MERCY. Anecdotes of OTTOMAN and ALIVERDI.

OTTOMAN, the firſt Sultan of the Turks, was of ſo mild a temper, that to this day, at the ceremony of proclaiming the Emperors his ſuc⯑ceſſors, they wiſh them his meekneſs. One day his officers brought to him a man that had been found concealed in the Imperial tent with a dagger under his garment. The criminal confeſſed that he in⯑tended to murder the Sultan; and the officers waited impatiently for orders to execute the villain: But Ottoman, whom nothing could warp from his good-nature, ſaid to the officers, let the wretch go, I cannot reſolve to ſhed blood.

This inſtance of unbounded clemency has its value, though it is the effect of temper: But let us ſee whether clemency produced by ſentiment and re⯑flection is not ſuperior to it.

Aliverdi, generaliſſimo of the armies of Abbas the Great, King of Perſia, and his prime miniſter, was as good a general and as able a politician, as he was amiable in the capacity of a courtier. From the conſtant ſerenity of his countenance it was [17] judged that nothing could ruffle the calmneſs of his heart; and virtue diſplayed itſelf in him ſo grace⯑fully and ſo naturally, that it was ſuppoſed to be the effect of his happy temper. An extraordinary incident made the world do him juſtice, and placed him in the rank he deſerved.

One day as he was ſhut up in his cloſet, beſtow⯑ing on affairs of ſtate the hours which other men devote to ſleep, a courier quite out of breath came in and told him, that an Armenian, followed by a poſſe of friends, had in the night ſurprized his pa⯑lace at Amandabat, deſtroyed all the moſt valuable furniture in it, and would have carried off his wife and children, doubtleſs to make ſlaves of them, had not the domeſtics, when the firſt fright was over, made head againſt him. The courier added, that a bloody ſkirmiſh enſued, in which his ſervants had the advantage at laſt; that the Armenian's friends were all killed upon the ſpot, but that their leader was taken alive.

I thank thee, Offali^*, cried Aliverdi, for afford⯑ing me the means to revenge ſo enormous an at⯑tempt. What! whilſt I make a ſacrifice of my days and my repoſe to the good of Perſia; while, through my cares and toils, the meaneſt Perſian lives ſecure from injuſtice and violence, ſhall an audacious ſtranger come to injure me in what is moſt dear to me! Let him be thrown into a dun⯑geon, [18] and give him a quantity of wretched food ſufficient to preſerve him for the torments to which I deſtine him. The courier withdrew, charged with theſe orders to thoſe who had the Armenian in cuſtody.

But Aliverdi ſoon growing cool again, cried out, What is it, O God, that I have done! Is it thus that I maintain the glory of ſo many years? Shall one ſingle moment eclipſe all my virtue! That ſtranger has cruelly provoked me: But what im⯑pelled him to it? No man commits evil merely for the pleaſure of doing it: There is always a motive, which paſſion or prejudice preſents to us under the maſk of equity; and it muſt needs be ſomething of this kind that blinded the Armenian to the dread⯑ful attempt. Doubtleſs, I muſt have injured the wretch!

He diſpatched immediately an expreſs to Aman⯑dabat, with an order under his own hand, not to make the priſoner feel any other hardſhip than the privation of liberty. Still tranquil, after this act of moderation, he applied himſelf again to public bu⯑ſineſs, till he ſhould have leiſure to ſift this bu⯑ſineſs to the bottom. From the ſtrict inquiries he ordered to be made, he learned, that one of his inferior officers had done very conſiderable damage to the Armenian, conſidering the mediocrity of his fortune; and that he himſelf had ſlighted the com⯑plaints brought againſt him. Eaſed by this diſco⯑very, he called for the Armenian, whoſe counte⯑nance [19] expreſſed more confuſion than terror, and paſſed this ſentence upon him.

"Vindictive ſtranger, there was ſome ground for thy reſentment; thou didſt think I had juſtly incurred thy hatred; I forgive thee the injury thou haſt done me. But thou haſt carried thy vengeance to exceſs; thou haſt attacked a man whom thou oughteſt to reſpect; nay, thou haſt attempted to make thy vengeance fall upon innocent heads: therefore I ought to puniſh thee. Go, and reflect in ſolitude on the wretchedneſs of a man that gives full ſwing to his paſſions. Thy puniſhment, which juſtice requires of me, will be ſufficiently tempered by my clemency; and thy repentance may permit me to ſhorten the term."

LOVE. IDRIS and MAHMUT.

AMONG the dancers of the palace, in the reign of Abbas the Great, King of Perſia, there was a young maid, named Idris, whom the maſter of the revels, on the report of her charms, had ſent for from Caſbin to Iſpahan. Her mother being of the ſame profeſſion, ſhe had followed that way of life: But as ſhe honourably diſtinguiſhed herſelf from her female companions, ſhe demonſtrated that virtue is practicable in every ſituation, however ſlippery or dangerous it may be.

[21]Scarcely had Idris appeared on the theatre of the capital, but ſhe found herſelf beſet by the grandees, who ſtrove to pleaſe her by the ſame means that had won others in that ſtation. Every one exerted his faculties and addreſs, in order to gain the preference over his rivals. But Idris was not to be caught with ſuch baits. At the palace, at aſſemblies, in the public walks, and in all places, the diſcourſe turned upon the new dancer: Every one talked of her beauty, her wit, and her engaging behaviour; and, which was more than they had ever ſaid of any other of her profeſſion, they agreed in acknowledging her to be virtuous. It is the property only of the moſt exalted virtue to gain the reſpect and admi⯑ration of young courtiers. Mahmut conceived a high opinion of Idris's virtue, from the extraordinary effect it produced.

Mahmut bore among the young Lords of the Court the ſame character which Idris maintained among the dancers of her ſex; proof againſt the defects of his equals and the vices of his ſtation. As ſoon as he began to appear in the world, he became ſenſible of the ridiculouſneſs of that noiſy, obſtre⯑perous giddineſs, which moſt young people of qua⯑lity affect; and being happily prejudiced againſt the idle life he ſaw them lead, he took care not to follow their example, yet without ſeeming to condemn them. While their days were divided between the toilet, the table, viſits, ladies' bed-chambers, and gaming, he ſpent the morning in his cloſet among [22] his books, or with thoſe whoſe converſation could inſtruct him better. In the afternoon he frequented the manufactories, and working places about the palace; talked with the ableſt hands in the ſeveral arts; and obſerved with the utmoſt attention how they proceeded in their works. In the evening he went to the Play or other public entertainments, which he enjoyed with the moderation that is ever inſepa⯑rable from taſte and diſcernment: After which he repaired to ſome of the moſt brilliant aſſemblies of Iſpahan, as well to avoid a ſingularity that would have rendered him odious, as to acquire a greater ſhare of the complaiſance and politeneſs which reigned in them. Mahmut's wit, and the uſe he made of it, rendered him ſuperior to thoſe who were his equals in birth; and beſides the advantage of a good figure and graceful air, he diſtinguiſhed him⯑ſelf no leſs among them by his natural and acquired talents. Idris could not behold this amiable Perſian without emotion: She immediately ſhunned all her importunate ſuitors; and complacently fancying him free from all their faults, ſhe ſecretly wiſhed that the beauty, which they had ſo highly extolled, might make an impreſſion on him. Her wiſhes were met more than half-way: Mahmut ſoon let her know that he loved her moſt paſſionately; and her anſwer to his declaration, on account of its ſingularity, deſerves to be given entire.

"Doubtleſs you give the name of love (ſaid ſhe with an enchanting ſmile) to that which is only an [23] effect of your taſte for novelty. I will not, my Lord, go farther at preſent on this head: 'Tis your buſineſs to fix my judgment. I will ingenuouſly confeſs, though it will give you an unfavourable opinion of me, if you are not the man I take you to be, that I am not diſpleaſed at your liking me: yet if ever I ſee occaſion to alter the idea I have con⯑ceived of you, hope not that I ſhall in the leaſt in⯑dulge my inclination. I ſhall not take it ill, if you give your heart to a more virtuous woman; there⯑fore do not complain of your lot, if I diſpoſe of mine in favour of any man whom I may find ſuperior to you in virtue."

Mahmut, ſtruck with admiration and overflowing with joy, laboured to riſe to ſuch a pitch as might oblige Idris to be conſtant to him. He applied him⯑ſelf with freſh vigour to acquire the arts and ſciences neceſſary for a man in his ſtation. He made it his buſineſs to relieve indigent merit and unfortunate virtue. His humanity, generoſity, capacity and modeſty, were equally conſpicuous; and Idris abun⯑dantly rewarded him for all the pains he took to pleaſe her. Praiſe grounded on truth, and coming from the mouth of ſo charming a perſon, filled the tender Mahmut's heart with joy and ſatisfaction. He read in the eyes of his beauteous miſtreſs how dear he was to her: He talked of his attachment, and deſcribed its ſincerity; Idris liſtened to him with pleaſure, vowed ſhe would make him a juſt return, and thus animated him to give her no occaſion to [24] repent her engagement. In theſe overflowings of their hearts, which none but true lovers can know and feel the ſweetneſs of, they laid open to each other the moſt ſecret receſſes of their ſouls. Mah⯑mut was grieved whenever he took leave of Idris; nor could ſhe bear his abſence without a viſible concern: They always parted under the greateſt impatience to meet again.

Between two neighbours ſo powerful as the Grand Signior and the King of Perſia, there can be no long peace: A war ſoon broke out, and Mahmut was obliged to ſet out for the army. He waited upon Idris, to deplore with her the dire neceſſity that forced them aſunder: But while he lay at her feet, he durſt not diſcloſe to her all his grief: The fortitude of the fair one daunted him; he was afraid of leſſening himſelf in her eſteem, by diſcovering any weakneſs. Idris perceived the ſore conflict in his breaſt, and loved him for it the more intenſely.

Mahmut had not been gone a month, when he gave way to his deſire of an interview with Idris. He ſlipped away privately from the army, and with the help of relays which he had got ready on the road, he was at the gates of Iſpahan before they miſſed him in the camp. Alighting at the houſe of one of his old ſervants, he diſguiſed himſelf in the apparel of a peaſant, that he might not be known in the city; and, impatient of an interview with his Idris, he flew to her houſe.

[25]The charming maid was ſitting at her balcony as Mahmut was advancing, and knew him, notwith⯑ſtanding his diſguiſe. Grieved to ſee him thus neglect his glory and his duty, ſhe ran directly to her cloſet, charging her ſlave to admit no viſitor whatever. She melted into fears at the weakneſs of her lover; but ſoon recovering herſelf, ſhe wrote him the following billet.

Mahmut was too much confounded with theſe few words, to aſk any queſtions of the ſlave that deli⯑vered him the billet. He went back to his domeſtick's houſe, to put off his diſguiſe; and fluctuating be⯑tween admiration, grief, and fear, he repaired again to the army with as much haſte as he had travelled up to Iſpahan. His chief ſtudy being to make amends for the fault he had committed, he behaved the reſt of the campaign with ſo much ardor, bra⯑very and conduct, that he was deſervedly promoted to a higher poſt, which the King conferred on him, with the moſt honourable eulogies, at the head of the army. Idris wrote him a congratulatory letter on his promotion, in which, without mentioning his weakneſs, ſhe gave him to underſtand that ſhe had forgiven him.

[26]Mahmut, tranſported with joy, haſtened back to Iſpahan as ſoon as the army was ordered into winter quarters; and liſtening to no other conſiderations but his eſteem for the virtuous girl, he entreated her to complete his happineſs in becoming his wife. Your wife, my Lord! anſwered Idris, with a kind of ſurprize mixed with indignation: What! would Mahmut forget himſelf ſo far? In diſpoſing of your heart, you may indeed conſult nothing but your inclination: But when the queſtion is to chooſe a partner in your dignity and fortune, you are ac⯑countable to thoſe of whom you hold both. I that am ready to ſacrifice my life, were it neceſſary, to preſerve your glory, ſhall not be inſtrumental myſelf in ſullying it.

Sentiments like theſe made the paſſionate Mahmut only more preſſing. What are thoſe things, ſaid he, which, create ſo great a diſparity between us? An inſtant may deprive me of them: But the dowry which you will bring me, charming Idris, is a bleſ⯑ſing that depends not on men nor fortune. In uttering theſe words, his countenance began to be clouded with grief: Freſh denials drove him to de⯑ſpair; he drew his poniard, and was going to plunge it into his breaſt. The tender Idris could hold out no longer: Ah! Mahmut, cried ſhe, ſtop your hand, and live: To-morrow I ſhall be your's; grant me this ſhort reſpite. She could not utter more; tears put an end to her ſurprize, and ſtopt her ſpeech. Aſhamed of her weakneſs, ſhe broke looſe [27] from her lover's arms, withdrew to her cloſet, and ſoon repented the promiſe ſhe had made.

In the mean while Mahmut was deſperate enough to reſolve upon death, if ſhe denied his requeſt. The maid, wavering between tender paſſion, and con⯑cern for the glory of her lover, ſoon hit upon a de⯑vice that would reconcile them. While ſhe was free, notwithſtanding the meanneſs of her condition, ſhe could not in honour give herſelf to him, upon any other terms than marriage; and conſidering the diſ⯑tance which fortune had put between them, ſhe was ſenſible ſhe could not receive the title of wife with⯑out diſgracing her admirer. She reſolved then to remove thoſe obſtacles to her Mahmut's happineſs, at the expence of what was moſt dear to her. Wrapping herſelf up therefore in a long mantle, ſhe left her houſe in the duſk of the evening, and ſold herſelf to a dealer in ſlaves. After this ſhe wrote the following letter to Mahmut.

SUPERSTITION: Or SCARMENTADO.

MY name is Scarmentado; my father was go⯑vernor of the city of Candia, where I came into the world in the year 1600, and I remember that one Jro, a ſtupid and ſcurrilous poet, wrote a copy [47] of doggrel verſes in my praiſe, by which he proved me deſcended from Minos in a direct line; but my father being diſgraced ſome time after, he wrote another poem, by which it appeared I was no longer a-kin to Minos, but the deſcendant of Paſiphae and her lover.

When I was fifteen years old, my father ſent me to Rome, to finiſh my ſtudies. Monſignor Profonde, to whom I was recommended, was a ſtrange kind of man, and one of the moſt terrible ſcholars breath⯑ing; he took it into his head to teach me the cate⯑gories of Ariſtotle, and I narrowly eſcaped his throw⯑ing me into the category of his minions. I ſaw many proceſſions and exorciſms, and much oppreſ⯑ſion. Signora Fatelo, a lady of no rigid morals, was fooliſh enough to like me: ſhe was wooed by two youthful monks, the Rev. Father Poignardini, and the Rev. Father Aconiti, but ſhe put an end to the pretenſions of both of them, by granting me her good graces; yet, at the ſame time, I narrowly eſcaped being excommunicated and poiſoned. I left Rome, exceedingly well pleaſed with the archi⯑tecture of St. Peter's church.

I went to France, in the reign of Lewis, ſurnamed the Juſt; the firſt thing I was aſked was, whether I choſe a reliſh of the Marſhal d'Ancre, whoſe body the public had roaſted, and which was diſtributing very cheap to ſuch as deſired the happineſs of taſting. This nation was at that time torn to pieces by civil wars, occaſioned ſometimes by ambition, ſometimes [48] by controverſy; and thoſe inteſtine broils had for the ſpace of forty years deluged the moſt delightful country in the world with blood. Such were the liberties of the Gallican church: the French, ſaid I, are naturally wiſe; what makes them deviate from that character? They are much given to joking and pleaſantry, and yet they commit a maſſacre; happy that age in which they ſhall do nothing but joke and make merry.

From hence I ſet out for England; the ſame fa⯑natical temper excited here the ſame furious zeal; a ſet of devout Roman Catholics, had reſolved, for the good of the church, to blow up the king, the royal family, and the parliament, with gunpowder, and thereby free the nation from thoſe heretics. I was ſhewn the ſpot where the bleſſed Queen Mary, daughter to Henry VIII. had cauſed above five hun⯑dred of her ſubjects to be burnt alive. A pious Hibernian prieſt aſſured me, it was a very laudable action, firſt, becauſe thoſe they had burned were Engliſh; and, ſecondly, becauſe they were wretches who never took any holy water, and did not believe in St. Patrick.

From England I went to Holland, in hopes of find⯑ing more peace and tranquillity among a more fleg⯑matic people. At my arrival at the Hague, I was entertained with the beheading of a venerable old patriot, the prime miniſter Barnevelt, who was the moſt deſerving man in the republic. Struck with pity at the ſight, I aſked what his crime was, and [49] whether he had betrayed the ſtate? He has done worſe, replied a preacher with a black cloak, he believes that we can be ſaved by good works, as well as by faith. You are ſenſible, that were ſuch ſyſtems ſuffered to prevail, the commonwealth could not long ſubſiſt, and that a ſevere law is neceſſary to check and refute ſuch ſcandalous errors. A deep Dutch politician told me with a ſigh, that ſuch com⯑mendable actions could not laſt for ever: Alas, Sir! ſaid he, our people naturally incline towards tole⯑ration; ſome day or other they will adopt it; I ſhudder at the thought: believe me, Sir, purſued he, it is a mere chance that you actually find them ſo laudably and zealouſly inclined as to cut off the heads of their fellow-creatures for the ſake of reli⯑gion. Such were the lamentable words of the Dutchman; for my own part, I thought proper to abandon a country, whoſe ſeverity had no compen⯑ſation, and therefore embarked for Spain.

I arrived at Seville in the fineſt ſeaſon in the year. The court was there, the galleons were arrived, and all ſeemed to proclaim joy, abundance, and profu⯑ſion. I eſpied at the end of a beautiful alley, full of orange and lemon-trees, a vaſt concourſe round an amphitheatre richly adorned; the king, the queen, the infants and infantas, were ſeated under a ſtately canopy, and over againſt that auguſt family, another throne, higher and more magnificent, had been erect⯑ed. I told one of my travelling companions, that unleſs that ſuperb throne were dedicated to the Deity, [50] I could not ſee the uſe of it; but theſe indiſcreet words being overheard by a grave Spaniard, I paid dear for having uttered them. In the mean time, I imagined we were to be diverted with a carouſal, wreſtling, or bull-baiting; when I perceived the grand inqui⯑ſitor aſcend that throne, and beſtow his bleſſing upon the king and people. Then appeared an army of monks, filing off two by two; ſome were white, others were black, grey, and brown; ſome were ſhod, and ſome bare-footed; ſome had beards, and ſome had none; ſome were with cowls, and ſome without. Then came the executioner, followed by about forty wretches, guarded by a world of gran⯑dees and alguazils, and covered with garments, upon which were painted flames and devils. Theſe fel⯑lows were Jews, who would not altogether be com⯑pelled to abandon the law of Moſes; and Chriſtians who had married their godmothers, or perhaps re⯑fuſed to worſhip Neuſtra Dama d' Atocha, or to part with their money in favour of the brothers Hiero⯑nymians. Prayers were ſaid very devoutly, after which all thoſe wretches were tortured and burnt: which concluded the ceremony, to the great edifi⯑cation of all the royal family.

The ſame night, while I was going to bed, two meſſengers from the inquiſition came to my lodg⯑ings with the holy Hermandad. They embraced me tenderly, and, without ſpeaking a word, carried me out of the houſe, and conducted me into a dun⯑geon, not incommoded by heat, adorned with a cu⯑rious [51] crucifix, and a mat inſtead of a bed. After I had been there ſix weeks, the father inquiſitor ſent his compliments, and deſired to ſee me: I obeyed the ſummons: he received me with open arms, and after having embraced me with more than paternal fondneſs, told me, he was very ſorry they had put me in ſo bad a lodging, but that all the apartments happening to be full, it was impoſſible to give me a⯑nother; adding, however, that he hoped I ſhould be better taken care of another time. He then aſked me very lovingly, whether I knew why I was put in there. I told the reverend father, I ſuppoſed it was for my ſins. Well, my dear child, replied he, but for what ſin? make me your confident—ſpeak. I did all I could to bethink myſelf of ſome miſde⯑meanor, but in vain; upon which, he made me re⯑collect my imprudent words: in ſhort, I recovered my liberty, after having undergone a ſevere diſci⯑pline, and paid 30,000 reals. I went to take leave of the grand inquiſitor; he was a very polite man, and aſked me how I reliſhed the holidays they had given me? I told him they were delightful, and at the ſame time went to preſs my companions to quit this enchanting country. They had time enough, during my confinement, to learn all the great at⯑chievements of the Spaniards, for the ſake of reli⯑gion. They had read the memoirs of the famous biſhop of Chiapa, by which it appears, that ten millions of infidels had been murdered in America to convert the reſt. I imagined that biſhop might ex⯑aggerate [52] a little, but ſuppoſing the victims were but half that number, the ſacrifice was ſtill admirable.

Notwithſtanding the diſagreeable adventures I had met with in my travels, determined to finiſh my tour, and accordingly embarked for Turkey, fully reſolved never more to intermeddle with other people's affairs, nor give my judgment about public ſhews. Theſe Turks, ſaid I, to my companions, are a ſet of unbaptized miſcreants; and of courſe more cruel than the reverend fathers of the inquiſition. Let us be ſilent among the Mahometans.

I arrived at Conſtantinople, where I was ſtrangely ſurprized to ſee more Chriſtian churches than in Candia; but much more ſo, to ſee alſo a numerous train of monks, permitted to offer their prayers freely to the Virgin Mary, and to curſe Mahomet, ſome in Greek, others in Latin, and ſome in Arme⯑nian. How reaſonable are the Turks! exclaimed I. Whilſt the Chriſtian world ſtains a ſpotleſs reli⯑gion with blood, theſe infidels tolerate doctrines which they abhor, without moleſtation or inhuma⯑nity. The Grecian and Latin Chriſtians were at mortal enmity in Conſtantinople, and like dogs that quarrelled in the ſtreets, perſecuted each other with the utmoſt violence. The Grand Vizir protected the Greeks, whoſe patriarch accuſed me before him of having ſupped with the Latins, and I was moſt charitably condemned by the divan, to receive one hundred blows with a lath, upon the ſole of the foot, with permiſſion, however, to be excuſed for 500 ſe⯑quins. [53] The next day the Grand Vizir was ſtrangled; and the day following, his ſucceſſor, who was for the Latin party, and who was not ſtrangled till a month afterwards, condemned me to the ſame pu⯑niſhment, for having ſupped with the Grecian pa⯑triarch: and, in ſhort, I was reduced to the ſad ne⯑ceſſity to frequent neither the Latin nor the Greek church. To make myſelf amends, I determined to make love to a young Turkiſh laſs, who ſeemed to have a diſpoſition as gentle, kind, and compaſſionate in private, as it was pious and devout in the moſque. One night, as I was pleading my paſſion, and com⯑plaining of her cruelty, ſhe ſuddenly exclaimed, Oh alla, alla, alla. Theſe are the ſacramental words of the Turks, which I miſtook for the ſoft tranſports of love, and therefore cried out in my turn, Oh alla, alla, alla; upon which ſhe ſaid, "Let Mahomet be glorified, you are a Turk." In the morning the iman came to perform the initiating ceremony, but as I made ſome reſiſtance, the cady, who certainly was a very loyal gentleman, told me he intended to have me impaled. I preſerved my religion, &c. by a thouſand ſequins, and fled into Perſia, firmly re⯑ſolved never to go to the Latin or Grecian maſs, or to ſay alla, alla, alla, in Turkey.

At my arrival at Iſpahan, I was aſked which I was for, white or black ſheep? I anſwered, that the fleſh of a white or black ſheep was equal to me, provided it was tender. It ſhould be known, that the factions of the white and black ſheep ſtill di⯑vided [52] [...] [53] [...] [54] the Perſians, who imagined I meant to laugh at both parties, inſomuch that I had ſcarce entered the city gates, when I had a ſad affair to extricate myſelf from; which I did however with a good num⯑ber of ſequins, and by their means got ſafe out of the hands of theſe ſheep.

I went as far as China with an interpreter, who informed me, that it was the only country where one might live freely, gaily, and peaceably. The Tartars had rendered themſelves maſters of it with fire and ſword, and the reverend fathers me Jeſuits, on one ſide, and the reverend fathers the Dominicans, on the other, ſaid that they drew ſouls towards God every day, without any body's knowing it. Sure there never was a ſet of more zealous converters! for they perſecuted one another by turns; and ſent to Rome whole volumes of calumnies, wherein they were reciprocally called infidels and prevari⯑cators. There was particularly a terrible quarrel among them, about the method of making a bow. The Jeſuits taught the Chineſe to ſalute their pa⯑rents after the manner of their country; and the Dominicans, on the contrary, held that they ought to bow to them after the manner of Rome. I hap⯑pened to be taken by the Jeſuits for a Dominican, and they told his Tartarian majeſty, that I was the Pope's ſpy. The ſupreme council immediately or⯑dered the prime mandarin, who ordered a ſerjeant, who ordered four guards to arreſt and bind me, with all the ceremony uſual on ſuch occaſions. I was [55] brought, after one hundred and forty genu-flexions, before his majeſty, who aſked me, whether I really was the Pope's ſpy, and whether it was true, that his holineſs intended to come in perſon to dethrone him? I anſwered, that the Pope was a prieſt, three⯑ſcore and ten years of age; that he lived four thou⯑ſand miles diſtant from his ſacred Tartaro-Chineſe majeſty; that he had about two thouſand ſoldiers, who mounted guard with an umbrella; that he never dethroned any body; and, in ſhort, that his majeſty might ſleep in quiet. This was the laſt un⯑fortunate adventure I met with in the whole courſe of my travels. I was ſent to Macao, where I em⯑barked for Europe.

I was obliged, in order to refit my ſhip, to put into a harbour, on the coaſt of Golconda. I laid hold of that opportunity, to go and ſee the court of the great Aureng-zebe, ſo much renowned for its wonderful magnificence: he was then at Delhi; and I had the good fortune to ſee him the day of that pompous ceremony, in which he received the Heavenly Preſent ſent him by the ſheriff of Mecca, viz. the broom, with which they had ſwept the holy houſe, the Caaba, and the Beth alla. That broom is a ſymbol which ſweeps away all uncleanneſs of ſoul. Aureng-zebe had no occaſion for it, ſince he was the moſt pious man in Indoſtan. It is true, he had cut his brother's throat, poiſoned his father, and put to death, by torture, about twenty rayas, and as many omrahs; yet nothing was talked of but his [56] devotion, which, they ſaid, was without equal, ex⯑cept that of his moſt ſacred majeſty Muley Iſmael, the moſt ſerene emperor of Morocco, who never failed to ſtrike off ſeveral heads, every Friday after prayers.

To all this I ſpoke not a word; my travels and adventures had taught me to bridle my tongue; and I was very ſenſible, it was not mine to decide be⯑tween the piety of the emperors of India and Mo⯑rocco.

I had not yet ſeen Africa; but whilſt I was de⯑bating with myſelf, whether it was better to ſatisfy this laſt inclination, or ſail for Italy, my ſhip was taken by the negroes, and I was, of courſe, carried thither. Our captain railed againſt the captors, aſking them the reaſon why they thus outrageouſly violated the law of nations? They replied, Your noſe is long, and Our's is flat; your hair is ſtraight, and our wool is curled; you are white, and we are black; con⯑ſequently we ought, according to the ſacred and unalterable law of nature, to be ever enemies.— You buy us on the coaſt of Guinea, as if we were not human creatures, then treat us like beaſts, and with repeated blows conſtrain us to an eternal dig⯑ging into the mountains, in order to find a ridicu⯑lous yellow duſt, of no intrinſic value, and not worth a good Egyptian onion; therefore when we meet with you, and happen to be ſtrongeſt, we make you our ſlaves, and force you to till our ground, or elſe we cut off your noſe or ears. We had nothing to ſay [57] againſt ſo wiſe a diſcourſe. I was employed to till the ground of an old negro woman, having no incli⯑nation to loſe either my noſe or my ears; and, after a twelvemonth's ſlavery, was redeemed by ſome friends I had written to for that purpoſe.

Having thus ſeen the world, and all that is great, good, and admirable in it, I reſolved to return to Candia, where I married preſently after my arrival, and ſoon became an example to devotees and jealous huſbands, by the profound taciturnity and tranquillity which I obſerved upon all occaſions. To ſay the truth, I found matrimony, when compared to what I had ſeen and ſuffered, a very tolerable evil.

CREDULITY: Or the Story of MALEK and the Princeſs SCHIRINE.

I AM the only ſon of a rich merchant of Surat. A little while after his death, I ſpent the beſt part of the wealth he left me. I was making an end of the remainder with my friends, when a ſtranger that paſſed by Surat, to go, as he ſaid, to the Iſle of Ceylon, by chance dined at my table. They hap⯑pened to talk about travelling. Some commended the uſefulneſs and pleaſure of it, others repreſented the dangers. Some of the company gave us an account of their travels. The curious things they had ſeen excited me to travel; but the dangers they had run through, hindered me from reſolving on it.

After I had heard them all, I ſaid, one cannot hear you ſpeak of the pleaſures you have had in going over the world, without feeling an extreme deſire of travelling. But the dangers that travellers are expoſed to, take from me the inclination of [59] ſeeing other countries. If one could, added I, ſmiling, go from one end of the world to the other, without meeting with unlucky accidents on the way, I ſhould ſet off to-morrow from Surat. At theſe words, which made all the company laugh, the ſtranger ſaid to me; Seigneur Malek, if you have a deſire to travel, and if the danger alone of meeting with robbers hinders you from reſolving to do ſo, I will teach you, when you will, a way to go from king⯑dom to kingdom, without any danger. I believed he was in jeſt; but after dinner he took me aſide, and told me that the next morning he would come to me, and ſhew me ſomething very extraordinary.

He did not fail: he came again to me, and ſaid, I will keep my word with you; but you will not ſee the effect of my promiſe theſe two or three days, for it is a work that cannot be done to-day. Send one of your ſlaves for a joiner, and let them both bring boards with them; which was done immediately.

When the joiner and the ſlave were come, the ſtranger bid the joiner make a cheſt ſix feet long, and four broad. The workman went preſently to work; the ſtranger, on his part, was not idle; he made a great many pieces of the machine, the vices and the ſprings. They worked all day long, and the joiner was diſmiſſed: the ſtranger ſpent the day following to place the ſprings, and to perfect the work.

At three days end the cheſt was finiſhed; it was covered with a Perſian carpet, and carried into the [60] country, whither I went with the ſtranger: who ſaid to me; ſend away your ſlaves, and let us ſtay here alone, I will have none near but yourſelf to be witneſs of what I do. I ordered my ſlaves to go home, and I ſtaid alone with the ſtranger. I longed to know what he would do with this ma⯑chine; he at length got in it, and at the ſame time the cheſt raiſed itſelf up from the ground, and cut the air with incredible ſwiftneſs; in one moment it ſprung a great way from me, and the next was again at my feet.

I cannot tell you how much I was ſurprized at this prodigy. You ſee, ſaid the ſtranger to me, getting out of the machine, a very eaſy carriage, and you ought to be perſuaded, that, travelling after this manner, one need not fear being robbed on the road. This is the method I would have you take to travel in ſafety. I will make you a preſent of this trunk; you may make uſe of it when you have a mind to go into foreign countries. Think not, con⯑tinued he, that there is any inchantment in what you have ſeen: 'tis not by cabaliſtick words, nor by virtue of a taliſman, that this cheſt raiſes itſelf in the air. Its motion is made by an ingenious arti⯑fice, that ſhews the power of mechanics, of which I am a perfect maſter.

I thanked the ſtranger for ſo rare a preſent, and gave him, as an acknowledgment, a purſe full of ſequins. Inform me, ſaid I to him afterwards, how I muſt do to ſet this cheſt in motion: I will teach [61] you that preſently, anſwered he. At theſe words he made me go into the machine with him; touched a ſpring, and preſently we were lifted up in the air. Then ſhewing me what method was to be taken to guide it right; in turning this vice, ſaid he to me, you go to the right, and in turning that, you go to the left; by touching this ſtring you aſcend, and by touching that you deſcend. I made trial of it myſelf; I turned the vices, and touched the ſprings; the cheſt, effectually obedient to my hand, went which way I pleaſed, and haſtened or ſlackened the motion as I managed. After having made a great many wheelings about in the air, we took our flight towards my houſe, and deſcended into my garden; which we eaſily did, becauſe we had taken off the carpet that covered the machine, which had a great many holes through it, as well to admit the air, as to look through.

We were at home before my ſlaves, who were enough ſurprized to ſee us return. I locked the cheſt up in my apartment, where I kept it with as much care as if it had been a treaſure; and the ſtranger went away as content with me, as I was with him. I continued to divert myſelf with my friends, till I had ſpent all my patrimony. I began alſo to borrow, inſomuch that I inſenſibly found myſelf loaded with debts. As ſoon as it was known in Surat that I was ruined, I loſt my credit, nobody would lend me any thing; and my creditors, impa⯑tient to have their money again, gave me notice to [62] pay it. Not knowing any longer which way to turn myſelf, and by conſequence being liable to troubles and affronts, I had recourſe to my cheſt: I drew it one night out of my apartment into my yard, I got into it, with ſome proviſions, and the little money I had left. I touched the ſpring that made the machine mount; then turning one of the vices, I went far enough from Surat, and from my creditors, without fear of their ſending any officers after me.

I made the cheſt go all that night as faſt as poſ⯑ſible, and I believed that I ſurpaſſed the wind in ſwiftneſs. At day-break, I looked through a hole to ſee where I was, and perceived nothing but moun⯑tains and precipices, a dry country, and a frightful deſert; I could diſcover no appearance of an habi⯑tation. I continued to travel through the air all that day and the night following. The next day I found myſelf over a very thick wood, nigh which there was a very fine town ſituated in a plain of great extent.

I ſtopt to look at the town, as well as at a mag⯑nificent palace, that offered itſelf to my view at the end of the plain. I deſired paſſionately to know where I was, and had already thought on a way to ſatisfy my curioſity, when I ſaw in the fields a peaſant tilling the ground. I deſcended in the wood, where I left my cheſt, and went towards the huſ⯑bandman, of whom I aſked how they called the town. Young man, anſwered he, one may ſee you [63] are a ſtranger, ſince you know not that this town is called Gazna; the equitable and valiant King Ba⯑haman makes it the place of his reſidence. And who lives, ſaid I to him, in that palace that we ſee at the end of the plain? The King of Gazna, re⯑plied he, has built it to keep his daughter the Princeſs Schirine in, who is threatened by her ho⯑roſcope to be deceived by a man. Bahaman, to elude this prediction, built this palace, which is of marble and ſurrounded with deep ditches of water. The gate is ſteel of China; and beſides that, the King keeps the key of it; there is a numerous guard that watches night and day, to hinder any man from going in. The King goes once a week to ſee the Princeſs his daughter, and then returns to Gazna. Schirine has no company in this palace, but a governeſs and ſome maiden-ſlaves.

I thanked the peaſant for his information, and went towards the town. When I was almoſt ar⯑rived there, I heard a great noiſe, and preſently ſaw many horſemen, magnificently cloathed, and all mounted on very fine horſes that were richly ac⯑coutred. I perceived, in the middle of that ſtately cavalcade, a luſty man, who had on his head a crown of gold, and whoſe cloaths were covered with diamonds. I judged that he was the King of Gazna, who was going to ſee the Princeſs his daughter, and I underſtood in the town that I was not deceived in my conjecture.

[64]After I had taken a turn or two about the town, and ſatisfied my curioſity a little, I remembered my cheſt; and though I had left it in a place where I had reaſon to think it ſafe, yet I was uneaſy. I went from Gazna, and I could not be ſatisfied, till I came where it was. Then I was at eaſe, I eat with a good appetite what was leſt of my provi⯑ſion, and the night coming on, I reſolved to ſpend it in the wood. I doubted not but I ſhould ſleep well; for neither my debts, nor the ill condition I found myſelf in, gave me much uneaſineſs: never⯑theleſs I could not ſleep; what the peaſant had told me of the Princeſs Schirine was always in my thoughts. Is it poſſible, ſaid I, that Bahaman ſhould be afraid of a frivolous prediction? Was it neceſſary to build a palace to ſhut up his daughter in? Was ſhe not ſafe enough in his? Beſides, if aſtrologers can dive into the obſcurity of what is to come, if they can read futurity in the ſtars, it is in vain to endeavour to elude their predictions, they muſt of neceſſity be accompliſhed. If the Princeſs of Gazna be predeſtined to be deceived by a man, it is in vain for any one to pretend to prevent it.

I was ſo taken up with thinking on Schirine, who I fancied to myſelf was handſomer than all the ladies I had ſeen, though at Surat and Goa I had beheld many of the moſt beautiful women, who had con⯑tributed not a little to ruin me. But I had a great deſire to try my fortune. I will, ſaid I, tranſport myſelf to the top of the Princeſs's palace, [65] and endeavour to get into her apartment. Perhaps I am the mortal, whoſe fortunate attempt the aſtro⯑logers have ſeen written in the ſtars.

I was young, and by conſequence heedleſs; I wanted not courage: I formed this raſh deſign, and executed it immediately. I raiſed myſelf in the air, and guided my cheſt towards the palace. The dark⯑neſs of the night was ſuch as I could deſire. I paſſed, without being perceived, over the ſoldiers heads, who being poſted about the ditches, kept a ſtrict guard. I deſcended upon the roof of the pa⯑lace, nigh a place where I ſaw a light. I got out of my cheſt, and ſlipt in at a window, that was open to receive the freſhneſs of the air, into an apartment richly furniſhed, where the Princeſs Schirine was lying on a brocaded ſopha. She ſeemed to me of a dazzling beauty; I found her far excelling the idea I had formed of her. I went near to behold her, but I could not look on ſo many charms without tranſport; I fell on my knees before her, and kiſſed one of her delicate hands. She waked that inſtant, and perceiving a man in ſuch a poſture, was fright⯑ened. She gave a ſhriek, and preſently her go⯑verneſs, who lay in the next chamber, came running to her. Mahpeiker, ſaid the Princeſs, come and help me. There is a man! How got he into my apartment? Or rather, are not you an accomplice of his crime? Who I? replied the governeſs, your ſuſpicion wrongs me! I am not leſs aſtoniſhed than you, to ſee this audacious youth here: Beſides, if I [64] [...] [65] [...] [66] would have favoured his boldneſs, how could I have deceived the vigilance of the guards that are about this caſtle? You know there are twenty ſteel doors to open, before any can get into this apartment; that the royal ſignet is upon every lock; and that the King your father has the keys: I cannot com⯑prehend how this young man has ſurmounted all theſe difficulties.

While the governeſs was thus ſpeaking, I thought on what I ſhould ſay to them; and it came in my head to perſuade them that I was the prophet Ma⯑homet. Charming Princeſs, ſaid I to Schirine, let not yourſelf, or Mahpeiker, be ſurpriſed to ſee me here; I am not one of thoſe lovers who make uſe of gold, and employ every artifice to accompliſh their wiſhes. I have no deſires that your virtue need to be frightened at; far be all guilty thoughts from me. I am the prophet Mahomet. I could not, without pity, ſee you condemned to paſs your youth⯑ful days in a priſon, and I come to give you my promiſe, that I will ſecure you from the prediction which Bahaman your father is afraid of. Let him and yourſelf be both eaſy henceforth as to your future deſtiny, which cannot but be full of glory and hap⯑pineſs, ſince you ſhall be Mahomet's wife. As ſoon as the news of your marriage ſhall be ſpread abroad in the world, all the Kings of the earth will fear the father-in-law of the great prophet, and all the Prin⯑ceſſes will envy your condition.

[67]Schirine and her governeſs looked upon one ano⯑ther at this diſcourſe, as if to conſult what they ought to think of it. I had reaſon to fear, I confeſs, that they would not believe me; but women are apt to give into wonders. If you are the holy prophet Mahomet, ſaid Schirine, you are pure, and free from evil intentions; you will firſt reconcile my father to the match, and then, on an appointed day, perform the ceremonies proper to marriage: but if you are an impoſtor, you will betray your wicked deſigns. My governeſs ſhall wait in the next apart⯑ment whenever you viſit me, till this be accompliſhed; one ſhriek from me will alarm her, and ſhe will call the guards, if your actions ſhould ſhew you are not what you pretend. I anſwered the Princeſs by com⯑mending her virtue, applauding the juſtice of the teſt ſhe propoſed, and fixing on that day month for the ſolemnization of our nuptials, as I hoped by that time to find ſome lucky means of deceiving her father into the ſame belief. Accordingly Mahpeiker and her miſtreſs gave credit to my ſtory, and be⯑lieved me to be Mahomet. After having paſſed the beſt part of the night with the Princeſs of Gazna, I went out of her apartment before it was day-light, not without promiſing her that I would come the following evening. I made haſte to my machine, I put myſelf in it, and raiſed myſelf very high, that I might not be ſeen by the ſoldiers. I deſcended in the wood; I left my cheſt, and went to the town, where I bought proviſions for eight days, with magni⯑ficent [68] apparel, a fine turban of Indian linen, with ſtripes of gold, and a rich girdle. I did not forget eſſences and the beſt perfumes. I laid out all my money in theſe purchaſes, without perplexing myſelf to know where I ſhould get more: I thought I could want for nothing, after ſo extraordinary an adventure.

I ſtaid all that day in the wood, where I em⯑ployed myſelf in perfuming and ſetting myſelf out. When the night was come, I got into my cheſt, and returned to the top of the Princeſs Schirine's palace. I introduced myſelf into her apartment as the night before. The Princeſs declared ſhe waited for me with much impatience. O great prophet, ſaid ſhe, I began already to be uneaſy, and I feared you had forgot your ſpouſe. My dear Princeſs, anſwered I, could you give way to ſuch a fear? Since I have plighted you my troth, ought not you to be perſuaded that I would love you always? But tell me, replied ſhe, why have you ſo young a look? I thought that the prophet Mahomet was a venerable old man. You were not deceived, anſwered I, 'tis the idea you ought to have of me; and if I ſhould appear to you ſuch as I ſometimes ſhew myſelf to the faithful, to whom I deign that honour, you would ſee me with a long white beard and a bald head; but I thought you would better like a form not ſuper⯑annuated: And, for this reaſon, I have borrowed the ſhape of a young man. The governeſs joining then in our diſcourſe, told me, that I had done very [69] well; and that whoever would perſonate a huſband, cannot appear too agreeable.

I went again from the caſtle towards the end of the night, for fear it ſhould be diſcovered that I was a falſe prophet. I returned the next day, and be⯑haved myſelf always ſo cautiouſly, that Schirine and Mahpeiker could not ſuſpect the leaſt deceit in me. It is true, the Princeſs took inſenſibly ſuch a liking to me, that it contributed very much to make her believe all that I ſaid to her. When we are favourably prepoſſeſſed, we miſtruſt not ſincerity.

In a few days, the King of Gazna, attended by his officers, went to the palace of the Princeſs his daughter, and finding his doors all ſhut, and his ſeal on the locks, he ſaid to his viſiers that were with him, all is ſafe; while the doors of the palace are in this condition, I ſhall not fear the misfortune my daughter is threatened with. He went alone into the apartment of Schirine, who could not conceal her confuſion at the ſight of him. He perceived it, and was willing to know the cauſe of it. His curioſity augmented the Princeſs's confuſion, who ſeeing herſelf at laſt obliged to ſatisfy him, told him all that had paſt.

You may imagine how much King Bahaman was ſurprized, when he underſtood he was Mahomet's father-in-law. Oh abſurdity! cried he, Oh! my daughter, that you ſhould be ſo credulous! O Hea⯑ven, I now ſee very plain, that it is in vain to en⯑deavour [70] to ſhun the misfortunes you have reſerv⯑ed for us. The fate of Schirine is inevitable. A traitor has deceived her. In ſaying this, he ruſhed out of the Princeſs's apartment in affliction, and ſearched the palace from top to bottom. But his ſearch was to no purpoſe, for he found no marks of diſcovery. At this his ſurprize increaſed. Which way, ſaid he, did this audacious fellow get into the caſtle? 'Tis what I cannot conceive.

Then he called his viſiers and his confidents. They ran at his call, and ſeeing him agitated, they were afraid. What is the matter, Sir? ſaid his firſt Miniſter to him; you ſeem trou⯑bled. What misfortune does the concern that appears in your looks, declare to us? The King told them all he had been informed of, and aſked them what they thought of the ſtory. The Grand Viſier ſpoke firſt. He ſaid, that the in⯑tended marriage might be true, though it had the appearance of a fable. That there were ſome noble families in the world, who made no difficulty to aſ⯑cribe their origin to ſuch like events, and that for him he looked on the communication that the Princeſs had with Mahomet, as a thing very likely.

The other viſiers, in complaiſance perhaps to him that ſpoke firſt, were of his opinion: but one of the courtiers declared himſelf againſt it, in theſe terms; I am ſurpriſed to ſee ſenſible men give credit to a ſtory, ſo little worthy of belief. How can it enter into the heads of men of ſenſe, that our great pro⯑phet [71] ſhould be capable of coming to ſeek women in this world, who in his heavenly abode is encom⯑paſſed by the moſt beautiful ones. It is contrary to common ſenſe; and if the King will take my advice, inſtead of giving ear to ſo ridiculous a ſtory, he ſhould examine thoroughly into the affair. I am perſuaded, that he would preſently diſcover the deceiver, who, under that ſacred name, has the audaciouſneſs to endeavour to ſeduce the Princeſs.

Though Bahaman was naturally credulous; though he took his firſt Miniſter for a man of great judge⯑ment; and though all his viſiers believed that Schirine was actually betrothed to Mahomet; he de⯑clared himſelf nevertheleſs for the negative. He re⯑ſolved to be informed of the truth of it; but being willing to act with prudence in this affair, and to endeavour to ſpeak with the pretended prophet, in private, he ſent his viſiers and his courtiers back to Gazna. Go back, ſaid he to them, I will ſtay alone to-night in this caſtle with my daughter. Go; but come hither to me again to-morrow. They all obeyed the King's orders. They went back to the town, and Bahaman waiting for the night, began to aſk the Princeſs new queſtions. He aſked her if I had eaten with her. No, Sir, ſaid his daughter, I offered him in vain meat and drink, he would not touch them, and I never ſaw him take the leaſt nou⯑riſhment, nor commit the leaſt indelicacy, ſince he has uſed to come hither. Relate to me again this adventure, replied he, and hide not from me any [72] one particular. Schirine gave him a renewed account of it, and the king, attentive to her relation, carefully weighed every circumſtance.

In the mean while, the night came on; Bahaman ſat himſelf on a ſopha, and wax candles were lighted, and placed before him on a marble-table. He drew his ſcimitar to uſe it, if there ſhould be occaſion, to waſh away in my blood the affront done to his honour. He expected me every moment, and in the expectation he was, of ſeeing me appear all on a ſudden, I cannot believe he was without trouble.

It happened that night to lighten very much. A great flaſh chanced to dart full in the king's eyes, and made him ſtartle. He went to the win⯑dow which Schirine told him I came in at, and per⯑ceiving the air all on fire, he was much perplexed in his thoughts. Though he ſaw nothing that was unnatural, he could not look on thoſe meteors, as the effects of exhalations kindled in the air; he rather believed that the flames announced to earth, the deſcent of Mahomet, and that the gates of heaven unfolding to let out the prophet, made the air one luminous body.

In the diſpoſition the king's mind was, I pre⯑ſented myſelf without danger before that Prince. Far from ſhewing himſelf furious when I appear⯑ed at the window, he was ſeized with reſpect and fear. He let fall his ſcimitar, caſt himſelf at my feet, and kiſſing them, ſaid to me: O great [73] prophet, who am I, and what have I done, to deſerve the honour to be your father-in-law? I judged by theſe words, what had paſſed between the king and the princeſs, and I found that the good Bahaman was not more difficult to be deceived than his daughter. I was charmed, to perceive that I had nothing to do with one of thoſe penetrating heads who would have made the prophet undergo an examination that would have puzzled him. Taking advantage of his weakneſs, O king, ſaid I to him, raiſing him up, you are of all the Mahometan princes, the moſt firm to my ſect, and by conſequence, he that ought to be the moſt acceptable to me. It was recorded in the Book of Fate, that your daughter ſhould be de⯑ceived by a man; this your aſtrologers very truly diſcovered by their ſublime ſcience, but I have prayed the moſt High to exempt you from that mortal affliction, and to blot out this misfortune from the predeſtination of mankind. This he was pleaſed to do for my ſake, upon condition that Schirine ſhould become one of my wives. To this I con⯑ſented, to recompenſe you for the good deeds you do every day.

King Bahaman was not in a condition of unde⯑ceiving himſelf. That weak prince believed all I had told him; and overjoyed at this alliance with the great prophet, he caſt himſelf at my feet a ſecond time, to ſhew me the ſenſe he had of my kindneſs. I raiſed him up again, embraced him, and aſſured [74] him of my protection, while he could not find words to expreſs the gratitude of his mind.

The next morning the viſiers and the courtiers returned to the princeſs's palace. They aſked the king if he was informed of the truth of what he de⯑ſired to know. Yes, ſaid he, I know now to what I am to truſt. I have ſeen and ſpoken to the great prophet himſelf; he is to be my daughter's huſband. Nothing is more true. Upon this the viſiers and the courtiers, turning towards him that had oppoſed the poſſibility of this marriage, reproached him with incredulity; but they found him reſolute in his opinion: He maintained it with obſtinacy, what⯑ever the king could ſay to perſuade him that Ma⯑homet was married to Schirine; till at laſt Bahaman became almoſt angry with this incredulous courtier, who was made the jeſt of the council.

The heavens conſpired, as it were, to deceive the King. An accident that happened the ſame day, con⯑firmed the viſiers in their opinion. As they were re⯑turning to the town with their maſter, a ſtorm ſurpriſ⯑ed them in the plain. The lightning flaſhed in their faces, and the thunder roared in ſo terrible a manner, that they feared it was the laſt day. It happened that the incredulous courtier's horſe took fright; he pranced, flung his maſter on the ground, and broke his leg with the fall. This event was looked upon as an effect of the wrath of heaven. O miſerable wretch, cried the king, ſeeing the courtier fall, this [75] is the fruit of your obſtinacy; you would not believe me, and the prophet has puniſhed you!

They carried the lame courtier home, and Baha⯑man was no ſooner returned to his palace, but he cauſed it to be publiſhed at Gazna, that all the in⯑habitants ſhould celebrate with feaſting, the day appointed for the marriage of Schirine with Ma⯑homet. I took a walk in the town; and was in⯑formed of this news, as well as of the accident of the courtier's falling from his horſe. It is not to be conceived how credulous and ſuperſtitious the people were; they made public rejoicings, and ran crying up and down, Long live Bahaman, the father-in-law of the great prophet!

As ſoon as it was night, I got to the wood again, and was preſently with the princeſs. Charming Schirine, ſaid I, going into her apartment, you know not what has happened to day on the plain. A courtier, who doubted that you were to be Maho⯑met's wife, has atoned for this doubt. I raiſed a tempeſt that frightened his horſe; the courtier fell, and broke his leg. I did not think fit to carry my revenge any farther; but I ſwear by my tomb which is at Mecca, that if any one hereafter dares to doubt of your happineſs, it ſhall coſt him his life. After having ſtaid ſome hours with Schirine, I re⯑tired.

The day following, the king aſſembled his viſiers and courtiers. Let us go all together, ſaid he to them, to aſk Mahomet's pardon for the unhappy man [76] who refuſed to believe me, and who has received the chaſtiſement of his unbelief. At the ſame they mounted their horſes, and went to the princeſs's palace. The king himſelf opened the doors, which he had locked and ſealed with his ſignet the day before. He went up, followed by his viſiers, into his daughter's apartment. Schirine, ſaid he, we are come to deſire you to intercede with the prophet for a man who has incurred his wrath. I know very well what you mean, Sir, anſwered the princeſs; Mahomet has ſpoken to me of it. She then re⯑peated to them what I had told her over night, and informed them that I had ſworn to deſtroy all thoſe who doubted of her marriage with the prophet.

When the good king Bahaman heard this diſ⯑courſe, he turned himſelf towards his viſiers and courtiers, and ſaid to them. Had we not hitherto given credit to what we have ſeen, could we, after this, diſbelieve that Mahomet is my ſon-in-law. You find that he himſelf told my daughter, that he had raiſed the ſtorm to revenge himſelf of that faith⯑leſs man. All the miniſters and others were con⯑vinced that ſhe was the prophet's wife; they caſt themſelves before her; they humbly beſought her to intercede with me in behalf of the wounded courtier; and ſhe promiſed them ſo to do.

During this time, I had conſumed all my proviſions, and having no money left, the poor prophet Maho⯑met began not to know what to do. I bethought [77] myſelf of an expedient. My princeſs, ſaid I, one night to Schirine, we have forgot to obſerve one formality concerning our wedding; you have brought me no portion, and that omiſſion troubles me. Well; my dear ſpouſe, anſwered ſhe, I will ſpeak of it to-morrow to my father, who, without doubt, will offer to you his treaſures. No, no, replied I, there is no need of ſpeaking to him of it; I value not all his riches: they are of no uſe to me. It will be ſufficient to grant me ſome of your jewels; which is all the portion I aſk of you. Schirine would have loaded me with all her jewels, to make her portion the handſomer; but I was contented with two great diamonds, which I ſold the next day to a jeweller of Gazna. I put myſelf by this means in a condition to continue to perſonate Mahomet.

Juſt at this, time, unluckily for me, an ambaſſador arrived at Gazna, on behalf of a neighbouring king, to demand Schirine in marriage. He had preſently audience, and when he had declared the ſubject of his embaſſy, Bahaman ſaid to him, I am ſorry I cannot give my daughter to the king your maſter, I have promiſed her to the prophet Mahomet. The am⯑baſſador judged by this anſwer, that the king of Gazna was mad. He took leave of that prince, and returned to his maſter, who believed at firſt, as well as he, that Bahaman had loſt his ſenſes. At length, imputing this refuſal to contempt and ſlight, he be⯑came angry, flew to his army, and invaded the kingdom of Gazna.

[78]That king, who was named Cacem, was much ſuperior in ſtrength to Bahaman; who moreover prepared ſo ſlowly to receive his enemy, that he could not hinder him from making a great progreſs. Cacem fought ſome troops that would have oppoſed his paſſage; he came forward with all ſpeed towards the town of Gazna, and found Bahaman's army in⯑trenched in the plain before the caſtle of the princeſs Schirine. The deſign of this provoked lover was to attack him in his intrenchments; but his troops having need of reſt, and he arriving not in the plain till towards night, put off the attack till the next morning.

In the mean while the king of Gazna, being in⯑formed of the number and valour of Cacem's troops, began to be afraid. He aſſembled his council, where the courtier, who was hurt in falling from his horſe, ſpoke in theſe words: "I am amazed that the king ſhould be in the leaſt uneaſineſs on this occaſion; what cauſe of diſmay can the father-in-law of Ma⯑homet have, not only of Cacem, but of all the princes in the world put together? Your Majeſty, Sir, has nothing to do but to apply yourſelf to your ſon-in-law; implore the aſſiſtance of the great prophet; he will preſently confound your enemies. He can do no leſs, ſince he is the cauſe of Cacem's coming to trouble the repoſe of your ſubjects."

Though this was ſpoken in deriſion, it inſpired Bahaman with confidence. You are in the right, ſaid he to the courtier, 'tis to the prophet I ought to [79] addreſs myſelf; I will pray him to drive away my haughty enemy, and I dare promiſe myſelf he will not reject my prayer. At theſe words he went to Schirine; daughter, ſaid he, to-morrow morning, as ſoon as day appears, Cacem deſigns to attack us; I fear he will force our intrenchments. I am come hither to implore the aſſiſtance of Mahomet. Make uſe of all the intereſt you have with him, to engage him to defend us. Let us join in our interceſſions to render him propitious to us. Sir, replied the prin⯑ceſs, it will not be very difficult to engage the prophet on our ſide. He will ſhortly diſperſe the enemy's troops, and all the kings of the earth will learn, at Cacem's coſt, to reſpect you. However, replied the king, the night is come, and the prophet does not appear. He has forſaken us! No, no, my father, replied Schirine, think not he will abandon us in neceſſity; he ſees from heaven the army that beſieges us, and, perhaps, he is this moment going to ſtrike them with terror and diſmay.

This was indeed what Mahomet had a great deſire to do. I had all that day obſerved the troops of Cacem afar off. I had regarded their diſpoſition, and above all had taken great notice of the king's quarters. I picked up great and little ſtones; I filled my trunk with them, and in the middle of the night I raiſed myſelf up in the air. I went towards Ca⯑cem's tents. I diſcovered without trouble that where the king lay, it was a very high pavilion, finely gilt, made in the form of a cupola, and ſupported by [80] twelve pillars of painted wood, that were driven into the ground. The intervals of the pillars were filled up with boughs of ſeveral ſorts of trees twiſted to⯑gether. Towards the top there were two windows, one to the eaſt, and the other to the ſouth.

All the ſoldiers that were about the tent were aſleep, which gave me an opportunity to deſcend to one of the windows without being perceived. I ſaw the king lying on a ſofa, with his head on a ſattin cuſhion. I got a little out of my trunk, and throw⯑ing a great ſtone at Cacem, I ſtruck him full in the forehead, and wounded him dangerouſly. He gave a loud cry, which preſently waked his guards and his officers. They ran to that prince; they found him all over blood, and almoſt ſenſeleſs. They called out, the quarters took the alarm, every one aſked what was the matter. The report went that the king was wounded; but they could not tell by whom. While they were inquiring out the author, I raiſed myſelf up almoſt to the clouds, and let fall a hail of ſtones upon and about the royal tent. Some ſoldiers were wounded, and cried out, that it rained ſtones. This news ſpread itſelf abroad, and to confirm it, I flung ſtones all about. Then a panic fear ſeiſed the whole army; the officers, as well as ſoldiers, believed the prophet was angry with Cacem, and that he declared his wrath by this prodigy. At laſt the enemies of Bahaman were ſtruck with diſmay, and fled with ſuch precipitation, that they left their equipage and tents [81] behind them, crying, we are undone, Mahomet will deſtroy us.

The king of Gazna was very much ſurpriſed at day-break, when, inſtead of ſeeing himſelf attacked, he perceived that the enemy was making off. He preſently purſued them with his beſt ſoldiers. He made a great ſlaughter of the fugitives, and overtook Cacem, whoſe wound hindered him from making ſpeed. Why, ſaid he to him, did you come into my dominions againſt all right and reaſon? What cauſe had I given you to make war againſt me? Baha⯑man, anſwered the vanquiſhed king, I thought you had refuſed me your daughter in contempt and diſ⯑dain, and I was reſolved to revenge myſelf on you. I could not believe that the prophet Mahomet was your ſon-in-law; but I doubt it not now, ſince it is he that has wounded me, and diſperſed my army.

Bahaman ceaſed to purſue his enemies, and re⯑turned to Gazna with Cacem, who died that day of his wound. They divided a booty which was ſo con⯑ſiderable, that the ſoldiers returned home loaded with riches. Prayers were made in all the moſques, to return thanks to heaven for having confounded the enemies of the kingdom; and when it was night, the king went without any attendants to the prin⯑ceſs's palace. Daughter, ſaid he to her, I am come to return thanks to the prophet; you have been in⯑formed, by the courier I ſent you, of what Mahomet has done for us; I am ſo ſenſible of his goodneſs [82] to us, that I die with impatience to embrace his knees.

He ſoon had the ſatisfaction he deſired. I entered by the uſual window into Schirine's apartment, where I expected to find him. He flung himſelf at my feet, and kiſſed the ground, ſaying, O great prophet, no words can expreſs the gratitude I feel. Read in my heart my acknowledgments. I raiſed Bahaman up, and kiſſed his forehead. Prince, ſaid I, could you think I would refuſe you my aſſiſtance in the ill circumſtances you were reduced to for my ſake? I have puniſhed the proud Cacem, who deſigned to have made himſelf maſter of your dominions, and to have taken away Schirine to place her among the ſlaves in his ſeraglio. Fear not from henceforth, that any potentate in the world will dare to make war againſt you. If any one ſhould have the boldneſs to come and attack you, I will pour on his troops a rain of fire, that ſhall reduce them all to aſhes.

After having aſſured the king of Gazna afreſh that I would take his kingdom under my protection, I told him how the enemy's army was frightened when it rained ſtones on their camp. Bahaman, on his part, repeated to me what Cacem had told him, and retired. That princeſs, who was not leſs ſenſible than the king her father of the important ſervice I had done the ſtate, declared to me her acknowledg⯑ments in ſo tender a manner, that I had very nearly forgot the time: for the day appeared as I [83] got to my trunk; but I paſſed ſo well then for Mahomet in every body's opinion, that if the ſol⯑diers had ſeen me in the air, they would not have been undeceived. I could hardly forbear think⯑ing myſelf to be the prophet, after having routed an army.

Two days after, when they had interred Cacem, to whom, though an enemy, they gave a magnifi⯑cent burial, the king ordered public rejoicings to be made in the city, as well for the defeat of the ene⯑my's troops, as to celebrate ſolemnly the marriage of the princeſs Schirine with Mahomet. The mor⯑row was the day I had appointed upon which I thought I could do no leſs than ſignalize, by ſome prodigy, a feſtival that was obſerved in honour of me. To this end I bought in Gazna ſome white pitch, and cotton-ſeed, together with a little ſteel to ſtrike fire with. I ſpent the day in the wood to prepare my fire-works. I ſteeped the cotton-ſeed in the pitch; and at night, when the people were rejoicing in the ſtreets, tranſported myſelf above the town; I raiſed myſelf as high as was poſſible, for fear they ſhould diſcern my machine by the brightheſs of my artificial flame; then ſtruck fire, and lighted the pitch, which, with the cotton-ſeed, produced a wonderful effect. This done, I retired into my wood. The day ap⯑pearing a little afterwards, I went into the town, to have the pleaſure of hearing what they ſaid of me. Was not deceived in my expectation; the people talked extravagantly of the trick I had played them; [84] ſome ſaid it was Mahomet, who, to ſhew that their feſtival was agreeable to him, had made celeſtial fires appear; and others affirmed, that they ſaw the pro⯑phet in the middle of thoſe new meteors, with a long white beard, and a venerable air, as they fancied.

All this diſcourſe was exceedingly diverting to me; but, alas! while I was taking this pleaſure, my trunk, my dear trunk, the inſtrument of all my wonders, was burnt in the wood. In all appear⯑ance, ſome ſpark, that I did not perceive, took hold of my machine in my abſence, and conſumed it. When I returned, I found it reduced to aſhes. A father, who, returning home, ſhould ſee his only ſon pierced in a thouſand places, and weltering in his blood, could not be more ſhocked than I was. The wood echoed again with my cries and groans. I tore my hair, and rent my cloaths. I know not how I ſpared my own life in the rage of my deſperation.

Thus ended my adventure with the princeſs Schirine, at the very time when I had nearly accom⯑pliſhed my plot; and which, though I was then in deſpair, I have ſince been happy to reflect that it did not proceed any further.

INCREDULITY: Or the Story of CHEC CHAHABEDDIN.

THE Sultan of Egypt having ſummoned all the learned men of his kingdom to meet on a certain day in his palace, there aroſe a diſpute among them. It is ſaid that the angel Gabriel, having one night taken Mahomet out of his bed, ſhewed him what⯑ever is in the ſeven heavens, in paradiſe and in hell; and that the ſame great prophet, after having had fourſcore and ten thouſand conferences with the Deity, was brought back again into his bed by the ſame angel. Some of the doctors have advanced, that all this was done in ſo ſhort a ſpace of time, that Mahomet at his return found his bed ſtill warm; and that he took up a pot of water, which was not yet run out, though the pot had been thrown down the very moment that the angel Gabriel carried Mahomet out of his chamber.

The Sultan, who preſided in this aſſembly, main⯑tained that this was impoſſible: You teach, ſays he, that there are ſeven heavens; between each of which [87] there is a diſtance no leſs than a man can well tra⯑vel in five hundred years; and that each heaven is as thick as it is diſtant from the next to it: how then is it poſſible, that Mahomet, after having paſſ⯑ed through all theſe heavens, and after having had fourſcore and ten thouſand conferences, ſhould at his return find his bed ſtill warm; and the pot thrown down, with the water not ſpilt? Who can be cre⯑dulous enough to believe ſo ridiculous a fable? Know you not that if a pot full of water is thrown down, you will find no water in it? The literati an⯑ſwered, that this indeed could not naturally be; but all things were poſſible to the Divine Power. The Sultan of Egypt, who was obſtinate, and had made it a maxim never to believe any thing contrary to reaſon, gave no credit to the miracle; and the learn⯑ed broke up their aſſembly.

This diſpute made a great noiſe in Egypt; and the news of it came to the ears of Chec Chaha⯑beddin, who, for reaſons not aſſigned in the hiſtory, could not be preſent at the aſſembly: however, he went to the Sultan's palace in the heat of the day. The Sultan, informed of the Doctor's being come, carried him into a ſtate chamber, and ſpoke to him in this manner: You need not have given yourſelf the trouble of coming hither; it had been enough to have ſent one of your ſervants; for we ſhould have granted him any thing in your name: Sir, an⯑ſwered the Doctor, I am come in hopes of having a moment's converſation with your majeſty. The [88] Sultan, who knew that this Chec was noted for be⯑having ^* haughtily in the preſence of Princes, ſhewed him great civilities, and made abundance of com⯑pliments.

The room they were in had four windows, on each ſide one: the Doctor deſired the King to or⯑der one of them to be ſhut. This being done, they continued for ſome time in converſation; after which the Doctor deſired that one of the windows, which had the proſpect of a mountain called Kzeldaghi, or the Red Mountain, might be opened, and then bid the King look out. The Sultan put his head to the window, and ſaw on the mountain and in the plain a body of horſe, more in number than the ſtars of heaven, armed with bucklers and coats of mail, with their ſwords drawn, advancing full ſpeed towards the palace. The Prince changed colour, and in great diſmay cried out, Heaven! what dread⯑ful army is this, coming to attack my palace? Be not afraid, Sir, ſays the Doctor, there's nothing in it. Saying this he ſhut the window, and opening it again the next moment, the King looked out, but ſaw not a ſingle perſon on the mountain, or in the plain.

Another of the windows gave a proſpect of the city, and the Doctor opened that. The Sultan ſaw the city of Cairo on fire, and the flames aſcending [89] even to the middle region of the air. What dread⯑ful burning is that? exclaimed the King. See my city, my fine city of Cairo, reduced to aſhes! Fear not, Sir, ſaid the Chec, there is nothing in it. At the ſame time he ſhut the window, and opened it again, when the King ſaw no more of the flames.

The Doctor opened the third window; out of which the Sultan perceived the Nile overflowing its banks, and its waves rolling with fury to drown his palace. The King, notwithſtanding what he had experienced, was terrified at this new prodigy. Alas! cried he, all is loſt; we are now undone indeed. This dreadful inundation will bear away my palace, and drown me and my people! Fear not, Sir, ſaid the Doctor, there's nothing in it. The Chec had no ſooner ſhut and opened the win⯑dow again, than the Nile appeared purſuing its courſe as uſual.

He then opened the fourth window: the other wonders had not more terrified than this delighted the King. His eyes, that were accuſtomed to ſee nothing at this window but a barren waſte, were agreeably ſurprized to behold vineyards and gardens, hung with the moſt delicious fruits; rivulets mur⯑muring as they glided; whoſe banks were adorned with roſes, narciſſus' and hyacinths, at once pleaſ⯑ing to the ſight, and fragrant to the ſmell; an in⯑finite number of turtles and nightingales, ſtraining their little throats with their ſweet and mournful ſongs. The King, charmed with the wonders [90] which now offered themſelves to his ſight, believed he beheld the garden of ^* Eram. What a change is this! cried he, in the exceſs of his admiration: O beautiful garden! charming abode!—Be not ſo tranſported, ſaid the Chec, there is nothing in it. The Doctor ſhut the window, then opened it again; and the Sultan, inſtead of theſe delightful phantoms, ſaw nothing but the deſart.

Sir, ſaid the Chec, I have ſhewn you many won⯑ders, but all this is nothing in compariſon of the aſtoniſhing prodigy, of which I will make your ma⯑jeſty a witneſs. Give your commands for a tub full of water to be brought hither.—The King ordered it to be done. The tub was brought into the cham⯑ber. Be pleaſed, ſaid the Doctor, to ſuffer your⯑ſelf to be ſtripped, and let a towel be girt about your loins. The King conſented to have his cloaths taken off; and when the towel was girt about him, Sir, ſaid the Chec, plunge your head into the wa⯑ter, and draw it out again.

The King plunged, and in an inſtant found him⯑ſelf at the foot of a mountain on the ſea-ſhore. This prodigy aſtoniſhed him more than the others: Ah Doctor, cried he, in a tranſport of rage, perfi⯑dious Doctor, that haſt thus cruelly deceived me! If ever I return into Egypt, from whence thou haſt forced me by thy black and deteſtable art, I ſwear I will revenge myſelf of thee. O mayeſt thou mi⯑ſerably [91] periſh! He continued his imprecations againſt the Chec; but, reflecting that his menaces and com⯑plaints would nothing avail him, he took courage, and went to ſome men whom he ſaw cutting wood on the mountain, reſolved not to diſcover to them who he was. For, thought he, if I tell them I am a King, they will not believe me; they will take me for an impoſtor or a madman.

The wood-cutters aſked him who he was: Good people, anſwered he, I am a merchant. My ſhip bulged on a rock, and was daſhed to pieces. I have had the good fortune to ſave myſelf on a plank. You ſee the condition I am in, which ought to excite your pity. They were concerned for his misfor⯑tune, but the poverty of their circumſtances would not allow them to grant him any relief. However, one of them gave him an old gown, and another an old pair of ſhoes; and when they had put him in this condition, they conducted him into their city, that was ſituate behind the mountain; where they no ſooner arrived, than they took leave of him, and, abandoning him to Providence, went away, each to his own home.

The Sultan was left alone; and though men take delight in new objects, he was too much taken up with the thoughts of his adventure, to give attention to any thing he ſaw: he walked up and down the ſtreets. He was weary, and, looking for a place to lie down and reſt himſelf, ſtopped before the houſe of an old farrier, who, judging by his looks that he [92] was fatigued, deſired him to come in. The King did ſo, and ſate himſelf down on a bench that was near the door. Young man, ſaid the old farrier, may I aſk you what profeſſion you follow, and what has brought you hither. The Sultan gave him the ſame anſwer he had given to the wood-cutters: I met, added he, with ſome good people, who were cutting wood on the mountain; and having told them my misfortune, they were ſo kind as to give me this old gown, and theſe cobbled ſhoes. I am glad, ſaid the farrier, that you eſcaped being drown⯑ed: comfort yourſelf for the loſs of your goods: you are young, and will not perhaps be unhappy in this city, where our laws and cuſtoms are very favour⯑able to ſtrangers, that come to ſettle among us. Do not you intend to do ſo? I deſire nothing bet⯑ter, anſwered the Sultan, provided I could have any proſpect of retrieving my affairs. Well then, re⯑plied the old man, follow the advice I am about to give you. Go this moment to the public baths of the women: ſet yourſelf down at the gate, and aſk each lady that comes out, if ſhe has a huſband: ſhe that ſhall anſwer you, No, muſt be your wife according to the cuſtom of this country.

The Sultan, being determined to follow this ad⯑vice, went to the gate of the baths. It was not long ere he ſaw a lady of exquiſite beauty. Ah! how happy ſhould I be, thought he to himſelf, if this lovely perſon be not married! were ſhe but mine, I could forget my misfortunes. He ſtopped [93] her and ſaid, Fair lady, have you a huſband? She anſwered, Yes. I am ſorry for it, replied the King: you would have made a fit wife for me. The lady went her way, and ſoon after came another, fright⯑fully ugly: the Sultan ſhuddered at ſight of her: What a piece of deformity is this! ſaid he: I had rather be ſtarved to death, than live with ſuch a crea⯑ture: I will let her paſs. The old farrier, however, bid me aſk the queſtion of every lady. In all ap⯑pearance the cuſtom is ſo, and I muſt ſubmit: how do I know but ſhe has a huſband: ſome unfortunate ſtranger, whoſe ill deſtiny has brought him hither, as mine has me, may perhaps have married her. In ſhort, the King reſolved to aſk the queſtion. She anſwered, Yes.

Next came out a third, as ugly as the other. O heavens! ſaid the King, this is more horrible than the laſt: no matter; ſince I have begun, I muſt go through with it. If this have a huſband, I muſt own there are men more to be pitied than myſelf. As ſhe was paſſing him, he addreſſed her, and trem⯑bling, ſaid, Fair lady, are you married? Yes, young man, anſwered ſhe, without ſtopping. I am glad of it, replied the Sultan. I bleſs my ſtars, conti⯑nued he, that I am free of theſe two women. But it is not yet time to rejoice: all the ladies are not come out of the baths; nor have I yet ſeen her that is deſtined for me. Perhaps I ſhall get nothing by the change.

[94]A fourth appeared, who ſurpaſſed in beauty the firſt, that he thought ſo charming: What differ⯑ence, cried he; there is not ſo much diſparity be⯑tween day and night, as between this fine woman and the two laſt! Are angels and devils to be ſeen in the ſame place? He advanced to her with eager⯑neſs. Lady, ſaid he, have you a huſband? She an⯑ſwered, No; looking on him with as much diſdain as attention; then went away, leaving him in deep ſurprize. What am I to think of this, ſays he: the old farrier has certainly jeered me. If, accord⯑ing to the laws of this country, I am to marry this lady, why did ſhe leave me ſo rudely? Why put ſhe on that haughty and diſdainful air? She viewed me from head to foot; and I ſaw in her looks the marks of contempt and ſcorn. The truth is, ſhe is not much in the wrong. In juſtice I cannot blame her. This threadbare gown, full of holes, is not over proper to engage a lady's heart. I forgive her for thinking ſhe may chance to mend herſelf.

While thus reflecting, a ſlave accoſted him: Sir, ſaid he, I am ſent to find a ſtranger in tatters; and, by your air, methinks it ſhould be you. If you pleaſe to give yourſelf the trouble of following me, I will lead you to a place, where you are expected with great impatience. The Sultan followed the ſlave, who led him to a great houſe, and ſhewed him into an apartment elegantly furniſhed. He bid him wait. The Sultan ſtaid full two hours without ſee⯑ing [95] a ſoul but the ſlave, who every now and then came and deſired him not to be impatient.

At length came in four ladies, who accompanied another, glittering in jewels, but yet more reſplen⯑dent in beauty. The Sultan caſt his eyes upon her, and recollected her to be the laſt lady that he had ſeen coming out of the bath. She drew near him: Forgive me, Sir, ſaid ſhe, that I have made you wait. I was loth to appear in my undreſs be⯑fore my lord and maſter. You are in your own houſe, all you ſee here belongs to you: you are my huſband: command me what you pleaſe, I am ready to obey. Madam, anſwered the Sultan, not a mo⯑ment ago I complained of my deſtiny, but now I am the moſt happy of men. But ſince I am your huſband, why did you juſt now look ſo diſdainfully upon me? You were ſhocked, perhaps, at the ſight of me; and, to confeſs the truth, I could not much blame you. Sir, replied the lady, I could not do other⯑wiſe; the women of this city are obliged to carry themſelves haughtily in public: it is the cuſtom. Well, ſaid the King, ſince I am maſter here, in or⯑der to exerciſe my little ſovereignty, let ſomebody bring me a taylor and a ſhoemaker: I am aſhamed to be ſeen in your preſence in this tattered gown, and theſe cobbled ſhoes, which ill ſuit with the rank I have hitherto held in the world. I have taken care of that already, replied the lady: I have ſent a ſlave to a Jew, who ſells cloaths ready made, and who will furniſh you at once with all you want: [96] mean while let us take ſome refreſhment. In ſay⯑ing this, ſhe led him to a table covered with all ſorts of fruits and ſweat-meats. While they were eat⯑ing, the four attendant ladies, who ſtood behind, ſung ſongs, and played on ſeveral inſtruments; their miſtreſs took a lute, and accompanying the muſic with her voice, charmed the Sultan.

The concert was interrupted by the Jew tradeſ⯑man, with bundles of cloaths of different ſorts. They made choice of a white ſattin veſt, flowered with gold, and a gown of purple. The lady admired the King; was very well ſatisfied to have found ſuch a huſband; and he well pleaſed to have met with ſo beautiful a wife.

He had lived ſeven years with this lady, by whom he had ſeveral ſons and daughters. But both of them taking delight in expenſive life, they outrun the lady's eſtate, were obliged to put away their waiting ladies and ſlaves, and to ſell their furniture for ſubſiſtence. The Sultan's wife, ſeeing herſelf reduced to want, told her huſband; "As long as my eſtate laſted, you never ſpared it: it behoves you now to think of ſome way or other to maintain your little family."

Theſe words ſtruck the King, who went to the old farrier to aſk his advice. O my father, ſays he, I am now in a worſe condition, than when I came firſt to this city: I have a wife and children, and nothing for their ſubſiſtence. Young man, replied the aged farrier, were you not brought up to trade? [97] The Sultan anſwered, No. The farrier put his hand in his pocket, and giving him two ^* Aqtchas, bid him immediately buy himſelf ſome ^† Ypes, and wait in the place where the porters plied. The Sultan bought them, and went to ply among the porters.

Scarce was he arrived, when a man aſked him if he would carry a burthen? I am here for that pur⯑poſe, anſwered the Sultan. The man loaded him with a great ſack, which the King had much ado to carry, and the cords wrung the ſkin off his ſhoul⯑ders. He received his pay of one Aqtcha, and car⯑ried it home. His wife, ſeeing no more money, told him, that if he earned not ten times as much every day, his family muſt ſtarve.

The next morning, overwhelmed with grief, in⯑ſtead of plying among the porters, he walked to the ſea-ſide, reflecting on his miſerable condition. There he looked very earneſtly on the place, and, re⯑calling to mind his ſtrange and fatal adventure, he ſunk into tears. The ceremony of ^‡ Ablution being indiſpenſible before prayers, he plunged himſelf into the ſea; and raiſing his head out of the water, (what aſtoniſhment!) he found himſelf again in his own palace, in the middle of the tub, and ſurrounded by all his officers. O barbarous Doctor, cried he, [98] perceiving the Chec upon the very ſpot on which he had left him, doſt thou not dread that God will pu⯑niſh thee, for having played this trick with thy Sul⯑tan and thy maſter? Sir, ſaid the Chec, why is your majeſty angry with me? You but this moment plunged your head into this water. I tell you no⯑thing but the truth: if you do not believe me, aſk your officers, who were eye-witneſſes of it. The Sultan gave no credit to them. It is full ſeven years, ſaid he, that this curſed Doctor has detained me in a foreign country by the force of his enchantments; I married, and had children; but it is not of this I complain ſo much, as of my being a porter. Oh villainous Chec! couldſt thou be ſo cruel as to make me carry Ypes: Sir, replied the Doctor, when you came into this apartment, did not you leave the beautiful Sultaneſs, Zeineb, in the pangs of child-birth? Yes, ſaid the Sultan. Lo! ſaid Chahabed⯑din, here comes an officer to ſalute thee a father, but to inform thee likewiſe that the Prophet has pu⯑niſhed thy infidelity, Zeinib is dead. As the Chec finiſhed this ſentence, the room ſhook with thun⯑der, the learned Chahabeddin diſappeared, and left the Sultan to lament his charming Zeneib, and his want of faith.

TRUTH: Or the Story of SADDYQ.

TOGALTIMUR-CAN, King of Tartary, was one day told that there was, in his dominions, a man who was ſo great an enemy to lying that he always told truth. The King had a mind to have [102] him near his perſon, and made him Maſter of the Horſe. A courtier of ſo extraordinary a character ſoon found enemies, who watched all opportunities to ruin him: but the King, who was not eaſily to be impoſed on, and who truſted to his own judge⯑ment, made trial of his Maſter of the Horſe on ſe⯑veral occaſions, and having always found him frank and ſincere, gave him the ſurname of Saddyq, or the Teller of Truth.

Of all Saddyq's enemies, the Viſier Tangribirdi was the moſt inveterately bent on his ruin. He em⯑ployed all ſorts of ſtratagems to diſgrace him in the mind of Togaltimur: but not being able to compaſs his deſign, he diſcloſed one day to his daughter Hoſ⯑chendan the uneaſineſs it gave him to be ſtill diſap⯑pointed. How unfortunate am I! ſaid he to her: I have been the cauſe of the diſgrace of a thouſand old courtiers; yet I cannot deſtroy this man, who, though but newly ſettled at court, triumphs over all my efforts to ruin his fortune. Hoſchendan, who equalled her father in malice, inſtead of exhorting him no longer to oppoſe the good fortune of Saddyq, ſaid to him, My dear father, ceaſe to afflict your⯑ſelf: if you are abſolutely determined to bring Saddyq into the King's disfavour, leave the care of it to my management. Ah! replied the viſier, what method will you take to compaſs it? Aſk me not that, Sir, ſaid ſhe, give me leave only to go to the Maſter of the Horſe, and I promiſe you I will bring him to a neceſſity of telling a lie to the King. Do whatever [103] you will, daughter, ſaid the viſier, I give you free leave. Provided you prove as good as your word, no matter what it coſts.

Hoſchendan was wholly intent to prepare herſelf for the execution of the project ſhe had formed. She cloathed herſelf in her richeſt apparel, and adorned herſelf with all her jewels. In ſhort, after having added to her natural beauty all the advantages that art could give, ſhe went from her father's one night, attended by ſome ſlaves, who convoyed her ſafely to Saddyq's houſe. When ſhe was arrived, ſhe ſent back her ſlaves, knocked at the door, and told the ſervant that ſhe deſired to ſpeak with Saddyq about an affair of very great importance. They conducted her into his apartment. She found him ſitting on a ſopha, approached him, threw off the veil that co⯑vered her face, and ſat down on the ſame ſopha, without ſaying one ſingle word.

Saddyq who had never ſeen, not even in a dream, ſo beautiful a perſon, was ſtruck to the heart, and became motionleſs. The lady, whoſe deſign was to inſpire him with love, ſpared not the means to ac⯑compliſh it. She careſſed him with a thouſand dalliances; and ſaid, O Saddyq, be not ſurpriſed that a woman who loves you, thus ſeeks for you in pri⯑vate. Grant me a ſingle favour.—Soul of my ſoul! cried out the Maſter of the Horſe, you need only name it. What can I refuſe to theſe powerful charms, of which I am ſo enamoured? Command your ſlave—tell him what you wiſh. I have a mind, [104] replied Hoſchendan, with a longing deſire to eat ſome horſe-fleſh^*. Kill me immediately the fatteſt of all the King's horſes: take out the heart and the liver, get them roaſted, and let us eat them together. Charming lady, anſwered Saddyq, rather aſk me my life: I have a reſpect for every thing that belongs to the King my maſter. Let us put off this frolick till to-morrow: I will then buy a horſe as fat as a bacon-hog, and we will regale ourſelves like Princes. No, no, replied Hoſchendan, I muſt eat of one of the King's horſes: it is a fancy I have taken, and you muſt gratify it. I cannot comply with your requeſt, ſaid Saddyq: I love the King my maſter too well to give him the leaſt uneaſineſs. Should I prove ſo weak as to yield to your requeſt, I am certain he would not fail to puniſh me. You need not fear that, ſaid Hoſchendan; ſhould the King aſk you what was become of the horſe, ſay, that having found him ſick, and paſt all hope of recovery, you thought it beſt to kill him, leſt he ſhould have in⯑fected the other horſes with his diſeaſe. The King, who by way of excellence has given you the ſurname of Saddyq, will take your word for it, and even com⯑mend your precaution.

The Maſter of the Horſe began to waver—What ſhall I do? ſaid he to himſelf. On the one hand, my reſpect for the King, and the fear of puniſhment, keep me in awe: on the other, the charms of this [105] heavenly face allure me. Hoſchendan, perceiving the perplexity he was in, renewed her attacks ſo forcibly that he condeſcended at length to her re⯑queſt. They went together to the King's ſtables. O my Prince! ſaid Hoſchendan to Saddyq, ſince you grant me the favour, grant it to my wiſh; pray cut the throat of this black horſe, which ſtands here apart from the reſt. O my Queen! my Sultaneſs! cried the Maſter of the Horſe, you know not what you aſk. You put my love to too ſevere a trial. This black horſe is of all others that which the King loves beſt. It is impoſſible for me to com⯑ply with your deſire. Pitch upon any one of the reſt, and his throat ſhall be cut inſtantly. This is all that I can do for you; and, indeed, all that you ought to expect. But the lady was not to be re⯑fuſed: on the contrary, throwing herſelf at his feet, O my Prince! ſaid ſhe, my dear Maſter of the Horſe, I conjure you not to refuſe my ſuit. I know well that the proof of tenderneſs, which I aſk of you, claſhes in ſome meaſure with your duty: but women, you know, are whimſical and caprici⯑ous; whatever they ardently deſire, they are obſti⯑nate to obtain: comply therefore, and ſatisfy my humour. I will for ever love you, and hold you dearer than my life.

Her words were accompanied with ſo many marks of tenderneſs, and ſuch tranſports, that the Maſter of the Horſe could reſiſt no longer. He drew his knife, and cut the black horſe's throat inſtantly. [106] Then taking out the heart and liver, they were roaſted, and ate in the bed-chamber. In the morning the lady took leave of the Maſter of the Horſe, returned home to her father, and told him all that had paſſed. The viſier was ſo overjoyed at it, that he had no time to think how dear it had coſt his daughter to play the part ſhe had acted; but went directly to the palace, and told the King the adven⯑ture. He took care, however, not to ſay that Hoſ⯑chendan was the lady in queſtion, or that it was to ſatisfy his hatred and envy that his daughter had dared to tempt the integrity of Saddyq.

While the viſier Tangribirdi was making this re⯑cital to the King, with all the malice of a ſtanch courtier, who wiſhed ruin to his enemy, the Maſter of the Horſe had come to himſelf, and made moſt bitter reflections on what he had done. How void of ſenſe are men, ſaid he, to give themſelves up to their paſſions! I ſhould have done much better to have ſent away the lady with a flat denial, than to have pleaſed her in killing a horſe that was the delight of the King my maſter. I ſhould not then have been agitated with all the cruel thoughts which now diſturb my quiet. What ſhall I anſwer to the King when he aſks me for his horſe? I, who hitherto have made it a law to myſelf ever to tell truth, ſhall I fly to falſehood for ſhelter, and ſhall I dare to be found a liar in the preſence of my King? This would be adding a new crime to that I have com⯑mitted. On the other hand, ſhould I make a true [107] confeſſion, my ſincerity muſt coſt me my life: what then muſt I determine to do? To lie? Well, be it ſo. Let me ſuppoſe that I am at court: let me ſup⯑poſe this cap (taking it off his head, and laying it on the floor) to be Togaltimur: let me ſee if I can have the confidence to inſiſt upon a lie in the face of the King. Entering into his preſence, I ſalute him. Saddyq, ſays he, let my black horſe be got ready, I mean to ride to-day.—Sir, an accident has befallen him: yeſterday in the evening he would eat nothing we could offer him, and he died at midnight; nor can I imagine the occaſion of his death. How! my black horſe, that carried me ſo well but yeſterday—is he dead? Why muſt it be him rather than ſo many others that are in the ſame ſtable? What ſtory is this thou telleſt me? Be gone; thou art a liar. Thou haſt either fold my horſe, or elſe thou haſt killed him in ſome freak. Think not to eſcape my vengeance. Thou ſhalt be puniſhed according to thy deſerts. One of you ſtab that villain to the heart this mo⯑ment;—hack him in pieces.

Togaltimur, purſued Saddyq, will, no doubt, ſpeak to me in this manner; and ſuch will be the reward of the firſt lie I ever told in my life. Now let me conſider, if, by telling the truth, I ſhall fare any better. Saddyq, let my black horſe be got ready: I will ride abroad.—O King! you ſee your ſervant in the deepeſt affliction. There came to my houſe laſt night a lady, who aſked me to have the heart and liver of that horſe, and I had no power to refuſe [108] her. What! could you kill my fine horſe to gain a lady's favour? One of you go for the executioner; he ſhall do his office before my face.

Behold, ſaid the Maſter of the Horſe, what re⯑ception I am to expect: whether I lie, or whether I tell truth, I am ſure to loſe my life. Wretch that I am! Curſed be the object whoſe charms have thrown me into this perplexity. While he was buſied with theſe diſmal thoughts, came one to tell him the King would ſpeak with him. He inſtantly obeyed the order, and found there the viſier his enemy.

Maſter of the Horſe, ſays the King, I intend to hunt to-day: ſaddle me the black horſe. Struck with a mortal dread, he anſwered in confuſion—Sir, there happened laſt night a misfortune to your ſer⯑vant; if your Majeſty commands me, I will tell it you. Tell it, replied the King. Laſt night, ſaid the Maſter of the Horſe, as I was ſitting in my chamber, there came to me a lady in a veil. She ſat herſelf down by me on a ſopha, unveiled, and ſhewed me a neck and face of raviſhing beauty: ſhe won my affection; and prevailed on me to promiſe her the heart and liver of your black horſe. I anſwered without heſitation, that I could not conſent to kill a horſe that your Majeſty was ſo fond of. But the lady threw herſelf at my feet, and beſought me in terms ſo moving, that I had no power to reſiſt her importunity. This, Sir, is an ingenuous recital of my adventure. I confeſs my crime, and am ſo far from deſiring to eſcape the [109] puniſhment I deſerve, by telling a lie, that I come of my own accord to ſubmit to it.—There, Sove⯑reign, is the ſabre,—here is my head.

The King turned towards the viſier, and aſked him in what manner he thought it beſt to deal with Saddyq. Sir, anſwered the viſier, overjoyed to be conſulted in this affair, I am of opinion, that he ought to be burnt in a ſlow fire. A man, who has dared to ſacrifice to his pleaſure a horſe that you were fond of, is unworthy of mercy.—I am not of your opinion, viſier, replied Togaltimur: I think it more reaſonable to pardon a firſt fault, than to pu⯑niſh it.—Then addreſſing his diſcourſe to the Maſter of the Horſe, ſaid, O Saddyq! I am aſtoniſhed at thy ſincerity, and excuſe thy weakneſs. Had I been in thy place, I might not only have given my black horſe, but all the horſes in my ſtables. The allure⯑ments were too mighty to be reſiſted: no man could have been ſafe againſt them. I forgive thee the death of my horſe; and take it ſo well of thee, that thou haſt told me the truth on this occaſion, that I order a robe of honour to be brought for thee immediately.

When the viſier Tangribirdi ſaw that the Maſter of the Horſe was rewarded, inſtead of being pu⯑niſhed, he was ſeiſed with a melancholy, that threw him into an illneſs, of which he died in a few days, and the fortunate Saddyq was made choice of to ſucceed him in his poſt of Viſier.

EQUIVOCATION. The Hiſtory of Lady FORREST, &c.

CHARLOTTE and Maria were educated to⯑gether at an eminent boarding-ſchool near London: there was little difference in their age, and their perſonal accompliſhments were equal: but though their families were of the ſame rank, yet as Char⯑lotte was an only child, ſhe was conſiderably ſupe⯑rior in fortune.

Soon after they were taken home, Charlotte was addreſſed by Captain Freeman, who, beſides his com⯑miſſion in the guards, had a ſmall paternal eſtate: but as her friends hoped for a more advantageous match, the Captain was deſired to forbear his viſits, and the lady to think of him no more. After ſome [113] fruitleſs ſtruggles they acquieſced; but the diſcon⯑tent of both were ſo apparent, that it was thought expedient to remove Miſs into the country. She was ſent to her aunt, the Lady Meadows, who with her daughter lived retired at the family ſeat, more than one hundred miles diſtant from the metropolis. After ſhe had repined in this dreary ſolitude from April to Auguſt, ſhe was ſurpriſed with a viſit from her father, who brought with him Sir James Forreſt, a young gentleman who had juſt ſucceeded to a baronet's title and a very large eſtate in the ſame county. Sir James had good nature and good ſenſe, an agreeable perſon and an eaſy addreſs: Miſs was inſenſibly pleaſed with his company; her vanity, if not her love, had a new object; a deſire to be de⯑livered from a ſtate of dependance and obſcurity had almoſt abſorbed all the reſt: and it is no wonder that this deſire was gratified, when ſcarce any other was felt; or that in compliance with the united ſolicita⯑tions of her friends, and her lover, ſhe ſuffered her⯑ſelf within a few weeks to become a lady and a wife. They continued in the country till the beginning of October, and then came up to London, having pre⯑vailed upon her aunt to accompany them, that Miſs Meadows, with whom the bride had contracted an intimate friendſhip, might be gratified with the di⯑verſions of the town during the winter.

Captain Freeman, when he heard that Miſs Char⯑lotte was married, immediately made propoſals of marriage to Maria, with whom he became acquaint⯑ed [114] during his viſits to her friend, and ſoon after mar⯑ried her.

The friendſhip of the two young ladies ſeemed to be rather increaſed than diminiſhed by their mar⯑riage; they were always of the ſame party both in the private and public diverſions of the ſeaſon, and viſited each other without the formalities of meſſages and dreſs.

But neither Sir James nor Mrs. Freeman could re⯑flect without uneaſineſs upon the frequent inter⯑views which familiarity and confidence had pro⯑duced between a lover and his miſtreſs, whom force only had divided; and though of theſe interviews they were themſelves witneſſes, yet Sir James in⯑ſenſibly became jealous of his lady, and Mrs. Free⯑man of her huſband.

It happened in the May following, that Sir James went about ten miles out of town to be preſent at an election of a member of parliament for the county, and was not expected to return till the next day. In the evening his lady took a chair and viſited Mrs. Freemen: the reſt of the company went away early, the Captain was upon guard, Sir James was out of town, and the ladies after ſupper ſat down to piquet, and continued the game without once reflecting upon the hour till three in the morning. Lady Forreſt would then have gone home; but Mrs. Freeman, perhaps chiefly to conceal a contrary de⯑ſire, importuned her to ſtay till the Captain came [115] in, and at length, with ſome reluctance, ſhe con⯑ſented.

About five the Captain came home, and Lady Forreſt immediately ſent out for a chair: a chair, as it hap⯑pened, could not be procured; but a hackney coach being brought in its ſtead, the Captain inſiſted upon waiting on her ladyſhip home. This ſhe refuſed with ſome emotion; it is probable that ſhe ſtill re⯑garded the Captain with leſs indifference than ſhe wiſhed, and was therefore more ſenſible of the im⯑propriety of his offer: but her reaſons for rejecting it, however forcible, being ſuch as ſhe could not al⯑ledge, he perſiſted, and her reſolution was over⯑borne. By this importunate complaiſance the Cap⯑tain had not only thrown Lady Forreſt into confu⯑ſion, but diſpleaſed his wife: ſhe could not, how⯑ever, without unpoliteneſs oppoſe it; and left her uneaſineſs ſhould be diſcovered, ſhe affected a neg⯑ligence which in ſome degree revenged it: ſhe de⯑ſired that when he came back he would not diſturb her, for that ſhe ſhould go directly to bed; and ad⯑ded with a kind of drowſy inſenſibliity, "I am more than half aſleep already."

Lady Forreſt and the Captain were to go from the Haymarket to Groſvenor-ſquare. It was about half an hour after five when they got into the coach; the morning was remarkably fine, the late conteſt had ſhaken off all diſpoſition to ſleep, and Lady For⯑reſt could not help ſaying, that ſhe had much rather take a walk into the Park than go home to bed. The [116] Captain zealouſly expreſſed the ſame ſentiment, and propoſed that the coach ſhould ſet them down at St. James's Gate. The lady, however, had nearly the ſame objections againſt being ſeen in the Mall without any other company than the Captain, than ſhe had againſt its being known that they were alone together in a hackney coach: ſhe, therefore, to ex⯑tricate herſelf from this ſecond difficulty, propoſed that they ſhould call at her father's in Bond-ſtreet, and take her couſin Meadows, whom ſhe knew to be an early riſer, with them. This project was im⯑mediately put in execution; but Lady Forreſt found her couſin indiſpoſed with a cold. When ſhe had communicated the deſign of this early viſit, Miſs Meadows intreated her to give up her walk in the Park, to ſtay till the family roſe, and go home after breakfaſt: "No, replied Lady Forreſt, I am de⯑termined upon a walk; but as I muſt firſt get rid of Captain Freeman, I will ſend down word that I will take your advice." A ſervant was accordingly diſpatched to acquaint the Captain, who was waiting below, that Miſs Meadows was indiſpoſed, and had engaged Lady Forreſt to breakfaſt.

The Captain diſcharged the coach; but being piqued at the behaviour of his wife, and feeling that flow of ſpirits which uſually returns with the morn⯑ing even to thoſe who have not ſlept in the night, he had no deſire to go home, and therefore reſolved to enjoy the fine morning in the Park alone.

[117]Lady Forreſt not doubting but that the Captain would immediately return home, congratulated her⯑ſelf upon her deliverance; but at the ſame time, to indulge her deſire of a walk, followed him into the Park.

The Captain had reached the top of the Mall, and turning back, met her before ſhe had advanced two hundred yards beyond the palace. The moment ſhe perceived him, the remembrance of her meſſage, the motives that produced it, the detection of its falſe⯑hood, and diſcovery of its deſign, her diſappoint⯑ment and conſciouſneſs of that very ſituation which ſhe had ſo much reaſon to avoid, all concurred to cover her with confuſion which it was impoſſible for her to hide: pride and good-breeding were, how⯑ever, ſtill predominant over truth and prudence; ſhe was ſtill zealous to remove from the Captain's mind any ſuſpicion of a deſign to ſhun him, and there⯑fore with an effort perhaps equal to that of a hero who ſmiles upon the rack, ſhe affected an air of gaiety, ſaid ſhe was glad to ſee him, and as an ex⯑cuſe for her meſſage and her conduct, prattled ſomething about the fickleneſs of woman's mind, and concluded with obſerving that ſhe changed her's too often ever to be mad. By this conduct a retreat was rendered impoſſible, and they walked together till between eight and nine: but the clouds having inſenſibly gathered, and a ſudden ſhower falling juſt as they reached Spring-gardens, they went out in⯑ſtead [118] of going back; and the Captain having put the lady into a chair, took his leave.

It happened that Sir James, contrary to his firſt purpoſe, had returned from his journey at night. He learnt from the ſervants that his lady was gone to Captain Freeman's, and was ſecretly diſpleaſed that ſhe had made this viſit when he was abſent; an in⯑cident which, however trifling in itſelf, was by the magic of jealouſy, ſwelled into importance: yet upon recollection, he reproved himſelf for this diſpleaſure, ſince the preſence of the Captain's lady would ſuf⯑ficiently ſecure the honour of his own. While he was ſtruggling with theſe ſuſpicions, they increaſed both in number and ſtrength, in proportion as the night wore away. At one he went to bed; but he paſſed the night in agonies of terror and reſentment, doubting whether the abſence of his lady was the effect of accident or deſign, liſtening to every noiſe, and bewildering himſelf in a multitude of extrava⯑gant ſuppoſitions. He roſe again at break of day; and after ſeveral hours of ſuſpence and irreſolution, whether to wait the iſſue, or go out for intelligence, the reſtleſſneſs of curioſity prevailed, and about eight he ſet out for Captain Freeman's; but left word with his ſervants, that he was gone to a neighbour⯑ing coffee-houſe.

Mrs. Freeman, whoſe affected indifference and diſſimulation of a deſign to go immediately to bed, contributed to prevent the Captain's return had, during his abſence, ſuffered inexpreſſible diſquiet: [119] ſhe had, indeed, neither intention to go to bed, nor inclination to ſleep; ſhe walked backward and for⯑ward in her chamber, diſtracted with jealouſy and ſuſpenſe, till ſhe was informed that Sir James was below, and deſired to ſee her. When ſhe came down, he diſcovered that ſhe had been in tears; his fear was now more alarmed than his jealouſy, and he concluded that ſome fatal accident had befallen his wife; but he ſoon learnt that ſhe and the Cap⯑tain had gone from thence at five in the morning, and that he was not yet returned. Mrs. Freeman, by Sir James's enquiry, knew that the lady had not been at home: her ſuſpicions, therefore, were con⯑firmed; and in her jealouſy, which to prevent a duel ſhe laboured to conceal, Sir James found new cauſe for his own. He determined, however, to wait with as much decency as poſſible, till the Captain came in; and perhaps two perſons were never more em⯑barraſſed by the preſence of each other. While breakfaſt was getting ready, Dr. Tattle came to pay Mrs. Freeman a morning viſit; and to the unſpeak⯑able grief of both the lady and her gueſt, was imme⯑diately admitted. Doctor Tattle is one of thoſe male goſſips who, in common opinion, are the moſt diverting company in the world. The Doctor ſaw that Mrs. Freeman was low ſpirited, and made ſe⯑veral efforts to divert her, but without ſucceſs: at laſt he declared, with an air of ironical importance, that he could tell her ſuch news as would make her look grave for ſomething; "The Captain, ſays he, [120] has juſt huddled a lady into a chair at the door of a bagnio, near Spring-gardens." He ſoon perceived that this ſpeech was received with emotions very dif⯑ferent from thoſe he intended to produce; and there⯑fore added, "that ſhe need not, however, be jealous; for notwithſtanding the manner in which he had re⯑lated the incident, the lady was certainly a woman of character, as he inſtantly diſcovered by her mein and appearance:" this particular confirmed the ſuſpi⯑cion it was intended to remove; and the Doctor finding that he was not ſo good company as uſual, took his leave, but was met at the door by the Captain, who brought him back. His preſence, however inſignificant, impoſed ſome reſtraint upon the reſt of the company; and Sir James, with as good an appearance of jocularity as he could aſſume, aſked the Captain "What he had done with his wife?" The Captain, with ſome irreſolution, re⯑plied, that "he had left her early in the morning at her father's; and that having made a point of waiting on her home, ſhe ſent word down that her couſin Meadows was indiſpoſed, and had engaged her to breakfaſt." The Captain, who knew nothing of the anecdote that had been communicated by the Doctor, judged by appearances that it was prudent thus indirectly to lie, by concealing the truth both from Sir James and his wife: he ſuppoſed, indeed, that Sir James would immediately enquire after his wife, at her father's, and learn that ſhe did not ſtay there to breakfaſt; but as it would not follow that [121] they had been together, he left her to account for her abſence as ſhe ſhould think fit, taking for granted that what he had concealed ſhe would alſo conceal for the ſame reaſons; or if ſhe ſhould not, as he had affirmed nothing contrary to truth, he might pretend to have concealed it in jeſt. Sir James, as ſoon as he had received this intelligence, took his leave with ſome appearance of ſatisfaction, and was followed by the Doctor.

As ſoon as Mrs. Freeman and the Captain were alone, ſhe queſtioned him with great earneſt⯑neſs about the lady whom he had been ſeen to put into a chair. When he had heard that this in⯑cident had been related in the preſence of Sir James, he was greatly alarmed leſt Lady Forreſt ſhould in⯑creaſe his ſuſpicions, by attempting to conceal that which, by a ſeries of enquiry to which he was now ſtimulated, he would probably diſcover: he con⯑demned this conduct in himſelf, and as the moſt effectual means at once to quiet the mind of his wife, and obtain her aſſiſtance, he told her all that had happened, and his apprehenſion of the conſe⯑quences: he alſo urged her to go directly to Miſs Meadows, by whom his account would be con⯑firmed, and from whom ſhe might learn farther intel⯑ligence of Sir James; and to find ſome way to ac⯑quaint Lady Forreſt with her danger, and admoniſh her to conceal nothing.

Mrs. Freeman was convinced of the Captain's ſincerity, not only by the advice which he urged her [122] to give to Lady Forreſt, but by the conſiſtency of the ſtory and the manner in which he was affected. Her jealouſy was changed into pity for her friend, and apprehenſion for her huſband. She haſted to Miſs Meadows, and learnt that Sir James had en⯑quired of the ſervant for his lady, and was told that ſhe had been there early with Captain Freeman, but went away ſoon after him: ſhe related to Miſs Meadows all that had happened, and thinking it at leaſt poſſible that Sir James might not go directly home, ſhe wrote the following letter to his lady:

This letter was given to a chairman, and he was ordered to ſay he brought it from the milliner's; becauſe if it ſhould be known to come from Mrs. Freeman, and ſhould fall by accident into Sir James's hands, his curioſity might prompt him to read it, and his jealouſy to queſtion the lady without communi⯑cating the contents.

Sir James being convinced that his lady and the Captain had paſſed the morning at a bagnio, by the anſwer which he received at her father's, went di⯑rectly home. His lady was juſt arrived before him, and had not recovered from the confuſion and dread which ſeized her when ſhe heard that Sir James came to town the night before, and at the ſame inſtant anticipated the conſequences of her own indiſcretion. She was told he was then at the coffee-houſe, and in a few minutes was thrown into an univerſal tremor upon hearing him knock at the door. He perceived her diſtreſs not with compaſſion but rage, becauſe he believed it to proceed from the conſciouſneſs of guilt: he turned pale, and his lips quivered; but he ſo far reſtrained his paſſion as to aſk her, without [124] invective, "where, and how ſhe had paſſed the night?" She replied, "at Captain Freeman's; that the Captain was upon guard, that ſhe ſat up with his lady till he came in, and then inſiſting to ſee her home, ſhe would ſuffer the coach to go no farther than her father's, where he left her early in the morning:" ſhe had not fortitude to relate the ſequel, but ſtopped with ſome appearance of irreſolution and terror. Sir James then aſked, "if ſhe came directly from her father's home." This queſtion, and the manner in which it was aſked, increaſed her confu⯑ſion: to appear to have ſtopped ſhort in her narra⯑tive, ſhe thought would be an implication of guilt, as it would betray a deſire of concealment: but the paſt could not be recalled, and ſhe was impelled by equivocation to falſehood, from which, however, ſhe would have been kept back by fear, if Sir James had not deceived her into a belief that he had been no farther than the neighbourhood. After theſe tumultuous reflections which paſſed in a moment, ſhe ventured to affirm, that "ſhe ſtaid with Miſs Mea⯑dows till eight, and then came home:" but ſhe uttered this falſehood with ſuch marks of guilt and ſhame, which ſhe had indeed no otherwiſe than by this falſehood incurred or deſerved, that Sir James no more doubted her infidelity than her exiſtence. As her ſtory was the ſame with the Captain's, and as one had concealed the truth, and the other denied it, he con⯑cluded there was a confederacy between them; and determining firſt to bring the Captain to account, he [125] turned from her abruptly, and immediately left the houſe.

At the door he met the chairman who had been diſpatched by Mrs. Freeman to his lady; and fierce⯑ly interrogating him what was his buſineſs, the man produced the letter, and ſaying, as he had been or⯑dered, that he had brought it from Mrs. Faſhion, Sir James ſnatched it from him, and muttering ſome expreſſions of contempt and reſentment, thruſt it into his pocket.

It happened that Sir James did not find the Cap⯑tain at home; he, therefore, left a billet, in which he requeſted to ſee him at a neighbouring tavern, and added, that he had put on his ſword.

In the mean time, his lady, dreading a diſcovery of the falſehood which ſhe had aſſerted, diſpatched a billet to Captain Freeman; in which ſhe conjured him, as a man of honour, for particular reaſons, not to own to Sir James, or any other perſon, that he had ſeen her after he had left her at her father's: ſhe alſo wrote to her couſin Meadows, intreating, that if ſhe was queſtioned by Sir James, he might be told that ſhe ſtaid with her till eight o'clock, an hour at which only herſelf and the ſervants were up.

The billet to Miſs Meadows came ſoon after the chairman had returned with an account of what had happened to the letter; and Mrs. Freeman was juſt gone in great haſte to relate the accident to the Cap⯑tain, as it was of importance that he ſhould know it before his next interview with Sir James: but the [126] Captain had been at home before her, and had re⯑ceived both Sir James's billet and that of his lady. He went immediately to the tavern, and, in⯑quiring for Sir James Forreſt, was ſhewn into a a back room one pair of ſtairs: Sir James received his ſalutation without reply, and inſtantly bolted the door. His jealouſy was complicated with that in⯑dignation and contempt, which a ſenſe of injury from a perſon of inferior rank, never fails to produce; he, therefore, demanded of the Captain, in a haughty tone, "Whether he had not that morning been in company with his wife, after he had left her at her father's?" The Captain, who was incenſed at Sir James's manner, and deemed himſelf engaged in honour to keep the lady's ſecret, anſwered, that "from what he had ſaid in the morning, no man had a right to ſuppoſe he had ſeen the lady afterwards; that to inſinuate the contrary, was obliquely to charge him with a falſehood; that he was bound to anſwer no ſuch queſtions, till they were properly ex⯑plained; and that as a gentleman, he was prepared to vindicate his honour." Sir James juſtly deemed this reply an equivocation and an inſult; and being no longer able to reſtrain his rage, he curſed the Captain as a liar and a ſcoundrel, and at the ſame time ſtriking him a violent blow with his fiſt, drew his ſword, and put himſelf in a poſture of defence. Whatever deſign the Captain might have had to bring his friend to temper, and reconcile him to his wife, when he firſt entered the room, he was now [127] equally enraged, and indeed had ſuffered equal in⯑dignity; he, therefore, drew at the ſame inſtant, and after a few deſperate paſſes on both ſides, he received a wound in his breaſt, and reeling back⯑ward a few paces, fell down.

The noiſe had brought many people to the door of the room, and it was forced open juſt as the Captain received his wound: Sir James was ſecured, and a meſſenger was diſpatched for a ſurgeon. In the mean time the Captain perceived himſelf to be dy⯑ing; and whatever might before have been his opi⯑nion of right and wrong, and honour and ſhame, he now thought all diſſimulation criminal, and that his murderer had a right to that truth which he thought it meritorious to deny him when he was his friend; he, therefore, earneſtly deſired to ſpeak a few words to him in private. This requeſt was immediately granted; the perſons who had ruſhed in withdrew, contenting themſelves to keep guard at the door; and the Captain, beckoning Sir James to kneel down by him, then told him, that however his lady might have been ſurprized or betrayed by pride or fear into diſſimulation or falſehood, ſhe was innocent of the crime which he ſuppoſed her ſolicitous to conceal. He then briefly related all the events as they had happened; and at laſt, graſping his hand, urged him to eſcape from the window, that he might be a friend to his widow and to his child, if its birth ſhould not be prevented by the death of its father. Sir James yielded to the force of this motive, and eſcaped as [128] the Captain had directed. In his way to Dover he read the letter which he had taken from the chair⯑man, and the next poſt incloſed it in the following to his lady.

Within a few weeks after the receipt of this let⯑ter, the unhappy lady heard that her huſband was caſt away in his paſſage to France.

SECRESY: Or the ENRAGED LOVER.

A YOUNG gentleman, deſcended of a good family, but whoſe eſtate was very much encumber⯑ed by the miſmanagement of his parents, was on the point of retrieving his fortune by a marriage with a lady, who, beſides eight thouſand pounds in her own poſſeſſion, was the only child of one of the moſt wealthy merchants in Briſtol.

The courtſhip between them had been kept ex⯑tremely ſecret;—the lady had made no one her con⯑fidante [132] in the affair;—the gentleman had obſerved the ſame caution, till, a few days before that which ſhe had appointed for the completion of their mu⯑tual wiſhes, he imparted the ſecret of his approach⯑ing happineſs to a friend, from whom before he had never concealed any thing.

This perſon had a wife whom he extremely loved, and whoſe integrity he doubted not. He knew ſhe wiſhed well to his friend, and that ſhe would rejoice to hear of the good fortune he was ſo near enjoying, therefore communicated the ſecret to her almoſt as ſoon as he was informed of it himſelf; but charged her at the ſame time to make no mention of it, which ſhe faithfully promiſed.

It proved, however, that her mind had no ſuch retentive quality as her fond huſband imagined. A young lady of her acquaintance happening to viſit her that ſame day, and ſome diſcourſe on the ill ſituation of the intended bridegroom's affairs com⯑ing on the tapis, the wife could not forbear crying out,—'Well, well, we ſhall ſoon ſee him redeem all.'—'As how!' demanded the other.—'By a marriage with ſome great fortune,' replied ſhe.— 'Marriage!' reſumed the young lady,—'It muſt then be with ſome worn out virgin of fourſcore at her laſt prayers.'—'Not ſo, I can aſſure you,' ſaid the wife, 'but a blooming young creature of ſcarce eighteen, with a fortune of eight thouſand pounds in her own hands, and heireſs to one of the firſt merchants of Briſtol.'—'You amaze me,' returned [133] the other,—'Pray who is ſhe?'—'You muſt ex⯑cuſe me for that, my dear,' anſwered ſhe, 'I am enjoined ſecreſy; but I can tell you, the wedding will be celebrated in a few days, and then all will come out. In the mean time you may have leave to gueſs.'

After what ſhe had ſaid, the other could not be much at a loſs to diſcover the perſon ſpoken of.— 'You certainly muſt mean Miſs ****. The de⯑ſcription you give correſponds with no other wo⯑man in this town.'—'You are perfectly right,' re⯑plied ſhe; 'but be ſure you tell nobody.'

Little did this unhappy wife imagine, to whom ſhe had blabbed ſo dangerous a ſecret. This lady had been courted by the gentleman in queſtion, but, her fortune not agreeing with his circumſtances, the match did not ſucceed. She had loved him, and her reſentment for his not reſolving to ſuffer every thing for her ſake, was adequate to the tenderneſs ſhe had before had for him; and the opportunity now given her for rendering him as unhappy as he had made her, filled her with an ill-natured ſatisfaction.

She no ſooner got home, than ſhe wrote an ano⯑nymous letter to the father of her rival, acquainting him with the whole ſtory of his daughter's intended marriage.—The old gentleman was equally ſurpriz⯑ed and enraged; he ſearched his daughter's cabinet, and found letters which confirmed the truth of the advice he had received. He immediately locked the young lady into her chamber, ſuffering no one [134] to come near her, but an aunt, who was as inflexi⯑ble to compaſſion for the woes of love, as a Spa⯑niſh Duenna. On the third day, which was agreed upon by the lovers for the celebration of their nup⯑tials, he ſent her to a place, where it was pretty certain ſhe could hold no correſpondence unknown to him.

Some hours before her departure, ſhe found means to write to her lover.—The contents of the letter were theſe:

[135]The poor lady had but juſt time to inſtruct her maid what ſhe ſhould ſay on the delivery of this letter, when, though it was no more than four o'clock in the morning, ſhe was called down ſtairs, and, accompanied by her aunt, hurried into a coach, and carried,—no one in the family knew whither.

The maid about ſix executed her commiſſion. The diſtraction of the lover, on hearing the ac⯑count, and reading the letter, may more eaſily be conceived than deſcribed;—he knew he had made but one confident, and therefore it muſt have been that confident, by whom he was betrayed. He flew directly to his houſe, rouſed him from his bed, and cried out with a voice ſcarce intelligible through rage and deſpair,—'You have undone me;—I be⯑lieved you my friend, and a man of honour;—you have baſely wronged my credulity, and are a ſcoun⯑drel and a villain!'

The other, knowing this was the day agreed on for the marriage, had imagined that he had been called upon to be witneſs of it; but was now ſo much ſurprized, that he had no power to make the leaſt reply. The lover threw down the letter he had juſt received from Miſs ****, and went on,—'Read that, and, if you can borrow effrontery enough from hell, deny your perfidy, your baſe abuſe of friend⯑ſhip!'

The gentleman looked at the letter in the utmoſt conſternation, was extremely ſorry for the accident, [136] but certain it had not happened through his fault; adding, that he had never mentioned the affair to a ſingle ſoul but his wife, whoſe fidelity he could depend upon.

If anything could have added to the lover's fury, it muſt have been the acknowledgment made by the other, of having told the ſecret to his wife. 'You have ruined all the hopes I had on earth,' purſued the lover, 'your blood is the only atonement you can make!'—With theſe words he drew his ſword,— the other did the ſame,—they exchanged ſeveral thruſts;—the claſh of their weapons preſently brought the ſervants into the room, but not time enough to prevent both the antagoniſts from being wounded.

The wife, on this dreadful alarm, jumped out of bed, and, with only a looſe night-gown about her, came running in, crying,—'What has occaſioned this ſhocking ſcene!'—'I hope,' replied her huſ⯑band, 'that you yourſelf have not occaſioned it;— and that you never mentioned what I told you in relation to this gentleman's courtſhip with Miſs ****?'—'Oh Heavens!' returned ſhe, 'is it on this ſcore that you fight?'—'Anſwer not one queſtion with another,' reſumed he fiercely, 'but ſpeak the truth at once.'

She then confeſſed, that, in chatting with Miſs L—, ſhe had unwarily dropped ſome hints in re⯑gard to that affair, and that the other had gueſſed the reſt. 'It is mighty well,' ſaid the deſpairing [137] lover; 'the diſcovery is made, and I am no longer to ſeek for the author of that cruel letter, which has undone me;—I know the reſentment Miſs L— has to me, and muſt own, you could not have taken more effectual meaſures to compleat my ruin.'

The huſband, who felt more ſmart from his wife's confeſſion, than from the wounds he had received, was beginning to reproach her in the moſt bitter terms, when he was interrupted by the entrance of a ſurgeon, who had been ſent for by the ſervants, to whom turning, he ſaid,—'You ſee here, Sir, two perſons who have need of your help;—but I deſire you will firſt examine the condition of my friend.'— This complaiſance the other was far from returning, —he would not ſuffer himſelf to be touched, ſaying, he would receive no aſſiſtance in a houſe, the owners of which had ſo baſely betrayed him;—and with theſe words flew down ſtairs, bleeding as he was.

Fortunately, however, neither of their wounds proved mortal, nor even dangerous, and both were ſoon cured; but the friendſhip between them was never again cemented, though the huſband, con⯑ſcious of having been the aggreſſor, frequently en⯑deavoured it. This diſunion with a perſon whom he truly valued, made the folly, which occaſioned it, appear in its worſt colours; and, though he conti⯑nued to live with his wife, he never could bring himſelf either to love or even to behave towards her as before this accident.

[138]As for the lover, having ſought his miſtreſs in every place he could think of, without being able to get any intelligence of her abode, he retired to the ſouthern parts of France, in order to retrieve his affairs, by living cheap. The young lady, as it was afterwards known, had been carried into Wales, where labouring under the weight of her father's diſplea⯑ſure, the diſappointment of her love, and the depri⯑vation of all thoſe ſatisfactions her youth had been accuſtomed to, ſhe fell into a languiſhing diſorder, which ſoon took her from the world.

DETRACTION: Or the Story of DORANTES.

A certain gentleman whoſe real name I ſhall conceal under that of Dorantes, was married to a [144] young lady of equal birth and fortune, and who, without being a celebrated beauty, was perfectly agreeable. He behaved with great tenderneſs to⯑wards her,—ſhe was paſſionately fond of him;—no couple could live more happily together, till an un⯑lucky propenſity, to which women are too prone, diſſolved the cement of their union, and made both as wretched as before they had been bleſſed.

The wife of Dorantes was extremely intimate with a young widow, to whom I ſhall give the name of Clara;—they were acquainted in their childhood, and the change of their conditions afterwards had made no alteration in the ſentiments of either. Sel⯑dom two days paſſed, without their ſeeing each other; and, as Dorantes ſtaid pretty much at home, he was very glad of a third perſon to make up a party for ombre.

Clara was very handſome,—had a regular ſet of features,—fine hair,—fine teeth;—and, above all, a remarkably delicate complexion.—Dorantes had ſe⯑veral times, occaſionally, mentioned thoſe perfections in her to his wife; which, though, as will appear by the ſequel, they not a little diſpleaſed her, ſhe ſeemed not to take notice of, till one day, as they were talking together on the beauty of ſome ladies of their acquaintance, he ſaid,—"Well, I ſee none that are half ſo agreeable as your friend Clara."— "Clara looks very well altogether, replied ſhe gravely; but it coſts her a great deal of pains to do ſo."—"What pains," cried he.—"Why, to tell [145] you the truth, reſumed ſhe, all thoſe things you ad⯑mire in her are nothing but mere art;—ſhe has ſeven or eight falſe teeth, to my knowledge;—then, as to her hair it is naturally inclined to red; but ſhe dyes it with a certain water, which turns it to that fine black it now appears; and, for her complexion, ſhe uſes both white and red; beſides, ſhe always ſleeps in a night-maſk, to repel pimples."—"Im⯑poſſible, my dear!" reſumed he, "I have eyes as well as you, and can eaſily diſtinguiſh between what is natural and what is artificial."

"You men are often deceived in theſe things, anſwered ſhe; if you were to ſee her in a morning, you would be convinced of the truth of what I tell you, and a great deal more; but I love Clara, and would not, for the world, ſay what I have done to any one, except yourſelf."—"You are in the right, ſaid he with ſome ill humour; for no-body would believe you, if you did."

"I am ſorry, then, I ever mentioned it to you ſaid ſhe a little haughtily."—"It might have been better you had not, replied he ſternly;—becauſe it gives me no very favourable idea, either of your ge⯑neroſity or your ſincerity; and but confirms what I have often heard of your ſex;—that no one wo⯑man ever ſpoke well of the beauty of another."— With theſe words, he ſnatched up his hat, and went directly out of the houſe.

The wife, who had never before been ſpoken to in this ſharp manner by her huſband, now, doubtleſs, [146] repented of what ſhe had ſaid; but the words were gone out of her mouth,—ſhe could not call them back; and pride and ſhame would not ſuffer her to confeſs ſhe had been guilty of uttering a falſity.— From this time forward, ſhe perceived a viſible decay in that tenderneſs and reſpect with which ſhe had been treated by Dorantes, and began to hate the innocent Clara for a misfortune which ſhe had in⯑tirely brought upon herſelf; ſhe behaved to her with great coldneſs, and, at length, ordered her ſervants to ſay ſhe was not at home, whenever ſhe came. The fair widow, on this, diſcontinued her viſits; and, as ſhe knew ſhe had done nothing to deſerve the uſage ſhe received, thought it beneath her to inquire into the cauſe.

From what ſmall beginnings do, ſometimes, the greateſt feuds and diſcontents ariſe!—Dorantes, finding that Clara did not come to the houſe as uſual, doubted not but that his wife had either per⯑ſonally affronted her, or ſpoke of her, to others, in the ſame manner ſhe had done to him; and, reflect⯑ing deeply on the injuſtice of the thing, could not keep himſelf from entertaining a ſecret contempt, mixed with indignation, for the author.

Chance contributed to heighten in him this ill humour towards his wife:—he met Clara one day by accident, and, accoſting her with his accuſtomed politeneſs, aſked the reaſon why his wife had been ſo long deprived of her agreeable company.—To which ſhe very gravely replied:—That ſhe had made [147] ſeveral viſits, none of which being returned, ſhe could not flatter herſelf that her company was any longer acceptable. "Oh, madam, ſaid he, I beg you will not ſo far wrong your own merits, or our juſt ſenſe of them, as to harbour ſuch a thought. I am extremely ſorry for my wife's remiſſneſs; but I ſuppoſe ſhe depended on the intimacy between you for an excuſe. I hope you will have good-nature enough to forgive it, and convince us, that you do ſo, by letting us ſee you ſoon."—"Sir, anſwered ſhe, when your lady thinks fit to let me know that ſhe will be at home, I ſhall wait on her."—She concluded with a curtſey, and turned ſo haſtily away, that he had no opportunity of adding any thing further.

On his return home, he repeated what had paſſed to his wife; and added, that, as he found there was no pretence for breaking off the acquaintance, he would have her ſend an invitation to her. Her complexion grew red as ſcarlet on the firſt mention of Clara's name; and, when he had given over ſpeaking,—"I do not underſtand what ſhe means, ſaid ſhe, by giving herſelf theſe airs; I never forbad her my houſe, and, if ſhe thinks fit to ſtay away, I have no reaſon to intreat her preſence; yet, ſince I find it will ſo much oblige you, I ſhall ſend to her." —"Oblige me!" cried he in an angry tone.— "Yes! ſince you intereſt yourſelf ſo far in this affair." This put him beyond all patience. He told her, that ſhe behaved very ill; that ſhe diſco⯑vered [148] a mean diſpoſition; and that, if ſhe perſiſted in it, ſhe would render herſelf unworthy either of love or reſpect.

"I ſee, cried ſhe, that I have forfeited both with you; but it is not to my diſpoſition, it is to Clara's more prevailing charms, that I am indebted for ſo great a misfortune.—Ungrateful, inconſtant man! Is this the return for all the tender affection I have had for you?"

Men can ill bear reproaches, eſpecially when in⯑nocent of the cauſe, as Dorantes really was.—He replied in the moſt bitter terms, which, ſhe being unable either to endure or retort, half-ſuffocated her with rage. She flew into the garden, and, throwing herſelf upon a green bank at the further end, there gave a looſe to her tears and com⯑plainings.

One of the maids, happening to be at a window, ſaw where ſhe lay, and had the diſcretion to run haſtily down and remind her, that, ſome rain having lately fallen, the dampneſs of the earth might en⯑danger her health. The poor lady was as cold as marble; though the inward agitations ſhe was in, hindered her from feeling any exterior inconvenience. She roſe, however, and went into her chamber, but fell into ſuch violent agitations, as obliged her to go to bed, where ſhe continued very ill the whole night.

Dorantes came home very late, and, being told that his wife was indiſpoſed, ſlept in another cham⯑ber. [149] On hearing, in the morning, that ſhe was much worſe, he ſent immediately for a phyſician, who attended the family.

He found her in a fever, and delirious; all that could be done for her was in vain; her diſtemper every hour increaſed, and, in two days, her life was deſpaired of. On the third, ſhe ſeemed, to all appear⯑ance, better; the violence of her fever abated, and her ſenſes were perfectly reſtored. Alas! the cruel diſeaſe had left the outward frame only to prey with greater force upon the nobler parts.—Death had now ſeized her, ſhe was ſenſible of it, and aſked if Dorantes was at home. Being told he had lately left her chamber, ſhe deſired he would come in again; which he preſently did.

He had no ſooner ſeated himſelf on her bedſide, than ſhe made a ſign to thoſe who were in the room to withdraw; and then, taking hold of his hand, ſaid to him:—"My dear Dorantes, I feel I am no longer for this world, but cannot leave it without confeſſing, that I have been guilty of the greateſt injuſtice to Clara. Yet was it not malice that made me ſo: I endeavoured to make her odious in your eyes, only becauſe I feared ſhe had appeared too amiable. It was a fault indeed, but it was the fault of love;—as ſuch, forgive it."—"It was a weak⯑neſs, anſwered he, which I was ſorry to obſerve in you; for, upon my honour, I never had a thought of Clara, or any other woman, to the prejudice of that affection I have vowed to you."—"How kind [150] is this aſſurance! cried ſhe, it gives me pleaſure, even in death."—"Talk not of death! interrupted he, tenderly embracing her; live, oh live, and be as happy as a huſband's love can make you!"— "It is too late," ſaid ſhe;—and, that inſtant, fall⯑ing into ſtrong convulſions, ſunk under them.

FRIENDSHIP AND FORGIVENESS: Or JEANOT and COLIN.

MANY perſons worthy of credit have ſeen Jeanot and Colin at ſchool, at the town of Iſſoir, in Auvergne, a place celebrated through the whole world for its college and its kettles. Jeanot was the ſon of a horſe-dealer of high renown, and Colin derived his birth from an able huſbandman, who cultivated a neighbouring farm, and who, after he had paid the taxes, was not ſuperabundantly rich at the year's end.

[160]Jeanot and Colin were comely lads for Au⯑vergneſe, and had a great friendſhip for each other; they had their little ſchemes and their tête-à-têtes, upon which they reflected with pleaſure, even when in other company.

The time of their being at ſchool was nearly ex⯑pired, when a taylor brought Jeanot a ſuit of figured velvet, with a letter directed to Monſieur de la Jeanotiere. Colin admired the cloaths without envy, but Jeanot aſſumed an air of ſuperiority, which grieved him to the heart. From this moment Jea⯑not threw aſide his book, was continually gazing in the looking-glaſs, and ſeemed to deſpiſe the world.

Some time after a valet came poſt with another letter directed to Monſieur le Marquis de la Jano⯑tiere, which contained an order from Monſieur his father for his coming to Paris. Jeanot, as he got into the chaiſe, took Colin by the hand, and gave him a ſmile of protection with the air of a great man. Colin, touched with a ſenſe of his own in⯑feriority, melted into tears; and Jeanot drove away in all the glory of his new dignity.

Thoſe readers who love to comprehend every thing as they go on, ſhould be informed, that Jea⯑not, the father, had ſuddenly acquired an immenſe fortune. If it ſhould be aſked how immenſe for⯑tunes are acquired, the anſwer is ready, by being fortunate. Monſieur Jeanot was a likely fellow, and madame was by no means without her charms. It happened that, whilſt ſhe was ſtill in her bloom, [161] they were brought to Paris by a law-ſuit, which to⯑tally ruined them; but Fortune, who delights in the capricious abaſement and exaltation of mankind, juſt then threw them in the way of a commiſſary, who had contracted to furniſh the military hoſpi⯑tals during the war. This commiſſary was a man of talents, and could boaſt of having killed more ſoldiers in one year, than gun-powder had killed in ten. The wife of this extraordinary perſon was ſmitten with Jeanot, whilſt he himſelf was ſmitten with Jeanot's wife. Jeanot ſoon came in for a ſhare of the contract. When once a man gets into the middle of the ſtream, the tide will carry him along; thus Commiſſaries and Contractors get im⯑menſe wealth without trouble. Such was the good fortune of Jeanot the father, who became imme⯑diately Monſieur de la Janotiere; and ſoon after having bought a marquiſate, which at once enno⯑bled him and his children, he ſent for the marquis his ſon from ſchool, that he might place him among the beau-monde of Paris.

Colin, who remembered his old ſchool-fellow with a tender ſenſibility, wrote him a few lines of congratulation: the new Marquis ſent no anſwer, and Colin fell ſick with grief.

In the mean time the father and mother procured a tutor for their ſon; this tutor was a man of a genteel appearance, but who knew little, and con⯑ſequently could teach little. The father was deſi⯑rous the ſon ſhould learn Latin; the mother op⯑poſed [162] it. After much debate, it was agreed that the queſtion ſhould be referred to a certain cele⯑brated author. "Sir," ſaid the maſter of the houſe, "as you are a Latin ſcholar, and a man of the world"—"I a Latin ſcholar!" ſays the bel eſprit, "I don't know a word of the language; and ſo much the better for me; thoſe people certainly ſpeak their own language beſt, whoſe attention is not divided among ſeveral. Conſider only the la⯑dies, how much more pleaſing is their wit than ours! their letters are written with infinitely more elegance; and this ſuperiority is entirely owing to their not having learned Latin."

"Very well," ſays madame, "am I not then in the right? I would have my ſon a man of wit; I would have him make a figure in the world, and you ſee plainly that if he learn Latin he will be undone. Are operas and plays, I'd fain know, per⯑formed in Latin? Do the lawyers ſpeak Latin at the bar? or do young gentlemen make love in Latin?"

Monſieur de la Janotiere being wholly unable to reſiſt this amazing force of argument, immediately paſſed ſentence, and it was concluded that the young Marquis ſhould not loſe his time in getting ac⯑quainted with Cicero, Horace, and Virgil.

But then what ſhall he learn? for, certainly, he muſt learn ſomething. May he not be taught a little geography?—"Of what ſervice will that be," ſays the tutor? "When the Marquis ſhall think [163] proper to viſit his eſtates, do you think the poſtilions will not know the road? take my word for it, they are in no danger of loſing their way. A man of faſhion can travel very well without a quadrant, and go with great conveniency from Paris to Au⯑vergne, without knowing what latitude he is in."

"You are certainly right," ſays the father; "but I have heard ſomething of a fine ſcience, which, I think, they call Aſtronomy."—"'Tis pity," ſays the tutor, "you ever heard of it all; what occaſion is there for people in this world to regulate their motions by the ſtars? Is it fit that a young Mar⯑quis ſhould be fatigued to death by the calculation of an eclipſe, when he may find the time exactly by conſulting an almanack; which will alſo ac⯑quaint him with all the moveable feaſts, the age of the moon, and the age of every ſovereign prince in Europe."

Madame entirely agreed; the Marquis her ſon was overjoyed, and the father was in ſuſpence. "What then, ſays he, muſt my ſon learn?" "To be amiable," replied the friend they had conſulted, "if he knows the art of pleaſing, he knows all that is worth knowing; and this art he cannot fail of learning under his mother's eye, though neither ſhe nor you ſhould give yourſelves the leaſt trouble about it."

Madame was delighted with this compliment, and embraced the dunce who had paid it. "Ah! Sir, ſaid ſhe, it is eaſy to diſcover that you are wiſer than [164] the world; my ſon will be wholly indebted to you for his education. But, perhaps, after all, it would not be amiſs for him to know a little of Hiſtory."— Alas, madam, replied the oracle, what good can that do him? Certainly, no hiſtory is either uſeful or pleaſing but that of the day. All ancient hiſtory, as a certain author has juſtly obſerved, is nothing more than fable artfully put together; and as for modern hiſtory, it is a chaos impoſſible to be re⯑duced to order. Of what importance is it to your ſon, that Charlemagne inſtituted the twelve peers of France? And that his ſon had an impediment in his ſpeech? And never was obſervation more juſt, than that the young mind is too often buried under a load of uſeleſs learning, by which its native powers are firſt reſtrained, and then deſtroyed; but of all that is abſurd among what are called the ſciences, the moſt abſurd is Geometry. The objects of Geometry are ſurfaces, lines, and points, which have no exiſtence in nature; and a hundred curve lines are fancied Between a circle and a ſtrait line that touches it, though in reality there is not room for a ſtraw. In ſhort, Geometry is no better than a dull joke.

Though Monſieur and Madame ſcarce underſtood one word of this ingenious argument againſt Geo⯑metry, it made a great impreſſion, and they declared themſelves entirely of the tutor's mind.

A noble Lord, continued the Tutor, like Mon⯑ſieur le Marquis, ought not to puzzle his brain with vain ſpeculation. Should he have occaſion for the [165] moſt ſublime part of this ſcience, to lay down a plan of his eſtates, he may have them ſurveyed for a little money; would he trace his nobility back to the re⯑moteſt ages, he may, without difficulty, find a Be⯑nedictine monk that will do it. The ſame may be ſaid of all the arts. A young Lord of illuſtrious birth is neither a painter, a muſician, an architect, nor a ſtatuary; but he makes all theſe arts flouriſh by his munificence; and it is certainly better to pa⯑tronize than practiſe them. It is enough for the Marquis to have taſte; it is the duty of artiſts to exert their ſkill for his pleaſure and advantage; it has been well ſaid that perſons of quality, I mean thoſe who are very rich, know all things without learning any; their taſte enables them to judge of every thing for which they can pay.

You have obſerved, madam, ſays he, that the great purpoſe of life is to pleaſe; but will any man pretend that this purpoſe can be anſwered by the ſciences? Who is there that would think of men⯑tioning Geometry in good company? Would any body aſk a gentleman what ſtar roſe in a morning with the ſun?—Certainly not, replied the Mar⯑chioneſs, whoſe charms had introduced her to the beau monde; and it is by no means fit that my ſon ſhould cramp his genius by the ſtudy of all this trumpery. But what is it that we ſhall teach him? For certainly, as his father has obſerved, a young gentleman ought to be qualified to ſhine upon occa⯑ſion. I remember to have heard an Abbé ſay, that [166] there was one ſcience extremely agreeable and genteel; I cannot recollect the name of it, but it began with a B. With a B, madam? ſays the ge⯑nius, it could not be Botany!—No, replied the lady, it was not botany, yet it ended ſomething like that too. O! I know what it was, ſays he, it was Blaſonry; but I aſſure you it is by no means the mode. At preſent, the ſtudy of heraldry would be infinite, for there is not a barber that has not his coat of arms; and when a thing becomes common, you know people of faſhion ſhould always diſregard it.—Upon the whole, this ſagacious and illuſtrious ſociety having fairly diſcuſſed all the ſciences, it was determined that Monſieur le Marquis de la Janotiere ſhould learn to dance.

Nature, however, which indeed does every thing, had given this flower of nobility a talent which very ſoon diſplayed itſelf with aſtoniſhing ſucceſs. This happy talent was that of ſinging a good ſong, the graces of youth, joined to ſo ſuperior an endowment, drew attention, and he was a favourite among the ladies. Having his head full of ſongs, he formed new ones out of old, and was continually repeating them; but as his verſes had commonly a foot too little, or too much, he was at the expence of having them cor⯑rected; and he at laſt got into the literary annals of the time.

The Marchioneſs conſidering herſelf as the pa⯑troneſs of wit, gave ſuppers to the wits of the town; the young man's head was turned; he acquired the [167] art of ſpeaking without knowing what he would ſay, and by habit became perfect in being fit for nothing.

When his father found him thus amazingly elo⯑quent, he very much regretted that he had not taught him Latin, as he then might have purchaſed for him a conſiderable department in the law. His mother, who looked ſtill higher, undertook to get him a regiment, and in the mean time the young gentle⯑man himſelf thought fit to make love.

Love ſometimes coſts more than a regiment; his expences were very great; and his parents run out their fortune by living like people of the firſt qua⯑lity.

But as the ſtate of their finances was known only to themſelves, a young widow of great rank, but ſmall fortune, ſuppoſing them to be very opulent, reſolved to ſecure their riches, by making the young Marquis her huſband.

She accordingly threw out a lure, and brought him to her houſe; ſhe convinced him that he was by no means indifferent to her; led him on by de⯑grees; and at length ſo faſcinated him by her wiles and her charms, that the conqueſt was compleat. At the ſame time ſhe gave him ſo many commenda⯑tions, and ſo much good advice, that the father and mother conſidered her as the beſt friend they had in the world.

An old lady in the neighbourhood propoſed the marriage on the part of the widow▪ and the father [168] and mother, dazzled with the ſplendor of ſuch an alliance, accepted the propoſition with joy.

He was kneeling one morning at the feet of the dear angel, when a ſervant of the Marchioneſs his mother arrived in great haſte, and with looks as wild as if he had ſeen an apparition: I am come, ſays he, with news very different from what you think of; the Sheriff's officers are in poſſeſſion of my Lord's houſe, they have ſeized his goods, talk of ſecuring his perſon, and, as I have not a moment to loſe, I am going to ſecure my wages.

Don't be in ſuch a hurry, ſays the Marquis, let us ſee a little into this affair.—Do, ſays the widow, run this inſtant, and puniſh the wretches for their inſolence.

He haſted, and found that his father was already carried to priſon, and the ſervants were gone off, each having carried away what he could lay his hands upon. He ſaw his mother totally deſerted, without ſuccour and without comfort, drowned in tears, with nothing left but the remembrance of her fortune, her beauty, her follies, and her faults.

After her ſon had wept with her till the tumult of his mind a little ſubſided, and he was able to ſpeak, he endeavoured to alleviate her diſtreſs by a reflection that had ſoothed his own. Do not let us deſpair, ſays he, the widow whom I was about to marry, is yet more generous than rich; I will anſwer for all that is in her power; I'll fly to her this moment, and bring her hither.

[169]He flew to his miſtreſs, and ſound her tete-a-tete with a handſome young officer.—What is it you, Monſieur de la Janotiere?—ſays ſhe—what in the name of wonder have you to do here? How could you think of leaving your poor mother? Go back to her, for heaven's ſake, and tell her how ſorry I am for her misfortune. I always wiſhed her well; and as my woman is going away, I ſhall not think of another till I have given her the refuſal or the place.—My good lad, ſaid the officer, you ſeem to be well made; if you will enter Into my corps, I will enliſt you upon good terms.

The Marquis, ſtruck ſpeechleſs with rage and in⯑dignation, burſt away without reply, to his old tutor, to pour his ſorrows into his boſom, and derive com⯑fort from his advice. The tutor propoſed that he ſhould undertake the education of children. Alas, ſays the Marquis, I know nothing — you have taught me nothing—and that has been the ſource of all my misfortunes.—Write novels, ſays another; it is an excellent expedient to get money.

Sunk deeper in deſpair than ever, his laſt reſource was to a monk who had been his mother's confeſſor. The Monk ran to him in a rapture of ſurprize and joy; Monſieur le Marquis! what do you do here on foot? where is your coach? The unhappy youth replied by giving him an account of the ruin of his family. The Monk became grave, indifferent, and important: my ſon, ſaid he, we may now ſee plainly what heaven intended for you; riches ſerve only to [170] corrupt the heart: heaven has therefore reduced you to beggary; my ſon, adieu! a lady of faſhion is now waiting for me at court.

The poor Marquis, as he ſtood ruminating in the ſtreet, ſtupified with misfortune, ſaw a kind of cover⯑ed carriage coming rumbling along, followed by wag⯑gons heavily laden. In this vehicle ſat a young man, coarſely clad, with a freſh coloured girl by his ſide. Bleſs my ſoul, ſays he, ſurely this is Jeanot! The Marquis ſtarted, looked up, and the driver inſtantly ſtopped. Yes, by my faith, ſaid he, it is even Jeanot himſelf; and inſtantly caught him in his arms. Jeanot was covered with confuſion and tears. You have forſaken me, ſays Colin, but I am determined to love you for all that. Jeanot told him a part of his hiſtory. Come home with me, ſaid Colin, you ſhall tell the reſt at your leiſure; ſalute my little wife; this is ſhe; let us make haſte to dinner.

Pray, ſays Jeanot, what is all this baggage; does it belong to you? Yes, ſays Colin, to me and my wife, we are juſt come out of the country; I am at the head of a great manufactory; I married the daughter of a man who had acquired very conſider⯑able ſubſtance; we work hard, providence has bleſſed our endeavours, we continue to get forward in the world, are happy in ourſelves, and have it in our power to aſſiſt our friend Jeanot. Be a Marquis no longer; all the great folks in the world are not worth one true friend: you ſhall live with me in the country, you ſhall learn my trade, and be my part⯑ner, [117] and we will live chearfully in the obſcure but happy retreat where we were born.

Jeanot heard this propoſal with ſenſations not to be deſcribed; his heart was divided between grief and joy, tenderneſs and ſhame; and, turning to Colin, he ſaid, in a low voice, "when all my gay friends have deſerted me, Colin, whom I injuriouſly neglected, has afforded me that comfort which I did not deſerve."

What a lecture is this for thoſe who are entering into life? The virtue of Colin, called out that virtue which lay hidden in the breaſt of Jeanot, and which all his habits of folly and diſſipation had not deſtroyed. He felt a ſecret repugnance to deſert his father and mother. We will take care of them, ſays Colin. Jeanot at length married Colin's ſiſter, who made him happy; and Jeanot the father, and Jeanot the mother, and Jeanot the ſon, were made ſenſible that happineſs is not to be found in vanity.

GRATITUDE: Or the Story of PIETRO CORNARO, and the grateful TURK.

SIGNIOR Pietro Cornaro, an accompliſhed young gentleman of an ancient family, and of con⯑ſiderable fortune in the city of Ferrara in Italy, was induced to travel through the provinces of his cele⯑brated country, that he might ſatisfy curioſity, and enrich his mind with ſuch acquirements, as would diſtinguiſh him, and his acquiſitions, from perſons leſs qualified and leſs ambitious of true renown. He arrived at Leghorn, and took up lodgings at an inn. Happening to be placed in an apartment that opened to the public ſtreet, he would often walk about his room, and by looking frequently upon the ſtreet, divert himſelf agreeably with curious obſervations on whatever paſſed before him. It is a cuſtom of this town to give leave to the Turks, who ſerve them as ſlaves, to ply as porters, or betake them⯑ſelves to any other drudgery, obliging them to pay their maſters a certain proportion of what they earn, and permitting them to keep the overplus for their own neceſſities. Directly oppoſite to Cornaro's chamber was a bench, on which he often obſerved a Turkiſh ſlave, thoughtful and dejected, leaning pen⯑ſively his head upon his hand, and dropping now and [185] then a ſilent tear, which he endeavoured ſecretly to wipe away with his knot of ropes, the wretched badge of his unfortunate employment. The frequent re⯑petition of this mournful practice ſtruck the com⯑paſſionate Italian; who, earneſtly deſirous to become acquainted with the reaſon of his ſorrow, ſent at laſt a meſſenger to bring him to his apartment; and proceeded to demand the manner of his being taken, and how long he had continued in a ſtate of ſlavery. With wringing hands and elevated eyes, which ſeemed to blame his ſtars for his unpitied miſery, the diſconſolate Mahometan began his tale; and watered his complaints with ſhowers of tears. "I am, ſays he, an honeſt Muſſulman, neither the friend of war or rapine, but become a prey to both. In an unlucky viſit made to ſee an aged father, then in health and peace at Cyprus, now perhaps laid cold and breathleſs, was I taken by the Chriſtians, made a ſlave, and reduced to what you now behold."

Theſe ſad complaints were followed by a ſincere and full account of every accident which had con⯑curred to reduce him to this ſlavery. He informed his kind enquirer, that he had ſorrowfully ſpent four tedious years in that condition, and had left three wives, two ſons, now men, and nine ſmall children, to deplore his loſs; who were wholly deſtitute of the means whereby to know his preſent condition. The pitying breaſt of Signior Pietro, framed for tender and compaſſionate emotions, melted generouſly with ſympathetic diſtreſs, to find the wretched and forlorn [186] ſituation of this complaining Muſſulman; and after aſking his name, and other queſtions, gave him mo⯑ney, and diſmiſſed him, bidding him hope for ſuccour.

The diſconſolate Turk returned to the unwelcome practice of his daily labours. The benevolent Pietro ſeriouſly reflecting on this unfortunate man's ſorrow, and conſidering that the will of Providence, or ſome unſuſpected turn of fortune, might one day make the caſe his own, might teach him, by the bitter proof of ſad experience, how to pity others' miſeries, reſolved to do a noble act of Chriſtian charity; and making intereſt with the governor, found means to get the Turk releaſed, for the ranſom of about one hundred and forty-five ducats. Never could more welcome and ſurpriſing news rejoice the gladdened heart of a human ſufferer, than that which brought the hap⯑py Turk the news of his delivery. With rapid tranſports of ungoverned joy, he fell upon his knees, embraced the feet of his adored redeemer, and with numerous vows of heart-felt gratitude, entreated Signior Pietro to inform him how he might return, twofold, that friendly ſum, which had ſo effectually purchaſed his liberty. The generous Italian told him he expected no return; yet if his ſoul was no⯑ble, and would urge him to be grateful, he aſked only the ſolemn promiſe, that he would, when ar⯑rived in Turkey, redeem from ſlavery ſome Chriſ⯑tian, whom he might think deſerving of it, and ſend him back, to viſit once again his native coun⯑try. The redeemed Turk, ſupplied with cloaths [187] and all things neceſſary, embarked on board an Engliſh veſſel bound for Aſia, and returned to his habitation. About three months after the Maho⯑metan's departure from Leghorn, Signior Pietro, having been the greateſt part of that time at Ve⯑nice, became enamoured of a beautiful young lady, called Maria Margarita Delfino, who had for ſeveral years reſided in that town, under the care of a ſub⯑ſtantial merchant, youngeſt brother to her father, who with her ſiſters, and the major part of her re⯑lations, lived at Malta. Nothing could perſuade the amorous Italian from a violent expreſſion of his growing paſſion; he ſolicited her uncle with inceſ⯑ſant importunities, and at laſt engaged him to per⯑mit him to addreſs her upon this condition, that he ſhould accompany his niece and him to Malta, there to obtain her father's approbation of his perſon and condition. This was promiſed, and he continued four months, daily viſiting the object of his affection, till he gained entirely her conſent to marry him, when ſhe ſhould be authoriſed by her father's or⯑ders. They embarked on board a veſſel bound for Malta, and belonging to that iſland, which they were almoſt arrived in ſight of, when a Turkiſh galley met them, made undiſtinguiſhed prize of all her cargo, and conſigning Signior Pietro, with his miſtreſs and her uncle to ſlavery, landed them at Smyrna, together with the valuable prize in which they were taken. I forgot to mention, that the three companions in this miſerable ſtate had changed [188] their cloaths for coarſe and rougher habits, when they ſaw the danger they were falling into; that, being ſo diſguiſed, they might expect a ranſom at a ſmaller charge, than otherwiſe would ſerve; ſo that being taken with the common people, they were like them, in chains, conducted to the public market, where ſlaves are bought and ſold as ſheep or oxen. Signior Pietro and the young lady's uncle were tied together, and placed, with many more, to wait the purchaſe of the higheſt bidder. Oppoſite to them the poor unhappy lady ſtood, half dead with fear and anguiſh, with a numerous crowd of Chriſtian women, young and old, expecting every moment to be bought, and torn away from any hopes of ever ſeeing her lover and relations. At laſt a young and graceful Turk came up to the diſ⯑conſolate Maria, and bargaining immediately with the proper officer, paid the money; then throw⯑ing over her a veil he had brought on purpoſe, took her from the reſt, and carried her away with an uncommon ſatisfaction. Many a complaining look did the deſpairing lady give her friends, who anſwered her with all the mournful marks of ſilent lamentation, and were now (eſpecially the lover) ſo confounded with their miſery, that they ſtood like ſtatues, looking ſtedfaſtly on the ground, tak⯑ing little notice of the many purchaſers, who walked about from place to place to view the per⯑ſons of the wretched captives.

[189]While they ſtood thus fixed in contemplation on the tranſitory bleſſings of this mortal life, there came a Turk from ſtall to ſtall, enquiring earneſt⯑ly of every officer what quality and country their ſlaves were of; and examining particularly the ſlaves themſelves, he at laſt came to Signior Pietro, who hanging down his head, the Turk ſtooped forward to look upon his face; a courteſy not often practiſed by thoſe barbarous people, who, when a ſlave refuſes to hold up his face, will gene⯑rally take them roughly by the chin, as when a jockey looks into a horſe's mouth. The Turk no ſooner ſaw the face, but ſtarting back in great ſur⯑priſe, he raiſed his arms and eyes towards heaven, and tranſported at the ſtrange diſcovery, cried out aloud, "I thank thee, holy prophet, thou haſt guided well my lucky footſteps." The grieved Italian looking up at this ſurpriſing exclamation, ſaw before his eyes the very man whom, in Leghorn, he had ſo kindly freed from ſlavery. No pen can deſcribe the raptures he conceived at this happy meeting; ſwift embraces followed their ſurpriſe, and when the wonder of the Turk gave him leave to ſpeak again, he thus addreſſed himſelf to Signior Pietro: "I promiſed thee, ſaid he, thou beſt of Chriſtians, that I would certainly redeem from ſervitude ſuch ſlave as I ſhould judge ſhould more than any elſe de⯑ſerve that bleſſing; and now, thanks to Mahomet! in thee have I diſcovered him." Inſtantly he or⯑dered the officer who guarded him to ſend ſome [190] perſon for his ranſom, and to conduct him directly to his own houſe. The overjoyed Italian heard with pleaſure the return of his gratitude; but told him, "If he would be doubly kind, he might redeem his friend who ſuffered with him, and they would find ſome ſpeedy means to reimburſe his charges." The propoſition was embraced as ſoon as offered, and a perſon being ſent to take the money, received immediately the ranſom he demanded, and return⯑ing to market, left the gentlemen to the care of their redeemer. The Turk's two ſons, when told of the accident by which their father met the man to whom he owed his liberty, expreſſed ſincere and grateful joy, and bid them welcome with inexpreſſible civi⯑lity. After having heard the manner of their being taken, and their ſorrowful complaint for the loſs of an unhappy virgin, whom they ſo ardently loved, the eldeſt of the two ſons cried out with earneſtneſs, "Now, by the religion of our holy prophet, and his people, my father's houſe contains this very virgin!" He proceeded to inform them, that he had bought that morning a young Chriſtian ſlave, to wait upon his mother and his father's other wives; that ſhe had given the ſame account as they had done of the particulars of her captivity; that ſhe was then above, among the women, and he would, for ſatisfaction, fetch her down that very moment. It is eaſy to imagine the diſorder of their boſoms, poſſeſſed alternately by hope and fear, till doubt gave way to certainty, and [191] they beheld the perſon they had ſo lately loſt, con⯑ducted to their arms by him to whom the laws of Turkey gave her as a lawful purchaſe.

They ſtaid a week with their landlord, who would not reſt till he had ranſomed two men ſervants, and a maid who waited on the lady: theſe, together with as many of the goods and cloaths as he could purchaſe from the Turk who took them, he beſtow⯑ed again on their lawful owners, gave them a con⯑ſiderable ſum of money, and contrived to get them a paſſage on board a veſſel of Marſ [...]iller, then bound to Malta. Signior Pietro, the young lady, and her uncle, frequently endeavoured to oblige this ho⯑neſt Turk to take their bills, or find ſome other method to ſecure his money, but he perſiſted in a poſitive refuſal of all their proffers, telling Signior Pietro the debt was paid before it was contracted; and would often lay his hand devoutly on his boſom, and with a zealous ſigh repeat this proverb, "The God of Heaven has given us plenty, that we may give Him what need requires." When they ar⯑rived at Malta, Signior Pietro ſoon obtained the conſent of the young lady's father, and their nup⯑tials were quickly after celebrated.

INDULGENCE: Or the TWO SISTERS.

IT is a remark made by almoſt every one, that it is the unhappineſs of human nature never to be ſatisfied. Philoſophers ſay this propenſity is the ſpring of action, therefore neceſſary. They add, likewiſe, that there is not that diſproportion in the happineſs of rich and poor, wiſe and fooliſh, &c. &c. as is generally imagined: nay, many have been [193] bold enough to aſſert, that content is more fre⯑quently found with poverty and folly, than with their oppoſites. It is not our purpoſe to enquire, by a dry inveſtigation of the ſubject, into the truth or falſehood of theſe opinions, but to leave the reader to make what applications he pleaſes from the following tale; wherein, if we are not miſtaken, he will perceive the bad effects of falſe education built upon falſe hopes, and the neceſſity of enuring the youthful mind, even from the cradle, to croſſes. —Would not any man laugh to ſee a petit maitre attempting to carry the ſide of an ox, like a porter? How then can we expect a weak enervated mind to ſupport thoſe worſt of loads, poverty and con⯑tempt?

Mr. and Mrs. Woodland, the parents of our he⯑roines, were once ſervants in the ſame family, which being a nobleman's, where they continually beheld the utmoſt luxury, and what is called politeneſs and good breeding, they ſoon acquired a ſufficient de⯑gree of contempt for their origin, and their former acquaintance. Having ſaved ſome money, they married, quitted their ſervice, and betook them⯑ſelves to buſineſs. Here Mrs. Woodland, who, of the two, had the moſt violent ideas of gentility, in⯑ſiſted upon going into a genteel buſineſs, where they might have cuſtomers that underſtood good man⯑ners, and would pay a proper reſpect to people that knew how to bemean themſelves; for, ſaid ſhe, I can never condeſcend to ſtand behind a counter [194] curtſeying and ſerving out farthing candles and half⯑penny-worths of tobacco to every dirty wretch that comes in. Accordingly they opened a lace-ſhop, which being well ſituated, anſwered their expecta⯑tions to the utmoſt.

Charlotte Woodland was their firſt child, and the only one they had in eight years after their marriage.—Every expence was run into for the dreſs and education of this girl. She was pretty, and her parents thought her a cherub. She had a ready tongue, and they were continually repeating her ſmart ſayings and witty anſwers. She learnt an oath from her father, and vulgarity from her mother, before ſhe was three years old; and her exploits were told and retold to every one that viſited her mamma.

As they were mutually reſolved that their daughter ſhould not labour under that want of polite educa⯑tion, which they had frequent occaſion to lament in themſelves, they ſent her at ſix years old to a boarding-ſchool, where ſhe pickt up French phraſes without knowing any thing of the language, and run over the keys of a harpſichord without time, tune, or ſentiment. She, however, could draw patterns for her aprons and ruffles, acquired every new ſtitch with alacrity, and danced with more eaſe than the generality of her ſchool-fellows; ſhe was vain as well as handſome, and therefore bent all her thoughts upon the means of decorating her perſon.

[195]Her parents, for the firſt eight or ten years of her life, had very great ſucceſs in trade; enough, had they been prudent, to have made what is uſually called a pretty fortune. It was a pity that they had conceived ſo violent a contempt for every thing that was low and vulgar. Mrs. Woodland could not exiſt without ſubſcribing to the Opera, Pantheon, &c. &c. becauſe every body did ſo. She hated hor⯑rid Engliſh cottons, and filthy Spital-field tabbies: India chintz and French luſtrings were ſo elegant! She was ready to faint at the idea of Buckingham⯑ſhire lace; crown quadrille gave her the vapours; and being black-balled at the Coterie, threw her into hyſterics for ſix weeks.

Mr. Woodland, though at firſt very attentive to buſineſs, ſoon fell into the mode of keeping his horſe and his miſtreſs, and in time became acquainted with the box and dice.

Laboured deſcriptions are diſguſting; the read⯑er's imagination will eaſily ſuggeſt to him the ef⯑fects of this mutually fooliſh conduct. Mr. Wood⯑land, in the thirteenth year after he began buſineſs, became a bankrupt. Every one was amazed: the reputation of the ſhop, and the appearance he had ſo long ſupported, had deceived the world.

Happy for their ſecond daughter, was this afflic⯑tion. Affected manners, the epithets of adulation, and the proud airs of imagined conſequence, had not yet vitiated the tender mind of Maria; who obtained an advantage in the death of her mo⯑ther. [196] Parents with bad habits and ill regulated paſ⯑ſions, are a misfortune rather than a bleſſing to thoſe who, by obſerving, learn to imitate them. Maria was peculiarly fortunate. A widow lady with a ſmall income, and without children or relations, whom chance had made acquainted with the fa⯑mily, obſerved the natural ſweetneſs of Maria's temper, and the acuteneſs of her underſtanding, and took a fancy to her. This lady was the reverſe of Mrs. Woodland; elegance and affability had ba⯑niſhed pride and affectation. She had ſtudied in the ſchools of adverſity, and had learnt the heavenly leſſons of humility and humanity.—Reader—if ever thou ſhouldſt have children, God ſend them ſuch an inſtructor.

Be not anxious to hear trifling incidents. Be⯑hold Maria in the nineteenth year of her age, with manners that might charm wiſdom herſelf, beauty ſufficient to aſtoniſh a Reynolds, and married to a huſband ſuch as thou wouldſt wiſh, hadſt thou an angel for thy child. Surely when a pair like this are companions, the road of matrimony is paved with pleaſures. If thy wiſhes outrun thy wants, if thy temper is pettiſh, and thy heart proud, if thou halt not the art of making thyſelf beloved, think of Clermont and Maria with a ſigh, and endeavour to reform.

Different was the deſtiny of the unfortunate Char⯑lotte. Uſed to the flattery of inferiors, the ſword of neglect wounded ſorely the pride of fallen ſupe⯑riority. [197] Her father, unable to place her to advan⯑tage in the world, or maintain her in the ſchool, took her home. He now ſoon diſcovered the bad effects of the preſent falſe mode of education. Hardly able to provide the moſt ſcanty pittance, his daughter became a burthen inſtead of an aſſiſtant. Ill qualified for domeſtic duties, the uncleanlineſs of the temple proclaimed the indolence of the prieſteſs. —Oh ye fooliſh parents, why will you take ſo much pains to teach your children ſuch affected antics! Why will you encourage them to curl the noſe at the ſight of an unwaſhed ſaucepan, or to ſhiver at the touch of cold water! Muſt the happineſs of life be ſacrificed to the whiteneſs of the hand? or why ſhould the making a pie baniſh them from the ſociety of the rational? Make them glaſs cages at once, and ſay to unpoliſhed induſtry, "Behold what thou ſhouldſt be!"

But how ſhould the ſcholars be wiſe or virtuous, when the teachers, generally ſpeaking, are fooliſh and vicious?

Charlotte was unhappy at the change of her ſitua⯑tion, and enjoyed only thoſe moments when ſhe had leiſure to hang ſome of that finery upon her, which former opulence had provided. Girls are in this age more frequently undone by falſe pride, than eaſy be⯑lief, and are in greater danger from the ſupercilious airs of a mother, than the proteſtations of a lover. Vanity is almoſt univerſally the predominant paſſion of youth. This was the rock on which Charlotte [198] ſtruck; nor need we be ſurpriſed, when we conſider the tempeſt which former flattery and preſent indi⯑gence had raiſed to overſet ſo weak a veſſel.

Among the acquaintance of her father's fortunate days, was Mr. Benfield, a man of property, and married. His principles varied with his paſſions, which reigned too abſolutely; for though he made frequent profeſſions of, and had great inclinations to virtue, yet were they the maſters of his reaſon, when⯑ever they had a ſhare in the conflict. He had been ſeveral times with Mr. Woodland, to viſit his daughter while at the boarding-ſchool, and thought her very handſome; nay, had often told her ſo, and was therefore one of her greateſt favourites. When misfortune had overwhelmed her father, the idea of obtaining her for a miſtreſs being not entirely im⯑probable, laid faſt hold upon his imagination. His daily viſits were conſtrued by the father into acts of the ſincereſt friendſhip. He aſſiſted Woodland with his purſe, and that corroborated the teſtimony. His toying with Charlotte was thought to be the effect of former freedoms while ſhe was a child, and con⯑ſidered rather as a condeſcenſion than a deſign. In ſhort, he was continually ſpoken of by the father, as the only virtuous man he had ever known, and and who alone knew how to diſtinguiſh merit in diſtreſs.

Men, even of moderate abilities, whoſe minds are intent upon the accompliſhment of ſo favourable a project, can find plauſible arguments to deceive and [199] miſlead girls; who have had leſs trifling educations than was the lot of Charlotte. Benfield would often ſeat her upon his lap, kiſs her hand in rapture, ſome⯑times ſnatch one from her lips, tell her of her beauty, call her divine, then with a ſigh ſay how happy he ſhould have been, had heaven bleſt him with ſuch a wife. Liberties which at firſt are alarming to vir⯑tue, by repetition become familiar, and the lover who firſt touches the mole upon his miſtreſs's neck, and afterwards begs permiſſion to kiſs it, might not be long, perhaps, before he would take the ſame freedom with the one upon her knee.

When the paſſions are warm, the mind is weak. Arguments, which to an unbiaſſed ſpectator imme⯑diately diſcover their own futility, appear with all the force of truth, when they endeavour to prove what we moſt earneſtly wiſh could be proved. Char⯑lotte liſtened with avidity, while Benfield talked to her of a ſtate of nature, and of the inefficacy of mar⯑riage to bind affections, as well as the unreaſon⯑ableneſs of it in conſtraining thoſe to cohabit, who were always unhappy in each other's company. She began to think that a noble maxim, which ſays, "they only are truly married, who love each other, and live together without being obliged to do ſo." She paid particular attention to Benfield, when he told her it was far better for her to live without the cere⯑mony of marriage, with one who paſſionately loved her, and would maintain her, not only above want, but in affluence, than to be tied to another [200] who might not have ſenſe to diſcover her merit, riches to keep her from indigence, not love ſufficient to uſe her with humanity.

The rude man is by no means ſo dangerous to virtue as the plauſible. Benfield prevailed, and Charlotte was ſeduced. He ſtole her from her fa⯑ther, placed her in lodgings, and treated her at firſt with all the enthuſiaſm of love. She, unhappy girl, unacquainted with the caprice and mutability of paſſion, imagined that the little endearments were never to abate. She felt not her own growing indifference, but was quick at the diſcovery of her lover's. Neglect produces bickerings; diſguſt ha⯑tred;—ſeparation enſues.

Keeper ſucceeded keeper, till vice became fami⯑liar. But why ſhould I torture the reader with re⯑lations which make the imagination gloomy? Can the depraved life of a miſerable proſtitute afford ſa⯑tisfaction either to the hearer or the relater? Such did the poor unfortunate Charlotte ſink into. Who that has the feelings of a man can ſtray through the ſtreets of this city, and ſee ſuch numberleſs young creatures, whoſe beautiful features are deformed by the practice of ſin and the want of ſhame, and not feel the blood cold at his heart. Who then that is worthy to be called a man, would endeavour to en⯑creaſe the number of theſe, who, of all the miſerable, are the moſt miſerable!

Gentle reader, let me have power over thy ima⯑gination for a moment! Trace with me the un⯑happy [201] Charlotte through thoſe ſinks of ſin, the bagnio and the brothel: cloathed by an infamous unfeeling wretch, who receives the hire of her proſtitution: abandoned when corroding diſeaſe hath ſtolen the ſleekneſs of her ſkin, and the mar⯑row of her bones! Behold the anguiſh of guilt prey⯑ing upon her mind, and the inclemencies of the ſky upon her body! If thou art a female, tremble and avoid;—if a man, pity the ſufferer, and deteſt ſeduc⯑tion!

In the ſituation I have deſcribed, was Charlotte found at midnight, freezing upon a ſtep, by the maſter of the family, who happened to be detained till that late hour. He was not a man of marble; and he enquired with eagerneſs and pity, if ſhe had no place to go to that could, in ſome meaſure, ſcreen her from the miſeries ſhe was thus expoſed to. She faintly replied, no! but that ſhe believed ſhe ſhould not long need aſſiſtance from hard-hearted man, for that if her feelings informed her right, ſhe was dying. He knocked with precipitation at the door, and was aſked by a voice, ſweet as melody, and mild as pity, "Is it you, my love?" His affirmation gained him inſtant admittance. He took the light, rang the bell for his ſervants, and, with the help of his wife, aſſiſted Charlotte into the houſe. "Here is a poor wretch, my dear, whom I found ſtarving at the door, who tells me ſhe believes ſhe is dying."—"God help her—ſhe ſhall not die in the ſtreet," anſwered ſhe with her eyes gliſtening—"Let us ſet her to⯑wards [202] the fire, my love, and give her a cordial that may revive her ſpirits—good God!" continued ſhe, "I think I ſhould know that face—ſurely it is not"—"Who, Maria? do not alarm yourſelf, my love:"—"You are right," anſwered Charlotte, "it is the wicked, the unfortunate Charlotte Woodland, your ſiſter—come in her laſt moments to ſhew her own guilt and ſufferings, and to admire your mercy and your virtues. Oh! pity her—For⯑give her if you can!"

Merciful God! exclaimed Maria—and ſunk into the arms of her huſband.

SOCIAL DUTY, Or MIRZA.

IT pleaſed the mighty ſovereign Abbas Caraſcan, from whom the Kings of the earth derive honour and dominion, to ſet Mirza his ſervant over the province of Tauris. In the hand of Mirza, the ba⯑lance of diſtribution was ſuſpended with impartiality; and under his adminiſtration the weak were pro⯑tected, the learned received honour, and the diligent became rich: Mirza, therefore, was beheld by every eye with complacency, and every tongue pronounced bleſſings upon his head. But it was obſerved that he derived no joys from the benefits which he diffuſed; he became penſive and melancholy; he ſpent his lei⯑ſure in ſolitude; in his palace he ſat motionleſs upon a ſopha; and when he went out, his walk was ſlow, and his eyes were fixed upon the ground: he applied to the buſineſs of ſtate with reluctance; and reſolved to relinquiſh the toils of government, of which he could no longer enjoy the reward.

He therefore obtained permiſſion to approach the throne of his ſovereign; and being aſked what was [219] his requeſt, he made this reply, "May the Lord of the world forgive the ſlave whom he has honoured, if Mirza preſume again to lay the bounty of Abbas at his feet. Thou haſt given me the dominions of a country, fruitful as the gardens of Damaſcus: and of a city, glorious above all others, except that only which reflects the ſplendor of thy preſence. But the longeſt life is a period ſcarce ſufficient to prepare for death. All other buſineſs is vain and trivial, as the toil of emmets in the path of the traveller, under whoſe foot they periſh for ever; and all enjoyment is unſubſtantial and evaneſcent, as the colours of the bow that appear in the interval of a ſtorm. Suffer me, therefore, to prepare for the approach of eterni⯑ty; let me give up my ſoul to meditation; let ſoli⯑tude and ſilence acquaint me with the myſteries of devotion; let me forget the world, and by the world be forgotten, till the moment arrives in which the veil of eternity ſhall fall, and I be found at the bar of the Almighty."—Mirza then bowed himſelf to the earth, and ſtood ſilent.

By the command of Abbas it is recorded, that at theſe words he trembled upon that throne, at the foot⯑ſtool of which the world pays homage: he looked round upon his nobles, but every countenance was pale, and every eye was upon the earth. No man opened his mouth; and the King firſt broke ſilence after it had continued near an hour.

"Mirza! terror and doubt are come upon me: I am alarmed, as a man who ſuddenly perceives that [220] he is near the brink of a precipice, and is urged forward by an irreſiſtible force; but yet I know not whether my danger is a reality or a dream.—I am as thou art, a reptile on the earth; my life is a mo⯑ment; and eternity, in which days, and years, and ages are nothing, eternity is before me, for which I alſo ſhould prepare: but by whom then muſt the faithful be governed? By thoſe only who have no fear of judgment? By thoſe alone whoſe life is brutal, becauſe like brutes, they do not conſider that they ſhall die? Or who, indeed, are the faithful? Are the buſy multitudes that crowd the city, in a ſtate of perdition? And is the cell of the derviſe alone the gate of paradiſe? To all, the life of a derviſe is not poſſible: to all therefore it cannot be a duty. De⯑part to the houſe which has in the city been prepared for thy reſidence; I will meditate the reaſon of thy requeſt; and may he who illuminates the mind of the humble, enable me to determine with wiſdom!"

Mirza departed; and on the third day, having re⯑ceived no commands, he again requeſted an audi⯑ence, and it was granted. When he entered the royal preſence, his countenance appeared more chear⯑ful; he drew a letter from his boſom, and having kiſſed it, he preſented it with his right-hand.

"My Lord, ſays he, I have learned by this letter, which I received from Coſrou the Iman, who now ſtands before thee, in what manner life may be beſt improved. I am enabled to look back with pleaſure, and forward with hope; and I ſhall now rejoice ſtill [221] to be the ſhadow of thy power at Tauris, and to keep thoſe honours which I ſo lately wiſhed to re⯑ſign."—The King, who had liſtened to Mirza with a mixture of ſurpriſe and curioſity, immediately gave the letter to Coſrou, and commanded that it ſhould be read. The eyes of the court were at once turned on the hoary ſage, whoſe countenance was ſuffuſed with an honeſt bluſh; and it was not without ſome heſitation that he read theſe words:

"To Mirza, whom the wiſdom of Abbas our mighty Lord has honoured with dominion, be ever⯑laſting health! When I heard thy purpoſe to with⯑draw the bleſſings of thy government from the thou⯑ſands of Tauris, my heart was wounded with the ar⯑row of affliction, and my eyes became dim with ſorrow. But who ſhall ſpeak before the King, when he is troubled? and who ſhall boaſt of knowledge, when he is diſtreſſed by doubt? To thee I will relate the events of my youth, which thou haſt renewed before me; and thoſe truths which they taught me, may the prophet multiply to thee.

"Under the inſtruction of the phyſician Aluazer, I obtained an early knowledge of his art. To thoſe who were ſmitten with diſeaſes, I could adminiſter plants, which the ſun had impregnated with the ſpirits of health. But the ſcenes of pain, languor, and mortality, which were perpetually riſing before me, made me often tremble for myſelf. I ſaw the grave open at my feet: I determined, therefore, to contemplate only the regions beyond it, and to de⯑ſpiſe [222] every acquiſition that I could not keep. I con⯑ceived an opinion, that as there was no merit but in voluntary poverty, and ſilent meditation, thoſe who deſired money were not proper objects of bounty; therefore money was deſpiſed. I buried mine in the earth; and renouncing ſociety, I wan⯑dered into a wild and ſequeſtered part of the coun⯑try; my dwelling was a cave, by the ſide of a hill; I drank the running water from the ſpring, and eat ſuch fruits and herbs as I could find. To increaſe the auſterity of my life, I frequently watched all night, ſitting at the entrance of the cave with my face to the eaſt, reſigning myſelf to the ſecret in⯑fluences of the prophet, and expecting illuminations from above. One morning, after my nocturnal vigil, juſt as I perceived the horizon glow at the ap⯑proach of the ſun, the power of ſleep became irre⯑ſiſtible, and I ſunk under it. I imagined myſelf ſtill ſitting at the entrance of my cell; that the dawn in⯑creaſed; and that as I looked earneſtly for the firſt beam of day, a dark ſpot appeared to intercept it. I perceived that it was in motion; it increaſed in ſize as it drew near, and at length I diſcovered it to be an eagle. I ſtill kept my eye ſteadfaſtly upon it, and ſaw it alight at a ſmall diſtance, where I now deſcried a fox, whoſe fore-legs appeared to be broken. Before this fox the eagle laid part of a kid, which it had brought in its talons, and then diſappeared. When I awaked I laid my fore-head upon the ground, and bleſſed the prophet for the inſtruction of the morning. [223] I reviewed my dream, and ſaid thus to myſelf, "Coſrou, thou haſt done well to renounce the tu⯑mult, the buſineſs, and the vanities of life; but thou haſt as yet only done it in part; thou art ſtill every day buſied in the ſearch of food, thy mind is not wholly at reſt, neither is thy truſt in Providence complete. What art thou taught by this viſion? If thou haſt ſeen an eagle commiſſioned by heaven to feed a fox that is lame, ſhall not the hand of heaven alſo ſupply thee with food, when that which prevents thee from procuring it to thyſelf, is not neceſſity, but devotion? I was now ſo confident of a mira⯑culous ſupply, that I neglected to walk out for my repaſt, which, after the firſt day, I expected with an impatience that left me little power of attending to any other object: this impatience, however, I la⯑boured to ſuppreſs, and perſiſted in my reſolution; but my eyes at length began to fail me, and my knees ſmote each other; I threw myſelf backward, and hoped my weakneſs would ſoon increaſe to inſenſibi⯑lity. But I was ſuddenly rouſed by the voice of an inviſible being, who pronounced theſe words:— "Coſrou, I am the angel who, by the command of the Almighty, have regiſtered the thoughts of thy heart, which I am now commiſſioned to reprove. While thou waſt attempting to become wiſe above that which is revealed, thy folly perverted the in⯑ſtructions which was vouchſafed thee. Art thou diſabled as the fox? Haſt thou not rather the powers of the eagle? Ariſe, let the eagle be the object of [224] thy emulation. To pain and ſickneſs be thou again the meſſenger of eaſe and health. Virtue is not reſt but action. If thou doſt good to man, as an evi⯑dence of thy love to God, thy virtue will be exalted from moral to divine; and that happineſs which is the pledge of paradiſe, will be thy reward upon earth."

"At theſe words I was not leſs aſtoniſhed than if a mountain had been overturned at my feet. I humbled myſelf in the duſt; I returned to the city; I dug up my treaſure; I was liberal, yet I became rich. My ſkill in reſtoring health to the body, gave me frequent opportunities of curing the diſeaſes of the ſoul. I put on the ſacred veſtments; I grew eminent beyond my merit; and it was the pleaſure of the King that I ſhould ſtand before him. Now, therefore, be not offended; I boaſt of no knowledge that I have not received: as the ſands of the deſart drink up the drops of rain and the dew of the morning, ſo do I alſo, who am but duſt, imbibe the inſtructions of the prophet. Believe then that it is he who tells thee, all knowledge is prophane which ter⯑minates in thyſelf; and by a life waſted in ſpecula⯑tion, little even of this can be gained. When the gates of paradiſe are thrown open before thee, thy mind ſhall be irradiated in a moment; here thou canſt little more than pile error upon error; there thou ſhalt build truth upon truth. Wait therefore for the glorious viſion; and in the mean time emu⯑late the eagle. Much is in thy power; and, there⯑fore, [225] much is expected of thee. Though the Al⯑mighty alone can give virtue, yet, as a Prince, thou mayeſt ſtimulate thoſe to beneficence, who act from no higher motive than immediate intereſt. Thou canſt not produce the principle, but mayeſt enforce the practice. The relief of the poor is equal, whether they receive it from oſtentation or charity; and the effect of example is the ſame, whether it be intended to obtain the favour of God, or man. Let thy virtue be thus diffuſed; and if thou believeſt with reverence, thou ſhalt be accepted above. Fare⯑well. May the ſmile of him who reſides in the heaven of heavens, be upon thee! And againſt thy name in the volume of his will, may happineſs be written!"

The King, whoſe doubts, like thoſe of Mirza, were now removed, looked up with a ſmile that communicated the joy of his mind. He diſmiſſed the Prince to his government; and commanded theſe events to be recorded, to the end that poſterity may know, "That no life is pleaſing to God, but that which is uſeful to mankind!"

PERSEVERANCE: Or the HISTORY of Profeſſor DU VAL.

M. DU VAL, profeſſor of hiſtory and geogra⯑phy in the academy of Luneville, is the ſon of a pea⯑ſant, and born in Burgundy, but came into Lorrain when a child, and was employed as a ſhepherd's boy, at a village near Nancy. His thirſt after knowledge appeared in his very childhood, and, having no other means of gratifying it, he made a collection of ſnakes, frogs, &c. amuſed himſelf with examining theſe creatures, and was continually aſking the neigh⯑bouring peaſants why thoſe animals were formed in ſuch a particular manner? but the anſwers he re⯑ceived were generally ſuch, as left him leſs ſatisfied than he was before. He once happened to ſee, in the hand of a country boy, Aeſop's Fables with cuts, which made him ſtill more deſirous of learning than before. He could not read; and the boy, [228] who was capable of gratifying his curioſity, was ſeldom in a humour to explain the animals, &c. repreſented in the cuts. In this diſtreſs, he deter⯑mined to make himſelf maſter of the introduction to knowledge, however great the difficulties that attended it might prove. Accordingly he ſaved whatever money he could get, and gave it to other boys who were older than himſelf, for teaching him to read. Having, with incredible diligence, attained his end, he happened to meet with an almanack, in which the twelve ſigns of the zodiac were delineated. Theſe he looked for ſo conſtantly, and with ſuch at⯑tention, in the heavens, that at laſt he imagined that he actually traced ſuch figures there; and though he was miſtaken in this and ſeveral other particulars, yet many of his obſervations were ſuch as few others are found capable of, even after receiving regular inſtructions.

As he once paſſed by a print-ſhop at Nancy, he obſerved in the window a map of the world. This opened a field for new ſpeculations; and, having purchaſed it, he employed many hours every day in peruſing it. At firſt he took the degrees on the equator for French leagues; but upon conſidering that, in coming from Burgundy to Lorrain, he had travelled many ſuch leagues, though on his map that diſtance ſeemed to take up a very little ſpot, he was convinced of the impoſſibility of his firſt conjecture. But it muſt have been with incredible labour, and at the ſame time is a ſignal proof of his extraordinary [229] genius, that he acquired a thorough knowledge of theſe and many other ſignatures on the ſeveral maps; which, as often as his purſe could afford it, he after⯑wards procured.

His inclination for ſilence and retirement, made him weary of living among the noiſy peaſant boys; and induced him to viſit ſome hermits who had their cells in a wood, about half a league from Luneville. He undertook to wait on them, and to tend ſix or eight cows which they kept. Theſe hermits were, how⯑ever, groſsly ignorant; but Du Val had an opportu⯑nity of reading ſeveral books he found in their cells, and of getting many difficulties, that occurred to him, ſolved by perſons who came to viſit them. All the money he could ſcrape together in his mean circumſtances, was laid out in books and maps; and obſerving, on ſome of the latter, the arms of ſeveral princes, as griffins, ſpread eagles, lions with two tails, and other monſters, he enquired of a foreigner, whether there were any ſuch creatures in the world? being informed that theſe figures belonged to a parti⯑cular ſcience called heraldry, he minuted down this word, before unknown to him, and hurrying with all ſpeed to Nancy, bought a book of heraldry, and by that book, without any other help, he became maſter of the fundamental principles of that ſcience.

In this courſe of life Du Val continued till he ar⯑rived at his one-and-twentieth year, when, in the autumn of 1717, he was diſcovered watching his charge in the wood, and ſitting under a tree with [230] his maps and books about him, by Baron Pſutchner. This gentleman was then governor to the young Prince of Lorrain, who happened to hunt that way. The Baron thought a herdſman, with ſun-burnt lank hair, dreſſed in a coarſe linen frock, with a heap of maps about him, ſo extraordinary a ſight, that he informed the Prince of it, who immediately rode towards the place, and put ſeveral queſtions to Du Val about his way of living. Du Val ſhewed by his anſwers, that he was already maſter of the grounds of ſeveral ſciences. Upon which the Prince offered to take him into his ſervice, and told him that he ſhould go to court. Du Val, who had read in ſome books of morality, that the air of a court was infectious to virtue; and had alſo ob⯑ſerved when he had been at Nancy, that the lacqueys of great men were a riotous, debauched, quarrel⯑ſome ſort of people, frankly anſwered, "That he choſe rather to look after his herd, and continue to lead a quiet life in the wood, with which he was thoroughly ſatisfied, than to wait on the Prince; but added, that if his highneſs would give him an opportunity of reading curious books, and of making himſelf maſter of more learning and know⯑ledge, he was ready to follow him or any body elſe." The Prince was highly pleaſed with his anſwer; and, when he returned to court, prevailed on the Duke his father, to ſend this extraordinary herdſman to the Jeſuits College at Pont-a-Mouſſon. When be had finiſhed his ſtudies at that ſeat of learning, [231] the Duke permittted him to take a journey into France for his further improvement; and, ſoon after his return, gave him a profeſſorſhip in the academy of Luneville, with a penſion of 700 livres a year, alſo made him his own librarian, which is worth 1000 livres a year more, beſides a handſome apart⯑ment.

He is of a moſt engaging modeſty and polite⯑neſs, and, far from being aſhamed of his former low condition, takes a pleaſure in relating the ſuc⯑ceſſive and gradual riſe of new ideas in his mind, and the pleaſing tranquillity and uninterrupted con⯑tent he enjoyed in a ſituation, in all appearance, mean and deſpicable. He ſtill keeps an apartment in the hermitage, from whence the Duke raiſed him to his preſent condition; and, to perpetuate his memory of the tranſaction, has had his picture drawn, in which he is repreſented juſt as he was, when diſ⯑covered by Baron Pſutchner, under a tree, with a landſcape of the place, and the Prince talking to him; this piece he has obtained leave to hang up in the Duke's library.

HEALTH: Or the VICAR.

GOING to viſit an old friend at his country ſeat laſt week, I found him at backgammon with the Vicar of the pariſh. My friend received me with the heartieſt welcome, and introduced the Doc⯑tor to my acquaintance. This gentleman, who ſeemed to be about fifty, and of a florid and healthy conſtitution, ſurveyed me all over with great atten⯑tion, and, after a ſlight nod of the head, ſat himſelf down without opening his mouth. I was a little hurt at the ſupercilious behaviour of this divine; which my friend obſerving told me very pleaſantly, that I was rather too old to be intitled to the Doc⯑tor's complaiſance; for that he ſeldom beſtowed it, but upon the young and vigorous: But, ſays he, you ſhall know him better ſoon, and you will find him altogether as odd a character, as he is a worthy one. The Doctor made no reply to this raillery, but con⯑tinued ſome time with his eyes fixed upon me, and at laſt, ſhaking his head, and turning to my friend, aſked if he would play out the other hit. My friend excuſed himſelf from engaging any more that even⯑ing, and ordered a bottle of wine, with pipes and tobacco, to be ſet on the table. The Vicar filled [233] his pipe, and drank very cordially to my friend, ſtill eyeing me with a ſeeming diſlike, and neither drink⯑ing my health, nor ſpeaking a ſingle word to me. As I have long accuſtomed myſelf to drink nothing but water, I called for a bottle of it, and drank glaſs for glaſs with them; which upon the Doctor's obſerving, he ſhook his head at my friend, and, in a whiſper loud enough for me to hear, ſaid, 'Poor man, it is all over with him, I ſee.' My friend ſmiled, and anſwered, in the ſame audible whiſper, 'No, no, Doctor, he intends to live as long as either of us.' He then addreſſed himſelf to me on the occurrences of the town, and engaged me in a very chearful converſation, which laſted till I with⯑drew to reſt; at which time the Doctor roſe from his chair, drank a bumper to my health, and, giving me a hearty ſhake by the hand, told me I was a very jolly old gentleman, and that he wiſhed to be better acquainted with me, during my ſtay in the country.

I roſe early in the morning, and found the Doctor in the breakfaſting room. He ſaluted me with great civility, and told me he had left his bed and home ſooner than uſual, to have the pleaſure of taking a walk with me. 'Your friend, ſays he, is but lately recovered from an attack of the gout, and will hardly be ſtirring, till we have gone over his improvements.' I accepted the propoſal, and we walked through a very elegant garden into the moſt beautiful fields that can be imagined; which as I ſtopped to admire, the Doctor began thus: 'Theſe are, indeed, very [234] delightful grounds; and I wiſh, with all my heart, that the owner of them was leſs troubled with the gout, that I might hold him in more reſpect.'— 'Reſpect! Doctor,' ſaid I, interrupting him, 'Does a painful diſtemper, acquired by no act of intem⯑perance, leſſen your reſpect?' 'It does indeed, and I wiſh, in this inſtance, I could help it; for I am under many obligations to your friend. There is another very worthy gentleman in the neighbour⯑hood, who preſented me to this vicarage; he has the misfortune to labour under an inveterate ſcurvy, which, by ſubjecting him to continual head-achs, muſt, of courſe, ſhorten his days; and ſo I never go near him.'

I was going to interrupt the Doctor again, when a coach and ſix drove by us along the road, and in it a gentleman, who let down the glaſs, and made the Doctor a very reſpectful bow; which inſtead of returning, he looked off with a ſtately air, and took no notice of him. This inſtance of his beha⯑viour, together with the converſation that had paſſ⯑ed between us, raiſed my curioſity to a very high degree, and ſet me upon aſking him who the gen⯑tleman was. 'Sir,' ſays he, 'that unfortunate ob⯑ject is a man of eight thouſand a year eſtate; and, from that conſideration, he expects the return of a bow from every man he meets. But I, who know him, know alſo that [...] dying of an aſthma; and as (bleſſed be God for it) I am in perfect health, I do not chuſe to put myſelf on a level with ſuch a [235] perſon. Health is the only valuable thing on earth; and, while I am in poſſeſſion of that, I look upon myſelf as a much greater man than he. With all his fortune, he would rejoice to be the poor Vicar of ***, with my conſtitution. I pull off my hat to no ſuch perſons. Believe me, he has not many months to live.

I made no reply to this converſation of the Vicar, and he went on thus: 'You are an old man, Sir, and, I believe, were a little fatigued with your journey laſt night, which I miſtook for infirm health, and therefore was wanting in the civilities that I ſhould otherwiſe have ſhewn you; but your converſation afterwards proved you to be a very hearty man, and I ſaw you reſolved to continue ſo by your tempe⯑rance; for which I honour you, and, as I told you then, ſhall be glad of your acquaintance. It is true, you are old, and therefore my inferior; but you are healthy and temperate, and not beneath the notice of much younger men.'

In this manner we talked on, till we came to a hedge, where ſome labouring men were repairing the ſences. My companion accoſted them with the utmoſt complaiſance and good nature: 'Ay,' ſays he, turning to me, 'theſe are men worth mixing with. You ſee their riches in their looks. Have you any of your lords in town that have ſuch poſ⯑ſeſſions? I know none of theſe lords,' ſays he, 'my⯑ſelf, but I am told they are all ſo ſickly and diſeaſed, that a man in health would ſcorn to pull off his hat [236] to them.' He then entered into a familiar con⯑verſation with the men, and, after throwing them ſix-pence to drink, paſſed on.

There now overtook us in the lane a company of ſportſmen, ſetting out for the chace. Moſt of them ſaluted the Doctor, as they paſſed; but he took no notice of any of them, except one, whom he ſhook hands with over the hedge, and told him he intended taking a dinner with him the next day. 'That gentleman, ſays he, is worth as much health as any man in England; he hunts only by way of exerciſe, and never takes a leap where there is the leaſt dan⯑ger. But, as for the reſt, they are flying over every hedge and gate in their way, and, if they eſcape broken necks in the morning, they are deſtroying themſelves more effectually by intemperance in the evening. No, no, theſe are no companions for me; I hope, with the bleſſing of Heaven, to outlive a ſcore of them.'

We came, ſoon after, to a little neat houſe upon the road, where, the Doctor told me, lived a very agreeable widow lady, to whom he had formerly paid his addreſſes. 'She had at that time,' ſays he,' as large a fortune of health, as any woman in the county; but ſhe has ſince mortgaged it to the apothecary for ſlops, and I have taken my leave of her. She was determined to be a widow, and ſo married an officer, who got his head knocked off at Fontenoy. Theſe are a ſort of men that I make no acquaintance with; they hold their lives on too precarious a tenure.' [237] 'But they are uſeful members of ſociety,' ſaid I, 'and command our eſteem.' 'That may be, Sir,' returned the Doctor, 'and ſo are the miners in our coal pits, who are every hour in danger of being buried alive. But there is a ſubordination of de⯑gree, which ought ſtrictly to be obſerved; and a man in ill health, or of a dangerous profeſſion, ſhould not think himſelf on a level with people of ſound conſtitutions and leſs hazardous employments.'

I was determined to interrupt the Doctor no more; and he went on thus: 'You may poſſibly think me an odd kind of a man; but I am no enemy to people of bad conſtitutions, nor ever withhold my bounty from them, when their neceſſities demand it; but, though I am doing them all the ſervices in my pow⯑er, I cannot conſent to lower myſelf ſo far as to make them my companions. It is more in the power of the phyſician to confer rank, than the King; for the gifts of fortune are nothing; health is the only riches that a man ought to ſet a value on; and, without it, all men are poor, let their eſtates be what they will. If I differ from the common opinion in this particular, I do alſo in another. The tradeſman or mechanic, who has acquired an eſtate by his induſtry, is ſeldom reckoned a gentleman; but it was always my ſentiment, that a man, who makes his own conſtitution, has more merit in him, than he that was born with it; the one is the work of chance, the other of deſign; and it is for this reaſon that I am ſeen ſo often with your friend; for, [238] though the gout is generally an impoveriſhing diſ⯑temper, yet temperance and regularity may in time ſubdue it; whereas the gentleman, who drove by us with his ſix horſes, has an incurable aſthma, which renders him, with his large eſtate, as poor as the beggar who is dying under a hedge. The more you think of theſe things, the more you will be of my opinion. A poor man in health is a companion for a king; but a lord without it is a poor man indeed: And why ſhould he expect the homage of other peo⯑ple, when the very meaneſt of his domeſtics would refuſe to change places with him.'

My companion was ſtopped ſhort in his harangue by our arrival at my friend's houſe. We found him in good health and ſpirits, which greatly heightened the Vicar's complaiſance; and, as I took care to conceal from him the complaints and infirmities of old age, I paſſed a very agreeable week, and was ſo much in his good graces, that, at my departure, he preſented me with Dr. Turlington's balſam, and a paper of Dr. James's powder: 'There,' ſays he, 'they may rob you of your money, if they pleaſe; but, for bruiſes and fevers, you may ſet them at de⯑fiance.'

On my return home, I made many ſerious re⯑flections on this whimſical character; and, in the end, could not help wiſhing, that, under certain li⯑mitations, the ſentiments of the Vicar were a little more in faſhion. Health is certainly the riches of life; and, if men were to derive their rank from that [239] alone, it would, in all probability, make them more careful to preſerve it. Society might be benefited by it in another reſpect, as it would tend to keep complaining people at home, who are the perpetual diſturbers of all companies abroad.

YOUTHFUL LEVITY: Or the Neceſſity of knowing your COMPANY.

TO be courteous to all, but familiar with few, is a maxim which I once deſpiſed, as originally pro⯑ceeding from a mean and contracted mind, the frigid caution of weakneſs and timidity. A tame and in⯑diſcriminate civility I imputed to a dread of the con⯑tempt or the petulance of others, to fears from which the wit and the gentleman are exempted by a con⯑ſciouſneſs of their own dignity, by their power to repreſs inſolence, and ſilence ridicule; and a general ſhyneſs and reſerve I conſidered as the reproach of our country, as the effect of an illiberal education, by which neither a polite addreſs, an eaſy confidence, or a general acquaintance with public life, is to be acquired. This opinion, which continued to flatter the levity and pride that produced it, was ſtrength⯑ened by the example of thoſe whoſe manner, in the diffidence of youth, I wiſhed to imitate, who entered [243] a mixed company with an air of ferene familiarity, accoſted every man like an old acquaintance, and thought only of making ſport for the reſt of any with whom their caprice ſhould happen to be of⯑fended, without regard to their age, character, or condition.

But I now wiſh, that I had regulated my con⯑duct by the maxim which I deſpiſed, for I ſhould then have eſcaped a misfortune which I can never retrieve; and the ſenſe of which I am now endea⯑vouring to ſuſpend, by relating it to you as a leſſon to others, and conſidering my loſs of happineſs as an acquiſition of wiſdom.

While I was in France with a travelling tutor, I received a letter which acquainted me, that my father, who had been long declining, was dead; and that it was neceſſary I ſhould immediately return to England, to take poſſeſſion of his eſtate, which was not inconſiderable, though there were mort⯑gages upon it to near half its value.

When I arrived, I found a letter which the old gentleman had written and directed to me with his own hand. It contained ſome general rules for my conduct, and ſome animadverſions upon his own: he took notice of the incumbrance under which he left me the paternal inheritance, which had deſcended through many generations, and expreſſed the moſt earneſt deſire, that it might yet be tranſmitted intire to poſterity: with this view, he ſaid, he had nego⯑tiated a marriage between me and the only daughter [244] of his old friend, Sir George Homeſtead of the North, an amiable young lady, whoſe alliance would be an honour to my family, and whoſe for⯑tune would much more than redeem my eſtate.

He had given the knight a faithful account of his affairs; who, after having taken ſome time to con⯑ſider the propoſal and conſult his friends, con⯑ſented to the match, upon condition that his daughter and I ſhould prove agreeable to each other, and my behaviour ſhould confirm the character which had been given of me. My father added, that he hoped to have lived till this alliance had taken place; but as Providence had otherwiſe determined, he intreated, as his laſt requeſt, that as ſoon as my affairs ſhould be ſettled and decency would permit, I would make Sir George a viſit, and neglect nothing to accom⯑pliſh his purpoſe.

I was touched with the zeal and tenderneſs of parental affection which was then directing me to happineſs, after the heart that felt it had ceaſed to beat, and the hand that expreſſed it was moulder⯑ing in the duſt. I had ſeen the lady, not indeed ſince we were children; but I remembered that her perſon was agreeable, and her temper ſweet: I did not, therefore, heſitate a moment, whether my fa⯑ther's injunction ſhould be obeyed. I proceeded to ſettle his affairs; I took an account of his debts and credits, viſited the tenants, recovered my uſual gaiety, and at the end of about nine months ſet out for Sir George's ſeat in the North; having before opened [245] an epiſtolary correſpondence, and expreſſed my im⯑patience to poſſeſs the happineſs which my father had ſo kindly ſecured.

I was better pleaſed to be well mounted, than to loll in a chariot, or be jumbled in a poſt-chaiſe; and I knew that Sir George was an old ſportſman, a plain hearty blade, who would like me better in a pair of buckſkin breeches on the back of a good hunter, than in a trimmed ſuit and a gaudy equi⯑page: I, therefore, ſet out on horſeback with only one ſervant, and reached Stilton the firſt night.

In the morning, as I was mounting, a gentle⯑man, who had juſt got on horſeback before me, ordered his ſervant to make enquiry concerning the road, which I happened to overhear, and told him with great familiarity, that I was going the ſame way, and if he pleaſed we would travel together: to this he conſented, with as much frankneſs, and as little ceremony; and I ſet forward, greatly delighted that chance had afforded me a companion.

We immediately entered into converſation, and I ſoon found that he had been abroad: we extolled the roads and the policy of France, the cities, the palaces, and the villas; entered into a critical exa⯑mination of the moſt celebrated ſeats in England, the peculiarities of the building and ſituation, croſs⯑ways, market-towns, the impoſition of innkeepers, and the ſports of the field; topics by which we mutu⯑ally recommended ourſelves to each other, as we had both opportunities to diſcover equal knowledge, and [246] to diſplay truth with ſuch evidence as prevented di⯑verſity of opinion.

After we had rode about two hours, we overtook another gentleman, whom we accoſted with the ſame familiarity that we had uſed to each other; we aſked him how far he was going and which way, at what rate he travelled, where he put up, and many other queſtions of the ſame kind. The gentleman, who appeared to be near fifty, received our addreſs with great coolneſs, returned ſhort and indirect an⯑ſwers to our enquiries, and, often looking with great attention on us both, ſometimes put forward that he might get before us, and ſometimes checked his horſe that he might remain behind. But we were reſolved to diſappoint him; and, finding that his reſerve increaſed, and he was viſibly diſpleaſed, we winked at each other, and determined the old put ſhould afford us ſome ſport. After we had rode together upon very ill terms more than half an hour, my companion with an air of ceremonious gravity aſked him, if he knew any houſe upon the road where he might be accommodated with an agreeable girl. The gentleman, who was, I believe, afraid of giving us a pretence to quarrel, did not reſent this inſult any otherwiſe than by making no reply. I then began to talk to my companion as if we had been old acquaintances, reminding him that the gen⯑tleman extremely reſembled a perſon whom we had once ſeen coming out of a bagnio with a certain old acquaintance of ours; and, indeed, that his preſent [247] reſerve made me ſuſpect him to be the ſame; but that as we were willing to forget the affair, we hoped he would be ſo too, and that we ſhould have the pleaſure of dining together at the next inn. The gentleman was ſtill ſilent; but as his perplexity and reſentment viſibly increaſed, he proportionably in⯑creaſed our entertainment, which did not, however, laſt long, for he ſuddenly turned down a lane; upon which we ſet up a horſe laugh that continued till he was out of hearing, and then purſuing our journey, we talked of the adventure, which afforded us converſation and merriment for the reſt of the day.

The next morning we parted, and in the evening I arrived at Homeſtead Hall. The old knight re⯑ceived me with great affection, and immediately in⯑troduced me to his daughter, whom I now thought the fineſt woman I had ever ſeen. I could eaſily diſ⯑cover, that I was not welcome to her merely upon her father's recommendation, and I enjoyed by an⯑ticipation the felicity which I conſidered as within my reach. But the pleaſing ſcene, in which I had ſuffered my imagination to wander, ſuddenly diſap⯑peared as by the power of enchantment. Without any viſible motive, the behaviour of the whole family was changed, my aſſiduities to the lady were re⯑preſſed, ſhe was never to be found alone, the knight treated me with a cold civility, I was no longer a party in their viſits, nor was I willingly attended even by the ſervants. I made many attempts to diſ⯑cover [248] the cauſe of this misfortune, but without ſuc⯑ceſs; and one morning, when I had drawn Sir George into the garden by himſelf, and was about to urge him upon the ſubject, he prevented me by ſay⯑ing, that his promiſe to my father, for whom he had the higheſt regard, as I well knew, was conditional; that he had always reſolved to leave his daughter a free choice, and that ſhe had requeſted him to ac⯑quaint me, that her affections were otherwiſe en⯑gaged, and to entreat that I would, therefore, diſ⯑continue my addreſſes. My ſurprize and concern at this declaration, were ſuch as left me no power to reply; and I ſaw Sir George turn from me and go into the houſe, without making any attempt to ſtop him, or to obtain a further explanation. After⯑wards, indeed, I frequently expoſtulated, entreated, and complained; but, perceiving that all was inef⯑fectual, I took my leave, and determined that I would ſtill ſolicit by letter; for the lady had taken ſuch poſſeſſion of my heart, that I would joyfully have married her, though I had been ſure that her father would immediately have left all his fortune to a ſtranger.

I meditated on my epiſtolary project all the way to London, and before I had been three days in town I wrote a long letter to Sir George, in which I con⯑jured him, in the ſtrongeſt terms, to account for the change in his behaviour; and inſiſted, that, on this occaſion, to conceal the truth, was in the higheſt [249] degree diſhonourable to himſelf, and injurious to me.

To this letter, after about ten days, I received the following anſwer:

I immediately opened the paper incloſed, in which, with the utmoſt impatience, I read as follows:

The moment I had read this letter, the riddle was ſolved. I knew Mr. Trueman to be the gentleman, whom I had concurred with a ſtranger, picked up by accident, to inſult without provocation on the road. I was in a moment covered with confuſion; and though I was alone, could not help hiding my face with my hands. I abhorred my folly, which appeared yet more enormous every time it was re⯑viewed.

I courted the ſociety of a ſtranger, and a ſtranger I perſecuted with inſult: thus I aſſociated with in⯑famy, and thus my aſſociate became known. I hoped, however, to convince Sir George, that I had no knowledge of the wretch whoſe infamy I had ſhared, except that which I acquired from the letter of his friend. But before I had taken proper mea⯑ſures [251] for my juſtification, I had the mortification to hear, that the lady was married to a neighbouring gentleman, who had long made his addreſſes, and whom Sir George had before rejected in the ardor of his friendſhip for my father.

How narrow is the path of rectitude, and how much may be loſt by the ſlighteſt deviation!

LEVITY OF CONDUCT: Or the Story of FLAVILLA.

FLAVILLA, juſt as ſhe had entered her four⯑teenth year, was left an orphan to the care of her mother, in ſuch circumſtances as diſappointed all the hopes which her education had encouraged. Her father, who lived in great elegance upon the ſalary of a place at court, died ſuddenly without having [252] made any proviſion for his family, except an annuity of one hundred pounds, which he had purchaſed for his wife with part of her marriage portion; nor was he poſſeſſed of any property, except the furniture of a large houſe in one of the new ſquares, an equipage, a few jewels, and ſome plate.

The greater part of the furniture and the equipage were ſold to pay his debts; the jewels, which were not of great value, and ſome uſeful pieces of the plate, were reſerved; and Flavilla removed with her mother into lodgings.

But notwithſtanding this change in their circum⯑ſtances, they did not immediately loſe their rank. They were ſtill viſited by a numerous and polite acquaintance; and though ſome gratified their pride by aſſuming an appearance of pity, and rather in⯑ſulted than alleviated their diſtreſs by the whine of condolence, and a minute compariſon of what they had loſt with what they poſſeſſed; yet from others they were continually receiving preſents, which ſtill enabled them to live with genteel frugality; they were ſtill conſidered as people of faſhion, and treated by thoſe of a lower claſs with diſtinct reſpect.

Flavilla thus continued to move in a ſphere to which ſhe had no claim; ſhe was remarkably tall for her age, and was celebrated not only for her beauty but her wit: theſe qualifications ſhe conſidered, not only as ſecuring whatever ſhe enjoyed by the favour of others, but as a pledge of poſſeſſing them in her own right by an advantageous marriage.

[253]There was a faſhionable levity in her carriage and diſcourſe, which her mother, who knew the danger of her ſituation, laboured to reſtrain, ſometimes with anger, and ſometimes with tears, but always with⯑out ſucceſs. Flavilla was ever ready to anſwer, that ſhe neither did or ſaid any thing of which ſhe had reaſon to be aſhamed; and therefore did not know why ſhe ſhould be reſtrained, except in mere cour⯑teſy to envy, which it was an honour to provoke; or to ſlander, which it was a diſgrace to fear. In pro⯑portion as Flavilla was more flattered and careſſed, the influence of her mother became leſs; and though ſhe always treated her with reſpect from a point of good breeding, yet ſhe ſecretly deſpiſed her maxims, and applauded her own conduct.

Flavilla at eighteen was a celebrated toaſt; and among other gay viſitants who frequented her tea-table, was Clodio, a young Baronet, who had juſt taken poſſeſſion of his title and eſtate. There were many particulars in Clodio's behaviour, which en⯑couraged Flavilla to hope that ſhe ſhould obtain him for a huſband; but ſhe ſuffered his aſſiduities with ſuch apparent pleaſure, and his familiarities with ſo little reſerve, that he ſoon ventured to diſcloſe his intention, and make her, what he thought, a very genteel propoſal of another kind: but whatever were the artifices with which it was introduced, or the terms in which it was made, Flavilla rejected it with the utmoſt indignation and diſdain. Clodio, who, notwithſtanding his youth, had long known and [254] often practiſed the arts of ſeduction, gave way to the ſtorm, threw himſelf at her feet, imputed his offence to the phrenzy of his paſſion, flattered her pride by the moſt abject ſubmiſſion and extravagant praiſe, in⯑treated her pardon, aggravated his crime, but made no mention of atonement by marriage. This parti⯑cular, which Flavilla did not fail to remark, ought to have determined her to admit him no more: but her vanity and her ambition were ſtill predominant, ſhe ſtill hoped to ſucceed in her project. Clodio's offence was tacitly forgiven, his viſits were per⯑mitted, his familiarities were again ſuffered, and his hopes revived. He had long entertained an opinion that ſhe loved him, in which, however, it is pro⯑bable, that his own vanity and her indiſcretion con⯑curred to deceive him; but this opinion, though it implied the ſtrongeſt obligation to treat her with generoſity and tenderneſs, only determined him again to attempt her ruin, as it encouraged him with a probability of ſucceſs. Having therefore reſolved to obtain her as a miſtreſs, or at once to give her up, he thought he had little more to do, than to con⯑vince her that he had taken ſuch a reſolution; juſti⯑fying it by ſome plauſible ſophiſtry, and to give her ſome time to deliberate upon a final determination. With this view he went a ſhort journey into the country; having put a letter into her hand at part⯑ing, in which he acquainted her, "That he had often reflected, with inexpreſſible regret, upon her reſentment of his conduct in a late inſtance; but [255] that the delicacy and the ardour of his affection were inſuperable obſtacles to his marriage: that where there was no liberty, there could be no happineſs: that he ſhould become indifferent to the endearments of love, when they could no longer be diſtinguiſhed from the officiouſneſs of duty: that while they were happy in the poſſeſſion of each other, it would be abſurd to ſuppoſe they would part; and if this hap⯑pineſs ſhould ceaſe, it would not only enſure but aggravate their miſery to be inſeparably united: that this event was leſs probable, in proportion as their cohabitation was voluntary; but that he would make ſuch proviſion for her upon the contingency, as a wife would expect upon his death."

Flavilla had too much underſtanding, as well as virtue, to deliberate a moment upon this propoſal. She gave immediate orders that Clodio ſhould be ad⯑mitted no more. But his letter was a temptation to gratify her vanity, which ſhe could not reſiſt; ſhe ſhewed it firſt to her mother, and then to the whole circle of her female acquaintance, with all the ex⯑ultation of a hero who expoſes a vanquiſhed enemy at the wheels of his chariot in a triumph; ſhe con⯑ſidered it as an indiſputable evidence of her virtue, as a reproof to all who had dared to cenſure the levity of her conduct, and a licence to continue it without apology or reſtraint.

It happened that Flavilla, ſoon after this acci⯑dent, was ſeen in one of the boxes at the play-houſe, by Mercator, a young gentleman who had juſt re⯑turned [256] from his firſt voyage, as captain of a large ſhip in the Levant trade, which had been purchaſed for him by his father, whoſe fortune enabled him to make a genteel proviſion for five ſons, of whom Mercator was the youngeſt, and who expected to ſhare his eſtate, which was perſonal, in equal pro⯑portions at his death.

Mercator was captivated with her beauty, but diſcouraged by the ſplendor of her appearance, and the rank of her company. He was urged, rather by curioſity than hope, to enquire who ſhe was; and he gained ſuch a knowledge of her circum⯑ſtances, as relieved him from deſpair.

As he knew not how to get admiſſion to her com⯑pany, and had no deſign upon her virtue, he wrote in the firſt ardour of his paſſion to her mother; giv⯑ing a faithful account of his fortune and dependence, and entreating that he might be permitted to viſit Flavilla as a candidate for her affection. The lady, after having made ſome enquiries, by which the ac⯑count that Mercator had given her was confirmed, ſent him an invitation, and received his firſt viſit alone. She told him, that as Flavilla had no for⯑tune, and as a conſiderable part of his own was de⯑pendent upon his father's will, he ought, therefore, to obtain his conſent, before any other ſtep was taken. To this counſel, ſo ſalutary, Mercator was heſitating what to reply, when Flavilla came in, an accident which he was now only ſolicitous to improve. Fla⯑villa was not diſpleaſed either with his perſon or his [257] addreſs. The frankneſs and gaiety of her diſpoſition ſoon made him forget that he was a ſtranger. A converſation commenced, during which they became yet more pleaſed with each other; and having thus ſurmounted the difficulty of a firſt viſit, he thought no more of the mother, as he believed her auſpices were not neceſſary to his ſucceſs.

His viſits were often repeated, and he became every hour more impatient of delay. A thought of his father would now and then, indeed, intervene; but being determined to gratify his wiſhes at all events, he concluded with a ſagacity almoſt univerſal on theſe occaſions, that of two evils, to marry without his conſent, was leſs than to marry againſt it; and one evening, after the lovers had ſpent the after⯑noon by themſelves, they went out in a kind of fro⯑lic, which Mercator had propoſed in the vehemence of his paſſion, and to which Flavilla had conſented in the giddineſs of her indiſcretion, and were mar⯑ried at May-Fair chapel.

In the firſt interval of recollection after this pre⯑cipitate ſtep, Mercator conſidered, that he ought to be the firſt to acquaint his father of the new alli⯑ance which had been made in his family: but as he had not fortitude enough to do it in perſon, he ex⯑preſſed it in the beſt terms he could conceive by a letter; and requeſted that he might be permitted to preſent his wife for the parental benediction, which alone was wanting to complete his felicity.

[258]The old gentleman, whoſe character I cannot better expreſs than in the faſhionable phraſe which has been contrived to palliate falſe principles and diſſolute manners, had been a gay man, and was well acquainted with the town. He had often heard Flavilla toaſted by rakes of quality, and had often ſeen her at public places. Her beauty and her de⯑pendence, the gaiety of her dreſs, the multitude of her admirers, the levity of her conduct, and all the circumſtances of her ſituation, had concurred to render her character ſuſpected; and he was diſpoſed to judge of it with yet leſs charity, when, as ſhe had offended him by marrying his ſon, whom he conſidered as diſgraced and impoveriſhed, and whoſe misfortune, as it was irretrievable, he reſolved not to alleviate, but increaſe: a reſolution by which fathers, who have fooliſh and diſobedient ſons, uſually diſplay their own kindneſs and wiſdom. As ſoon as he read Mercator's letter, he execrated him for a fool, who had been gulled by the artifices of a looſe woman, to ſcreen her from public infamy, by fathering her children, and ſecuring her from a priſon by appro⯑priating her debts. In his anſwer, which he wrote only to gratify his reſentment, he told him, that "if he had taken Flavilla into keeping, he would have overlooked it; and if her extravagance had diſtreſſed him, he would have ſatisfied his creditors; but that his marriage was not to be forgiven; that he ſhould never have a ſhilling of his money; and that he was determined to ſee him no more."

[259]Mercator, who was more provoked by this out⯑rage than grieved at his loſs, diſdained to reply; and believing that he had now moſt reaſon to be of⯑fended, could not be perſuaded to ſolicit a reconci⯑liation.

He hired a genteel apartment for his wife of an upholſterer, who, with a view to let lodgings, had taken and furniſhed a large houſe, near Leiceſter-fields; and in about two months, he left her, and made another voyage.

He had received viſits of congratulation from her numerous acquaintance, and had returned them as a pledge of his deſire that they ſhould be repeated. But a remembrance of the gay multitude, which, while he was at home, had flattered his vanity, as ſoon as he was abſent, alarmed his ſuſpicions. He had, indeed, no particular cauſe of jealouſy; but his anxiety aroſe merely from a ſenſe of the temptations to which ſhe was expoſed, and the impoſſibility of his ſuperintending her conduct.

In the mean time Flavilla continued to flutter round the ſame giddy circle in which ſhe had ſhone ſo long; the number of her viſitants rather increaſed than diminiſhed; the gentlemen attended with yet greater aſſiduity; and ſhe continued to encourage their civilities by the ſame indiſcreet familiarity: She was one night at the maſquerade, another night at an opera; ſometimes at a route; ſometimes ram⯑bling in parties of pleaſure in ſhort excurſions from [260] town; ſhe came home at midnight, in the morning, and ſometimes ſhe was abſent ſeveral nights together.

This conduct was the cauſe of much ſpeculation and uneaſineſs to the good man and woman of the houſe. At firſt they ſuſpected that Flavilla was no better than a woman of pleaſure; and that the perſon who had hired the lodgings for her as his wife, and had diſappeared upon pretence of a voyage to ſea, had been employed to impoſe upon them, by con⯑cealing her character, in order to obtain ſuch accom⯑modations for her as ſhe could not ſo eaſily have procured had it been known: But as theſe ſuſpicions made them watchful and inquiſitive, they ſoon diſ⯑covered, that many ladies by whom ſhe was viſited, were of good character and faſhion. Her conduct, however, ſuppoſing her to be a wife, was ſtill inex⯑cuſable, and ſtill endangered their credit and ſubſiſt⯑ence: hints were often dropped by the neighbours to the diſadvantage of her character; and an elderly maiden lady, who lodged in the ſecond floor, had given warning: the family was diſturbed at all hours in the night, and the door was crouded all day with meſſengers and viſitants to Flavilla.

One day, therefore, the miſtreſs of the houſe took an opportunity to remonſtrate, though in the moſt diſtant and reſpectful terms, and with the utmoſt diffidence and caution. She told Flavilla, "That ſhe was a fine young lady, that her huſband was abroad, that ſhe kept a great deal of company, and that the world was cenſorious: ſhe wiſhed that leſs [261] occaſion for ſcandal was given; and hoped to be excuſed the liberty ſhe had taken. Flavilla might be ruined by thoſe ſlanders which could have no influ⯑ence upon the great, and which, therefore, the great were not ſolicitous to avoid."

This addreſs, however ambiguous, and however gentle, was eaſily underſtood, and fiercely reſented. Flavilla, proud of her virtue, and impatient of con⯑troul, would have deſpiſed the counſel of a philoſo⯑pher, if it had implied an impeachment of her con⯑duct: before a perſon ſo much her inferior, there⯑fore, ſhe was under no reſtraint; ſhe anſwered with a mixture of contempt and indignation, "That thoſe only who did not know her, would dare to take any liberty with her character; and warned her to pro⯑pagate no ſcandalous report at her peril." Flavilla immediately roſe from her ſeat, and the miſtreſs of the houſe departed without reply, though ſhe was ſcarce leſs offended than her lodger, and from that moment ſhe determined, when Mercator returned, to give warning.

Mercator's voyage was proſperous, and, after an abſence of about ten months, he came back. The woman, to whom her huſband had left the whole ma⯑nagement of the lodgings, and who perſiſted in her purpoſe, ſoon found an opportunity to put it in exe⯑cution. Mercator, as his part of the contract had been punctually fulfilled, thought he had ſome cauſe to be offended, and inſiſted to know her reaſons for compelling him to leave her houſe. Theſe ſhe was [262] very unwilling to give; and as he perceived that ſhe evaded his queſtion, he became more ſolicitous to obtain an anſwer. After much heſitation, which, perhaps, had a worſe effect than any tale which ma⯑lice could have invented, ſhe told him, that "The lady kept a great deal of company, and often ſtaid out very late; that ſhe had always been uſed to quiet and regularity; and was determined to let her apart⯑ment to ſome perſon in a more private ſtation."

At this account Mercator changed countenance; for he inferred from it juſt as much more than truth as he believed it to be leſs. After ſome moments of ſuſpence, he conjured her to conceal nothing from him, with an emotion which convinced her that ſhe had already ſaid too much. She then aſſured him, "That he had no reaſon to be alarmed; for that ſhe had no exception to his lady, but thoſe gaieties which her ſtation and the faſhion ſufficiently autho⯑rized." Mercator's ſuſpicions, however, were not wholly removed; and he began to think he had found a confidante whom it would be his intereſt to truſt: he, therefore, in the weakneſs of jealouſy, confeſſed, that, "He had ſome doubts concerning his wife, which it was of the utmoſt importance to his honour, and his peace to have reſolved: he en⯑treated her that he might continue in the apart⯑ment another year; that, as he ſhould again leave the kingdom in a ſhort time, ſhe would ſuffer no in⯑cident, which might confirm either his hopes or his fears, to eſcape her notice in his abſence; and that [263] at his return ſhe would give him ſuch an account as would at leaſt deliver him from the torment of ſuſ⯑pence, and determine his future conduct."

Mercator, however, concealed his ſuſpicions from his wife; and, indeed, in her preſence they were forgotten. Her manner of life he began ſeriouſly to diſapprove; but being well acquainted with her temper, in which great ſweetneſs was blended with a high ſpirit, he would not embitter the pleaſure of a ſhort ſtay by altercation, chiding, and tears: but when her mind was melted into tenderneſs at his de⯑parture, he claſped her in an extacy of fondneſs to his boſom, and intreated her to behave with reſerve and circumſpection; "Becauſe," ſaid he, "I know that my father keeps a watchful eye upon your con⯑duct, which may, therefore, confirm or remove his diſpleaſure, and either intercept or beſtow ſuch an increaſe of our fortune as will prevent the pangs of ſeparation, which muſt otherwiſe ſo often return, and in a ſhort time unite us to part no more." To this caution ſhe had then no power to reply; and they parted with mutual proteſtations of unal⯑terable love.

Flavilla, ſoon after ſhe was thus left in a ſort of widowhood a ſecond time, found herſelf pregnant; and within ſomewhat leſs than eight months after Mercator's return from his firſt voyage, ſhe hap⯑pened to ſtumble as ſhe was going up ſtairs, and being immediately taken ill, was brought to bed be⯑fore the next morning.

[264]It was now neceſſary that the vigils of whiſt and the tumults of balls and viſits ſhould, for a while, be ſuſpended; and in this interval of languor and retirement Flavilla firſt became thoughtful. She often reflected upon Mercator's caution when they laſt parted, which had made an indelible impreſſion upon her mind, though it had produced no alteration in her conduct: notwithſtanding the manner in which it was expreſſed, and the reaſon upon which it was founded, ſhe began to fear that it might have been ſecretly prompted by jealouſy.—The birth, therefore, of her firſt child in his abſence, at a time ſo premature, was an accident which greatly alarm⯑ed her: but there was yet another, for which it was ſtill leſs in her power to account, and which, there⯑fore, alarmed her ſtill more.

It happened that ſome civilities which ſhe receiv⯑ed from a lady who ſat next her at an opera, and whom ſhe had never ſeen before, introduced a con⯑verſation which ſo much delighted her, that ſhe gave her a preſſing invitation to viſit her: this in⯑vitation was accepted, and in a few days the viſit was paid. Flavilla was not leſs pleaſed at the ſecond interview, than ſhe had been at the firſt; and with⯑out making any other enquiry concerning the lady than where ſhe lived, took the firſt opportunity to wait upon her. The apartment in which ſhe was received was the ground floor of an elegant houſe, at a ſmall diſtance from St. James's palace. It hap⯑pened that Flavilla was placed near the window; [265] and a party of the horſe-guards riding through the ſtreets, ſhe expected to ſee ſome of the royal family, and haſtily threw up the ſaſh. A gentleman who was paſſing by at the ſame inſtant, turned about at the noiſe of the window, and Flavilla no ſooner ſaw his face than ſhe knew him to be the father of Mer⯑cator. After looking firſt ſteadfaſtly at her, and then glancing his eye at the lady whom ſhe was viſiting, he affected a contemptuous ſneer, and went on. Flavilla, who had been thrown into ſome confuſion, by the ſudden and unexpected ſight of a perſon, who, ſhe knew, conſidered her as the diſgrace of his fa⯑mily, and the ruin of his child, now changed coun⯑tenance, and haſtily retired to another part of the room: ſhe was touched both with grief and anger at this ſilent inſult, of which, however, ſhe did not then ſuſpect the cauſe. It is, indeed, probable, that the father of Mercator would no where have looked upon her with complacency; but as ſoon as he ſaw her companion, he recollected that ſhe was the fa⯑vourite miſtreſs of an old courtier, and that this was the houſe in which he kept her in great ſplendor. It happened that Flavilla, ſoon after this accident, diſcovered the character of her new acquaintance; and never remembered by whom ſhe had been ſeen in her company, without the utmoſt regret and ap⯑prehenſion.

She now reſolved to move in a leſs circle, and with more circumſpection. In the mean time her little boy grew very faſt; and it could no longer be [266] known by his appearance, that he had been born too ſoon. His mother frequently gazed on him with overflowing eyes; and though her pleaſures were now become domeſtic, yet ſhe feared leſt that which had produced, ſhould deſtroy them. After much de⯑liberation, ſhe determined that ſhe would conceal the child's age from its father; believing it prudent to pre⯑vent a ſuſpicion, which, however ill founded, it might be difficult to remove, as her juſtification would de⯑pend wholly upon the teſtimony of her dependents; and her mother's and her own would neceſſarily be⯑come doubtful, when every one would have reaſon to conclude, that it would ſtill have been the ſame, ſuppoſing the contrary to have been true.

Such was the ſtate of Flavilla's mind, and her little boy was ſix months old, when Mercator re⯑turned. She received him with joy indeed, but it was mixed with a viſible confuſion; their meeting was more tender, but on her part leſs chearful; ſhe ſmiled with inexpreſſible complacency, but at the ſame time the tears guſhed from her eyes, and ſhe was ſeized with an univerſal tremor. Mercator caught the infection; and careſſed firſt his Flavilla, and then his boy, with an exceſs of fondneſs and delight that before he had never expreſſed. The ſight of the child made him more than ever wiſh a reconciliation with his father; and having heard, on his firſt landing, that he was dangerouſly ill, he determined to attempt, immediately, to ſee him; promiſing that he would return to ſupper. He had, [267] in the midſt of his careſſes, more than once enquired the age of his ſon, but the queſtion had been always evaded; of which, however, he took no notice, nor did it produce any ſuſpicion.

He was now haſting to enquire after his father; but as he paſſed through the hall, he was officiouſly laid hold of by his landlady. He was not much diſ⯑poſed to enquire how ſhe had fulfilled his charge; but perceiving by her looks that ſhe had ſomething to communicate, which, at leaſt in her own opinion, was of importance, he ſuffered her to take him into her parlour. She immediately ſhut the door, and reminded him, that ſhe had undertaken an office with reluctance, which he had preſſed upon her; and that ſhe had done nothing in it to which he had not bound her by a promiſe; that ſhe was extremely ſorry to communicate her diſcoveries; but that he was a worthy gentleman, and, indeed, ought to know them. She then told him, "That the child was born within leſs than eight months after his laſt re⯑turn from abroad; that it was ſaid to have come be⯑fore its time, but that having preſſed to ſee it, ſhe was refuſed." This, indeed, was true, and con⯑firmed the good woman in her ſuſpicion; for Fla⯑villa, who had ſtill reſented the freedom which ſhe had taken in her remonſtrance, had kept her at a great diſtance; and the ſervants, to gratify their miſtreſs, treated her with the utmoſt inſolence and contempt.

At this relation Mercator turned pale. He now recollected that his queſtion concerning the child's [266] [...] [267] [...] [268] birth had been evaded: and concluded, that he had been ſhedding tears of tenderneſs and joy over a faithleſs wife, and an illegitimate child, who had robbed him of his patrimony, his honour and his peace. He ſtarted up with the furious wildneſs of ſudden phrenzy; but ſhe, with great difficulty, pre⯑vailed upon him not to leave the room. He ſat down and remained ſome time motionleſs, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his hands locked in each other. In proportion as he believed his wife to be guilty, his tenderneſs for his father revived: and he reſolved, with yet greater zeal, to proſecute his purpoſe of immediately attempting a reconciliation.

In this ſtate of confuſion and diſtreſs, he went to the houſe, where he learned that his father had died early in the morning, and that his relations were then aſſembled to read his will. Fulvius, a brother of Mercator's mother, with whom he had always been a favourite, happening to paſs from one room to another, heard his voice. He accoſted him with great ardour of friendſhip; and ſoothing him with expreſſions of condolence and affection, inſiſted to introduce him to the company. Mercator tacitly conſented; he was received at leaſt with civility by his brother, and ſitting down among them, the will was read. He ſeemed to liſten like the reſt; but was, indeed, muſing over the ſtory which he had juſt heard, and loſt in the ſpeculation of his own wretchedneſs. He awakened as from a dream, when the voice of the perſon who had been reading was ſuſpended; and finding that he could no longer con⯑tain [269] himſelf, he ſtarted up, and would have left the company.

Of the will which had been read before him, he knew nothing; but his uncle believing that he was moved with grief and reſentment at the manner in which he had been mentioned in it, and the bequeſt only of a ſhilling, took him into another room; and, to apologize for his father's unkindneſs, told him, "that the reſentment which he expreſſed at his mar⯑riage, was every day increaſed by the conduct of his wife, whoſe character was now become infamous, for that ſhe had been ſeen at the lodgings of a cer⯑tain woman of bad character, with whom ſhe ap⯑peared to be well acquainted." This account threw Mercator into another agony; from which he was, however, at length recovered by his uncle, who, as the only expedient by which he could retrieve his misfortune, and ſooth his diſtreſs, propoſed that he ſhould no more return to his lodgings, but go home with him; that he would himſelf take ſuch meaſures with his wife, as would ſcarce fail of inducing her to accept a ſeparate maintenance, to aſſume another name, and trouble him no more. Mercator, in the bitterneſs of his affliction, conſented to his propoſal, and they went away together.

Mercator, in the mean time, was expected by Flavilla with the moſt tender impatience. She had put her little boy to bed, and decorated a ſmall room in which they had uſed to ſup, and which ſhe had ſhut up in his abſence; ſhe counted the moments as they paſſed, and liſtened to every carriage and every [270] ſtep that ſhe heard. Supper was now ready: her impatience was increaſed; terror was at length mingled with regret, and her fondneſs was only buſied to afflict her; ſhe wiſhed, ſhe feared, ſhe ac⯑cuſed, ſhe apologized, and ſhe wept. In the height of theſe eager expectations and this tender diſtreſs, ſhe received a billet which Mercator had been per⯑ſuaded by his uncle to write, in which he upbraided her in the ſtrongeſt terms, with abuſing his confi⯑dence; "of this, he ſaid, he had now obtained ſuf⯑ficient proof to do juſtice to himſelf, and was deter⯑mined to ſee her no more."

To thoſe whoſe hearts have not already acquainted them with the agony which ſeized Flavilla upon the ſight of this billet, all attempts to deſcribe it would be not only ineffectual but abſurd. Having paſſed the night without ſleep, and the next day without food, diſappointed in every attempt to diſcover what was become of Mercator, and doubting, if ſhe were to find him, whether it would be poſſible to convince him of her innocence; this violent agita⯑tion of her mind, produced a ſlow fever, which, before ſhe conſidered it as a diſeaſe, ſhe communi⯑cated to the child while ſhe cheriſhed it at her boſom, and wept over it, as an orphan whoſe life ſhe was ſuſtaining with her own.

After Mercator had been abſent about ten days, his uncle, who perſuaded him to accompany ſome friends to a country ſeat, at the diſtance of near ſixty miles, went to his lodgings in order to diſ⯑charge the rent, and try what terms he could make [271] with Flavilla, whom he hoped to intimidate with threats of a divorce; but when he came, he found Flavilla ſinking very faſt under her diſeaſe, and the child dead. The woman of the houſe, into whoſe hands ſhe had juſt put her watch, and ſome ornaments as a ſecurity for her rent, was ſo touched with her diſtreſs, and ſo firmly perſuaded of her in⯑nocence by the manner in which ſhe had addreſſed her, and the calm ſolemnity with which ſhe abſolved thoſe by whom ſhe had been traduced, that as ſoon as ſhe had diſcovered Fulvius's buſineſs, ſhe threw her⯑ſelf on her knees, and intreated, that if he knew where Mercator was to be found, he would urge him to return, that, if poſſible, the life of Flavilla might be preſerved, and the happineſs of both be reſtored by her juſtification. Fulvius, who ſtill ſuſpected appearances, or at leaſt was in doubt of the cauſe that had produced them, would not diſ⯑cover his nephew; but after much entreaty and ex⯑poſtulation, at laſt engaged upon his honour for the conveyance of a letter. The woman as ſoon as ſhe obtained his promiſe, ran up and communicated it to Flavilla; who, when ſhe had recovered from the ſurprize and tumult which it occaſioned, was ſupported in her bed, and in about half an hour, after many efforts, and many intervals, wrote a ſhort billet, which was ſealed and put into the hands of Fulvius.

Fulvius immediately incloſed and diſpatched it by the poſt, reſolving that in a queſtion ſo doubtful and of ſuch importance, he would no further inter⯑poſe. [272] Mercator, who the moment he caſt his eye upon the letter, knew both the hand and ſeal; after pauſing a few moments in ſuſpence, at length tore it, open, and read theſe words:

"Such has been my folly, that, perhaps, I ſhould not be acquitted of guilt in any circumſtances, but thoſe in which I write. I do not, therefore, but for your ſake, wiſh them otherwiſe than they are. The dear infant, whoſe birth has undone me, now lies dead at my ſide, a victim to My indiſcretion and Your reſentment. I am ſcarce able to guide my pen. But I moſt earneſtly intreat to ſee you, that you may at leaſt have the ſatisfaction to hear me atteſt my in⯑nocence with the laſt ſigh, and ſeal our reconciliation on my lips, while they are yet ſenſible of the im⯑preſſion."

Mercator, whom an earthquake would leſs have affected than this letter, felt all his ſenſibility revive in a moment, and reflected with unalterable anguiſh upon the raſhneſs of his reſentment. At the thought of his diſtance from London, he ſtarted as at a dag⯑ger in his heart: he lifted up his eyes to heaven, with a look that expreſſed at once an accuſation of himſelf, and a petition for her; and then ruſhing out of the houſe, without taking leave, or ordering a ſervant to attend him, he took poſt-horſes at a neighbouring inn, and in leſs than ſix hours was in Leiceſter-fields. But notwithſtanding his ſpeed, he arrived too late; Flavilla had ſuffered the laſt agony, and her eyes could behold him no more. Grief and diſappointment, remorſe and deſpair now totally ſub⯑verted [273] his reaſon. It became neceſſary to remove him by force from the body; and, after a confinement of two years, he died diſtracted.

May every woman on whoſe memory compaſſion ſhall record theſe events, tremble to aſſume the le⯑vity of Flavilla; perhaps, it is not in the power of any man, in Mercator's circumſtances, to be leſs jealous than Mercator.

PARENTAL FEELINGS: Or the ABENAKEE INDIAN.

DURING the laſt war in America, a band of ſavages having ſurpriſed and defeated a party of the Engliſh, ſuch of thoſe who were not actually killed on the ſpot, had very little chance of getting away from enemies who were much quicker of foot than they, and who, purſuing them with unrelenting fury, uſed thoſe whom they overtook with a barbarity, even in thoſe countries, almoſt without example.

A young Engliſh officer, preſſed by two ſavages who were making at him with uplifted hatchets, without the leaſt hope of eſcaping death, thought of nothing but ſelling his life as dear as he could. At the inſtant, an old ſavage, armed with his bow, drew near him, in order to pierce him with the arrow; when taking aim at him, all on a ſudden drops his point, and runs to throw himſelf between the young Engliſhman and the two Barbarians, who were going to maſſacre him. Theſe drew back out of reſpect to the motions of the old man, who, with [278] ſigns of peace, took the officer by the hand, after removing his apprehenſions by friendly geſtures, and carried him home with him to his hut. There he treated him with humanity and gentleneſs, more like his companion than his ſlave. He taught him the Abenakee language, and the coarſe arts in uſe among thoſe people, and they lived well ſatisfied with each other. One only point of the old man's deport⯑ment gave the young officer uneaſineſs; he fre⯑quently obſerved the ſavage fixing his eyes upon him, and, after looking long and ſteadfaſtly at him, ſhed⯑ding tears.

On the return of ſpring, the Abenakees took the field again, and proceeded in queſt of the Engliſh.

The old man, who had ſtill vigour enough to bear the fatigues of war, went along with his coun⯑trymen; not forgetting to take his priſoner with him. They made a march of above two hundred leagues, through the trackleſs wilds and foreſts of that country, till at length they came within view of a plain in which they diſcovered an Engliſh camp. This the old man ſhewed to his young companion, at the ſame time attentively eyeing him, and mark⯑ing his countenance; "There (ſays he) are thy brothers waiting to give us battle. What ſayeſt thou? I preſerved thee from death. I have taught thee to build canoes; to make bows and arrows; to catch the deer of the foreſt; to wield the hatchet; and our whole art of war. What waſt thou when I took thee home to my dwelling? Thy hands were as the hands of a mere child, they could ſerve thee [279] but little for thy defence, and yet leſs for providing thee means of ſuſtenance. Thy ſoul was in the dark: thou wert a ſtranger to all neceſſary know⯑ledge. To me thou oweſt life—the means of life— every thing. Couldſt thou then be ungrateful enough to go over to join thy countrymen, and to lift the hatchet againſt us?"

The young Engliſhman anſwered, that he could not but feel a juſt repugnance to carrying arms againſt thoſe of his own nation, but that he would never turn them againſt the Abenakees, whom, ſo long as he ſhould live, he would conſider as his brothers.

At this the dejected ſavage hung his head, and lifting up his hands covered his face with them, in a deep meditation. After remaining ſome time in this attitude, he looked earneſtly at the Engliſh officer, and ſaid to him with a mixture of grief and tenderneſs, "Haſt thou a father?"—"He was alive, anſwered the young man, when I left my country."—"Oh, unhappy man!" ſaid the ſavage. —After a moment's pauſe, adding, "Doſt thou not know that I too was once a father?—Alas! I am no longer one. No: I am no longer a father! I ſaw my ſon fall. He fought by my ſide: I ſaw him die like a man, covered with wounds as he fell! But I revenged him."

He pronounced theſe words with the moſt pathetic emphaſis, and ſhuddered; his breaſt heaved with pain, and he was choaked with inward groans, which he endeavoured to ſtifle. His eyes looked wild, but [280] no tear fell. By degrees the violence of his agita⯑tions ceaſed, and he grew calm. Turning towards the eaſt, he pointed to the riſing ſun, and ſaid, "Seeſt thou yon beauteous luminary, that ſun in all its ſplendor? Does the ſight of it afford thee plea⯑ſure?"—"Undoubtedly, anſwered the officer, who can behold ſo fine a ſky without delight?"—"And yet to me, ſaid the ſavage, it no longer affords any!" Then caſting his eye on a buſh in full flower, "See! ſaid he, young man, doth not that gay appearance of flowers give thee a ſort of joy to look at?" "It does," replied the officer. "And yet, ſaid the old man, it delighteth not me!" adding, with impetu⯑oſity, "depart—haſte,—fly to yon camp of thy friends. Get thee home to thy Father, that he may ſtill behold with pleaſure the riſing of the ſun, and the flowers of the ſpring."