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could only utter sighs. After she had recovered the use of her voice and senses, she threw her arms round the neck of the Colonel.

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should be continued together on their arrival at Tunis, and be both sold to the same master. No sooner were the prisoners disembarked than they were presented to the Dey, accord-"Our fate is fixed, my beloved husband,” said ing to the custom of the country, that the Sovereign may have the first choice of every thing brought into that port. The beauty of Elvira proved her own and her husband's misfortune; for the prince, charmed with the majestic air of this English lady, resolved to place her as an attendant on his only daughter, ¦¦ Zara, whom he loved most tenderly. He or dered Elvira to be conducted into his Seraglio, and permitted the corsairs to dispose of the rest of their slaves as they thought proper.

As soon as the Dey was retired, and the fatal news was told Elvira, that she was to be parted from her husband, she fell into the profoundest grief; a thick cloud covered her eyes, her voice failed her, and she could only pronounce these words as she fell in a swoon into the arms of her husband.-"Let me die; death only can save me from the misfortunes which await me."

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The Colonel was still more wretched than bis lady; the swoon into which she was fallen had suspended the course of her grief, but the use of his senses, which he preserved in so sorrowful a situation, served only to load him with new misery.-"Is it possible," said he, "that my cruel fortune has reserved me for this excess of misery; and that after having enjoyed such a short interval of love and happiness with my adored wife, I am thus cruelly to be severed from her, and with one blow to lose my honour and felicity. Would to Heaven that either I had never seen her, or that I had never enjoyed that happiness which I must now lose for ever!"

"I shall love you for ever. It was I who was the cause of your misfortune. It was I who implored you to take me to Minorca. Alas, how unfortunate was I who imagined I could not live one year without seeing you, and must now be separated from you for ever!" My beautiful Elvira," said the Colonel, we shall not be separated for ever. I will write to Eugland, and our parents will procure our ransom, and then we shall return to our own country."

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“Till then,” said Elvira, “ I will live, since it is your pleasure that I should do so. I will do more; I will hope. But what is to become of you?"

Elvira continued in her swoon; the Colonel pressed her in his arms and shed over her a torrent of tears." Beautiful Elvira," said he,|| "bear the voice of thy husband. Our ills are not without remedy; let us deserve the blessing of Heaven, and it will again bring us to gether when we least expect it."

The tears of the Colonel, which fell on the face of his amiable lady, recalled her to life. She opened her eyes and faintly turned them towards him; but, still unable to speak, she

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"I know not," replied the Colonel, into whose hands I shall fall; but fear nothing for since I have the advantage of being at large, and therefore may easily procure intelligence from England. Love is ingenious, Elvira, and though you should be locked up in the Seraglio, I may be enabled to effect the escape of both."

Elvira would have answered, but those who were ordered to conduct her to the Dey pressed them to part. This order revived their grief. The little consolation she had received vanished in a moment, and she again threw her arms about the neck of the Colonel." No," said she, "let me die this moment rather than be separated from you.”

The people whom the Dey had charged with the care of Elvira were so affected with her grief that they could not make use of force to snatch her from the arms of her husband. The Colonel perceived their tenderness and perplexity, and that they were more cautious of increasing the grief of Elvira than of obey. ing the orders of their master." Adien, beautiful Elvira!" said he, ceasing to hold her in his arms; "nothing but resolution and comstancy can put a period to our misfortunes; begin from this moment to dare fortune to do its worst, and rest assured that nothing but despair can prevent our re-union."

After these words the Colonel retreated a

little from Elvira, when the Dey's domestics | to know when the measure of misfortune is led her trembling from his sight.

After the departure of Elvira the Colonel stood immoveable, and entirely absorbed in despair. A division was made of the prisoners without his perceiving it, though he was present, and knew not that he was sold to a pilot of that country, who generally lived at Portofarino, a sea port about eight or ten miles from Tunis, till his new master came to inform him that he must prepare for his departure the next day.

The Colonel was grieved at the thoughts of quitting Tunis, as he should be obliged to leave behind him every thing he held dear in the world. But reflecting that he should not be able to get a sight of Elvira, even if he should continue there, and considering be was more likely to hear news from England in the place he was going to than at Tunis, he consoled himself under this new misfortune.

When the Colonel arrived at Portofarino, he endeavoured to soften the rigours of his slavery by gaining the good-will of his master. He was not like those mean souls, who sink under adversity, and who neglect those means of conquering them, which prudence and solitude may offer them. He was a perfect master of the cultivation of flowers; and luckily for him, the corsair had a very beautiful garden. The Colonel took so much care of it, and succeeded so well in his endeavours, that he soon became the favourite of his master. This was a consolation to the Colonel, of which he had much need in his present situation. He wrote to England, but received no answer. He knew not how to account for the silence of his wife's friends; and it would have been to no purpose to write to his own, as they were not in a condition to relieve him; he therefore prudently determined not to make them unhappy with a detail of his misfortunes.

He was bewailing his sorrowful situation, when an additional calamity was added to those he already supported. Mortals are not

full; hope keeps them alive, and could they see beforehand the rugged paths they are doomed to tread, they would cease to persist in the journey, and die with despair. But how pleasing is the reflection after we have passed through them.

He soon learned by a ship which put in at that port, that his father-in-law had paid the great debt of nature; and that the son who succeeded him was squandering away his own and his sister's fortune in horse racing and gaming. From this accident all hopes of gaining his freedom were for ever banished, and he saw himself devoted to perpetual slavery.

Four months had now elapsed since he ar rived at Portofarino, and these four months had appeared to him as so many ages of pain and torment. His master, who was not ignorant of the cause of his sorrow, endeavoured to soften it in the best manner he could, and treated him rather as a friend than a slave, employing him only in cultivating the flowers of his garden. However easy this employment may appear, it could not but be hard for such a man as the Colonel. It is easy to conceive, that an officer, educated and brought up among gentlemen of distinction, who had been accustomed to look with contempt on those in a situation of slavery, can bear that situation but indifferently himself. True philosophy only can support such a state with tranquillity; philosophy teaches us to consider all men as our equals; great souls are never humbled by adversity, nor rendered haughty by the glitter of a throne; the tenderness he had conceived for his beloved Elvira made him insensible to every thing else. He was no otherwise sensible of his slavery than in being removed from the object of his heart, without the least hopes of ever seeing her again; it was neither honours, riches, nor his country that he regretted, but the loss of his

Elvira.

(To be continued.)

LETTERS ON MYTHOLOGY.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF C. A. DEMOUSTIER.

(Continued from Vol IV. Page 291.)

LETTER XXIV.

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flamed, her eyes extinguished, her cheeks colourless yet burning. She was Eo longer Venus, and when her lover came to enlighten the wreck he had made, he no longer knew his

victim.

The days of Cypris were thus consumed by regret and tears; and her nights were passed in comparing those she now endured with the delightful ones she enjoyed in the Isle of Rhodes. One morning she raised herself in wild agitation, and hastened, even before

INTOXICATED with a new sentiment, Venus believed herself happy; but her happiness no longer depended upon herself, Apollo was become the arbiter and depositary of her bliss. Alas! how is that woman to be pitied who confides her happiness to a single object; never, never does she find a faithful guardian. Such was the fate of Venus. Slander, who now presided at the meetings of the Goddesses, reported in confidence that Phoebus descended every evening into the palice of Amphitrite,|| Aurora, among the woods that covered the and left her only at the rising of Aurora. At this intelligence, Jealousy quitted her usual abode, the temple of Hymen, and hastened to fill the heart of Venus with gall and wormwood. The unhappy Goddess, with distracted looks, pale cheeks, and disordered tresses, flew to the top of Mount Ida. There her wandering eyes sought by turns the car of her lover and the dwelling of Amphitrite. Quickly she beheld the coursers of the Sun reach the end of their journey, and descend towards the liquid plain; the ocean sparkles, the horses increase in speed, the car plunges into the waves, its fires are extinguished, and Phoebus disappears!

At this spectacle Cypris remained mute and motionless; her eyes fixed ou the dark horizon, seemed apt to follow the car of her lover. "lugrate!" she exclaimed, "after all that I-" she could not proceed; the words expired upon her lips amidst sobs and sighs. At length, with a trembling voice, she called her turtles, seized the reins, and hurried into the Island of Cyprus, to bury her shame and her remorse. In that lovely scene the remembrance of happier days melted her heart, and drew forth those tears which it was a relief to shed. It seemed to her that the trees and the fountains replied to her sighs, and the unfortunate solaced her sorrow by addressing to them her lamentations. While uttering her complaints she wandered through the woods aud the vallies, her lips pale, her eyelids in No. XXVIII. Vol. V.➡N.S.

mountains. She met there a young favourite of Diana: he had the graces of Diana herself, and might well have been mistaken for her brother; he was not an immortal, but he had entered into that brilliant age in which life resembles immortality. As he pursued the monsters of the forest he perceived Venus, and stopped. Cypris, astonished, a'sed her eyes to him, and had no power to withdraw them. The hunter forgot his bow and his arrows; Venus found delight awaking amidst her tears. After a long silence the timid hunter thus addressed ber:

"It is said that Venus sometimes visits these enchanting solitudes; in seeing you, I believe-but, without doubt, my eyes are deceived by your charms; if you were Venus would you shed tears?"

"Alas!" she replied, "are you ignorant then that the Goddesses have hearts, and hat the Gods are faithless? But you, amiable mortal! who are you? who are the authors of your days?"

At these words the young man blushed, and his beautiful eyelashes veiled the confusion of his looks.

"My birth is a secret, and my existence a crime. Cinyras, my father, reigned in this fortunate island: Le had au only daughter, whom he tenderly loved. Myrrha returned his affection; but, alas! her heart wandered, and filial piety grew into love! To extinguish this incestuous fame, Myrrha sought to

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destroy herself; she endeavoured to strangle herself with her girdle; but the nurse cut the fatal knot, restored her to life, tore from her her secret, and favoured her crime. The wife of my father was then celebrating, during the night, the mysteries of Ceres. Conducted by her nurse, Myrrha took her place in the nuptial bed. Too soon did Cinyras learn the horrible mistake: he would have avenged nature had not his daughter escaped from his fury. During eight long months she wandered as far as the country of the Sabines, bearing within her womb the fruit of her crime. Remorse discovered her, and the Gods at length yielding to her prayers, changed her into the tree from whence myrrh is gathered. Alas, those costly drops are the tears of my mother! Under this new form she still nourishes me; at last the term prescribed by Lucina arrived, the trunk of the tree opened, and I saw the light. Touched with my fate, the nymphs received me in their arms, and took care of my infancy. While my father lived I dared not appear in the place that he inhabited; but he is no more, and I believe that it is per mitted me to come and weep over his ashes. Alas! I merited a different origin; the heart of Adonis is pure; pity him, but do not hate him!"

At these words sighs stifled his voice, and two crystal streams flowed over his vermillion cheeks. Softened and charmed, Venus smilingly wiped away those tears, and gently sighing, said to him:-" Console yourself; all hearts are not closed against you. Do not accuse yourself of the crime of your mother, for I would not willingly love a criminal."

"Oh, who would love me!" he exclaimed; "I have no sister."

"I will be so."

"I have no longer a mother." "Weep not, I will be your mother also." While she spoke she imprinted a kiss upon the forehead of the orphan. You will guess, my Emilia, whether it was a fraternal or maternal kiss; but you may soon decide. For my part I should think that the emotion of Venus resembled that which I feel near you.

LETTER XXV.

Doubtless you are impatient to hear of the second interview between Venus and Adonis; I hasten to give it you, my Emilia. Aurora is beginning to unbar the gates of day; at the foot of yonder hill do you not perceive Adonis, his eyes cast down, his head declined, his steps trembling, running, yet fearing to reach the place of meeting? At the corner of that wood do you net discover Venus concealed amid a thicket of myrtles? Through the branches, that she gently agitates, she perceives Adonis. She enjoys his confusion; she waits for him, and pardons him for making her wait. He comes at last; Venus discovers herself. Behold his embarrassment and her delight! He is speechless; she looks at him; he raises his eyes. They are both motionless, both silent; but Cypris gently breathes a kiss upon her hand, and abandons it to him; Adonis gathers the kiss, and gives a thousand in exchange. "Ah!" he exclaims, "does not this beautiful band tell you with what fires I burn?"—At these words Venus smiles, extends her arms, and replies to him by an embrace.

After this mute eloquence, Venus remarks that her lover is pensive and abstracted; she enquires the cause.

"Alas!" replied he blushing, "since one instant I fear to have become a lustre older. Until now I never counted my years; but consecrated to you, life becomes dear to me. If that which I have been told is true, I shall not long enjoy this felicity. Last spring Aurora, daughter of Titan and Cybele, perceived Titon, brother of Priam. He was beautiful, and the Goddess loved him. She descended from her rosy chariot, took Titon by the hand, and conducted him into the Isle of Delos. There Hymen secretly united them; and Aurora obtained from the Fates immorta

lity for her husband. But immortality exempts us not from old age; and mortals soon grow old by the side of divinities. Each favour which Titon obtained from his celestial bride added five years to his age; so that ere Aurora had twelve times enlightened the east, she saw her husband bending under the weight of decrepitude and time. Titon supplicated the Gods to abridge this eternal old age; and the Gods, touched with his sad situation,

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changed him into a grasshopper. Under this || enough to suspect that a beauty rarely recals new form he yet sings with a feeble voice the her heart except to bestow it upon another. pleasures of his fugitive youth in a few days, He guessed that Cypris had some secret atperhaps, I shall mourn like him the evan- tachment; and as she passed part of the escent dream of my present happiness." winter in the Isle of Cyprus, there must be some mystery there, or he did not know woHe soon learned from his spics that he had not mistaken the Goddess.

Adonis sighed and was silent. Venus tenderly embraced him and replied:-" Ah fear not such a change! in my bosom you will never grow old; my breath will renew thy youth like ever-springing roses."

These words, followed by enchanting caresses, reassured Adonis; fear disappeared, and pleasure took its place. From this hour Venus was inseparable from Adonis; armed like him with a bow and quiver, she followed him through forests and across precipices. The Queen of Paphos submitted to the laws of Diana; love suffocated pride in the heart of a Goddess. If the ardour of the chase some

men.

The jealous God now swore the destruction of Adonis; he lighted up in his soul the fire of glory, breathed into him the fury of war and the thirst of danger. Adonis is no longer the same; he burns to encounter the most furious beasts. That warlike rashness shines in his eyes, animates his complexion, and spreads an heroic grace over all his person. Never has Venus loved him so fondly, never feared so much for his life.-"Oh my Adonis!" she cries to him, "whence springs this wild teme

adores you! Cease to seck for combats with monsters; be content with the victory of my heart. Alas! to-day I must leave thee awhile, to take my place in the celestial court; I will soon return, yet I tremble to leave thee. Ah, if I am dear to thee, take care of your life, live for her who would be denied the consolation of dying with you."-At these words she fondly embraces him and departs.

times separated the lovers, they quickly re-rity? Do you prefer Diana to that Venus who joined each other, if only to repeat, "I love thee."-I love you was not then in use; it was reserved to our time to distinguish respect and tenderness by the application of you and thou. Yet when respect and tenderness are united, what pronoun must we employ? I know not; and I confess to you, my Emilia, that while my lips repeat you, my heart says thou. Let not this tacit liberty alarm your dignity; is it not by this pronoun we address the Supreme Being, and can it be thought deficient in respect when we apply it to the person we love?

Venus now proved the proud consolation of having forgotten Apollo. Adonis loved her, and loved for the first time; it was the love of purity and truth. Cypris well knew the value of this treasure; she enjoyed it with transport, fondly believing that no one existed so happy as herself; but O how fleeting is the bliss which springs from fortunate love!

Already spring had flown to repose in the Isle of Cyprus, and autumn left the empire of the earth to winter, when Mars returned covered with laurels, hoping to find Cypris still bis own. On arriving he learned the misunderstanding which existed between Vulcan and his wife, and be deemed it a good omen. But at the freezing reception of Venus his hopes vanished, and a crowd of gloomy suspicions came in their stead. The God was wise

Hardly has her chariot flown towards Olympus, than Mars appears under the form of a wild boar. His bristling mane, his menacing jaws, his glancing eyes, rekindle the impetuous ardour of Adonis; he forgets Venus, forgets himself, flies like lightening, reaches the monster, and pierces him with his spear. The furious beast turns upon the young hunter, rends his blooming flesh, and buries his murderous teeth in his thigh. Adonis falls, bathed in his blood.

Zephyrus bears the last cry of her Adonis to the ear of Venus; Venus echoes it, and the next moment her doves on rapid wing descend with her to the earth. The distracted Goddess rushes over rocks and through thorny brakes, which tear her alabaster bosom, pierce her delicate feet, and half unloose her magic zone. She casts herself upon her best beloved, closes his yawning wouad, tears off her veil, and vainly tries to repress with it the gushing blood which still bursts forth, and runs in

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