, where perſuaſion fails? Is not every man, who refuſes to receive it, an enemy to God, and as ſuch to be cut off from among men? And is it not a moſt, impious breach of that duty, a proſtitution of benevolence to exert it, toward him?

‘Beware, O my ſon,’ he replied, with a look and accent of the greateſt earn⯑eſtneſs, ‘beware of intruding thyſelf into the councils of heaven! Has the Su⯑preme Being told you, that only one religion is acceptable to him? And that the religion, which you profeſs, is that one? If you alledge a particular reve⯑lation of your religion, do not others reſt upon a like foundation? And doth not every man believe his own to be true?’

[144] ‘In ſuch a contrariety, by what virtue have you alone merited the preference of being right? Or rather, how hath the place of your birth merited that preference? For by that was deter⯑mined the mode of your religion: And would a matter of ſuch importance have been left depending on a circumſtance ſo meerly accidental?’

‘Beſide, to allow what you contend for, that your religion is the only one, which is right, hath the Deity delegated to you a power, which he hath not ex⯑erted himſelf, of compelling all men to think alike? Or, if he intends ſuch compulſion, doth he want your aſſiſtance to effect it? Can not he, who createth the mind, mould it as he pleaſeth? And is it not in vain; is it not impious for man to attempt controuling that which the Deity hath left free?’

‘Nor is it leſs ſo, to attempt uſurping his vengeance: If he would puniſh, [145] are not famine and peſtilence, as ſwords, in his hand? Does not the thunder roar? Do not the foundations of the earth tremble at his word? Univerſal bene⯑volence is the ſacrifice moſt acceptable to heaven; nor can any religion be derived from thence, which would en⯑join a breach of that invariable, eternal duty.’

Then obſerving that I was ready to burſt with indignation, and eagerneſs to controvert what he ſaid; ‘Repreſs your zeal, my ſon,’ he continued, ſoftening his voice, and regarding me, with a look of inexpreſſible tenderneſs; ‘and examine diſpaſſionately, before you preſume to judge. Influenced by the ſame motives, I once thought as you do now; and held in deteſtation every religion, but my own; or rather that of the country, in which I had hap⯑pened to be born, which I had received implicitly, without examination, or [146] proof. But reaſon and experience have ſince opened my eyes, to my error.’

‘If only one manner of worſhip could be acceptable to the Deity, would he not have made that manner known to all mankind, at their creation? Would he not have made the mind conceive it as invariably, as he made the ſenſes repre⯑ſent their objects? Would he not have made it as ſelf-evident, as the founda⯑tion of moral virtue, which is received without variation, by all mankind^*.— If eternal unhappineſs was to be the neceſſary conſequence of differing from this manner, would it have been con⯑ſiſtent, either with his goodneſs, or his juſtice, to have left by ſo much the greater part of mankind ignorant of it? This would have been to create them on purpoſe for unhappineſs. An im⯑putation, [147] which is the greateſt offence poſſible for man to offer to God, ſo far as reſpects himſelf only.’

‘Conſider, that the mode of worſhip, which prevails moſt in the world, is not known to the hundredth, perhaps not to the thouſandth part of its inhabi⯑tants. — Conſider alſo how many ages have paſſed away, before any of the preſent modes were known at all; and then you will ſee the impious abſurdity of excluding from mercy, all but the few profeſſors of a particular one among them.’

‘Who then ſhall dare to call the man, who profeſſes a different mode of wor⯑ſhip, an enemy to heaven? And how can it be a duty to attempt propagating by force, an uniformity, which is not preſcribed? Should he not rather con⯑clude from its not having been pre⯑ſcribed, that the variety is pleaſing; in the ſame manner as the beauty of ſen⯑ſible [148] objects ariſeth from variation in their parts. Wherever I hear the praiſes of the Deity ſung, my ſoul ſhall accom⯑pany them, without objecting to the manner; nor will I hazard the profana⯑tion of ſo ſacred a duty, by arrogantly attempting to obtrude any other.’

‘To prove the neceſſary obligation of mutual benevolence, man was created in a ſtate of indiſpenſible dependance upon the aſſiſtance of others, from the firſt moment of his life. Shall he not, then, give that aſſiſtance, which he has received; and muſt continue to re⯑ceive? Have all, who have adminiſtered relief to his wants, profeſſed the ſame religion with him? And would their profeſſing another make their aſſiſtance ineffectual to his relief? Be the religion of a man what it will, while the morſel of bread, which I receive from his hand, yields me wholeſome nouriſhment, never will I think myſelf abſolved from, much leſs interdicted the duty of ad⯑miniſtering [149] relief to his wants. No⯑thing leſs than an immediate interpo⯑ſition of the Deity, by a total change of natural effects, being ſufficient to abrogate a law, made neceſſary by him, to my nature.’

‘In a word, my ſon, the worſhip, truly acceptable to the Deity, is the im⯑mediate act of the ſoul, and conſiſts in gratitude for his bleſſings, and reſigna⯑tion to his will; while I pay that with ſincerity of heart, I fear not his taking offence at the poſture of my body, or any other—’

For ſeveral ages there ſubſiſted but little intercourſe between the Byrſans and their new neighbours, who had aſſumed the name of Coptes; the Byrſans, in the pride of proſperity, diſdaining to take notice of a people ſtruggling with diſtreſs; and the Coptes, in the ſullen diffidence of that diſtreſs, keeping at [151] an equal diſtance from ſuch unfeeling neighbours.

While the Byrſans therefore were ex⯑tending their commerce to the extremi⯑ties of the earth, and revelling in the luxuries which it produced, the Coptes, precluded by their ſituation from every foreign intercourſe, applied themſelves entirely to agriculture, in which the natural diſadvantages of their country obliged them to exert all their induſtry, in order to procure the indiſpenſible ne⯑ceſſaries of life.

But theſe diſadvantages were more than made amends for by the conſe⯑quences. They ſecured them from the pernicious effects of luxury, and all the train of vices and evils which attend on wealth. If they poſſeſſed but little, they wanted ſtill leſs! They were ſtrong in body, and reſolute of ſpirit; and their habitations were filled with a numerous and healthful progeny.

[152]In the courſe of time, ſuch unremitted induſtry changed the face of the coun⯑try, and remedied all the unkindneſſes of nature. The hills were covered with flocks and herds. The ſong of the huſ⯑bandman echoed in the vallies; and the voice of plenty and content was heard through all the land.

Such a change at length raiſed the envy and avarice of the Byrſans, who were then in the zenith of their glory. They ſent haughtily to the Coptes, to demand poſſeſſion of their country, which they alledged to belong to themſelves; and without even waiting for an anſwer, prepared to march a powerful army to ſeize by force, that which they were conſcious they had no right to receive peaceably.

The Coptes naturally were ſurprized at ſuch a demand; and directly ſent an embaſſy of the moſt reſpectable perſons in their ſtate, to ſhew the injuſtice of it. ‘[153]They alledged the length of the time, during which they had been in undi⯑ſturbed poſſeſſion of the country, which their anceſtors had found deſolate, and unpoſſeſſed by any inhabitants. That the Byrſans, far from claiming any right to it at that time, as they cer⯑tainly would have done, had they thought it belonged to them, took not the leaſt notice, much leſs offence at their ſettling there; nor had ever men⯑tioned ſuch a claim in any of the tranſ⯑actions which had occaſionally paſſed between the two nations ſince. And finally, that the title of the Coptes to the country which they inhabited, was equally good with that of the Byrſans to theirs; both people having been compelled by neceſſity to fly from their native homes, and fix themſelves in the ſame manner, wherever they could find a place of refuge.’

Unanſwerable as theſe arguments were, they had no force with the Byrſans, [154] who ſcarcely deigned to wait till the king ſhould give the ambaſſadors an audience.

At this unhappy period commences the ſad ſtory of my misfortunes, which were ſo immediately derived from thoſe of my country, that I thought it neceſ⯑ſary to give this ſhort detail, as an intro⯑duction to the events of my own life.

The houſe of my father derived its origin from Narbal, by his youngeſt ſon, Mago; whoſe deſcendants always juſti⯑fied by their merits, the claim which their blood gave them to the firſt offices in the ſtate.

My father, who beheld with grief every deviation, from the wiſe inſtitu⯑tions of his royal progenitor, took par⯑ticular care to inſtruct me in the true ſenſe and ſpirit of them, from a fond hope that heaven would one day offer ſome favourable opportunity for reſtoring the government, to the purity and vigour [157] of its firſt principles; as he well foreſaw, from its preſent relaxation, that ſome great change muſt neceſſarily be near. But happy for him, he lived not to ſee the accompliſhment of his preſage.

To prove the excellency of theſe in⯑ſtitutions, by compariſon with thoſe of other nations; and to avoid the dan⯑gerous influence of ſuch an example, as the manners of the Byrſan youth then exhibited, upon an unexperienced mind, my father reſolved that I ſhould travel into foreign lands, as ſoon as reaſon was ripened to ſufficient ſtrength, to form a proper judgment upon a perſonal know⯑ledge of the ways of man.

Having prepared all things for this purpoſe, he led me into his garden, on the evening preceding the day appointed for my departure, and ſeating me beſide him, on the margin of a fountain, ad⯑dreſſed himſelf to me in theſe words! [158] words, indelibly written on the tablet of my heart.

‘I ſee, with delight,’ ſaid he, ‘my ſon, the impreſſion, which the precepts of my care have made upon thy mind; and I fear not but heaven will enable thee to carry them into execution.’

‘This, my ſon, is the ſum of what I have to recommend to your atten⯑tion. Careful obſervation of theſe few plain rules, will conduct you ſafely through the multitudes, whom you muſt mix with to acquire knowledge.’—Saying this, he laid his hand upon my head; and praying to heaven to con⯑firm the bleſſings, which he heaped upon me, diſmiſſed me, with a kiſs of peace, and paternal love.

I will not lead you thro' every weary ſtep I meaſured, nor recount common in⯑cidents, however intereſting to myſelf at the time. Such recitals, though flat⯑tering to that conſequence in which man is too apt to hold himſelf, only tire and diſgu [...] the hearer.

Having paſſed thro' ſeveral regions, in all of which, under appearances, and by means utterly contradictory to each other, I ſaw the ſame end of preſent gra⯑tification univerſally purſued, with the moſt anxious and inſatiable eagerneſs, I arrived at length upon the banks of the great river Euphrates, whither I was drawn by an irreſiſtible deſire to receive inſtruction from the mouth of the ſage Myrza, the fame of whoſe wiſdom and ſanctity had gone forth into all the na⯑tions of the Eaſt.

[163]The ſun was juſt diſappearing, as I approached the habitation of the ſage. It was a grotto, formed by the hand of Nature, at the foot of an hill, whoſe brow hung over the river. He ſat in the entrance, contemplating the ſmiles of nature in that placid hour; and ac⯑companying in his heart the voice of gratitude and gladneſs, which echoed the adoration of every living thing around.

He no ſooner perceived my approach, than he advanced to meet me, prevent⯑ing, by a friendly embrace, thoſe pro⯑feſſions of reverence, which his appear⯑ance commanded equally with his fame.

Though report proclaimed him to have meaſured more than twice the uſual life of man, and knowledge was writ⯑ten in characters of deepeſt reflection in his face, his eye had not loſt the pene⯑trating fire, nor his limbs the ſtrength of youth. He was crowned with all the [164] honours, but exempt from the infirmi⯑ties of age.

Having kindly enquired the motive of my coming, he led me to his habi⯑tation, at the entrance of which he re⯑ſumed his ſeat, placing me beſide him, while my ſlaves pitched their tents among ſome lofty trees at a little diſ⯑tance on the bank of the river; then obſerving that I had not yet overcome the awe with which his preſence had ſtruck me, ‘Knowledge, my ſon,’ ſaid he, with a ſmile of the moſt encourag⯑ing complacency, ‘is a gift beſtowed with a ſparing hand, and to but very few; the utmoſt abilities of man reach⯑ing little farther than to diſcover his own ignorance. The ambition of it, however, is moſt laudable; and when properly purſued, ſeldom fails of a juſt reward, in the more valuable acquiſi⯑tion of wiſdom.’

[165] ‘If the obſervations of my life can conduce to your acquiring either, I ſhall be happy in the communication of them. At preſent the departing ſun reminds us of the debt we owe for the bleſſings of the finiſhed day.’—Saying this, he turned his face to the weſt, and falling upon his knees, poured forth his evening ſong of adoration and praiſe, in ſuch exalted ſtrains, as rapt my ſoul in extaſy I had never felt before, while I joined inſtinctively with him.

Having performed this ſacred duty, he aroſe; and turning to me, his eyes ſtill ſparkling with rapture, which ſeemed to raiſe him above man, ‘My ſon,’ ſaid he, ‘the ſubject of thy enquiries is too extenſive, too complex, to be diſcuſſed in a ſhort time. The evening cloſeth apace; and nature requireth reſt. To-morrow I will meet thee with the young day, in yonder citron grove; [166] and give thee every information in my power.’

SOON as the angel of the morning had chaſed away the ſpirits of darkneſs from the face of the earth, I repaired to the grove, where I waited not long, be⯑fore I was joined by the ſage.

After ſome expreſſions of benevo⯑lence and regard, he led me to a bower, woven by his own hands; and looking at the various birds which winged their way around, ‘How different, my ſon,’ ſaid he, ‘are the beauties of this ſcene, from thoſe which gild the view of even⯑ing? Satisfied with the enjoyments of the day, the feathered race then ſeek their homes, and ſing themſelves to ſleep. Now buſy care, awakening with the ſun, ſends them abroad again to ſeek the ſame enjoyments; ſecure of finding what they want, becauſe their [167] wants are only thoſe of nature, who has provided amply for all her off⯑ſpring.’

‘So happily would the circle of man's day wind up, were his deſires limited within the ſame bounds. I ſpeak of the deſires of reaſon as well as ſenſe; for reaſon and nature never differ. A wiſh for ſomething more would not prevent his enjoyment; nor diſappointment break his reſt. Then would he not complain, that the way to knowledge is without end; that every new acqui⯑ſition only opens a new want; but juſtly grateful for the portion diſpenſed to him, reduce it into practice, inſtead of waſting his days in endleſs ſearch for more.’

[168] ‘Inſtruction,’ he replied, ‘is to the mind, what food is to the body. As, in this, repletion counteracts nouriſh⯑ment, ſo objects preſented to the mind too ſuddenly, or in too rapid a ſuc⯑ceſſion, by inſtruction, without allow⯑ing time to arrange them in due order, inveſtigate their properties, and prove their agreement by compariſon, inſtead of informing only burden reaſon, and bring not knowledge, but confuſion.’

Wretch that I am! I exclaimed, ſur⯑prized, and alarmed at what he ſaid, Have I then only waſted my youth in liſtening to inſtruction? Are the pre⯑cepts of my father no more than a bur⯑den to my mind?

‘I mean not ſo,’ anſwered the ſage; ‘inſtruction is of the greateſt advantage to a youthful mind. It awakens its powers, improves their ſtrength by ex⯑erciſe, and points out the proper objects of their exertion.’

Surely, my father, ſaid I, obſerving that Myrza pauſed at theſe words to leave the application to myſelf, the moral of this tale cannot have reference to my caſe! To think of arriving at excellence in manual arts by ſpeculative inſtruction, without a regular gradation of practice, were moſt abſurd. But may I not dare to doubt if ſcience is within the ſame rule! Is there not, for in⯑ſtance, an eſſential difference between polity and mechaniſm? Between know⯑ledge [175] of the intereſts of nations, and of the value of precious ſtones?

‘The difference between ſcience and art,’ replied the ſage, ‘ſo far as they have reference to the uſes of life (and to conſider them farther were foreign to the preſent purpoſe) is confined to their objects, and extends not to their manner of operation.’

'YOU have ſhewn me, O ſon of Wiſ⯑dom,' ſaid I, 'the error in which I have ſet out! Shew me alſo how to correct it.'

‘The wiſdom of thy father,’ returned the ſage, ‘hath ſent thee forth into the world, with a mind well prepared by inſtruction to draw from experience that practical knowledge, which is neceſſary to conduct thee ſafely through life, and enable thee to fulfil the duties of it; but his fondneſs hath thrown obſtacles in thy way, which if not timely re⯑moved, may diſappoint his hopes.’

'But is there no danger in doing this?' I returned, hurt at an injunction ſo hu⯑miliating to the pride of condition, ſo contrary to the courſe of life in which I had been brought up. 'Is not a traveller ſubject to many accidents and diſaſters, which require care and aſſiſt⯑ance? Are there not menial offices, which a man cannot ſo well perform for himſelf?'—

‘And who performs them for thy ſlave?’ replied the ſage. ‘Who ſpreads a carpet for the pilgrim in the wilderneſs? or guards the mariner from the dangers of the ſea?’

‘But this is the vanity of man! Is thy nature ſuperior to theirs? And is not the diſtinction between you merely accidental? Man wants not aſſiſtance [180] to perform, for himſelf, the very few offices which are really neceſſary for him! Nor is one ſtate of life expoſed to greater dangers than another. Be ſuperior to this vain weakneſs. The power which protects and provides for every living thing, will not neglect you, while you deſerve his care.’

The force of truth is irreſiſtible. I was humbled in my own eyes; and hung down my head abaſhed before him. After a pauſe of a few moments, I threw myſelf at his feet, and em⯑bracing his knees, 'I ſee, I acknow⯑ledge my error, ſaid I, and will cor⯑rect it. I will go directly to Bagdat, and there ſell all thoſe ſlaves, of whoſe attendance thou haſt ſhewn me the evil; happy if by this obedience I may ap⯑pear not unworthy of thy farther in⯑ſtruction; to implore which, I will return to you.'

[181] ‘And why ſhould'ſt thou ſell them?’ he returned, raiſing me tenderly from the ground. ‘Why not reſtore them to that liberty which is the common right of all mankind; tho' ſo many are unjuſtly deprived of it, that grown familiar, and in a manner ſanctified by uſe, the injuſtice hath almoſt loſt its native appearance, and paſſes for a right.’—

'Are then all men equal?' ſaid I, amazed at what I heard. 'And have all a right to the ſame ſtations in life?'

‘That all are equal in their nature,’ he replied, ‘Reaſon will infallibly ſhew you; as it will alſo ſhew, that they have an equal right to the ſame ſtations, if they can arrive at them, by juſt means. But as there is a ſubordination indiſpenſibly neceſſary for the purpoſes of life, ſo all muſt remain in thoſe ſtages of the aſcent, which have fallen to their firſt lot, till they riſe to higher, by their [182] own merit: and this, inſtead of being an unjuſt partiality in the oeconomy of nature, is the beſt incentive, and re⯑ward of virtuous emulation.’

His words inſtantly diſpelled the clouds of prejudice, in which my mind was involved, opening my heart, with delight, to ſentiments, which vindicated human nature from ſuch indignity. I ſet all my ſlaves at liberty; and was proceeding to divide among them the wealth, which my father had given me, to defray the expences of my journey: but Myrza reſtrained me.

‘Hold,’ ſaid he. ‘Prudence is a virtue, equally with generoſity; and a man may be unjuſt to himſelf, no leſs than to another. Give them the means of ſupporting life, by honeſt induſtry, or the gift of liberty will be of little value to them. But make not your⯑ſelf poor, to make them unneceſſarily rich.’

Theſe cares conſuming the reſt of the day, I remained that night the gueſt of Myrſa, who, after we had cloſed the evening, in the ſame manner as the pre⯑ceding, lodged me in one of the receſſes of his grottoe.

It is impoſſible to expreſs what I felt on this occaſion: My heart at firſt re⯑volted againſt a change in my ſituation, by which I fancied myſelf diſhonoured. [185] But a moment's reflection reſtored me to reaſon; and the thought of having made my ſervants free and happy, compenſated well for the want of their ſervice.

I WOULD have departed the next morning; but Myrza inſiſted on my tarrying with him for a few days, every hour of which added to my knowledge, as he always turned his converſation to the ſubjects moſt inſtructive; and en⯑couraged me to declare every doubt, which oppoſed my aſſenting to his words.

The wiſdom, which he ſhewed in ſolving theſe doubts; and his ſagacity in frequently anticipating my declaration of them, as if he ſaw into my very ſoul, confirmed me ſo ſtrongly in the opinion propagated by fame, of his holding converſe with the ſpiritual be⯑ings, [186] who watch over the actions of man, that I could not forbear taking occaſion, one evening, as we ſat on the bank of the river diſcourſing on various ſubjects, to aſk him how it might be poſſible to obtain the happineſs of an intercourſe with them.

‘That there are ſpiritual beings, my ſon,’ ſaid he, after a pauſe of ſome minutes, as if to conſider ſo difficult a ſubject, ‘which inhabit the ſeveral ele⯑ments of which this world is compoſed, as well as the earth is inhabited by man, is an opinion, founded on ſuch teſtimony of the fact, and which hath ſo univer⯑ſally prevailed in every age, and coun⯑try, that it were offering an affront to the human mind to ſuppoſe it utterly without foundation.’

‘IN reſpect to what you mentioned of an intercourſe between man and theſe beings, that alſo is a queſtion, attended with many difficulties, and to be moſt cautiouſly received.’

How! I exclaimed, aſtoniſhed and diſappointed at what I heard. Is not the teſtimony of ſo many wiſe, and holy men, who aſſert their having both ſeen, and heard them, a ſufficient proof of this intercourſe?—

‘I deny not the reality of the inter⯑courſe,’ replied the ſage. ‘I only am in doubt concerning the manner of it; whether perceptibly to the ſenſes, or only in the power of imagination.’

'But doth not the admiſſion of this poſſibility of deception,' I returned, 'at the ſame time weaken, if not over-turn all hiſtoric faith, which depends entirely upon teſtimony?'

‘Not in the leaſt,’ replied the ſage. ‘Teſtimony is certainly ſufficient proof of facts, which run in the regular courſe of nature. But where this is deviated from, too much caution can not be taken in examining the end of that [193] deviation; and the competency of the teſtimony, by which it is ſupported.’

Though the pleaſure, I found in the converſation of Myrza, encreaſed every hour, with the increaſe of knowledge, which I derived from it, I forgot not myſelf ſo far, as to engroſs too much of that time, which ſhould be a com⯑mon benefit to all mankind. At the end of fifteen days, I departed from him, and committing myſelf with hum⯑ble reſignation to the guidance of heaven, reſumed my travels, in company with the friend whom he had ſelected for me.

THE ſun had but juſt began to gild the firmament, with the firſt beams of day, when I left the grottoe of Myrza. The ſound of his voice was ſtill in my ears. I exulted in the proficiency I had made under his inſtructions; and thought myſelf ſuperior to every incident of life.

But I had not proceeded far, before this confidence began to cool. I ſoon felt the fatigue of travelling, in a man⯑ner to which I was unaccuſtomed; and the thought of my being alone, for with a ſingle companion I eſteemed my⯑ſelf little better, awoke ſenſations, in no reſpect pleaſing. I ſtarted in affright; and bluſhed at my own weakneſs! I reaſoned againſt it; but it eluded my reaſons. At length, I compounded the conteſt. I reſolved to continue my jour⯑ney to Bagdat; and if I ſhould find the [199] inconveniencies overbalance the ad⯑vantage, to provide new attendants there.

But my fellow traveller, and friend, ſaved me from ſuch a weakneſs. He perceived my uneaſineſs, and was alarmed for my health; by limiting his enquiries to which he perſuaded me that he had not diſcovered my diſorder to be in my mind, and rouzed the ſpirit of pride to conceal my ſhame.

This employed my thoughts, till the cauſe of my uneaſineſs became familiar to me, when it totally vaniſhed; and I only wondered that I had been uneaſy.

On the third day of our journey we joined a numerous caravan of merchants, who had pitched their tents on the bank of the river, to avoid the heat of the ſun, which had now mounted high in the heavens.

[200]The habits of Faquirs, which we had aſſumed by the advice of Myrza, gained us immediate admiſſion into their company, where I was inſtantly ſtruck with the openneſs of their behaviour, which ſeemed to flow directly from na⯑ture, without deſign or reſerve.

This was entirely new to me. ‘I revere thy wiſdom, ſage Myrza,’ ſaid I to myſelf! ‘I now ſee life, in its genuine colours! How happy am I at being freed from the crowd of atten⯑dance, who have hitherto ſtood between me, and mankind?’

But this happineſs did not continue long unclouded. They were going to eat; and deſired me to taſte a morſel of bread with them. I ſat down accord⯑ingly; but ſtarted to ſee a ſlave ſeat himſelf next to me; and my heart re⯑volted at my being obliged to fetch water from the river for myſelf to drink.

[201]A very little uſe, however, reconciled me alſo to this debaſement, as I at firſt thought it, better than all the inſtruc⯑tions of Myrza had been able to do; and convinced me of the vanity of that wiſdom, which is acquired only by in⯑ſtruction.

On being informed that the caravan journied to Bagdat, I deſired permiſſion to continue with them; which was readily granted to me; and I reſolved to begin the practice of Myrza's pre⯑cepts. I accordingly obſerved with the ſtricteſt attention every thing I ſaw, and heard; and the doubts of one day were generally ſolved by the next, without my aſking any ſolution of them.

This conduct ſoon gained me the reſpect and confidence of the whole company. I was eſteemed wiſe, becauſe I betrayed not my ignorance, by aſking information: And every one was eager to communicate his ſecrets to me, be⯑cauſe [202] I never enquired into them; there being nothing which ſo effectually coun⯑teracts curioſity, as the diſcovery of it.

The ſcenes, which this confidence opened to me, would have amply over⯑payed my ſilence, had it been never ſo contrary to my temper. I now ſaw things, in colours the moſt different from thoſe, in which they had appeared to me, at my firſt joining the caravan; and found that the ſame paſſions rule the human heart, in every ſtate of life; even the coarſe jeſt, the loud laugh of mer⯑riment, thoſe reputed characteriſtics of vulgar happineſs, I could too often trace to motives the moſt unhappy; and ſee them joined in and enjoyed only in proportion to the malignancy of the alluſion.

This general confidence though was not unattended by its inconveniences. Every one, who told me his ſecrets, taking my ſilence for approbation, ex⯑pected [203] that I ſhould enter into his views; and was continually obtruding upon me his ſchemes for their accompliſhment, in which he thought himſelf entitled to my aſſiſtance, ſo far as to look upon my holding the common intercourſe of humanity with his adverſary, as an act of treachery to him: A ſituation too embarraſſing to have been long ſupported.

One evening, as I was ruminating upon theſe inconſiſtencies, and conſider⯑ing how I ſhould diſentangle myſelf from the conſequences of them, one of the principal merchants in the caravan ac⯑coſting me in a friendly manner;

‘Haſſan,’ ſaid he, (for I had changed my own name of Himilco, for this, to avoid being traced by any of my late attendants) ‘I have obſerved your de⯑meanor, ever ſince you have come among us; and ſee that your wiſdom [204] exceeds your age. I have therefore re⯑ſolved to make a propoſal to you, which will give you the ſtrongeſt proof of my eſteem.’

It is impoſſible to expreſs the emo⯑tions, which I felt at this propoſal. I had long had the ſtrongeſt deſire to ſee the countries, whither he was going; but then the length of the way muſt detain me much beyond the time pre⯑ſcribed by my father for my return.

[206]The difficulty was moſt diſtreſſing. But after revolving various ſchemes, I at length thought of one, which ap⯑peared to reconcile my duty to my in⯑clination. I reſolved to ſend back my companion to my father, in order to inform him of my intended journey; and obviate his apprehenſions at my pro⯑tracted abſence.

The merchant approving of this de⯑ſign, I proceeded immediately to put it in execution. The parting between my friend and me was moſt tender. Gra⯑titude for the reſtitution of his liberty, had exalted his attachment to me, into the warmeſt affection. He embraced my knees, he beſought me, with many tears, to let him accompany me, in my long, and perilous journey; and ſend ſome other in his place.

‘Who will ſerve you, in the day? Who will watch over you, in the night?’ ſaid he wringing his hands in anguiſh of [207] ſoul. ‘You are not ſufficiently inured to hardſhip! Your years are too few; your ſtrength is unequal to the fatigues, into which you are plunging! Should ſickneſs or diſaſter befal you, who is to adminiſter relief?—’

That power, I anſwered, in the words of Myrza, whoſe goodneſs is the ſup⯑port of all his works; or human care and relief would be in vain. A ſup⯑port, in which the piety of my father will think me ſafe. Not that I am in⯑ſenſible to your affection. I would gladly ſend another, but you know it is not in my power. Of all, whom I might have ſent, you only remain with me; nor would my father give the ſame credit to the words of any, as he will to your's!—

He ſaw that it was in vain to urge me farther, and would not diſtreſs me, with fruitleſs ſolicitation.

[208]My mind was ſo full of the gratifi⯑cation, I promiſed to my curioſity, in this journey, that I never attended to the circumſtances in which I undertook it. Circumſtances in reality much more terrifying, than thoſe which had lately ſtruck me with ſo many terrors. I then had an experienced, a careful, and an affectionate friend with me. I had now implicitly entruſted myſelf to the faith of people, who were in a great meaſure ſtrangers to me. But it was too late to look back.

ON our entering the empire of Far⯑ſiſtan, I was ſtruck with horror, to be⯑hold the deſolation and havoc which deformed the face of a country, made ſo beautiful by the hand of nature. The lands were uncultivated the cities lay in ruins! and the few wretched people, deſtitute of every comfort, and almoſt of every neceſſary of life, wandered from place to place, to ſeek the precarious ſubſiſtence of the day.

But this univerſal miſery affected me not more than the advantage taken of it by the merchant, who exacted the higher prices for his commodities, the greater he ſaw neceſſity for them; ag⯑gravating public calamities, by turning them to private gain.

Nor was my abhorrence of ſuch ſor⯑did inhumanity greater than my ſur⯑prize, [210] when I compared it with his conduct on other occaſions. For tho' the habit of taking advantage in his dealing had gained ſo ſtrong poſſeſſion of his heart, that he could not refrain from it on any conſideration of circum⯑ſtances; in every other inſtance he was generous and humane; and would rea⯑dily beſtow upon the ſame perſon of whoſe neceſſities he had taken ſuch cruel advantage, more than he had exacted from him; as, ſhould he come the next moment to purchaſe any thing elſe, he could not avoid repeating his exaction of the very money which he had juſt before given him in charity; and would give him again, if requeſted, from the ſame motive.

Our journey through the territories of Farſiſtan afforded no incident worthy of relation. The country continued to exhibit one ſcene of deſolation, more painful to the view than the barren de⯑ſart; the traces of former proſperity [211] aggravating the contemplation of pre⯑ſent miſery.

My fellow traveller ſaw what I felt, and endeavoured to divert my thoughts to more pleaſing objects. ‘When we ſhall have paſſed the great river of In⯑dus,’ ſaid he, ‘the ſight of that coun⯑try will amply compenſate for theſe diſagreeable ſcenes. Induſtry there flou⯑riſhes in the ſmiles of freedom. Com⯑merce is encouraged in all its various branches. An univerſal plenty covers the land; and the people are numerous, healthy, and happy.’

‘Nor leſs ſo were the people of this country once; till ambition overturned the works of art, and marred the bleſ⯑ſings of nature. The magnificence of the ruins, which ſtill remain, ſufficiently prove its former happineſs. But among ſlaves, nothing can flouriſh. Heaven! that a luſt of rule ſhould tempt a man to make his own ſpecies miſerable.’

While he was preparing to exhibit his merchandize for traffic, in the firſt city at which we arrived, I walked forth, as was my cuſtom, to view the place, and obſerve the manners of the people. But what was my ſurprize at my return to the caravanſera in the evening, not to find any trace of him!

[214]The admonition of my father, that moment recurred to my mind. I re⯑ſolved to wait for information, from accident, without making any enquiries, for fear of involving myſelf in whatever misfortune had happened to him.

Accordingly, I ſeated myſelf among other ſtrangers, in the gate; where my habit of a Faquir attracting the notice of a Bramin, who was paſſing by, he kindly invited me to taſte a morſel of food, and ſleep under his roof that night.

When we had finiſhed our repaſt, ‘The compoſure in which you ſat,’ ſaid the Bramin, ‘perſuades me that you were unacquainted with what had hap⯑pened in that caravanſera but a few hours before.’

‘THE difference in the produce of the different parts of the world,’ continued the Bramin, ‘hath been juſtly aſcribed to a beneficent deſign in the Creator, to raiſe a friendly intercourſe between the inhabitants, by laying them under a neceſſity of applying to [218] each other for the mutual ſupply of their wants.’

WHEN I was preparing to depart, the next morning, my hoſt aſked me, how long I intended to remain in that city; and with an air of benevolence, offered me every ſervice in his power. ‘As I never interfere with the concerns of any man,’ ſaid he, ‘I flatter my⯑ſelf, that I am beloved by the people of my own nation. Nor am I perſe⯑cuted by the ſtrangers, becauſe my pro⯑feſſion is a pledge for my poverty. On the contrary, they affect to ſhew me kindneſs, in order to lighten the charge of their treating all the natives with indiſcriminate cruelty.’

His ſaying this, ſtruck me with the thought of ſoliciting his interceſſion for my unfortunate fellow-traveller. It was [223] poſſible he might be able to ſerve him; and the attempt was a duty ſuperior to thoſe prudential motives, upon which the admonition of my father, againſt interfering in the concerns of another, was founded.

I ſhould be undeſerving of your ſer⯑vice, I anſwered, O venerable father, could I heſitate a moment to accept the offer of it, in an inſtance which will over-pay to your benevolent heart, any trouble it may give you.

I left my native country to travel in ſearch of knowledge, and came to this city in company with the unhappy mer⯑chant, whoſe misfortune you related to me yeſter-evening. If you can procure his releaſe from priſon, that will be the higheſt ſervice which can be done to me in this place. As for his wealth! let that remain with the ſpoilers! His liberty is all I aſk.

[224]This was the firſt time the Bramin had heard the ſound of my voice. He fixed his eyes ſtedfaſtly upon me, while I was ſpeaking, and as ſoon as I had ended, ‘I equally reſpect the motive of your travelling,’ he anſwered, ‘and the advances you have made in the at⯑tainment of it. Wiſdom only could have maintained ſilence, on ſo intereſting an occaſion, till a reaſon of ſuch weight made it neceſſary for you to ſpeak.’

I was involved in the greateſt per⯑plexity by this propoſal. To embrace it muſt put a ſtop to my travels, which was contrary to my firmeſt reſolution, as the time drew near, when I had pro⯑miſed to return to my father. If I re⯑jected it, I gave up the hope of deliver⯑ing an honeſt man from unjuſt oppreſ⯑ſion and miſery. The choice was diſtreſſ⯑ing; but I heſitated not long.

[226]I have ſome little knowledge, I an⯑ſwered, O my father, in the language you mention. I learned it from this unhappy man; and can never apply it to better purpoſe, than to ſerve him in his preſent diſtreſs. The taſk, it is true, will interrupt my travels; but it will at the ſame time bring me nearer to the end of them. In the practice of virtue con⯑ſiſts the only true wiſdom.

The Bramin applauded my reſolution. We went directly to the habitation of the ruler; in whoſe anti-chamber we were obliged to wait a conſiderable time, before we could be admitted to the ho⯑nour of his preſence.

I had ſeen ſomething in my native country of the ſlavery of ſuch attendan⯑cies; but never had I formed any con⯑ception of ſuch a ſcene, as I was now in. Every paſſion which could agitate, every vice which could deform the heart of man, was painted in the various faces round me; while ſuſ⯑picion, deceit, envy, cruelty, and ava⯑rice dictated every word, they ſpoke to each other.

Figure to yourſelf a ſet of men, thrown together by the incidents of an indigent life, from every claſs of man⯑kind, and every country under heaven, acting, or rather prepoſterouſly attempt⯑ing to act the moſt important parts, and you will have ſome notion of the com⯑pany in which I was: a company, to whoſe characters the powers of deſcrip⯑tion are ſo unequal, that nothing but [228] the indiſputable proof of facts could make them paſs for other than meer creatures of imagination.

My ſoul ſickened at the ſight; and I was almoſt driven to give up my pur⯑poſe, and depart, for fear of being infected by ſuch ſociety, when the Bra⯑min and I were ſummoned to our au⯑dience.

We found the great man lolling on a ſopha, in all the mimickry of ſtate; his awkward uneaſineſs under which, ſhewed his inexperience in the reality. All was buſtle, hurry, and confuſion. His orders contradicted each other, every moment. He knew not what he ought to approve, and therefore placed his judgment, in finding fault; as he ſhewed his greatneſs by looking with contempt at every thing around him.

Our entrance was announced to his excellency, by a ſervant, on a bent [229] knee; but though he was at that very inſtant looking at us, he continued to adjuſt his dreſs, for ſome time, before he condeſcended to honour us with the leaſt notice; till at length, throwing his eye toward us as by chance, he ſuperciliouſly aſked the Bramin the oc⯑caſion of his viſit.

‘Son of good fortune!’ anſwered the Bramin, ‘I have found ſuch a perſon, as you deſired me to ſeek for you, the laſt time I had the honour of paying my duty to your greatneſs; and have brought him to receive your com⯑mands.’

His excellency, rolling his eye back and forward from the Bramin to me, for ſome moments, with a ſuſpicious ſtare, at length demanded to know, what perſon he meant.

‘A perſon,’ anſwered the Bramin, ‘who hath travelled through all the [230] neighbouring nations, and is acquainted with their cuſtoms and manners, in which you expreſſed a deſire to be in⯑ſtructed.’

‘Not I indeed!’ replied his excellency, with a look and accent of offended im⯑portance. ‘You quite miſunderſtood me. I want no inſtruction in ſuch matters. What I ſpoke to you about, was a ſecretary for foreign affairs, who under⯑ſtands the languages of thoſe countries, and can write my orders to the ſove⯑reigns of them; as I have not time to throw away, on learning their jargon myſelf. I regard not their cuſtoms; and will teach them good manners, if they miſbehave themſelves to me.’

‘The miſtake,’ returned the Bramin, ‘is not material. My friend is qualified for either office. His capacity will be found on trial; and I will vouch for his fidelity.’

[231]Such a recommendation had the neceſſary weight, with his excellency, who knew the integrity of the Bramin, and had kept his eye, fixed upon me, all the time he ſpoke, as if he would read my ſoul. He graciouſly nodded his aſſent, and ſaying that I might come, as ſoon as I pleaſed, my con⯑ductor and I withdrew, rejoiced at the happy omen of having ſo eaſily ſucceeded in the firſt part of our deſign.

ON our return to the habitation of the Bramin, ‘As you are now entering into a ſcene of life,’ ſaid he, ‘utterly new to you; it may not be unneceſſary to give you a ſketch of the character of the man, to whom you are going, in order to direct your conduct toward him.’

ON my repairing next morning to the pavillion of the chief, I found him in converſation with a few of his aſſociates, on ſome ſubject which ſeemed to embar⯑raſs them not a little.

As ſoon as he caſt his eyes upon me, he turned ſhort to the others, and told them, with an exulting look, that I could give them the information they wanted, having travelled lately through all thoſe countries.

One of his aſſociates having preſumed to expreſs ſome doubt, whether it was ſafe to entruſt a ſtranger with a matter of ſuch moment, the ſagacity of the chief took inſtant offence. He aſked, with a ſupercilious air, When he had been known to be miſtaken in any man? Adding, that he had taken me for his ſecretary, on the recommen⯑dation [239] of a man of honour: not that I wanted any better voucher, to a man of diſcernment, than the honeſty written in my countenance.

The other believing, or at leaſt not thinking it proper to diſagree with him, aſked me if there was not a proſpect of the greateſt plenty, in thoſe countries, at the approaching harveſt; and on my bowing in affirmation, added a number of queſtions, concerning the prices of the different neceſſaries of life in diffe⯑rent places.

It inſtantly occurred to me, that this was ſuch an opportunity as I ſought, to ſerve my fellow-traveller. I anſwered therefore, that theſe were matters with which I was utterly unacquainted, hav⯑ing never bought any thing but what was immediately neceſſary for my own uſe, the purpoſe of my travelling having been only to indulge curioſity, and ac⯑quire knowledge: but that I knew a [240] perſon, who had followed the profeſſion of a merchant for many years, and was able to give him every information he could wiſh, in every branch of com⯑merce; and on informing him whom I meant, gave ſo high a character of the merchant's judgment and probity, that they all ſeemed inclined to employ him.

But there was a difficulty in my way, which I plainly perceived would defeat my deſign, if it could not be removed. This was his merchandize, which they had ſeized, and thought he would ex⯑pect to have reſtored to him, before he would enter into their ſervice: a ſacri⯑fice to juſtice which they could not pre⯑vail upon themſelves to make, to any uncertain proſpect.

On their expreſſing doubts, therefore, of the danger of placing confidence in a man utterly unknown to them, I replied, that they had a ſecurity for his honeſty in their own hands: that they might re⯑tain [241] his merchandize till he ſhould exe⯑cute their commiſſion; and then return it, or not, as he ſhould deſerve; by which means they would make it his intereſt to be honeſt to them.

This thought ſettled the whole affair. The chief inſtantly approved of my pro⯑poſal, paying a compliment to my judg⯑ment, in making intereſt the beſt mo⯑tive to honeſty; and I was directly ſent to conduct the merchant to them.

I cannot expreſs what I felt, on enter⯑ing the dungeon where the unhappy man was confined, even without any charge of a real crime. Dark, damp, and noiſome, it ſeemed to have been de⯑ſigned to render the horrors of impri⯑ſonment ſtill more horrible.

In the indignation of my ſoul at ſuch tyranny, I could not forbear exclaiming [242] in my native language, ‘What a re⯑proach is it to human nature, that the men, who have themſelves been ſubject to the heavy hand of power, are the leaſt proper to be entruſted with it over others!’

As ſoon as he heard my well-known voice, he raiſed his head from the ground, on which he lay, loaded with chains; and looking eagerly at me, ‘Oh, my friend,’ ſaid he, ‘have my miſ⯑fortunes overwhelmed you alſo? Is your innocence ruined, merely for hav⯑ing known ſuch a wretch as me? And yet, what is my guilt? What have I done, to draw this ruin upon me?’

His fears had taken ſuch poſſeſſion of his heart, that it was difficult to unde⯑ceive him, as to the cauſe of my com⯑ing; difficult to perſuade him that there was any proſpect of his being reſtored to his liberty.

[243]At length, when he ſaw his chains taken off, and the doors of the priſon opened to him, a new anxiety ſeized his ſoul; ‘But will they reſtore me my effects alſo?’ ſaid he, ſtopping ſhort at the door of the priſon, and fixing his eyes earneſtly upon me: ‘if not, of what advantage is liberty? I had better die here, than be obliged to beg my bread among ſtrangers. My miſery will be ſhorter, at the leaſt.’

I could ſcarcely ſuppreſs his emotions ſufficiently for him to appear before the arbiters of his fate. I ſoothed! I comforted! I encouraged him to hope the beſt; till I in ſome meaſure recalled his reaſon, and made him preſent to himſelf; for I was not permitted to un⯑fold to him the immediate occaſion of his releaſe.

When at length I introduced him to them, he anſwered all their queſtions with preciſion; and undertook to exe⯑cute [244] their commiſſion without heſitation, on condition of having his property reſtored to him, at his return with ſucceſs.

The nature of this commiſſion, and the readineſs with which he embraced it, ſtruck me with ſuch horror, that I reſolved directly to ſeparate myſelf both from him and his employers. But that very readineſs defeated my deſign. It made them ſuſpect that he wanted only to get out of their power, and therefore they inſiſted that I ſhould remain as an hoſtage for his fidelity.

It was impoſſible for me to avoid agreeing to this condition, without ex⯑poſing him, and probably myſelf alſo to deſtruction; as they would naturally have concluded, that we had concerted a ſcheme to deceive them. I aſſented therefore, with an appearance of readi⯑neſs, to that which I did not dare to refuſe; and purchaſed my fellow-tra⯑veller's [245] liberty at the price of my own, at leaſt for ſome time.

The commiſſion entruſted to him was to buy up all the produce of the year from the poſſeſſors, in order to ſell it back to them at an higher price, when their neceſſities ſhould become ſo preſſ⯑ing, as to oblige them to give whatever ſhould be required for it: the chief hav⯑ing an aſſured perſuaſion, that they had buried immenſe treaſures in the earth, to evade the exactions of himſelf and his aſſociates.

It may ſeem improbable to you, as it did at the time to me, that any people ſhould be ſo infatuated, as to put them⯑ſelves thus into the power of their known oppreſſors, for their very ſub⯑ſiſtence; but there is nothing ſo abſurd, which the force of avarice cannot effect.

The merchant, on my objecting this difficulty, treated it with contempt. [246] ‘Give them,’ ſaid he, ‘this day, one penny more than the current price, and they will accept it greedily, without ever conſidering what may be the con⯑ſequence to-morrow. Preſent gain is all which is now looked to in the world. Beſide, am I not armed with power to compel them, ſhould they unexpectedly have the imprudence to refuſe complying with my propoſals? They are in a ſnare, out of which they can no way eſcape.’

Nor did he pay greater reſpect to the diſapprobation which I could not forbear expreſſing, at the readineſs with which he undertook ſuch horrid work.

‘Your virtue, my friend,’ ſaid he, ‘is too refined ever to be carried into practice, when placed in the ſcale againſt the moſt powerful principles of human nature. I would not willingly commit injuſtice, nor lead any man to ruin; but when either he or I muſt be ruined, the trial is too ſevere; and nature will [247] preponderate, in ſpite of all the dreams of ſpeculation.’

The ſcenes of which I was a melan⯑choly witneſs, while the merchant was engaged in the execution of his com⯑miſſion, were too horrid for deſcription. I ſhall only ſay, that every act of in⯑juſtice and oppreſſion, which avarice and cruelty could ſuggeſt to lawleſs power, was practiſed openly, and with ſuch inſolence that the unhappy ſufferers did not even dare to lighten their grief, by a plaintive ſigh.

THE return of the merchant releaſed me, at length, from the ſight of ſuch miſery, from the ſociety of men, who were a diſgrace to the human name.

He had executed their commiſſion, with unexpected ſucceſs; and, as I thought, much more faithfully, than [248] they performed their promiſe of reward⯑ing him for it.

Every time he claimed the reſtitution of his merchandize, ſome new difficulty was ſtarted, ſome new delay made, under pretences the moſt frivolous, and ſhame⯑leſs; till growing apprehenſive that they might compleat their injuſtice by taking away his life to free themſelves from his importunity, he reduced his demand to the means of ſupport in his return to his native country; their condeſcending to grant which, after much entreaty, they affected to conſider, as an act of the greateſt generoſity, and favour.

When he was ready to depart, he affectionately preſſed me to accompany him. ‘Do not be diſcouraged, my friend,’ ſaid he, ‘at the unfortunate iſſue of our journey hither. Matters are not ſo bad, as they may appear to be. I knew my employers too well, to truſt entirely to their juſtice. An [249] agent underſtands but little of his buſineſs, who can not make it pay itſelf.’

Had I not before covenanted with my own heart to ſeparate myſelf from him, the very argument on which he reſted his ſolicitation, would have determined me to decline it. I wiſhed him an happy journey, ſaying that my fate led me another way.

I was too well acquainted with the power of habit over the human heart, to be ſurprized at this inſtance of the merchant's meaſuring juſtice by the rule of his own intereſt. It was but con⯑ſiſtency of character. Not that I can ſay, I was diſpleaſed with the conſe⯑quence, how much ſoever I diſapproved of the motive of his conduct. His employers, and he, had been guilty of equal breaches of truſt; and I there⯑fore adored that Power, which thus [250] made one act of injuſtice puniſh an⯑other.

The condition, upon which I had conſented to ſtay among theſe people, being thus fulfilled, I reſolved to take the firſt opportunity of departing, with⯑out giving them any notice of my de⯑ſign; being taught by their treatment of the merchant, what confidence was to be placed in their promiſes, and appre⯑henſive that they might think me too deeply acquainted with the myſteries of their iniquity to diſmiſs me.

While I waited for ſuch an oppor⯑tunity, the ſucceſs of the merchant's commiſſion appeared in effects, not to be recollected without horror.

The natives, as he had predicted, either from avarice, or compulſion, had ſold him all the produce of the land, which his employers no ſooner got into [251] their poſſeſſion, than they raiſed the prices to ſuch an height, that the wretches, after having expended every reſource to purchaſe indiſpenſible ſup⯑port, were reduced to all the dreadful extremities of famine; while the au⯑thors of their ruin looked on, with un⯑concern; nor would relax their extortion to ſave the very name of the people from being blotted out, from among the inhabitants of the earth.

Virgins offered themſelves to violation in the ſtreets, for a mouthful of food. The ſon ſold his father into ſlavery. The mother devoured the infant, which ſucked her breaſt. The living were not able to bury the dead.

Amid all theſe horrors, my ſoul had a peculiar conſolation, for ſome time. The jewels, which I had retained by the advice of Myrza, now ſerved the bene⯑ficent purpoſe, for which he had adviſed me to reſerve them. I gave them to [252] my friend, the Bramin, who diſpoſed of them, and applied the price to the relief of the general diſtreſs.

But alas! he proceeded not with ſuf⯑ficient ſecrecy. He was diſcovered, by the inhuman tyrants. He was ſeized. He was put to torture, to diſcover if he had any more, and from whom he had received them. He preſerved his faith to me; and died under the torture, without making any diſcovery.

Unfortunate was it for him, that I knew not of his ſufferings, till they were at an end. My life ſhould not have been ſaved, at the price of his.

Such ſcenes are difficult to be believed. The pride of conſcious virtue is unwil⯑ling to admit even a poſſibility of the human nature's ſinking ſo low. But when it is conſidered by whom theſe crimes were perpetrated, it will be [253] owned, that they were no more, than might have been foreſeen.

The weight of power is too great to be ſuſtained, under the moſt advan⯑tageous circumſtances. It too often intoxicates the beſt head; and warps the beſt heart. What then muſt its effects be, in the oppoſite extream? How could it rationally be expected, that men raiſed to abſolute power, from the loweſt ſtate of ſervility, and from the loweſt poverty, ſhould be able to reſiſt the temptation of abuſing that power to acquire wealth; when ſuch abuſe was, in a manner, juſtified by practice, and encouraged by impunity?

AS I had been detained by theſe events, beyond the time of my pro⯑miſed return to my father, I felt the anxiety of his love, for my ſafety; and therefore, for the greater expedition, embarked ſecretly in a ſhip, which was intended to ſail directly for Suez, pre⯑ferring the performance of ſo dear a duty to any pleaſure or advantage, which I could promiſe to myſelf, in the further purſuit of my travels.

Heaven ſeemed at firſt to ſmile upon our way. We ſailed with a favourable wind, till we entered the ſtraits of Dira, when a violent ſtorm aroſe, which in deſpite of all the efforts of our ma⯑riners, who ſtruggled with it, for ſeve⯑ral days, at length drove our ſhip upon ſome rocks, where ſhe was inſtantly torn to pieces.

[255]It is impoſſible to deſcribe what I felt in that dreadful moment. The darkneſs of midnight was condenſed tenfold, by the fury of the ſtorm. All was horror, and diſmay.

Though the moſt reſolute had loſt every hope of eſcaping; we all, in the inſtinctive impulſe of ſelf-preſervation, laid hold on ſuch pieces of the wreck, as chance threw in our way, and cling⯑ing to them, were driven about at the mercy of the winds and waves, in which many periſhed by a milder death, than awaited moſt of thoſe who gained the land.

It was my fate, to be thrown upon the ſhore, without any appearance of life; a ſituation, to which, as I after⯑wards found, I owed my ſafety.

The day had juſt begun to dawn, when I recovered my ſenſes, the firſt efforts of which ſerved only to preſent [256] me with ſcenes ſtill more horrible, than that from which I had eſcaped. I found myſelf entirely naked, at ſome little diſtance from the ſea, whither, I ſup⯑poſe, I muſt have been dragged for the better convenience of ſtripping off my cloaths.

But this treatment, however cruel in itſelf, was kindneſs in compariſon, of what I ſaw inflicted on my unhappy companions, as many of whom as reached the ſhore alive, were inſtantly ſlaughtered, and then ſtripped by the natives, who inſtead of relieving a ſtate of diſtreſs, which ſhould have moved every humane paſſion, looked upon them, and their property, as lawful prey.

Shocked as my ſoul was, at ſuch bar⯑barity, nature directed my firſt thoughts to my own ſafety. I lay, as motionleſs as if I was really dead, till I ſaw the ſavages depart, laden with the ſpoils of the wretches, whom they had ſlaugh⯑tered; [257] when raiſing myſelf, as well as weakneſs and the pain of many bruiſes would permit, I crept to the ſea ſide to try if I could happily adminiſter relief, to any, who might have eſcaped, in the ſame manner with myſelf, and find ſome cloaths to cover me, which had been over-looked by the ravagers, in the hurry of their rapacity.

But I was diſappointed at the firſt in either hope. They were too well ex⯑perienced in the work, to leave it un⯑finiſhed; and I was juſt going to depart, though I knew not whither, when caſting my eyes, once more, wiſhfully to the ſea, I thought I perceived ſomething floating toward the ſhore.

The ſtorm having by this time nearly ſpent its force, I ventured into the water to ſee, what the object before me might be; when I found one of my fellow-paſſengers, with whom I had contracted a particular intimacy, with his arms [258] claſped round a coffer, to which he was tied. I inſtantly raiſed his head, above the water, and perceiving ſome ſigns of life, exerted all my ſtrength, to draw him up on the dry land, where my care ſoon reſtored him to his ſenſes.

The moment he opened his eyes, and ſaw me buſied about him, his ſituation ſuggeſted itſelf to him in the worſt light, my being naked preventing his knowing me; and making him imagine I was one of the ſpoilers, with whoſe nefarious practices he was too well acquainted. Lifting his hands therefore, in a ſup⯑pliant manner, ‘O! ſpare my life,’ ſaid he, ‘ſpare the life of an old man, who will never diſturb your poſſeſſion of what you have acquired.’

‘What!’ I returned: ‘Do you not know me? Can Haſſan be taken for a ſpoiler, by his friend?’

[259]He ſtarted, on hearing my voice; and looking eagerly at me, ‘Is it poſſible?’ ſaid he, ‘Can I be ſo happy? But where is the coffer to which I was bound? If that is loſt, my life is of little value to me.’

I then ſhewed him the coffer, where it ſtill lay in the water, upon which he aroſe with a vigour, not to have been expected from his ſituation, and running toward it, ‘Let us then ſecure it in⯑ſtantly,’ ſaid he, ‘before the ſpoilers come, or they will not only rob us of all it contains, but murder us alſo, to ſecure the ſpoil.’

As ſoon as he had drawn it to the land, he opened the locks, and taking out a caſket, put it into his boſom, and was preparing to depart, without ſeeming even to think of any thing elſe.

[260]Such an inſenſibility to the ſituation I was in, affected me. ‘How!’ ſaid I; ‘and will my friend deſert me, thus naked and alone?’

He ſtarted; and pauſing for a mo⯑ment, as if juſt awakened from a dream, ‘Deſert you!’ he returned; ‘no, never will I deſert my preſerver. But what can we do? The ſpoilers will come upon us, the moment they diſcover that our ſhip has been wrecked. The vulture is not more quick to find his prey, nor the tyger more cruel, than the inhabitants of the ſea-coaſts to de⯑ſtroy thoſe, whom the more merciful waves throw into their power.’

I then acquainted him, that they had been already there, ſhewing him the ſlaughtered bodies on the ſhore, to which I added my own condition, as proofs of their bloody rapacity.

[261]His thoughts were ſo intently fixed upon himſelf, that he ſeemed to have no feeling for the misfortunes of any other. ‘Thank heaven,’ ſaid he, embracing the caſket, ‘that we have eſcaped though; and that my jewels are ſafe! But we muſt not remain here! As ſoon as they have left their ſpoil at home, they will return, to try if they can glean up any more. I will ſhare my garments with thee for the preſent. We ſhall ſoon be able to procure every thing we want.’

He was proceeding to ſtrip himſelf, when the occaſion was unhappily re⯑moved. The ſea threw up, near to the place where we ſtood, the body of one of our companions, whom finding to be dead, I yielded to the horrid ne⯑ceſſity of taking his cloaths to cover myſelf.

WE had not advanced far into the country, before we diſcovered a cottage, the poor appearance of which ſhewed the poverty of its inhabitants.

On our approaching the door, which ſtood open to give light to the family, whom we found ſeated around a little fire, at a meal of ſimple vegetables, the maſter invited us in the moſt hoſpitable manner to partake of his humble fare.

Though I knew him, at the firſt caſt of my eye, to be one of thoſe, who had been moſt active in murdering and ſpoiling my unhappy companions, my aſtoniſhment was not greater at the pre⯑ſent contraſt in his conduct, than to hear him addreſs us, in the Byrſan language.

[263]'Gracious heaven!' I exclaimed, 'where am I? Is it poſſible that this is the country of the Byrſans? That ſuch barbarous crimes ſhould be committed, in defiance of the moſt beneficent laws?'

The cottager, who knew not the cauſe of my exclamation, appeared to be ſur⯑prized; nor made me any anſwer, till I repeated my queſtion, when he in⯑formed me, that I was in my native country.

But my companion, who underſtood my meaning, having often heard me boaſt of the laws of Byrſa, as ſuperior to thoſe of all other nations, would not miſs ſuch an occaſion of reproving my vain partiality. ‘Why ſhould not ſuch crimes,’ ſaid he, ‘be committed in this country, as ſoon as in any other? It is not the laws, but the execution of them, which hath an effect upon the manners of a people. The beſt laws, if badly adminiſtered, only encourage [264] the crimes, which they were deſigned to prevent.’

The cottager, having directed us the way to Byrſa, returned to the ſea-coaſt, to ſeek for more ſpoil, in contempt of every argument, I could uſe to diſ⯑ſuade him; while we proceeded toward the houſe of my father, my heart pant⯑ing with filial love and joy, at the thought of being ſo near him.

The contradiction between the conduct of the cottager, when at home, and on the ſhore, was ſo ſtriking, that I could not forbear expreſſing my ſurprize to my companion, who accounted for it, in a manner moſt diſgraceful to the polity of any civilized people.

‘The nature of man,’ ſaid he, ‘is in itſelf benevolent. Cruelty is ever the conſequence of error in opinion or of bad example. In his cottage you ſaw this man, in his natural character. [265] His conduct, on the ſhore, proceeded from a notion derived from the laws of times of ignorance, and barbarity, that the plunderers could not be compelled to make reſtitution of their ſpoil, if no man belonging to a ſhip, which was wrecked, remained alive to claim it.’

‘If then, the legiſlature of Byrſa really merited the praiſe, which you have ſo laviſhly beſtowed upon it, would not proper means have been taken to eradicate ſuch a notion, and prevent its horrid conſequences, by confiſcating to the ſtate every wreck, where all the people periſhed; and on the other hand, allowing a part thereof to the inhabitants of the coaſt, in pro⯑portion to the number of lives ſaved by them; inſtead of the preſent abſurd method of puniſhment for plundering, which they evade by murdering all, who might prove their guilt?’

[264] [...] [265] [...]

[266]Though this objection was not to be anſwered, I could not ſuppreſs the ex⯑ultation of my heart, at the appearance of happineſs, which ſhone in every place we paſſed through, as we ad⯑vanced toward the capital; nor forbear pointing it out to my companion, as the beſt vindication of our laws.

But he viewed matters in another light. ‘Moderate your pride,’ ſaid he, ‘till you ſee whether it is well founded. When I view the face of the country, I think myſelf in paradiſe. But when I conſider the inhabitants, my opinion is much leſs favourable. The extre⯑mities of the land are uncultivated for want of people, who croud to the me⯑tropolis, where their labour is waſted in works of vanity. The whole nation is drowned in luxury. They are poor in the midſt of plenty. They have much, but they want ſtill more. Their powers both of mind and body are [267] weakened by exceſs, their principles debauched by proſperity. In a word, their happineſs hath overflowed its bounds; and if this calm continues much longer, Byrſa will over-ſet, in the firſt ſtorm, which ſhall fall with any force upon it.’

MY meeting with my father is not to be deſcribed. He had been for ſome time ſinking under the infirmities of age; and ſeemed to have ſtruggled to preſerve life, only till he could reſign it, in my boſom.

The moment he was informed of my arrival, he called me eagerly to him; and throwing his arms around my neck, as I kneeled by the ſide of his bed, ‘It is enough!’ ſaid he; ‘Gracious hea⯑ven, it is enough. I embrace him once more; and now I die content.’—

[268]Then pauſing a few moments to re⯑cover his ſpirits, unequal to ſuch an exceſs of joy, ‘O! bleſs my ſon!’ he continued; ‘Enable him to ſave his’— he would have added, country; but the word died unfiniſhed on his tongue, (heaven not permitting him to prefer a prayer, which muſt be ineffectual) and he expired without a groan, in my arms.

Having performed the laſt duties to his honoured remains, I determined to devote the reſidue of my days to the cultivation of my mind in retirement, every thing I ſaw around me, giving me a diſguſt to the world.

I had found ſuch pleaſure in the con⯑verſation of my late fellow-ſufferer in the ſhipwreck, whoſe benevolence of heart, and judicious acquaintance with the ways of man opened themſelves upon me, more and more, every hour, [269] that I would have perſuaded him to remain with me.

But all my perſuaſions were ineffec⯑tual. He had fixed his mind upon re⯑turning to his native city of Cairo, and there ending his days, among his family. We parted with the ſincereſt ſentiments of mutual eſteem.

I have informed you of the claim, which the Byrſans made to the neigh⯑bouring country of the Coptes. It had pleaſed heaven to lead me home, juſt as their army was preparing to march, to inforce that claim.

Though I had determined upon a retired life, the principles, in which I had been educated by my father, mak⯑ing me diſapprove a meaſure, ſo con⯑trary to juſtice, I thought it my firſt duty to endeavour to prevent it, before [270] I would attend to any thing, which re⯑lated ſolely to myſelf.

I reſolved therefore to demand an audience of the king, to whom my rank in the ſtate gave me a right of ſpeaking my ſentiments on public af⯑fairs; and lay before him the reaſons of my diſſenting from the general voice, on ſo important an occaſion; not doubt⯑ing but I ſhould be able to open his eyes to the evils, which muſt neceſſarily re⯑ſult from it.

The war appeared to me ſo flagrantly unjuſt, that I imagined there muſt be ſome ſecret reaſons for it, to which my abſence had made me a ſtranger, or it could never have been reſolved on. Before, therefore, I would preſume to oppoſe it, I thought it neceſſary to en⯑quire more particularly into the matter, as I knew the danger of judging, on a partial view.

[271]For this purpoſe I went directly to a perſon, whoſe having held ſeveral of the firſt offices in the ſtate, I concluded muſt enable him to give me the information I wanted; and which an alliance be⯑tween our houſes gave me a right to require.

On entering his habitation, I was ſur⯑priſed to find every thing wear a gloomy aſpect. The very looks of the ſervants ſpoke an unhappy maſter. He received me, with an air of dignity and reſpect, but clouded with a reſerve, which made it diſagreeable, and ſeemed deſirous to confine his converſation to general queſ⯑tions, relating to the countries, which I had ſeen in my travels.

This, however, gave me an eaſy op⯑portunity of leading him to the ſubject of the approaching war, without ex⯑preſsly declaring the purpoſe of my coming, which I apprehended might have made him ſtill more reſerved: I [272] therefore, as occaſionally, deſired to know his opinion of it, as a direction to mine, which, probably for want of proper information, I owned to be againſt it.

At the firſt mention of the affair, I ſaw his eyes ſparkle with indignation, which aroſe as I proceeded, till it en⯑tirely diſſipated the gloom, which hung upon his brow, and broke through his reſerve.

‘I am happy,’ ſaid he, with a look of the warmeſt complacency, ‘to find your ſentiments concur with mine, on this important occaſion, for, if you are not ſatisfied with the apparent, much leſs will you be, with the real motives of this war. The former have at leaſt ſomething like a colour, how⯑ever falſe, of juſtice; becauſe it was neceſſary to deceive the people, who can never be led into any thing, which they know to be unjuſt, how eaſily ſoever [273] they may be deceived; but the latter are a myſtery of the groſſeſt iniquity, in every ſenſe.’

‘Good heaven!’ I returned; ‘Whence can this proceed? The youth of our ſovereign opened with the faireſt hopes.’

‘Nor hath he ever fallen from thoſe hopes!’ interrupted he, eagerly. ‘One vice hath never ſtained his private life, one act of injuſtice warped his public conduct. Yet ſtill, a character, leſs pure, might have proved more advan⯑tageous to his people. To form a pro⯑per judgment of a man, his ſtation muſt be conſidered. The virtues moſt ſublime in a ſubject, are often but amiable weakneſſes in a ſovereign.’

The horrid reſolution, with which he concluded this melancholy repreſenta⯑tion, aggravated the pain it gave me, ten thouſand fold. 'O! beware,' I ex⯑claimed, 'of indulging ſo dangerous a thought; of tempting the wrath of heaven, by diffidence in its goodneſs, and power! A crime, which reaſon and religion equally forbid; and madneſs only can excuſe.'

‘Reaſon,’ he anſwered, ‘prompts me to fly from evil.’—

'But not to a greater,' I interrupted eagerly: 'Not to evils, from which there is no flying, no hoping for relief.'

[278] ‘Of thoſe evils,’ he replied with a contemptuous ſmile, ‘I know nothing. The phantoms, with which ſuperſti⯑tious ignorance was ſo long terrified, are at length ſeen through. Nature ſeeks happineſs; and if I can not find it, in this life, I muſt follow the purſuit into another; if ſuch there is! It is better not to be, than be unhappy!’

I attempted not to argue with him farther, as I could plainly ſee, by the manner in which he expreſſed himſelf, that contradiction would only confirm him more ſtrongly in his opinion, and perhaps ſtimulate his vanity to haſten the execution of it.

I was diverted from the painful re⯑flections, which ſuch a ſcene naturally ſuggeſted, at my return, by the entrance of a perſon, who had been one of the moſt intimate acquaintances of my early youth.

As I had been informed, that he had waſted his fortune, in every mode of idle diſſipation and expence, I was moſt agreeably ſurprized at his appearance, every thing in which ſpoke affluence, and a mind at eaſe. He ſaluted me with the warmeſt profeſſions of regard; and we inſtantly continued our former intimacy, as if it had never been inter⯑rupted.

After ſome reciprocal inquiries of perſonal affection, I informed him of the converſation, which had paſſed, at [280] the viſit, from which I was juſt re⯑turned.

He pauſed a few moments, as ſtruck by what I had ſaid, then with a look not well aſſured, ‘I ſhall not pretend,’ he anſwered, ‘to vindicate in all things, either the meaſures of the government, or the manners of the age! But the motives of this perſon's diſapprobation, greatly weaken the force of it. He ſpeaks from the rage of diſappointment, not from principle.’

‘That political corruption, againſt which he inveighs with ſuch acrimony, did he himſelf carry to ſuch lengths, when in power, that it was too groſs to be ſupported; and occaſioned his de⯑poſal; nor is there a moral vice, which hath not ſtained his character; but as ſome of theſe vices have been retorted againſt himſelf, and he is no longer permitted to practiſe that corruption, he now declaims againſt it, in this [281] manner. But you muſt not truſt too implicitly to his repreſentations. Be⯑cauſe the world does not go, as he likes, he modeſtly ſays it is going to ruin.’

The human heart is ſo fond of hap⯑pineſs, that we give eaſy credit to what we wiſh. I looked upon the gloomy picture, which had been drawn to me, to have proceeded meerly from the clouds, which over-caſt the painter's mind; and did not doubt but my friend would ſet every thing in a very differ⯑ent light.

I therefore deſired him to acquaint me, if there were any reaſons for the approaching war, beſide thoſe publicly given, which I ſcrupled not to ſay were ſo flagrantly unjuſt, that I had reſolved to exert my utmoſt endeavours to prevent it.

[282] ‘My dear friend,’ he anſwered, ſtaring at me with ‘ſurprize, what you ſay, may poſſibly be very true; but theſe are matters, about which I never give myſelf any trouble.’

'How!' I returned, aſtoniſhed at what he ſaid, 'not give yourſelf trouble about matters of the greateſt importance to a ſtate, in which you hold ſo high a rank? In the government of which you have ever undertaken a part, not to be executed without trouble? You are not; you can not be ſerious! But this is a ſubject, moſt improper for pleaſantry!'

‘I ſpeak my ſentiments, I aſſure you!’ he replied. ‘I never did, nor ever will give myſelf trouble about any thing. If I would have taken trouble, with matters of this nature, I might probably have conducted them myſelf. My purpoſe is to enjoy the pleaſures [283] of life, while I can, without troubling myſelf about conſequences, which all my trouble may not be able to pre⯑vent.’

'But!' ſaid I, interrupting him ſhortly: 'If you were determined not to take trouble, why did you take an office, which required it? You know my plainneſs! Is it conſiſtent with a juſt ſenſe of honour, or even with common honeſty to take the wages, without doing the work?'

‘You were always an enthuſiaſt!’ he anſwered with a forced ſmile; ‘and I find you will ever remain one. I was in hope, that ſeeing the world would have opened your mind; and ſhewn you the abſurdity of ſuch antiquated notions. I took the office, becauſe I had occaſion for the emoluments of it; as the viſier gave it, to attach me to his intereſt: And on the ſame terms, is every office given and accepted.’

[284] ‘If you imagine, that any one under the viſier preſumes, in virtue of his office, to do any thing, you are utterly miſtaken. It is he, who virtually does every thing; and all the other officers of the ſtate are no better than cyphers following him, to add to his conſe⯑quence.’

My indignation, which had been riſing ſtill higher, at every word he ſpoke, could be reſtrained no longer. 'How,' I exclaimed, 'wed a woman of whoſe diſhonour you were yourſelf a witneſs! What! though you were an accomplice in her guilt, your partici⯑pation leſſened not the crime in her; nor can you expect that ſhe will be more faithful to you, than ſhe was to your friend. In the firſt ſtep is all the dif⯑ficulty. A woman, who hath once ſurmounted that, ſeldom feels any re⯑luctance to proceed in the ſame way. Beſide your own honour—

‘You are too ſqueamiſh! quite too ſqueamiſh!’ he interrupted, not de⯑ſiring to hear more. ‘The world is [288] grown wiſer, than to view theſe matters in ſo ſerious a light, as formerly. How can a man's honour be injured by the levity of a woman? That is another of thoſe antiquated abſurdities, which are now only laughed at; and you will ſoon be aſhamed of.’

I know not whether my indignation or contempt was moſt moved by this propoſal. 'Such a law, as you mention,' I replied, 'ſeems to be the only thing wanted to compleat that diſſoluteneſs, which marks the character of the Byrſan nation, with deeper diſgrace, than ever diſhonoured any other people.

A legiſlature, which had a juſt ſenſe of honour, inſtead of authoriſing, would uſe every poſſible means to prevent ſuch infamous marriages. Marriages, which defeat the very intention of mar⯑riage, by providing a reward for that breach of faith, which it was inſtituted to prevent.

The law, too evidently neceſſary, is to brand public vice, with public in⯑famy; [292] and prevent a repetition of the breach of matrimonial fidelity, by pro⯑hibiting the offender from ever marry⯑ing again. Indeed, ſo ſacred ſhould the honour of the female ſex be held, that a woman, who could ſo far forget her own dignity, as to ſuffer ſeduction even in a ſtate of freedom, and without the additional guilt of conjugal infidelity, ſhould not be admitted to marry even with her ſeducer. As the crime is in⯑delible, the puniſhment ſhould be in⯑evitable.

Such was the ſenſe of that people, whoſe ſuperior virtue over-turned the diſſolute city of Carthage, and forced our anceſtors to fly from their native country; a fate, which evidently threa⯑tens their degenerate offspring, and this more diſſolute city of Byrſa.'—Saying which I turned away in diſdain, waving my hand to him to depart.

[293]The horror, with which I was ſtruck by the converſation of theſe men, is not to be expreſſed. I held it as im⯑poſſible, that a ſtate, in which the only firm bond of human connection, moral virtue, is univerſally broken, ſhould not ſeparate, and fall to ruin; as I know it to be, for any other than religious principles to ſupport man, through the evils inevitably incident to his nature; a truth, confirmed by too many melan⯑choly inſtances among the Byrſans, who ignorant of the illimitable extent of divine mercy, or not daring to look up to it, ſunk into deſpair, on the lighteſt diſappointment; and raſhly threw away lives, which a better ſenſe might have rendered happy to themſelves, and uſe⯑ful to their country.

Diſcouraged as I was by theſe reflec⯑tions, I knew it to be my duty not to deſpair of the public welfare, or relax my endeavours to promote it; and there⯑fore [294] reſolved to go without farther delay to the king, and lay my ſentiments of the war before him.

As I was departing from my own habitation for this purpoſe, I was ſtopped by a ſtranger, who ſaid, with a myſte⯑rious look, that he had an affair of im⯑portance to impart to me.

On my retiring with him, into an inner chamber, he told me, he was ſorry to trouble me, on a diſagreeable occaſion; but that his friendſhip for the perſon who had juſt left me, would not permit his refuſing to come from him, to demand ſatisfaction for my treatment of him, in our laſt converſation.

Such a demand ſtruck me with the ſtrongeſt aſtoniſhment. I anſwered, that his friend muſt certainly be miſtaken, as I could not charge myſelf with having [295] treated him, or any other man ill, in my life.

I ſuppoſe he thought I was terrified, and therefore that he might the more ſafely preſs upon me. He replied with an haughty air, that his friend had too high a ſenſe of honour to be ſatisfied with ſo poor an evaſion, and that I muſt either inſtantly meet him, or take the conſequence of my cowar⯑dice.

But he overacted his part. Such a menace, inſtead of fear or reſentment, raiſed only my contempt. I anſwered him with the coldeſt indifference, that I was ſurprized to hear honour attributed to a man, who by his own confeſſion had forfeited every claim to it; and that if he thought himſelf aggrieved by my treatment of him, he muſt correct the conduct, which had given occaſion [296] for it; and then he need not fear meet⯑ing the like from me again.

Such a repulſe ſhewed him his error. Lowering the tone of his voice, he ſaid, ‘he hoped I would conſider that it was a delicate point; and wiſhed ſome method could be found to adjuſt it, without coming to extre⯑mities.’

But this moderation was affected too late. I replied, that I knew no me⯑thod, but that which I had propoſed of his changing his conduct in life, upon which I would certainly change mine to him; and not till then; and that as for the conſequences, which he had thought proper to threaten, I gave myſelf no concern about them, as I had too juſt a reſpect for true honour to pay any to the ſhadow, which he affected to worſhip, or ſubmit my own principles to public opinion, by deſcending to put [297] myſelf on a level with a man, who had given up every thing really reſpectable, in the human character.

This was an anſwer, he ſeemed not to have been prepared for. He pauſed for ſome minutes, as if conſidering what to reply; and then withdrew without even attempting to ſpeak another word.

AS ſoon as the agitation, naturally raiſed by ſuch a ſcene, had ſubſided, I went to the king; and in the humility of loyal duty examined before him the cauſe, and looked forward to the con⯑ſequences of the war; and having ſhewn that theſe were as dangerous, as that was unjuſt, beſought him to inter⯑poſe his authority to prevent it.

He heard me with attention; and even ſeemed ſtruck with what I ſaid; but without attempting to refute it, anſwered in general terms, that the war was al⯑ready reſolved upon; and the minds of the people ſo intent upon it, that it was impoſſible to reſiſt them.

Severely as I was affected by this re⯑pulſe, it was not the only thing which gave me pain, on the occaſion. No [299] ſooner was my diſapprobation of the war known, than I was appointed to a prin⯑cipal command in the army prepared to carry it on.

To a perſon, unacquainted with the principles, which prevailed among the Byrſans, at that time, this muſt appear a deſigned inſult. But no ſuch thing was thought of; it was intended as a mark of reſpect; as a gratification of the purpoſe of my oppoſition. This muſt be explained.

There is no human inſtitution, how⯑ever wiſe, and ſalutary in its natural effects, which the depravity of man can not pervert to the moſt pernicious purpoſes.

The great council, which Narbal had appointed to aſſiſt the ſovereign, in the difficulties of government, with their advice; and watch over the intereſts of [300] the people, with which they, as a part, muſt neceſſarily be better acquainted than he could be, often acted directly contrary to that intention, loſing all conſequence under a ſpirited and poli⯑tic prince; and on the other hand, when one of a different character offered op⯑portunity, riſing upon his weakneſs, and uſurping the power, while he had only the name of ſovereignty.

In the former inſtance, honorary diſ⯑tinctions, and the emoluments of go⯑vernment always afforded a prince, who had abilities to apply them properly, the means of influencing the members of the council, and making them ſub⯑ſervient to his purpoſe; but thoſe, which they employed againſt him, may not be ſo obvious to you, though they were equally ready.

As the council had a right to delibe⯑rate upon the meaſures of government, [301] it was eaſy for a deſigning member to carp at ſuch, as though neceſſary, and ſtrictly juſt, might appear exceptionable to a ſuperficial view; in which he was ſure of being followed by the unthink⯑ing populace, as the tutelary aſſertor and guardian of their rights; till they raiſed him to ſuch a conſequence, as enabled him to enhance the price of his ac⯑quieſcence with the will of the prince, or perhaps wreſt his authority out of his hands.

Nothing could be a ſtronger proof of the wiſdom of Narbal, than that even ſo groſs an abuſe of his inſtitution was not ſufficient to counterbalance the advantages, ariſing from this council, and make the abolition of it neceſſary; the very means, by which this abuſe was perpetrated, preventing the obvious and worſt conſequences of it; and pre⯑ſerving the great principles of the go⯑vernment from being loſt.

[302]For in order to acquire this popularity, it was neceſſary to explain thoſe princi⯑ples to the people, who ſoon ſaw their intereſt, and ability to preſerve them; and though they joined in their abuſe, would never have ſubmitted to their being fundamentally overturned.

On this ſyſtem therefore the viſier judging of me, by all thoſe, who had on other occaſions oppoſed public mea⯑ſures, concluded that the readieſt way of gaining me to his intereſt, was to give me this command, the inconſiſtency of my accepting which, with my op⯑poſition to the war, was ſufficiently countenanced by the general practice.

But ſuch an example had no weight with me; and I refuſed his offer with indignation, till my ſovereign himſelf condeſcending to requeſt my compliance, perſonal reſpect to him, and a ſenſe of the ſacred duty of ſubjection, obliged [303] me to accept it, however contrary to my inclination.

‘How blind,’ interrupted Temugin, ‘will attachment to a favourite ſyſtem make the beſt informed mind? This man, who wanted not wiſdom in other matters, could ſee no imperfection, in the principles of a government, which teemed with the cauſe of its own diſſo⯑lution, from the firſt hour it was inſti⯑tuted. A ſtate, in which the power of the ſovereign can be counterbalanced by that of his ſubjects, is like a body without an head, and muſt neceſſarily fall to ruin.’

‘I will hear the concluſion of his ſtory at ſome other time.’