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[SEPTEMBER dreadful detail: never shall it issue husband, who was upon very good from my mouth: it is too injurious terms with his wife, was consequently to the memory of the worthiest of so with mine. Their outward conwonien, too overpowering, too hor- duct was perfectly decorous and rerible for me to remember, too dis- gular; but their maxims ought to couraging to virtue: I should suffer a have startled me. Their mutual unthousand deaths ere I had finished it. derstanding proceeded less from a Morality of the world: the snares of real attachment than from a mutual vice and example, the treachery of a indifference of the duties of their redeceitful friendship, human weakness spective situations. Little sedulous and inconstancy,-who among man- of the attractions which they had one kind is superior to your power? Oh for the other, they affected a love as God! if Sophia have sullied her vir- proceeding from the freedom which tue, what woman shall now dare to they possessed in mutually imparting value her's? But what equanimity their desires, and in reflecting that of soul must he have who can regard they were not the object of that inwith complacency, so long afterwards, novation. Above all, says the wife, what she once was. It is of your re- let my husband live happy: whilst I generated children that I have to speak have a friend in my wife I am content, to you. All their faults you are ac- says the husband. Our sentiments, quainted with; I shall now 'speak only of what relates to their amendment, and which may serve to connect the events.

Sophia, consoled, or rather diverted from her melancholy, by her friend, and the society into which she dragged her, had no longer that decided inclination for retirement or seclusion from the world; she had learned to forget those she had lost, and almost those which remained. Her son, now in a state of adolescence, became less dependant upon her; and already the mother began to do without him. As for myself, I was no longer her Emilius; I was simply her husband; and the husband of an honest woman is a man whom, in great cities, we treat with common respect, but whom we never regard in any particular point of view. For a long time, our societies were the same: they at length began insensibly to change. Each thought themselves possessing a certain liberty when free from the intrusion of those who had a right to watch over them. We were no longer one; we were two: the custom of the world had divided us, and our hearts never more were united. Sometimes, indeed, our country acquaintance and our city friends would bring us together. The lady, after having thrown out various inticements and allurements, which I resisted (but not always without regret), at length abandoned ine, and, attaching herself entirely to Sophia, they became inseparable. The

continue they, do not depend upon us, but our proceedings depend upon them; each exerted themselves to the utmost to enhance the happiness of the other. Can we better evince our love for an object that is dear to us, than by wishing him all that he can desire? They avoided the cruel necessity of parting.

Had this system been at once developed, it would have inspired us with horrour; but we are not aware how much the ties of friendship ameliorate things which would otherwise be repugnant: we are not aware how much a philosophy, so admirably adapted to the vices of the human heart, a philosophy which offers, in place of sentiments which it no longer possesses, in place of certain uameless and oppressive duties which occasion only a long series of cares, attentions, and kindnesses; of frankness, of liberty, of sincerity, and of confidence; we are not, I say, aware how much those things which maintain between two people a regular connexion when their hearts are no longer united, have attractions for better natures, and become specious and seducing beneath the mask of wisdom. Hardly could reason itself defend it, did not conscience afford its succour. That alone enabled Sophia and me to support the shame of manifesting an eagerness and attention which we no longer had.

The couple, who had subdued us, insulted each other without restraint, and yet pretended love; but a long

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not, but I felt that it would cost me less to shew her attentions, by which I hoped ultimately to conquer her silence.

From that time I quitted her no more; but, though I thus returned to her, and marked this return by the utmost warmth and eagerness, yet I saw, with grief, that I advanced not. a jot. I would have re-established the rights of a husband, which had been too long neglected, but I found the most obstinate resistance. It was no longer that alluring refusal given only to render compliance more desired; it was no longer that tender, modest, and yet absolute refusal of love, which inebriates, yet demands respect. It was the firm refusal of a decided determination, which felt itself injured by being doubted. She recalled, with energy, the engagements once made in your presence: "Whatever may become of me," said she, "you ought, at least, to estimate yourself so far as to respect the word of Emilius. My wrongs do not authorize you to violate your promise. You may punish me, but you shall never compel me; and rest assured I will never suffer it." What could I answer? What could I do! but endeavour to bend, to soften, and to overcome her obstinacy, by force of perseverance. These vain efforts irritated not only my love for her, but my self-love. Difficulties served only to inflame my heart, and I regarded it as a point of honour to surmount every obstacle. Never, perhaps, after ten years marriage, after a coolness so long and mutual, did the love of a husband return with that ardour and affection which mine did; never, during even our courtship, did I shed so many tears at her feet; but they were useless; she remained unmoved and invulnerable.

But, at the moment when this separation between us appeared most likely, all was suddenly changed in the most singular manner. All at once Sophia became altogether as sedentary and retired as she had before been gay and dissipated. Her temper, which was not always the same, became constantly dull and melancholy. She shut herself up, from morning till night in her chamber: she neither spoke, wept, nor called for any one, and would not suffer the slightest interruption. Even her friend tecame insupportable: she told her so, and received her coolly, but did not actually repel her; more than once she begged me to release her from her. Iwithstood this caprice, in which I imagined there was some little jealousy; and, I one day took an opportunity of jocosely mentioning it."No, Sir," replied she, in a firm and resolute manner; "I am not jealous; but I hold this woman in the greatest horror I ask but one favour of you, that is, that I may never see her again." Struck with these words, I would know the reasou of her hatred: she refused to answer me. She had already closed the door against the husband; I was therefore, compelled to exclude the wife; and from that time we never saw each other again. Yet, notwithstanding, her melancholy continued, and at length became a serious consideration. I began to, alarm myself; but how to know the cause, which she obstinately withheld? It was impossible to inpose compliance on her proud soul by authority; and we had so long ceased to be the confidant of each other, that I was little surprised when she disdained to open her heart to me. We must merit confidence; and whether it was that her melancholy had renovated mine, or that it was not so insensible as I imagined it, I know

:

I was equally surprised and afflicted, well knowing that this determined manner did not form a part of her character. I, however, was not to be repulsed, imagining that even if I did. not entirely overcome her obstinacy, I should at least see less reserve.— Some small indications of regret and pity at length began to soften the bitterness of those refusals, which I believe were often equally felt by her; her languid eyes would some

was tossed in universal agony, and seemed like that chaos at the moment when the scene shall change, at that moment when all shall part, and take another form.

times cast, upon me a look, which, tions became suspended; my soul though not less sad, was yet less angry, and seemed to be impregnated with affection. I thought the shame of a caprice so absurd might prove an obstacle to her return, maintaining it only for want of power to excuse it; and that she, perhaps, only wanted a trifling impulse on my side, that she might then appear to yield, through necessity, to what she dare not consent to with willingness. Struck with an idea which flattered my desires, I listened to it with pleasure: it was a regard which I had to anticipate in her the first overtures after having so long resisted.

I know not how long I remained in this situation, on my knees as I was, and without even daring to move, lest I should bring conviction to myself that what had passed was not a dream. Would to God I had ever remained thus! But I soon waked to a sense of my situation; and the first impression which I felt was, that of an inexpressible horror for every thing which surrounded me. One day, when, hurried away by Suddenly I arose, darted from the my transports, I joined, to the most chamber, and flew down the stairs tender supplications, caresses warm without seeing any thing, without and ardent, I perceived her grow speaking to any person. I left the agitated; and I pressed to complete house; I flew from it with the rapimy victory. Overpowered and pal- dity of a stag, who imagines he flies, pitating, she was just ready to yield, by his celerity, from the arrow which when, suddenly changing her tone, he bears in his side. her manner, her countenance, she repelled me with a promptitude and a violence almost incredible; regarding me with a look so mixed with fury and despair, that it became truly terrible. Stop, Emilius," said she; "know that I am no longer your's: another has stained your bed! I am with child! You shall never touch me again!" and instantly she darted out of the chamber, closing the door

after her. struck!

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remained thunder

My master, this is not the history of the events of my life; they would not be worth the writing; it is the history of my passions, of my sentiments, of my ideas. Surely I ought to expatiate on the most dreadful revolution that my heart ever experienced.

The wounds which the body and the soul receive bleed not the instant they are inflicted: they are not so soon impressed with their misfortunes. Nature collects itself to sustain its whole violence, and often the fatal blow is given before the wound is felt. At that unexpected scene, at these dreadful words which seemed to echo in my ears, I remained immoveable,annihilated; my eyes closed; a death-like coldness ran through my veins; I swooned not, yet all my senses were absorbed, and my func

[To be continued.]

The LITERARY LIFE and TRAVELS of
BARON HOLBERG. Written by
Himself. Extracted from the La-
tin Edition of Leipsick, in 1743.
By W. HAMILTON REID.

[Continued from p. 107.]

MY aversion to French manners,

believe, was the reason I obtained no better appellation among them than simple Monsieur; notwithstanding I knew merchants' sons of Hamburgh and Lubeck, who were stiled Counts, Barons, &c. The latter title is the least that is bestowed upon a person who wears silver lace upon his clothes. Gold lace, on the other hand, would immediately qualify bim with the title of Monsieur le Comte. It is inconceivable to what degrees of extravagance young people are excited by these hypocritical adulations. A stranger of this description is soon put into a mode of getting rid of his own and sometimes his father's property, and very often of his health into the bargain. But of avarice and dissimulation I do not, by any means, accuse the French nation in general. Greediness is not a national vice in France; on the contrary, the French are liberal and obliging. Neither do

I speak of the inhabitants of Paris in and they flatter themselves that they general, but of the keepers of the inns, can prove the contrary from their bills hotels, &c. where strangers generally of mortality: but, as the air of Paris put up. It may, however, be easily is much purer, and the inhabitants are accounted for; as the principal cities more temperate in their manner of in Europe are mostly commercial, living, so also they live much longer. where the inhabitants are not con- Several Englishmen confess that some tented merely with living, they must thousands of people come up to Lonalso enrich themselves. On this ac- don from the country every year; count, many of the inhabitants live and that, if it was not so, the city almost entirely upon strangers. But would, in a manner, be deprived of Paris is situated in the centre of the inhabitants. From hence it appears, country, and it is common sometimes that nothing certain can be drawn for the innkeepers, &c. to go out to from the bills of mortality; and that some distance merely to see whether something more accurate than a bare any carriages are coming in from list of births and deaths, is requisite Brussels, Ments, or Strasbourg, as it to make out the number of inhabitis for the merchants, in other places, ants. Besides, the English are to go and inquire whether their ships more fruitful nation that the French; have arrived in the harbour, &c. and we ought to take into the account the great number of cloisters, colleges, and societies in Paris, where the divine command-" be fruitful and multiply," is set aside by the commands of the church; an injunction which, on the contrary, is most conscientiously observed by the English clergy.

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A young man, very often going to France, with plenty of gold and silver, will return with an empty purse, a silly and constrained gait, and a number of French songs and Parisian fooleries; all of which, according to the saying of an unknown writer, consist in cutting a few capers, and making other people deaf with his These are some of the greatest difsinging and tuning. I sought, how. ficulties which I met with in the. ever, for a convenient and quiet apart- French capital, and yet I never lived ment at Paris; but these are very with more content in any place than hard to obtain; for the astonishing here. I was always well and cheernumber of people at Paris, and the ful, and was never, as elsewhere, continual alarm which the carriages obliged to have recourse to exercise and other accidents occasion there, to excite an appetite. In fact, I know nearly prevent one from taking any not whether I ought to ascribe my rest. Above and below, and all round, appetite to the goodness of the air, are we environed with whole families; or the dearness of the times, when and, as the French have a great deal every thing was weighed out and diof humour, one had need to take vided with the greatest nicety. One special care not to hire an apartment thing only is to me beyond a doubt, directly opposite to that of a young that is to say, as the least excess incavalier or petit maitre, or that of a variably palled my appetite, I always lady, where one would be plagued made it a rule to quit the most into death with their singing. Besides, viting tables at a time when I could one ought to take care to avoid the still have eaten more. dwellings of the learned, on account Perhaps one of the greatest gratifiof their continual reading and recit- cations to a student, at Paris, is the ing. Few of the learned, in Paris, number of libraries and learned men can study at all, unless they walk that are to be found there. The numabout and repeat their subjects aloud. ber of societies, public and private, This great confluence of people is also into which admittance is very easily the cause of other inconveniences, of obtained, is another recommendation; which the inhabitants of London and and the learned, in Paris, take great Amsterdam are ignorant. Though pleasure in obliging strangers. I paid London is much larger than Paris, I two visits to the learned Montfaucon ; actually believe that there are not so and though I found him in a manner many people born there as in Paris. buried under a heap of books, he was This the English continually deny, nevertheless as cheerful and polite to

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errors. He was then far advanced in years, but still prosecuted his studies, regardless of the saying of Milo, who, being old, and observing how others handled their armis in the Gymnasium, cast a look upon his own, and in tears uttered the following words, "these are dead already."

me as if he had been quite at leisure. since he had renounced his former I conversed with him upon the Roinan manner of pronouncing the Latin, and, expressing my surprise upon observing that the letter M was quiescent in Latin verse, he informed me that, in orations, it was common, among the ancients, to leave out that letter; and that he was even in possession of some Latin inscriptions where factu was written instead of factumn; and Romanoru instead of Romanorum. Just as he was upon the point of giving me ocular demonstration, for the sake of gratifying my curiosity, some other persons came in and prevented him.

Some time after this I visited Father Tournemine, a more pleasant, communicative, and incomparable man. Both his mind and manners had something prepossessing about them. He might easily have been taken for a minister of state; it was his vast learning only that distinguished him from Father Hardouin, the Jesuit, was a courtier: He talked a long while not so obliging; he suffered no per- with us upon a variety of topies; for, son to intrude upon him unless he besides the Danish Chaplain, M. imagined the object of the visit was Kruse, several German students were to have his opinion respecting some present. Father Tournemine shewed obscure or disputed passage. This us his own library; where, with other peculiarity I learned from another Danish historians, we found Torfaei's Father, and was some time before I Norwegian Chronicle. Among other could hit upon something to puzzle curiosities of his library, there was a him, or procure admission to his cell. copy of the New Testament eight At length I recollected that Collins, hundred years old. In this ancient in his book De Libertate Cogitandi, manuscript the famous verse in St. had quoted the following words out John's Epistle was not to be found. of Victor's Chronicle, "Messala This is also the case in several Greek Consule, Anastasio imperatore ju- copies of the New Testament. Nei bente, sancta evangelia, utpote ab ther is it to be found in the new and idiotis Evangelistis scripta, corrigun- well-known copy in the library at St. tur, et emendatur," I suggested to Victors. Father Tournemine thought him, that this passage seemed to be a that those persons who had the supermere fragment of Mr. Collins's; he, intendance of the Bible, namely Euhowever, assured me of the contrary, sebius, Lucianus, and Heysechyus, and. to impress his meaning more especially as they had been suspected forcibly, he fetched the Chronicle in of the Arian heresy, studiously left question out of his library, and pointed this verse out of the New Testament. with bis aged and trembling band to I answered, that the Arian beresy the place. Religion, he observed, spread more towards the east than the had not been hurt by this mandate; west, and that, nevertheless, this verse it was only the credit of Anastasius was to be found in all the Latin copies. that had suffered. And if Anastasius Neither did it appear that this verse had even altered the Byzantine New was ever quoted against the Arians Testament, it would have been im- by the orthodox. To this the Father possible for him to have altered the made a very indifferent reply. He rest which were in the hands of be- afterwards conducted us into the li lievers. With this explanation I was brary of the celebrated Huetius, and contented; but as he almost imme- then into that of the Jesuits in comdiately added, that he could easily mon, formed, in great measure, out prove that no such person as the of that of the celebrated M. Menage, Emperor Anastasius ever existed, I being a present to the college by that could starcely forbear laughing. I learned man. observed to myself, that Father Hardouin was still the same sceptic as ever, though it was no long time

Soon afterwards, I paid a visit to the celebrated M. Fontenelle, who, at a great age, was not idle, but continually

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