"My dearest love! I address myself to you on the brink of the grave; your hand can save or hurl me down; my doom rests with you. O! come, angelic woman, and lead me from the gate of death to a paradisiacal life; come and reward my love, which alone supports my breaking heart."
P.S. "Vasconcel*os has bled under the avenging sword of the redeemers of my country."
The answer of the Countess was to the following purport:
"O! that this letter could fly on the pinions of love, in order to carry instantly to my friend health and joy. Yes, your request is granted.
Receive, my dearest Duke, to whom my HEART has yielded, receive my HAND too, and the vow of eternal fidelity. My uncle having recovered his health, nothing shall detain me from embarking in the first vessel which shall sail for Port***l. The idea that your best wishes, the blessing of your father and my uncle, and the guardian genius of love, will conduct me on my voyage, will a.s.sist me to conquer my fear of the sea. I should never have done writing if this letter did not require expedition, and my friend, who arrived here the day before yesterday, insisted upon adding a few words to those of
"Your
"AMELIA CLAIRVAL."
"Give me leave, my Lord, to add only my sincerest congratulations, and to ask your Grace, whether you do not acknowledge now as a soothsayer
"Your humble and obedient servant,
ANNA DE DELIER."
The Duke had begun to mend rapidly ever since the Marquis consented to his union with Amelia; the letter of the Countess restored his health entirely. No mortal could be more happy and cheerful than the Duke of Cami*a. It was natural that Alumbrado, who, as the author of his happiness, had no small claim to his grat.i.tude, should acquire in his eyes a value, which entirely dispelled the antipathy he at first had conceived against him. I soon was made sensible of that change, when I took one time the opportunity of dropping a few words concerning Alumbrado. "I cannot conceive," the Duke replied warmly, "why you are so much prejudiced against that man; it is true his physiognomy does not speak much in his recommendation; it is, however, very unphilosophical to condemn a person merely on account of his features." "Say whatever you will," I replied, "an undescribable repelling sensation, which certainly does not deceive me--" "You have conceived an antipathy against him," the Duke interrupted me, "and that cannot be refuted by arguments; however, I will remind you of a fact, which here will be in its proper place. Socrates, whose physiognomy, as you will recollect, was very much to his disadvantage, happened once to be in a company of friends, when a philosopher, who pretended to be a physiognomist, took the word; he was requested to delineate the character of Socrates, who was a stranger to him. The philosopher named several vices which he pretended to read plainly in his face. A general laughter was the effect of his judgment; however, Socrates remained serious, and declared that he really had felt a natural propensity to those vices, but had got the better of it by unremitted a.s.siduity. The application of this instance, I leave to your own good sense."
"How?" I exclaimed with surprise, "you compare Alumbrado with Socrates, an absurd ascetic with a reverend sage, hypocrisy with virtue?" This enormous infatuation vexed me to such a degree, that I could not help giving vent to my just resentment. However, I perceived soon that my words did not make the least impression on my misguided friend. Being therefore obliged to desist from my endeavours to change the opinion of the Duke, I strove with additional a.s.siduity to cut off his connection with Alumbrado, at least till he should be united to Amelia, expecting that this angel would soon drive away that demon of darkness. I proposed to the Duke a journey to **ina, for the benefit of his health, and offered to accompany him. He consented to it without difficulty, expecting to beguile by exercise and diversions, the time which, from his impatience of seeing Amelia arrive, appeared to him to creep on with snail-like slowness. My aim would however have been attained without this expedient, Alumbrado leaving Li*bon unexpectedly; yet we set out on our proposed journey.
We had not been seven days at **ina when the Duke was already impatient to leave that place. However improbable it was Amelia could arrive so soon, yet this idea left him no rest. We returned on the eighth day, and travelled day and night.
It was five o"clock in the morning, when we alighted at his palace.
Scarcely had we entered his apartment when his Secretary brought a letter which he said had been left by a pilot at a late hour last night.
The Duke reddened and grew pale alternately, while he opened it.---"She is arrived, she is arrived!" he exclaimed, and the letter dropped out of his hand trembling with rapture. "She is arrived!" he repeated, taking it up and re-perusing the gladful lines. The emotions of his mind were so violent, that he was obliged to sit down. "Amelia is arrived!" he exclaimed again, rising and straining me to his bosom. The letter was couched in the following words:
"Has not your heart told you, my dearest Duke that I am near you?
I should already have pressed you to my panting heart, if the Captain had suffered me to go in the boat which will set the pilot on sh.o.r.e. But he has opposed my design, on account of the swelling sea and the great distance. If Heaven favours us you will see me to-morrow.
Your
AMELIA."
"Well, my friend," said the Duke, when I returned the paper to him, "has my presentiment deceived me? have not I done well to urge our return?--But why do we tarry here? (he added) let us fly to the harbour!"
The horses were instantly saddled, and we mounted them in our travelling dress. We rode in full speed, and each of us indulged silently his sentiments.--The sky was gloomy, and the universal stillness, not interrupted by the least breeze of air, seemed to presage no good. At length we fancied, with astonishment, we heard the distant rolling of thunder; however we soon perceived that it was the echo caused by the report of guns. The distant firing of cannon, and the forerunners of a rising tempest, thrilled my heart with chilling anxiety, for I apprehended the ship must be in great danger. Soon after the firing ceased, but this calm was more dreadful to me than the report of the cannon. We spurred our horses, without uttering a word, for neither of us dared to confess his apprehensions. Being at length arrived at the sea sh.o.r.e---Heavens! what a scene of horror did we behold! the surge was dreadful, the cliffs and the strand were covered with a white spume. The rays of the sun could not penetrate the fog which overspread the surface of the sea. We could, therefore, not discover the island where the ship was lying at anchor, it appearing to us in the shape of a black cloud, which seemed to be a mile distant from the sh.o.r.e. The veil which concealed the danger of the ship from our eyes only served to augment our anxiety.
A troop of mariners and soldiers under the command of Men*os, were arrived with us at the sh.o.r.e. The drums beat, and a general volley was fired. A flash of lightning darted instantly over the sea, and immediately after it the report of a gun was heard. We all hastened to the side where we had perceived the signal, and observed, through the fog, the body and the main-yard of a large ship. We were so near that we could hear the whistling and the acclamations of the sailors, in spite of the roaring of the mountainous billows. The ship"s crew fired a gun every three minutes, as soon as they perceived that a.s.sistance was near.
I admired my friend"s firmness of mind with which he, at a sight that ought to have rendered him almost distracted, shewed the greatest zeal to save the crew, ordering a large fire to be lighted on the cliffs, and boards, cables, empty casks and provisions to be kept in readiness.
An impending hurricane seemed to be lurking in the air. The middle of the clouds was of a horrid blackness, and their edges were of a copper colour. The leaves of the trees were moving, and yet not a breath of air was felt. The cries of the sea fowls, who were resorting to the island for protection, resounded through the air.
At length we heard suddenly a dreadful roaring, as if foaming torrents were rushing down from the summit of a lofty mountain, and every one exclaimed, this is the hurricane! In the same moment a violent whirlwind removed the foggy veil which had concealed the island from our eyes. We had now a clear view of the ship; her whole deck was covered with people, her colours were hoisted, her fore-part was secured by four anchors, and her stern by one. Her stem opposed the billowing waves which came roaring from the sea, and was raised so high above the surface of the water, that one could see her whole keel, while the stern was almost entirely buried in the foaming billows. The dangerous situation of the vessel rendered it impossible for her to put out to sea, or to run on store.
The howling of the wind, and the roaring of the waves, which were swelling higher every moment, was dreadful. The whole channel between the island and the sh.o.r.e was a ma.s.s of white thick froth, cut through by black and hollow waves. The appearance of the horizon prognosticated a long lasting storm. Some waves of a dreadful shape separated from the main every now and then, and darted with the velocity of lightning across the channel, while others remained immoveable like enormous rocks. Not one blue spot could be descried in the firmament; a pale faint glimmer enlightened heaven, earth and sea.
(_To be continued._)
INSTANCE OF UNCOMMON FRIENDSHIP.
Two Jewish soldiers, in the time of _Vespasian_, had made many campaigns together; and a partic.i.p.ation of dangers, at length, bred an union of hearts. They were remarked throughout the whole army, as the two friendly brothers; they felt and fought for each other.--Their friendship might have continued, without interruption, till death, had not the good fortune of the one alarmed the pride of the other, which was in his promotion to be a centurion under the famous _John_, who headed a particular party of the Jewish male-contents.
From this moment their former love was converted into the most inveterate enmity. They attached themselves to opposite factions, and sought each other"s lives in the conflict of adverse party. In this manner they continued for more than two years, vowing mutual revenge, and animated with an unconquerable spirit of aversion. At length, however, that party of the _Jews_, to which the mean soldier belonged, joining with the _Romans_, it became victorious, and drove _John_, with all his adherents, into the temple. History has given us more than one picture of the dreadful conflagration of that superb edifice. The _Roman_ soldiers were gathered round it; the whole temple was in flames, and thousands were seen amidst them, within its sacred circuit. It was in this situation of things, that the now-successful soldier saw his former friend upon the battlements of the highest tower, looking round with horror, and just ready to be consumed with flames. All his former tenderness now returned; he saw the man of his bosom just going to perish; and, unable to withstand the impulse, he ran spreading his arms, and crying out to his friend, to leap down from the top, and find safety with him. The Centurion from above heard and obeyed; and, casting himself from the top of the tower, into his fellow-soldier"s arms, both fell a sacrifice on the spot; one being crushed to death by the weight of his companion, and the other dashed to pieces by the greatness of his fall.
HISTORY OF THE BEARD.
The respect which has been shewn to the Beard in all parts of the civilized, and in some parts of the uncivilized world, is well known to the slightest erudition; nay, a certain prejudice in its favour still exists, even in countries where the razor has long been omnipotent. This impression seems to arise very naturally from the habit of a.s.sociating with it those ideas of experience and wisdom of which it is the emblem.
It cannot wait upon the follies of youth; its bushy and descending honours are not known to grace the countenance of early life; and tho"
it may be said, in some degree, to grow with our growth, and strengthen with our strength, it continues to flourish in our decline, and attains its most honourable form and beauty when the knees tremble, the voice grows shrill, and the pate is bare.
When the bold and almost blasphemous pencil of the enthusiastic painter has aimed at representing the Creator of the world upon the canva.s.s, a flowing beard has ever been one of the characteristic and essential marks of the Supreme Divinity. The Pagan Jupiter, and the graver inhabitants of Olympus, would not be known without this majestic ornament. Philosophy, till our smock faced days, has considered it as the appropriate symbol of its profession. Judaic Superst.i.tion, Egyptian Wisdom, Attic Elegance, and Roman Virtue, has been its fond protectors.
To make it an object of dissention, and alternately to consider it as a sign of orthodoxy or the standard of heresy, was reserved for the fantastical zeal of the Christian Church.
In more modern times, not only provincial and national, but general Councils have been convened, Synods have been summoned, ecclesiastical Congregations and cloistered Chapters of every denomination have been a.s.sembled, to consider, at different periods, the character of this venerable grown of the human visage. Infinite disputes have been, of course, engendered, sometimes with respect to its form, at other times with regard to its existence. Religion interested herself in one age, in contending for that pointed form to which Nature conducts it: at a succeeding period, anathemas have been denounced against those who refused to give it a rounder shape; and to those, other denunciations have followed, which changed it to the square or the scollop. But, while religious caprice--for religion, sorry am I to say it, seems to be troubled with caprices---quarrelled about form and shape, the disputes were confined within the pale of the European Church: but, when the beard lessened into whiskers, and the scythe of ecclesiastical discipline threatened to mow down every hair from off the face, the East sounded the alarm, and the churches of Asia and Africa took up the cause, and supported, with all the violence of argument and remonstrance, those honours of the chin that they still preserve, and to which the existing inhabitants of those climates offer up a perpetual incense.
In the history of the Gallic Church, the scenes of religious comedy still live in description. For example:--a bearded Bishop appears at the door of a Cathedral in all the pomp of Prelacy, and demands installation to the diocese to which he is appointed. He is there met by a troop of beardless Canons, and refused admittance, unless he will employ the golden scissors they present to him, to cut that flowing ornament from his face, which they would think a disgrace to their own, as well as to the religion they profess. This same history, also, is not barren of examples, where the st.u.r.dy prelate has turned indignant from the disgraceful proposal, and sought the enforcing aid of sovereign power, which has not always been able, without much difficulty, to compel the reluctant chapter to acknowledge a bearded Diocesan. Others, unwilling to risk or delay the power and wealth of an episcopal throne for the sake of a c.u.mbrous bush of hair, have, by the ready sacrifice of their beards, been installed amid acclamations and hosannas, as disgraceful as they were undeserved. It may appear still more ridiculous, but it is no less true, that some of these bishops have compounded the matter with their refractory clergy, in giving up the greater part of the beard, but retaining the growth of the upper lip in the form of whiskers. The idea of a bishop "en moustaches" must trouble the spirit of a modern christian; but such there have been, who, in the act of sacrificing to the G.o.d of Peace, have exhibited the fierce terrific aspect of a German Pioneer.
At length, the persecuted Beard, which has been the object of such faithful veneration, finds in Europe, if we except part of Turkey, its only asylum in the Capuchin Cloister; unless we add the casual protection which is given to it by the fanatical Jew, or mendicant Hermit.
_The following beautiful character is extracted from Mrs. D"Arblay"s new work, ent.i.tled Camilla, or a Picture of Youth; Publishing by the Editor on wove paper._
The form and the mind of Lavinia were in the most perfect harmony. Her polished complexion was fair, clear, and transparent; her features were of the extremest delicacy, her eyes of the softest blue, and her smile displayed internal serenity. The unruffled sweetness of her disposition bore the same character of modest excellence. Joy, hope, and prosperity, sickness, sorrow, and disappointment, a.s.sailed alike in vain the uniform gentleness of her temper: yet though thus exempt from all natural turbulence, either of pleasure or of pain, the meekness of her composition degenerated not into insensibility; it was open to all the feminine feelings of pity, of sympathy, and of tenderness.
REFLECTION ON THE EARTH.
The Earth, gentle and indulgent, ever subservient to the wants of man, spreads his walks with flowers, and his table with plenty; returns with interest every good committed to her care; and, though she produces the poison, she still supplies the antidote; though constantly teazed more to furnish the luxuries of man than his necessities, yet, even to the last, she continues her kind indulgence, and, when life is over, she piously covers his remains in her bosom.
Interesting History Of _THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI._