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deavoured to captivate the votaries of RELIGION, the grew by flow degrees, and gave time to escape; but in seizing the unhappy followers of REASON, the proceeded as one that had nothing to fear, and enlarged her fize, and doubled her chains without intermiflion, and without reserve.

Of those who forsook the directions of REASON, some were led aside by the whispers of AMBITION, who was perpetually pointing to stately palaces situated on eminences on either lide, recounting the delights of affluence, and boasting the security of power. They were easily persuaded to follow her, and HABIT quickly threw her chains upon them; they were foon convinced of the folly of their choice, but few of them attempted to return. AMBITION led them forward from precipice to precipice, where many fell and were seen no more. Those that escaped wefe, after a long series

hazards, generally delivered over to TYRANNY, where they continued to heap up gold till their patrons or their heirs pushed them headlong at laft into the caverns of DESPAIR.

Others were inticed by INTEMPERANCE to ramble in featch of those fruits that hing over the rock, and filled the air with their fragrance. I obferved, that the HABITs which hovered about these foon grew to an enor-mous fize, 'nor were there any who lefs attempted to return to Reason, or fooner funk into the gulphs that lay before them. When these first quitted the road, REASON looked after them with a frown of contempt, but had little expectation of being able to reclaim them; for the bowl of intoxication was of fuch qualities as to make them lofe all regard but for the prefent moment; neither Hope nor Fear could enter their retreats; and Habit had fo absolute a power, that even ConscieNCE, if RELIGION had employed her in their favour, would not have been able to force an entrance.

There were others whose crime it was rather to neglect Reason than to obey her; and who retreated from the heat and tumult of the way, not to the bowers of



IsTEMPERANCE, but to the maze of INDOLENCE. They had this peculiarity in their condition, that they were always in fight of the road of Reason, always wishing for her presence, and always resolving to return tomorrow. In these was most eminently conspicuous the subtlety of HABIT, who hung imperceptible shackles upon them, and was every moment leading them farther from the road, which they always imagined thật they had the power of reaching. They wandered on from one double of the labyrinth to another with the chains of Habit hanging secretly upon them, till, as they advanced, the flowers grew paler, and the scents fainter; they proceeded in their dreary march without pleasure in their progress, yet without power to return; and had this aggravation above all others, that they were criminal, but not delighted. The drunkard for a time laughed over his wine; the ambitious man triumphed in the miscarriage of his rival; but the captives of INDOLENCE had neither fuperiority nor 'merriment. DISCONTENT lowered in their looks, and SADNESS hovered round their fhades; yet they crawled on, reluctant and gloomy, till they arrived at the depth of the recess, varied only with poppies and nightshade, where the dominion of ÍNDOLENCE terminates, and the hopeless wanderer is delivered up to MELANCHOLY: the chains of HabiT are riveted for ever; and MELANCHOI.y, having tortured her prisoner for a time, consigns him at last to the cruelty of DESPAIR.

While I was mafing on this miserable scene, my protector called out to me, “Remember, Theodore, and be “ wise, and let not Habit prevail against thee." I started, and beheld myself surrounded by the rocks of Teneriffe ; the birds of light were singing in the trees, and the glances of the morning darted upon me.


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T a time when the Venetians and Turks were at

war, one of the ships of the latter was taken and carried into Venice, where the crew were all sold for flaves. One of these unhappy people happened to live opposite the house of a rich Venetian, who had an only fon, then in the twelfth year of his age. The little youth ufed frequently to stop and gaze at Hamet, for fuch was the name of the flave, and, at last, an acquaintance commenced between them.

Though Hamet seemed always delighted with the - tender regards of his little friend, yet the latter frequently observed, that involuntary tears trickled down the cheeks of Hamet. The little youth at last spoke of it to his father, and begged of him, if he could, to make Hamet happy

Hereupon the father determined to see the flave, and talk to him himself. He went to him the next day, and asked him if he were the Hamet, of whom his son had spoken so kindly. He replied, that he was the un

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fortunate Hamet, who had been three years a captive, and that during that time his little son was the only person who had in the least pitied his misfortunes. « And I, night and morning," added he, “offer up my prayers to that Power, who is equally the God of Turks and Christians, to fhower down upon his head every blessing he deserves, and to preserve him from miseries like mine."

The Venetian merchant then entered into closer conversation with Hamet, and could not help admiring his generous sentiments and manly fortitude. He asked him what he would do to regain his liberty. “What would I do?" answered Hamet, “ By the eternal Majesty of Heaven, I would chearfully face every danger, and even death itself, in whatever shape it might appear.

The merchant then told him, that the means of his deliverance were in his own hands. « Hear me attentively," faid the merchant. “ An inveterate foe of mine lives in this city, and has heaped upon me every injury that can sting the heart of man. He is as brave as he is haughty; and I must confefs, that his ftrength and valour prevent my attempting personally to revenge my wrongs. Now, Hamet, take this dagger, and as soon as the shade of night fhall envelope the city, I will lead you to the place, where you may at once revenge the injuries of your friend, and regain your own freedom.”

Scorn and contempt now flamed in the eyes of Haniet, and, as soon as his passion had a little subsided, he exclaimed, “O gracious prophet! are these the wretches by whom


faithful servants to be enflaved! Go, wicked Christian, and be affured, that Hamet would not become an assassin for all the riches of Venice, or to purchase the freedom of his whole race !" The merchant coolly replied that he was forry he had offended him, but thought that he prized his freedom at a higher rate ; and added, as he turned his back, “ You will perhaps change your mind to-morrow, after you

thall mercy

shall have more maturely reflected on the matter;" and he then left him.

The next day, the merchant, accompanied by his son, returned to Hamet, and was going to renew his former conversation, when the honest Turk exclaimed, with a severe and fixed countenance, “ Christian! cease to insult the miserable with proposals more shocking than death itself! The Christian religion may tolerate such acts, but to a Mahometan they are an abomination !"

Francisco, for such was the name of the Venetian merchant, now tenderly embraced Hamet, and begged he would forgive the trial to which he had put his virtue, afsuring him at the same time that his soul abhorred all deeds of blood and treachery, as much as Hamet himself. « From this moment," said the merchant, “ you are free ; your ransom is paid, and you are at liberty to go where you please. Perhaps, hereafter, when you see an unhappy Christian groaning in Turkish fetters, your generosity may bring Venice to your remembrance."

The feelings of Hamet at this unexpected deliverance are not to be described. Francisco


him on board a ship, which was bound to one of the Grecian islands, and, after taking leave of him in the tendereft manner, forced him to accept of a purse of gold to pay his expenses. Affectionate was the parting of Hamet with his little friend, whom he embraced in an agony of tenderness, wept over him, and implored Heaven to grant him all the blessings of this life.

About fix months afterwards, one morning, while the family were all in bed, Francisco's house was discovered to be on fire, and great part of the house was in flames before the family was alarmed. The terrified servants had but just time to awaken Francisco, who was no sooner got into the street, than the whole staircase gave way, and fell into the flames.

If the merchant thought himself happy on having saved himself, it was only for a moment, as he soon recollected that his beloved fon was left behind to the

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