THE MONK OF THE GROTTO. A Tale: (Continued) At length the moment fixed for his departure to Naples arrived. He had not ventured to pronounce the name of Virginia in his uncle's presence; but just before he entered the carriage that was to convey him to the place of his destination, he knelt to him, and, with tears in his eyes, said "Pardon your repentant son-Deign to bless him and protect Virginia!" A smile of benevolence animated the figure of the Cardinal; he embraced Eugenio with tenderness, and prom sed not to lose sight of his interests for a single moment. Having recommended him to pay the utmost deference to the Cardinal Doria, he conducted him to his carriage, again embraced him, and experienced the most lively emotion when he was obliged to leave him. as she would have the Cardinal believe, but she considered it as a certain means of insuring his absence from Virginia; and, she hope, from the result of it, the entire destruction of a passion which she was now more averse to than ever. ed That ambitious and interestwoman contemplated the accomplishment of all her wishes in the birth of a son. By so fortunate an event, she was certain of enjoying the immense fortune of the Marquis, in the event of her becoming a widow, but her object went still further she wished to deprive Virginia of the inheritance she would have been entitled to upon the death of her father, and she determined immediately to set about effecting her purpose. The Marquis had given magnificent entertainments at Torre Vecchia, to celebrate the birth of his son. Proud of having an hier of his own illustrious name, his whole tenderness concentrated in him alone, and he scarce deigned to recollect that he also had a daughter. The sad Virginia, forlorn, neglected, and abandoned to her The Marchioness learned with transport the high employment Eugenio had ob tain-grief, had no other consolation ed; not that she was so much interested in his advancement than the letters of Eugenio;she perused them over and over again while she directed her solitary steps along the recluse allies of the park, once the scene of her love and happiness. The faithful Laurina was the only being who seemed sensible of her distress; she spoke of her lover, and deplored, with sympathizing affection, the loss she had sustained iu her deceased parent;-that worthy woman mingled her tears with those of the lovely and afflicted Virginia; but, alas! neither her tears, nor her sincere attachment could alter the fatal destiny that hovered over her. In proportion as the infant Spanozzi increased in size, the Marquis and Marchioness lav. ished their fondness upon him; they indulged him in all those capaces which characterize infancy, and gave orders to the servants in no respect to thwart The Count Vizzani took. every opportunity of secretly publishing that his daughter was his destined bride, and the assiduous attention Eugenio paid to the amiable Rosalia, confirmed the rumour. He was incessantly with her, followed her wherever she went, appeared only to take delight in those places where he was sure of meeting with her, and had ever something to communicate to, or learn from her. Whenever he was obliged to quit her, his letters constantly supplied his absence; she an-swered him wi h unremitting punctuality, and a confidental servant was charged with the conduct of this mysterious cor respor dence, which they car fully endeavoued to conceal from the count. The latter, regularly informed of the proceedings of his daughter, afforded every opportunity to Eugenio, in the meantime the continuation of that comwas overwhelmed with honours merce, which seemed the or contradict him.. Virginia could not without indignation behold the child inssalled in the appartment of Eugenio, and its parents appearing to have altogether for#gor the existance of him, whom they ought to have considered as the real proprietor of the Castic. Words cannot express the grief and inquietude of Vir assurance of an attachment, the sole object of his wishes, and he allowed Rosalia all the lib-ginia. To suppose Eugenio erty she desired. At length flattering himself he might impart to Eugenio the happiness he destined for him, he wrote to the Marchioness Spanozzi to solicit her permission. "Wait, my dear brother," she answered, "wait, I entreat you. Do not by your precipi. tation destroy the labour of so many years;-the period is fast approaching, but it has not yet arrived. I am better acquainted than you are with the disposition of my son ;-if you wish to succeed do not deviate from the plan I have traced out for you." The innocent Virginia, unconscious of the storm ready to burst over her head, submited to the will of her father, and confiding in the promise he had given, calculated, with inexpressible delight, that she had not more than eight months to wait, before her Eugenio would return to confirm her happiness. Hitherto every post had brought her accounts from him; but suddenly his letters became less frequent without, however, being less tender, and at last he entirely ceased writing to her. unfaithful was impossible; but to contemplate him the prey of sickness, was an insupportable idea; her heart was ready to burst at the bare apprehension, and her tears flowed in abund ance. "Ah, Madam!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at the fe t of the Marchioness, "for pity's sake conceal nothing from me ;-what means this dreadful silence?-what has happened to your son?" The Marchioness consoled and embraced her, and even appeared not wholly free from sorrow. "I cannot,' said she, after reflecting a few minutes," suppose that Eugenio is ill. It is not eight days since I received a letter from my brother: he informed me that his nephew had accompanied him to a magnificent entertainment, given by the Prince San Severo in honour of the Queen. Eugenio was in full gaiety and spirits, and danced the whole of the evening with his cousin Signora Rosalia.' (To be Continued.j The SPECULATOR. NUMBER XXV. SATURDAY, April 13, 1811. Fænum habet in cornu, longe fuge din. YES," yonder he drives”Reflection has no power to stay him, neither will he hearken to the voice of reason! Those were the remarks that Edwin internally made when he beheld his friend Henry following the footsteps of a man he was cermin would lure poor Henry to his ruin-Edwin had like a friend (not in show bat in fact) advised Henry to keep the strictest guard upon his movements, and not indiscriminately lay his bosom bare to every man who put upon himself a smiling face until he had properly scandled his merits, bat alas! this advice was not received as it ought to have been--Henry was conscious was conscious that his age entitled him to think for himself, and felt hurt that Edwin should assume a dictatorship over him; Henry was honest upright and tenacious of his charact er, but he became acquainted with a college friend whom the world frowned upon, Edwin advised Harry to abandon his new made associate--the advice was listened to, but did not meet with attention and the reason for not doing so was obvious-Albert the new friend of Henry was a scholar-he had, with care, explored the hidden mazes of science knew, and could discourse not of, but on man. The world called Albert a libertine, and branded Henry with the same disgraceful epithet-mis| taken world! Albert was no hy pocrate, and fancy admired his open, above board principles-he had pledged to Albert his friendship, and the persuasions of Edwin,to shake the contract betwixt Henry and Albert, was of no avail.Edwin having imbibed the mistaken notion of the rest of his college companions, abandoned Harry with those impressive words" go with Albert, ruin and destruction will eventually overtake ye both." Those threats of Edwin was lost upon Henry, for he (Henry) felt like a man, and was resolutely determined to stand by Albert through every vicissitude of fortune-and that Harry did not, and that he never abandoned Albert, until the hour of his death, shall be shown in my future numbers, and in drawing the portriture of some real characters, I shall take the li berty of advancing a few ideas on friendship generally. **Novice is unavoidably laid over until next week. JOSEPHUS, on Justice, and a number of other communications shall receive attention in their turn. Friend Crotchet, I have an eye upon you, take care, that's all! THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG. A TALE BY M. MARMONTEL. (Concluded.) "At your age, in the heat of summer, and with a so e leg, I will never suffer you,' said I, to undertake a journey thirty leagues by land, twice as much as if you go by water: It would aggravate your disease, and render it incurable, if it be not so already. Come with me. Providence offers you here an asylum, where you will find rest, remedies, and perhaps a cure.' The old man, who looked at me with joyful astonishment, untied his dog, and let me conduct him to the hospital on the other side of the bridge. "I was not known there, but in these respectable houses indigence and infirmity recommend themselves. The prior listened with emotion to the recital of our adventurer, sent for the most skilful surgeon in the hospital, and made him examine the sore. I shuddered at seeing to what a degree it was evenomed by the summer heats, and the fatigue of the journey.--There is no time to be lost,' said the surgeon; but it is not too late, and I will undertake to save the leg.- He will be cured then? Yes, Sir, I answer for it.'-This was the moment of mv joy and happiness,-- Gentlemen,' said 1, spare nothing; i will do every thing that may be neces sary. All that is necessary,' said the prior with a look of modest severity, is to leave the sick man to us, and to confide in our care.' "I felt that I had injured the delicacy of the good father, and made him an apology. But would it not,' said I, 'be imposing upon your goodness, if I requested that his faishful friendfriend Yes, Sir, his friend, his dog shall bear him compa ny. We also shall know how to value the instinct of friendship.' These words of the reverend father, this reception, this |