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you, that perverseness of human nature, which makes us pursue more eagerly an object that flies from us, and is difficult to overtake?” “Nay, give it a fair motive, Frederic,” replied Mr. Melville: “that is like Rochefoucault, who deprives human nature of all its bias towards good, and traces our very virtues to some selfish origin.” “I do believe,” replied lord Burton, “that people, in searching for original motives, get themselves perplexed in the mazes of the human mind, and often attribute an action to a bad principle, which naturally sprung from a good one. Philosophers almost always carry their theories too far, and having gained a glimpse of truth, run so fast, that they get far beyond her. It may be sometimes, and no doubt is, that deeds which not only the world, but the doers themselves, think great, proceed from some mean motive, concealed in the closest recesses of the human t heart;

heart; but to say that it is always so, is a libel upon nature.” They were now upon the return home, and soon rejoined Mary and lady Anne Milsome, with whom the baron de S had still continued. Charles could now meet him with feelings of unmixed pleasure, and the beginning of a strong friendship had already commenced between them. To lord Burton the society of the baron was particularly agreeable, from habits of old intimacy, and the kind of melancholy that hung upon each of them produced a sympathy of feeling, and a similarity of ideas, that drew them more strongly together than ever. The elegance of the baron's manners, and the extensive information he possessed, made him a pleasant companion to the ladies of the party; and all, in short, looked forward to his accompanying them to Naples as a great addition to the pleasure they expected. Accordingly, on the day proposed, they quitted

quitted the city of Rome, and having passed the Pontine marshes, got upon the celebrated Appian way a little before they arrived at Terracina, where some remains of the ancient port built by Antoninus Pius were pointed out to them. But from thence also a much finer object met their eyes—the sea, which they had not beheld since their passage from England. Passing on by Mola, where Scipio Africanus is said to have made his abode, they proceeded to Capua, (on the river Vulturnus,) which seemed to them little like the city whose joys intoxicated the victorious army of Hannibal, and delayed its march. Here they slept, or at least endeavoured to do so, for a certain follower of the summer contrived pretty well to

destroy their rest. ... . . . “Oh!” cried Charles on descending to the breakfast-room, “Hannibal! Hannibal! when last you slept here, had you been so devoured with fleas as I have been, you would not have stopped another day in this place, but marching on with your flea-bitten host, would have compelled proud Rome to bow her haughty head.— You see, baron,” he continued, pursuing his rhapsody, “how slight a thing may cause the greatest revolutions—to conceive that so small an animal as a flea might have brought about the ruin of the greatest city in the world!—nay more, pushing the consequences still farther, might, by making the Carthaginians masters of Italy, have transplanted the seat of empire to Africa, have prevented, or altered in their course, all that has since happened in Europe, and stopped the progress of cultivation. Our religion, our language, our manners, might all have been changed; Africa might have been the civilized, the elegant quarter of the globe, and Europe a barbarous, unlettered desert—and all for a flea —You need not laugh, Mary; it is not reasoning too curiously—faith, not a whit!” “But perhaps Hannibal's skin was not SO so delicate as yours, Mr. Melville,” replied the baron. “Skin, my dear sir!” answered Charles; “I can assure you I have not a bit left; I have suffered the martyrdom of St. Bartholomew ' But for Heaven's sake let us get out of the place as soon as possible!” “We will take the ruins of the old city where Hannibal really was in our way,” said lord Burton; “I have never seen them, but I understand they offer some curious remains.” Immediately after breakfast they proceeded to the old city of Capua, at the distance of a few miles from the modern one, and thence went on to Aversa, the calm quiet of whose lovely situation went directly home to Charles's heart. His mind was at that moment peculiarly open to every agreeable sensation; he saw nothing but beauty in the scene around; and with Mary by his side, knowing himself loved, and pressed on by no sorrow, in the midst of nature and repose, he fan

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