The hospitality by unequalled villainy. The bare remembrance of my own guilt distracts me. awful hour is now fast approaching, when I must receive my final doom from that heaven whose laws I have so daringly violated. To redress the injuries I have committed, is, alas! impossible. My death will be an atonement by no means sufficient. I cannot, however, leave this world till you shall be informed that ten thousand pounds, the whole of my property that is at my disposal, has long ago been transferred by me into the hands of trustees for the benefit of my much injured Harriet, and her unhappy infant. In my own defence I have nothing to urge. Suffer me only to remark, that my misfortune arose from the avarice of my father, who forced me into a marriage with the woman you lately saw, and whose brother has been the instrument in the hand of Providence to inflict on me the doom I so much merited. If possible, conceal from Harriet that I was married. Picture, for her sake, an innocent deception, and tell her that I was only engaged to that lady. This will contribute to promote her repose, and the deception may possibly plead the merit of prolonging a life so dear to you; for the elevated mind of my Harriet would never survive the fatal discovery of my villainy. But oh! when my unhappy child shall ask the fate of him who gave her being, in pity draw a veil over that guilt which can scarcely hope to obtain the pardon of heaven.'-There he ceased, and uttering a short prayer, expired. · "Happily for Harriet, she continued in a state of insensibility for three days, during which time I had the body removed to a neighbouring house, there to wait for interment. Having addressed a letter to Mr. H's agent in town, he sent orders for the body to be removed to the family burying place, where it was accordingly interred. Harriet recovered by slow degrees from the state of happy insensibility into which the death of Mr. H had plunged her. Her grief became silent and settled. Groans and exclamations now gave way to sighs and the bitter tears of despond ing grief. She seldom or never spoke, but would. After passing some days with this worthy couple, I proceeded on my tour, quitting with reluctance the abode of sorrow and resignation. Those whom the perusal of this tale may interest, will, if ever they visit the banks of the Alna, find that the author has copied his characters from X. nature. PREMATURE INTERMENT. HASTY interment is still a prevalent custom in Russia; and even premature burials are said to be not quite unknown. A short time previous to my departure, the following horrid circumstance was related at St. Petersburgh: A young nobleman, who had squandered away his fortune, found his sister, to whom he ap plied for assistance, not the least inclined to sacrifice her patrimony to his taste for dissipation. As he considered himself her heir, the wicked thought arose in his breast, to make himself master of her fortune. With this view he found means to give the unfortunate lady a sleeping draught. She was now considered as dead, and, with every appearance of the deepest sorrow her interment was resolved upon. The corpse was already placed before the altar, when one of her friends bappening to pass the place, was informed friend already covered with sacred earth. The interment had taken place the day before; and the inhuman brother had already obtained possession of her property, while priests and witnesses attested that the unfortunate person was actually dead. Among the Russians it is reckoned to be a heinous sin to dig up a corpse; and thus the. desi re of the generous friend for a long time ex. perienced the most violent opposition to con vince herself of the truth by ocular demonstra tion; till at last the Commission of Inquiry con of her sudden death. She hurried to the church, where the priest was already pronouncing the blessing over the corpse; and, in order to impress the last farewell kiss on the lips of her late dearly beloved friend, she hastened to the coffin She seized her hand, and found it rather flaccid, but not stiff; she touched her cheek, and imagined she still felt some natural warmth in it. She insisted on stopping the ceremony, and trying whether her friend might not be recalled to life. But all was in vain; neither the brother nor the priest would listen to her solicitations:ceived some suspicion, and insisted on opening On the contrary, they ridiculed her as a person the grave; when the poor unfortunate lady was out of her mind. Unfortunately, she no where discovered to be suffocated, with her face lacefound assistance. She immediately, in her rated, and the impression of her nails in the coffinanxiety, threw herself into her carriage, and lid.-The brother and the priest were imme hastened to the neighbouring seat of govern-diately taken into custody, and confessed their nient. Here she found a hearing: proper per- crime. The punishment they underwent I have sons accompanied her to investigate the affair; not heard of. and she drove back with speed, but found her SOPHRONIMOS; A GRECIAN TALE. SOPHRONIMO3 was born at Thebes: his father, of an ancient family of Corinth, had left the place of his nativity to establish himself in the capital of Boeotia. While his only son was yet a child he died, and his wife, not long surviving hun, Sophronimos at the early age of twelve was left a portionless orphan. Of the many things of which he stood in need,|| he had only regretted his parents; the poor child would daily weep at their tomb, and afterwards return to the dwelling of a priest of Minerva, whose charity prevented him from starving. One day, when walking through the city, the unhappy Sophronimos had lost his way, he entered a work-slop belonging to the celebrated Praxiteles. Charmed at the sight of so many beautiful statues, he gazed, he admired, and seized with an involuntary transport, addressed Praxiteles with that innocent confidence which only belongs to infancy. "Father," said he, "give me a chissel, and teach me to become a great man like yourself!" The sculptor looked at the lovely child, and was astonished at the animation which shone in his eyes; he embraced him tenderly."Yes, I will be your master," replied he," stay with me, and I trust that in time you will surpass me." The youthful Sophronimos, his heart filled with gratitude and joy, had no desire of leaving Praxiteles, but soon felt the germ of talent which nature had implanted in his soul rapidly expanding; and at eighteen the master would not have blushed to own the works of his pupil. Unhappily about this period Praxiteles died, leaving by his will a tolerably large sum to his favourite pupil. Sophronimos was inconsolable at his loss; he took a dislike to Thebes, quitted his country, and employed his benefactor's legacy in travelling through Greece. As wherever he went he bore with him that desire of instruction, and admiration of the subs lime and beautiful, which had inflamed his mind even in childhood, he daily gathered im provement, and each masterpiece he beheld added something to his store of knowledge. The wish of pleasing gave a polish to his mind and manners; his modesty increasing with his acquirements, and always reflecting on what he wasdeficient in. Sophronimos at twenty was the most skilful as well as the most amiable of men. Having resolved to settle in a large city, he chose Miletus, a Grecian colony on the coast of Ionia, purchased a small house, as also some blocks of marble, and prepared to make statues for his subsistence. Renown, which is oftentimes so tardy an attendant upon merit, was not so towards Sophronimos. His works were held in great estimation, and soon his talents were the general theme of conversation. The youthful Theban, without permitting himself to be intoxicated with the praise so profusely bestowed upon him, only redoubled his efforts to remain worthy of it. Alone, in his dwelling, he dedicated the whole of the day to labour, and in the evening, as a relaxation, amused himself in reading Homeri this instructive pleasure elevated his soul, and furnished his genius with some new ideas for the work of the morrow. Satisfied with the past, and prepared for the future, he returned thanks to the gods, and retired to enjoy repose. This tranquillity did not, however, last long; the only enemy that cau rob virtue of peace, assailed our hero. Carite, the daughter of Aristos, chief magistrate of Miletus, came with her father to see the works of our youthful Theban. house. He was allowed to converse with Carite, and bec me still more enamoured; but how could he ever dare to reveal it? how could a sculptor, without fortune or friends, have any pretensions to the hand of the wealthiest damsel of that city? his delicacy,—all conspired to prohibit the disclosure of his sentiments. Carite was too rich for a poor youth to notice her beauty. Sophronimos knew all this, and that if he declared himself he was lost; but he must either comply with the irresistible impulse, or expire with grief. He wrote to Carite. This leter, couched in the tenderest, the most submissive, the most respectful terms, was confided to one of Aristos' slaves, to whom our hero gave all the Carite in beauty far surpassed the fairest maids of lonia, and her mind was still lovelier than her face. Her father, Aristos, who possessed immense riches, had, since her birth, dedicated his whole time to her education; he had no diffi-little money he possessed to insure his secresy; culty in bending her mind towards virtue, and he lavished his treasures in order to give her every ornamental acquirement. Carite was sixteen, her wit was refined, her soul tender, her form en. chanting, she thought like Plato, and sung like Orpheus. Sophronimos on seing her felt a confusion, and emotions totally unknown. He bent his eyes on the ground, and never spoke so little to the purpose. Aristos, attributing his embarrass ment to respect, endeavoured to re-assure him. "Shew us," said he "your finest statue; I hear your praise from every mouth."" Alas!" replied Sophronimos "I had had the temerity to form a Venus, with which I was till now satisfied; but I perceive that I must make it once. more." While saying these words he uncovered his statue, and threw a timid glance towards Carite. She had perfectly understood his meaning, and appeared to be occupied with the Venus, while her thoughts were really engaged on the young sculptor. Aristos, after having admired our hero's works, departed, promising that he would soon visit him again; Carite on leaving him gracefully bade him adieu, and poor Sophronimos now perceived, for the first time, that his house appeared extremely solitary. That evening he could not read Homer as usual, his whole mind was filled with Carite. The next morning, instead of attending his labours, he traversed the whole city in the hope of seeing her again. He was successful, and from that instant no more peace, no mere study; his statues remained unfinished, and Apollo, Diana, and Jupiter, were no longer thought of. His mind ever filled with Carite, he now passed his whole time in the circus and public walks in the hope of beholding her, and when unsuccesful, he revolved a thousand plans, and determined with the next dawn to put them in execution. At length his perseverance, joined to his celebrity, gained him an introduction to Aristos' but the treacherous confident, instead of giving it to Carite, carried it to her father. The indignant Aristos, after having read it, for the first time, abused the authority his situation gave him; he accused Sophronimos in the council of crimes which the youth had never dreamed of, and caused him to be banished from the city. Meanwhile the unfortunate Thebin with trembling anxiety expected the slave, and in. stead of seeing him, received an order to quit Miletus. He entertained no doubt, but that Carite, offended at his presumption, had herself solicited this vengeance." I have deserved my fate," exclaimed he, "yet I do not repent.→ Oh, ye gods! grant her happiness, and wreak over my head all the woes which migh: trouble her repose." Such was the enthusiasm of his passion, that without murmuring at the injus tice of his sentence, his heart filled with grief, he proceeded towards the harbour, and embarked in a vessel bound to Crete. Aristos thought it advisable to conceal from his daughter the real cause of Sophronimos banishinent. She, however, entertained doubts not far from the truth. Carite had long since read in the young Theban's eyes all that his letter would have revealed; she shed tears to the remembrance of a man whose love for her had proved so fajal; but Carite was very young, and soon our hero was forgotten. Aristos, on his side, confident in the measures he had adopted, enjoyed tranquillity, and only occupied himself in seeking a suitable husband for his daughter, when an extraordinary event spread universal consternation throughout Miletus. Some pirates from Lemnos, surprised a quar ter of the city, and before the inhabitants could take up arms, these miscreants pillaged Venus temple, and even carried away with them the statue of that goddess. This statute was considered as the paladium of Miletus, and the prosperity of the Milesians depended on its pos session. The people, much alarmed, immediately sent ambassadors to Delphos, to consult Apollo. The Oracle answered that Miletus would only be in safety when a new statue of Venus, as handsome as the Goddess herself, should have replaced the one they had lost. The Milesians instantly published throughout Greece, that the fairest maid of Miletus, with four talents of gold, should be the recompence of the sculptor who would fulfil the Oracle's condition. Several celebrated artists arrived with their works, which were exposed in the public square; the magistrates and the people were well satisfied with many of them; but as soon as the statue was placed on the altar, a supernatural power threw it down. The Milesians now began to regret Sophronimos, and with tears entreated that he might be sought. Aristos himself now thought it necessary to gain some information of the ship in which the unhappy banished youth had embarked. All his endeavours were fruitless, and at length he was obliged to send to Crete, where the messenger learned that the ship with all its crew had perished near the island of Naxos. The Milesians, in despair, accused their ma gistrate of want of vigilance, to which cause they atributed the invasion of the pirates, and the loss of Sophronimos, whom they discovered he had unjustly banished. The people soon proceeded from murmuring to revolt; they surrounded his dwelling and entered it by force: Carite's tears, entreaties, and lamentations were of no avail, they could not save her father: Aristos was seized, loaded with irons, and dragged to a dungeon, where the people declared he should remain until the statue of Venus was replaced. Carite, in a state bordering on distraction, wished to go to Athens, Corinth, or Thebes, to seek for an artist who would restore her father to freedom. She first took every means in her power to soften his confinement and left a confidential slave with him to administer to his wants. Somewhat tranquillized by these proceedings, she caused a ship to be fitted out for her, loaded it with treasures, and departed on her search. The three first days of her navigation were very favourable; and it seemed as if the winds had taken her under their protection; but suddenly a tremendous storm arose, and the ship was violently assailed with contrary blasts, which forced the pilot to seek a refuge in an unknown creek. They had not long remained stationary when the storm ceased, the sun returned, and Carite invited by the beauty of the weather, went on shore to refresh herself for a few hours from the fatigue she had experienced at sea. On landing she seat. ed herself on the turf, and soon a gentle slumber, made her for a moment insensible to her afflic tions. She however soon awoke and perceiving that her slaves were still fast locked in the arms of Morpheus, determined not to disturb them, but ventured to walk alone on the sea shore, and having a wish of exploring a part of this unin habited island proceeded onwards beyond the rocks that defended it from the intrusion of the waves. Soon a delightful valley met her view, crossed by two small rivulets, and covered with fruit trees; struck with admiration, Carite stopped awhile to gaze on the beauty of the prospect. Nature was then clothed in the lovely garb of spring; all the trees were in bloom; their leaves were still dripping from the past storm, and the sun while warming them with its rays, seemed to cover their branches with drops of chrystal. The butterflies rejoicing at the returning beauty of the weather, began to wander from flower to flower, and legions of bees buzzed about, not yet daring to cull honey for fear of wetting their transparent wings. The nightingale and the linnet, recovered from their terror, made the air re-echo with their notes! while their tender mates, fluttered over the meadows in search of a blade of dried grass to form their new built nest. Carite after having remained some moments gazing on this spectacle, descended into the valley, and crossing the meadow, descried a small hut surrounded with trees, the entrance of which was hidden from the view by an arbour: she approached, and listened to the murmuring of a stream which meandered at her feet; soon the notes of a lyre mingled with this pleasing sound; she lent an attentive ear to a voice that sang the following words to a plaintive air : Sad is the memory of pleasures past; It steals upon the soul, as on the ear, The mournful voice of Winter's stormy blast, When sleep in dust the beauties of the year. Gay were the dreams of hope, they cheer'd awhile My glowing fancy, my weak hear"," Fleet is the brightest ray of Cupid's smile, But everlasting is his smart. The voice had not concluded when Carite recognized through the trees the figure of Sophro nimos, and instantly fainted. He had also perceived her, he flew and raised ber in his arms, gazed on her, and could not credit his happiness; he bore her to the rivulet, and a few drops of water sprinkled on her lovely face soon restored her senses. "Are you Carite," exclaimed he, "or a divinity that has assumed her form?" "I am the daughter of Aristos," she mildly replied, "my father is in danger; you alone can save him." "Oh! speak," rejoined Sophronimos in a transport of joy, "say what I am to do, I will gladly expose my life for his and your ser- Carite." After this farewell, they entered the ship, and steered towards Miletas. vice." Carite then related to him the manner in which he might be of essential service to her country, and rescue her father from impending danger, As she proceded in her request, delight shone in the eyes of our hero. "Cease to fear," said he with dignity," I have in that hut a statue which I think cannot fail to satisfy your goddess as well as your countrymen; it belongs to you, fair Carite, but I have a request to make, which is that you will not look at it until it is placed in the temple at Miletus." Aristos' daughter readily consented; Sophronimos related to her how he had alone escaped from the wreck, and that the box containing his tools had been cast ashore by the waves. He had found in the island water, fruit and marble. Alone in the hut which he had himself erected, he had devoted his time to forming the masterpiece which was to deliver Aristos. "Come," added he," and behold the asylum where I have long dwelt with no other companion than your image, which I constantly had before my eyes, and ever cherished in my heart." Carite followed Sophronimos into his hut; every where she saw her name written; every where her initials were entwined with those of her lover. Forgive me," said he, "if alone in this place, I dared to trace on the walls of my dwelling the sentiments of my soul; here I entertained no fear of being hanished. These words made the tender Carite's eyes fill with tears: she looked at Sophronimos, and alinost pressed the hand which held her. "Ah!" said she "it was not I"--she did not conclude, but contemplated a statue which covered with a veil, stood on a sort of altar: "let us hasten," continued she "to join my slaves; that they may bear to the ship that master-piece which I am only to admire at Miletus; you will return with me; and whatever may be the event, we will no more part." The overjoyed Sophronimos dared to raise Carite's hand to his lips, and did not meet with a repulse. They were, proceeding towards the sea shore, when they were met by the slaves and sailors, who, alarmed at the absence of their mistress, had been seeking her for some time. Carite ordered them to carry carefully the veiled statue on board their ship; she was obeyed; and Sophronimos bade adieu to his hut, but not without first returning thanks to the Sylvan deities who had protected him while in that asylum. He placed all his tools on the altar where the statue had stood, and consecrated them to Pan; then respectfully kissing the threshold of the door, "I shall return hither," he exclaimto expire, if I am not permitted to live for ed " Happily for Carite, who wished Sophronimos to have restored her father to liberty before she acknowledged her affection, their voyage was not tedious; or if it had proved longer, perhaps the sculptor might have been recompenced by her avowal, before he had by his actions deserved it. By the prudence of Carite, and the respec⋅ of Sophronimos, aided by prosperous gales, they arrived at Miletus without having broached the subject. The name of our hero spread general joy throughout the city. The people, by whom he was beloved, assembled, and decided that the statue had no need of being examined previous to its experiencing the trial on the altar of Venus. All the inhabitants repaired to the temple, and as soon as it was crowded, Carite with faultering steps followed her lover who advanced bearing in his arms the statue covered with a veil. On his arrival he placed it on the altar, with a modest though confident air. The statue remained stationary. He uncovered it, and immediately all the spectators recognized the features of Carite. It was she, it was his beloved maiden whom the sculptor had chosen for the model of his Venus! The portrait of Carite was so indelibly engraven in his heart, that far from her, in his desart island, he had been able to dispense with the original; and in making the resemblance he had fulfilled the condition of the Oracle, who exacted a statue as handsome as Venus. The goddess, satisfied and void of jealousy, accepted the offering, and manifested her approba tion by the mouth of her high priest, and thus the oracle was accomplished. The people, ut tering acclamations of joy, now surrounded Sophronimos, and entreated him to choose his recompence. "Restore Aristos to liberty," replied he," and I shall consider myself amply repaid." All immediately fled to the prison of the old man; but Carite was desirous of being the first to break her father's chains. She embraced him, told him of her happiness, and blushing, bent her eyes on the ground whenever pronouncing the name of Sophronimos. Aristos, his breast filled with gratitude, asked for his liberator, threw himself into his arms, and while tears fell on his furrowed cheek, exclaimed: "My friend, I have been very guilty towards you, but Carite shall repair my crime." After having said these words, he joined the lovers' hands amidst universal acclamations of joy; all appeared to share their happiness, while our hero and heroine returned to the temple, and swore to each other eternal fidelity at the foot of that statue, which so truly exemplified the beauty of Carite and the love of Sophronimos. E.R. |