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Melville and Phalez

by Isaac Mitchell

Poughkeepsie, N.Y., Political Barometer. Vol. II, No. 1, (whole No. 53), June 7, 1803, through Vol. II, No. 8 (whole No. 60), July 26, 1803)

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[Placed on-line December 2002]

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: This text has been transcribed, as accurately as possible, from the original newspaper publication of the story from June 7 through July 26, 1803, in the Poughkeepsie weekly newspaper Political Barometer, then owned and edited by the author Isaac Mitchell. We have also included an issue-by-issue synopsis of the plot Apparent typographical errors, and some non-standard spellings, have been identified by "[sic]" placed after them. Where letters, or necessary punctuation, appear to be missing, they have been inserted between [square brackets].
          Melville and Phalez was picked up by other newspapers, and then pirated as a separate work. Mitchell referred bitterly to this piracy, though without details, in his NOTE at the end of Alonzo and Melissa, to which readers are referred. Other than that, and unlike Alonzo and Melissa, this story has remained virtually unknown, and so far as I know has not been discussed by literary critics. But it deserves to be considered in connection with that much longer and better-known work.
          Isaac Mitchell had joined Jesse Buel to found the Political Barometer, which was a successor to the Guardian which had been published for several years by Jesse Buel in partnership with Nathaniel Joyner.
                    Hugh MacDougall, Secretary, James Fenimore Cooper Society.

POLITICAL BAROMETER.

"PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY MORNING BY MITCHELL & BUEL, FIVE DOORS SOUTH OF THE COURTHOUSE"

NO 1, VOL II.}               POUGHKEEPSIE, TUESDAY, JUNE 7, 1803               {NUMB. 53.


[No.53; June 7,1803, p. 4]

MELVILLE AND PHALEZ.--A TALE.

The following story is compiled from an ancient document, now in the hands of the writer; it has never before appeared in print.

MANY years ago, there lived in England a gentleman whose name was Melville, who had been bred up to the mercantile business, and for several years was an eminent merchant in London, but by repeated losses and disappointments, he at length became so reduced as to be obliged to relinquish business, and to engage as a clerk to a principal house in that city; his integrity and accuracy in business, so far gained the confidence and the esteem of his employers, that they, in conjunction with several other merchants, appointed him their agent and supercargo to foreign countries. He performed many successful voyages, to the satisfaction of his owners, and to his own advantage, till finally his affairs became completely unembarrassed.

He was once sent on a trading voyage to Turkey, and as he was one day walking the streets of Constantinople, he discovered, by the way side, the dead body of a man, lying naked on the ground. He enquired of the natives why the body was suffered to lie unburied, and was told that the man, when living, was a Chr[i]stian, and that dying considerably in debt, his creditor had, by their laws, a right to prevent his interment, unless some person appeared to satisfy the demand; he asked to what sum the debt amounted, the answer was five hundred sequins (nearly niue [sic] hundred dollars;) he desired the creditor to be called, to whom he immediately paid the demand, and had the satisfaction to see the body of the poor Christian decently interred.

A few days after this he was informed that a female slave was to be executed in the public square, near the market place. Sympathy more than curiosity led him to the spot, where he found an immense concourse of people gathered. In the centre of the square was a large vase, filled with water, in which the unfortunate victim was to be strangled. Already were the cords fastened around her neck, her hands were bound, and she stood tremblingly awaiting the signal which was to seal her doom. Melville approached the place where she stood, and found her to be a fair and very beautiful maiden, to appearance about eighteen years of age; of what nation she was, he could not learn; he asked for what crime she was to suffer, and was told it was for striking her mistress, a Turkish lady belonging to one of the Bashaws. He approached the chief executioner and demanded her ransom; it was ten thousand sequins! (seventeen thousand five hu[n]dred dollars.) What could he do? This sum could not speedily be obtained, and the execution could not be long postponed; he desired, however, that it might be suspended; they gave him thirty minutes, the most extended limits which could be granted. He hastened to the house of an English merchant, the only person in that country of whom he could obtain credit--he was not at home! What course could he pursue? He ran to the public place, where merchants from various nations commonly resort at certain hours in the day to transact business; he was not there; he hastened to the divan, which foreigners sometimes attend; there he was not--he ran back to the place of execution, supposing he might possibly be among the crowd; just as he arrived there, the fatal time had elapsed; he heard the awful sentence given, and the criminal was plunged into the water! He flew to the vase, wrested the cords from the hands of the mutes, clasped the strangling female in his arms and extricated her from immediate death. The people stared; the executioner commanded him to be seized, and bound, which was instantly done. At that moment his friend, the merchant, whom he had been seeking, came up, and finding how matters stood, immediately advanced the ransom; This softened the austerity of the Turkish officers, and Melville and the lady were both set free.

The lady was conveyed to the merchant's house in a state little superior to that of inanimation. Every attention was paid to her situation, but it was some days before she recovered so far as to arrange her intellectual powers for regular conversation. When correct reason resumed its empire, she expressed her gratitude to her deliverer in the most noble and exalted terms. She conversed fluently in French, and partially in English. Melville found that her mental and personal accomplishments were, in all respects, equal to that of the first English ladies; her artificial acquirements were otherwise; her manners were dissimilar, though he considered them not less engaging. This circumstance, however, was sufficient to convince him that her taste and refinements had not been dictated by the courtly belles of Europe.

Mellville [sic] was about twenty-eight years of age; not inferior in manly graces; of an amiable disposition, and eminently possessed of those qualities which embellish the character of civilized man. He had seen little of the world, except what is exhibited in the counting-house, on the seas, and in foreign ports. His sensibilities frequently drew upon his purse, beyond what his means could supply, as in the present case; the sum he had advanced for the ransom of the fair captive, was far beyond his income; but he trusted that when he arrived in England, a subscription might be raised for the amount; or, if this failed, he had a small personal estate near London, where resided his aged mother, and from the sale of this, with what fragments remained of his former fortune, the sum might be abtained [sic]. At any rate he resolved that his friend, who loaned him the money, should be repaid.

These determinations he mentioned to the merchant, who replied in these words--"We must share equally in the act of relieving this unfortunate lady; the one half of the money I will charge to your account, but give yourself no anxiety about the payment; wait until I write you, which I shall do soon after you return to England, I will then inform you when it is necessary for you to make the remittance." Melville expressed his gratitude in the overflowings of a feeling heart.

The time now had nearly arrived when Melville must return to England. He desired, yet feared to know something more concerning the situation of the beautiful stranger; her country, her connections, her wishes; how she came in captivity, and where she would wish to be conveyed. But where could he convey her? There was an indescribable something within his bosom which whispered him, that to part with her would be the severest stroke he could experience. His affections, he found, were riveted, but upon an object which probably could not reciprocate them. Or if otherwise, he had nothing but affection to render that object happy; his poverty was therefore an unsurmountable bar to such a union. But perhaps--(the thought thrilled his frame)--perhaps he was now holding her in a captivity worse than that from which she had escaped. This must be the height of cruelty.--Had she not brothers--sisters--parents--and, alas!--(intrusive and excruciating suggestion)--perhaps a lover--dear to her soul as the vital current which feeds the rose upon her cheek and the lily upon her bosom. "Away, then (said he) with all selfish views; her happiness shall be consulted, her choice shall be fulfilled; be the consequence to me as it may, she shall be restored to her country, her friends and her acquaintance."

With this resolution, he went to the lady's apartment.--"I am come, madam (said he) to inform you that business requires my immediate return to England, my native country; if, before I depart, I can render you any particular services, you will please to name them; perhaps you would choose to return to your own country; perhaps your choice is to remain here;--whatever your wishes may be, you have only to name them, and, if within my power, they shall be complied with." "Your magnanimity (returned the lady) has been such as to place it beyond a doubt that your generosity and benevolence would be extended to all the various situations in which distressed humanity can be placed; the obligation which I feel myself under to you, renders it improper for me to make a choice unwarranted by your approbation; if I may be permitted, however, to suggest my wishes, I should choose to leave this place as speedily as possible. You mentioned, Sir, that you were about to return to your own country; if you will convey me there, some opportunity may then possibly offer (she sighed deeply) by which I may once more see my friends, (a tear trembled in her eye) who live in distant--far distant parts."

"I beg, Madam, (replied Melville) that you will not distress me (she glanced a scrutinizing look upon him) by a recurrence to my past services; they were no more than honor and duty require to every fellow creature in distress. (Her eyes fell, and a spontaneous flush of crimson suffused her cheek.) With pleasure will I convey you to England; from whence there can be little doubt but that you will soon regain your friends and family."

"Is it a long voyage to England?" enquired she. "Considerably so, (replied Melville) tho' perhaps nearer to your own country than you are at present." "I understand you, Sir, (she said) but cannot tell you whether it be so or not. As I was going by sea to visit a family connection, we were driven a great way out of our course by a storm, where we were taken in the night by a Turkish pirate; all the men in our vessel were massacred because they made some resistance. An old lady and myself were the only women on board; she received a wound in the affray, of which she died before we arrived in port; I was sold as a slave, and have been in bondage about eighteen months; the woman with whom I lived treated me very harshly, which I bore with patience, knowing there was no remedy; but one day she most cruelly beat a female domestic for no other reason but because she was ill and unable to labor. In attempting to appease her anger, she struck me a severe blow in my face, which so exasperated me, that before I had time to reflect, I returned the blow, which unhappily took such an effect as to cause a copious flow of blood from her nose; and for this I was condemned to the violent death from which your bounty released me. As to my labor, I had not great reason to complain; needle-work, of which I have some understanding, was the daily task which was assigned me. Further information at present, you may esteem unnecessary, and even this you may consider officious, but I apprehended that you wished some sketch of my history, and I have accordingly given it.----My name is PHALEZ."

Melville found that although Phalez had given him an account of some local circumstances of her life, yet she had studiously avoided the most material points, which he was anxious to know. Her family, and the place of her nativity were kept entirely out of view. He forbore, however, to press her further upon this subject, supposing she had sufficient reasons for the concealment. One great object, & to him the most important one, was obtained--she would accompany him to England. This was a circumstance which he had no reason to expect; for the present, therefore, he was content, trusting to subsequent events for the future.

They soon left Constantinople, and in due time arrived in London. Phalez chose to reside with Melville's mother, which being a retired situation, suited her disposition far better than the noise and bustle of the city.

(To be continued.)


[No. 54; June 14, 1803]

MELLVILLE [sic], though he had several offers, could never think of undertaking new voyages, until the destiny of Phalez was decided. She had desired him to inform her of the different ports to which ships were daily sailing, which request he punctually obeyed; he found that she attended to this information with an anxiety consequent upon anticipated disappointment. The oft repeated sigh, and the not unfrequent tear, witnessed the effects which this disappointment produced upon her mind.

Melville endeavored to divert her melancholy by every means in his power. Her story became known among his friends in London, to whom he introduced her, but neither could his solicitude, nor their attention, induce her to the participation of amusements, or to mingle with the fashionable gaieties of life. Her situation was the constant theme of Melville's contemplations; he wished to relieve her, but dreaded to apply the antidote. She must be restored to her friends, and of course she would be lost to him. He would willingly protract her stay, were he not sure it would render her unhappy. But why protract it? what would he gain thereby? The happiness of her conversation; the pleasure of a conversant intimacy with those perfections which he could never cease to admire. Any thing farther than this, if he had hopes, he had no assurances of obtaining.

Another circumstance called for his attention and exertion. The money which he had borrowed of the Turkish merchant must be raised; his benefactor must be repaid; to do this, he know of no method but to sell his patrimonial estate, and in consequence, his means would be so far reduced as to render him incapable of providing even for his own exingencies [sic], much more for that of another; he saw, therefore, no remedy for himself but misery and unhappiness.

While he was one day revolving these things in his mind, he received a letter from the above mentioned merchant, including an invitation, with advantageous offers, to undertake a voyage to Persia, in his employ. On the margin of this letter was the following postscript.

"I have concluded to discharge to you the trifling sum you borrowed of me, and you shall receive my receipt, accordingly, when you arrive in Constantinople."

So much generosity and philanthropy rendered powerless every resolution Melville had taken against future voyages; he considered that not only gratitude but necessity demanded that he should comply with the offer: his finances were nearly exhausted; some plan must be fallen upon to replenish them, and none more likely than this; the Persian trade, though a difficult one, was yet very rich; his prospects, his duty and his obligations, therefore, stimulated him to accept the proposal.

But what was to be the fate of Phalez? In his absence she might return to her own country, and he might lose her for ever. But should an opportunity offer for her return, would his stay have any influence upon her determination?--Ought not her choice to be his own? Could his wishes run counter to her's? And was it not unjust to attempt an influence over her destinies? But why these reasonings? One principle he had laid down, and from this he would never depart--her happiness only should be his object, as far as he had, in her concerns, any kind of agency.

It was necessary that he should inform Phalez of his intended voyage; he therefore sought an opportunity to converse with her upon the subject; he had attended her one afternoon to the house of a friend; after returning home he addressed her in the following manner:--"I have perceived, madam, that your mind appears frequently oppressed with a weight of melancholy; if any thing more than I apprehend should be the cause, and if I could be useful in removing it, you have only to command and be obeyed." "Of this I can entertain no doubt (she replied.) There is nothing upon my mind but what you have a right to be informed of--I wish I could be more cheerful--but--I am a stranger in a strange land, and know not--when--my parents----(she burst into tears)--excuse me, sir, at present, on so tender a subject." "Can I not, madam, (said Melville) send intelligence to your parents, or convey you to them?" "Perhaps that time may come, (she said) at present I know of no method." "Ships to all parts of the earth (said he) sail from these ports, nothing in my power shall be spared to render you happy."

Phalez. (her countenance brightened) Still, sir, are you conferring increasing obligations upon me, which I can never sufficiently acknowledge.

Mellville [sic]. You cannot be contented in England, madam?

Phalez. I have, sir, an indulgent father--a tender mother----

Melville. After you shall have been restored to them----

Phalez. To you and your honorable mother I am bound by the strongest ties; I have no aversion to England, especially--but--(she hesitated.)

Melville. (with ardor) Dear Phalez, I will be explicit; could you, after being restored to your parents, consent to bless the unhappy Melville; would you be willing to be his for life?

As play the aurora borealis on the fleecy clouds of the north, thus alternately glowed the cheek of the confused Phalez. She trembled, and with hesitance thus replied. "You, sir, have redeemed me from slavery; I am therefore you servant. I depend--I exist--daily exist upon your bounty. Poor--unsupported by friends--a beggar! You, sir, have reputable connections; are honored, esteemed, and respected. To unite yourself to a person of my pretensions, and situation in life, might be of serious injury to you, as it respects all these; this, therefore, if there was no other objection, is of sufficient force to prevent our union. (Melville was about to interrupt her--she begged to proceed.) You have generously permitted me to make my own determinations: I know you will still grant me that privilege. You have never denied me a single request, I know you will never deny me; let me then, sir, entreat you--suffer me to solicit you, by ever tender consideration, never to mention this subject again."

Melville was thunder-struck; he could make no reply. He traversed the room with hasty and unequal steps, and at length, with a tremulous voice, thus answered: "You shall be obeyed, madam; but allow me, in my turn, to make also one request: I am about to set out for Constantinople, from whence I am to make a mercantile voyage to the distant parts of Persia; I shall, likewise, be charged with a negociation to the prince of that country, which may detain me a considerable time. Whatever may be my fate or thine, so long as I live I shall feel a peculiar interest in your favor. Will you consent to tarry with my aged mother until my return; I ask no more." A beam of unusual joy lighted up the aspect of Phalez, she readily acquiesced in his proposal, and he immediately set about preparing for his voyage.

On his departure, Phalez presented him with a silk vest, richly embroidered with gold and silver, by her own hands. The embroiderings and decorations were such as he had never before seen, highly finished and of exquisite beauty. "Take these (said she, with a smile of plaintive expression) and whenever you visit a foreign court, wear it, and remember Phalez." "I needed not that injunction (said Melville, accepting the present) my remembrance of Phalez can only cease with life."

He soon after sailed for Constantinople, where he met his benefactor, the merchant, who presented him with a full discharge of the debt he owed him, shortly after which he took his departure for Persia.

The trade to that country from Europe was, at that time, carried on altogether through the medium of Turkey. Hence in England little was known of the Persian commerce. It was difficult, as part of the journey must be performed over land, but it was profitable; their rich silks, cloths of gold and silver, tapestry, &c. were first imported by the Turkish merchants, and thence exported to various parts of the world. This, indeed, is much the case at the present day; there is not a mercantile Persian company in any part of Europe; all their valuable manufactures are received through other hands; and, in fact, much less is known to Europeans of this ancient, rich, fertile, and extensive country, than of India beyond the Ganges.

When Melville arrived at his port of destination, he had still a considerable journey to prosecute, as the residence of the prince was considerably inland. The merchants who traded to that country, sent large presents to the prince, which were delivered to him by their agents, and they then received, from him, permission to trade in his dominions. On this journey Melville set out in company with a number of others. As he proceeded along, he was charmed with the appearance of the country; its luxurious fertility; the salubrious fragrance of the air, odored with the numerous sweets of flowers which were scattered in wild profusion along the field, the lapse [sic] of falling waters, as they descended the sloping acclivities, the mingling music of strange birds, which resounded thro' the adjacent groves, all conspire[d] to excite pleasing sensations in his bosom: his contemplations reverted back to London; the "thoughts of home" arrested the powers of his mind; he wafted a sigh to Phalez, and pleasingly pensive passed along.

Spacious ruins frequently attracted his notice, which had outlived the remembrance of man. Their structure was dissimilar to any thing of modern or Gothic architecture; but they spoke the sublimity and magic powers of this art, in the earliest ages of the world. Agriculture was criminally neglected, owing to the indolence of the peasantry, and the spontaneous production of the soil. But the manufactures, he every where found were in a flourishing state. He perceived that the debased state of society in that country, was not so much owing to the oppression of its rulers, as to the slothful disposition of its inhabitants.

On the third evening of their journey, they arrived within a few miles of the prince's palace.

(To be continued.)


[No. 55, June 21, 1803, p. 4]

Several of the Turkish merchants had empowered Melville to form a commercial treaty with the Persian Prince, whereby certain restrictions on trade might be taken off, and more advantageous terms thereby obtained. For this purpose he was supplied with sufficient credentials, besides a selection of rich and costly presents. In the morning he proceeded on his journey, and in a few hours came within sight of the prince's palace. It was a stately and magnificent structure, built of various kinds of marble, adorned with beautiful embossments [sic] of gold and silver, and embellished with all the splendors of the East. It stood on an elevated and spacious square in the midst of the town: the town was regularly built, the streets intersecting with each other at right angles; the houses were built low, after the Persian manner, but they, as well as the inhabitants, were neat and cleanly.

The travellers unloaded their baggage at a house of public entertainment, and a messenger was dispatched to court to know when they could have audience; word was returned that the prince had appointed to receive them the ensuing afternoon, and they made the necessary arrangements for the interview.

Melville retired to a private room to prepare his credentials and presents, and to dress; he took up the vest which Phalez had embroidered; he recollected the pensive, yet enlivening smile which mantled upon her cheek when she gave it to him--"Dear memento (said he) of a far dearer object, by whom it was enjoined that thou shouldst accompany me to the courts of princes, as a memorial of the fair hand that formed thee; this injunction shall be strictly fulfilled; thou shalt exhilirate [sic] my spirits in despondency; thou shalt correct the fluctuations of fancy; thou shalt guide my steps along the paths of honour and virtue, for thou shalt tell me of Phalez.

When the time arrived, the company set forward for the court, preceded by their servants, bearing the presents. They were admitted by the porters into the prince's presence. As they entered the court, Melville was struck with surprise at the splendor of the objects around him. The rich carpets, costly hanging[s], and superb decorations of every apartment through which he passed, completely engrossed his attention; at length he came to the hall of audience, where sat the prince on an elevated seat, or throne, of costly workmanship, surrounded by his nobles and attendants, whose garments and attire sparkled with gems and glittered with lace. The prince was a tall, well made person, apparently about fifty years of age; his countenance was invitingly expressive, but stamped with a grave aspect of majestic melancholy. Melville seemed to recognize his features; they appeared familiar; this, however, could not be; it must be similarity, or sympathy, which caused the impression. His dress was plainer than that of his attendants. He was attired in a scarlet robe fringed with silver tassel; a golden sash crossed his right shoulder, upon which, against his bosom, hung the regal diadem. Part of his grey hair hung loose upon his shoulders, and part was filletted [sic] under a richly embroidered cap of crimson velvet; a snow-white sattin [sic] girdle encircled his waist, on which were various emblems and devices, wrought with black silk cord. He accepted the presents which were brought, with a graceful air of affability, when the strangers who presented them were conducted to the apartment of his prime minister, who received their credentials, laid their affairs before the prince, and communicated to them his decision.

Melville stood enwrapped in contemplation, admiring the novel scene, while his companions had all delivered their presents. He was the last. He approached the prince, respectfully saluted him, in the eastern manner, and placed the presents at his feet. The prince saw them not! He fixed an eye of stedfast [sic] surprise upon Melville, his cheeks were animated with a momentary glow, to which the paleness of death succeeded! He attempted to rise, but was powerless! His attendants assisted him in removing from the hall, he beckoned Melville to follow him. They retired to an inner apartment; he was seated on a sofa, another was placed for Melville, and he motioned the attendants to withdraw, which they instantly obeyed. He attempted to speak, but was incapable of uttering a word! He then unfolded the robe from his breast, and Melville, to his inconceiveable surprise and astonishment, discovered that the prince wore a vest of exactly the same texture and embroidery as that which Phalez had presented him with at parting! He, like the prince, was speechless, and they gazed at each other in silent amazement. The prince first spake, (in French)--"Etes vous, Francois, Monsieur?" (are you a Frenchman, sir?)--"Non, Monsieur, (replied Melville) "[sic] je suis Anglois," (No, sir, I am an Englishman.)

Prince. (in English) May I know where you obtained that vest? You see the figure is exactly the same as that which I now wear.

Melville. I see it is, which exceedingly surprizes me. The vest was wrought by a lady who had been a prisoner in Turkey.

Prince. What was her name?

Melville. Phalez.

Prince. (with agitation) She was my only child.

Melville was petrified! A crowd of pleasing and tormenting ideas alternately crossed his imagination, in rapid succession. He rejoiced to find the father of his Phalez, but in this father he found the prince of Persia, and of course she must be lost, to him, for ever. "Inform me (said the prince, whose tears suffused his eyes) all you know of my daughter--by what means you obtained that vest--her usage in Turkey--the manner of her death, and"----"Your highness is deceived, (said Melville) when I left England she was in health. (The prince arose with earnest emotion.) I will give your hig[h[ness all the information in my power." (The prince reseated himself.) Melville then related every circumstance respecting Phalez, from his first acquaintance with her in Turkey until he left her in England. At the conclusion of this relation the prince arose and embraced him with transports of joy. "Never (said he) did I expect to see my Phalez again; something more than three years ago I sent her on ship-board to visit a neighboring prince, a distant relation of my family; her nurse and a few servants were her only attendants. Soon after she departed a violent storm arose, and as the ship never arrived at its destined port, I, for a long time, supposed it buried in the ocean; but, a few months since, I heard that she was a slave in Turkey; I immediately dispatched messengers to learn the truth of this report, and, if true, to redeem her at any price. All that the messengers could learn was, that a young Persian lady, answering to her description, who had been in slavery from about the time my daughter was lost, had recently died there, of a fever. I supposed this must be Phalez, and my hopes, which had been revived, now sunk into despair; the grief occasioned by her loss, has brought her afflicted mother to the verge of the grave; nor could my philosophy withstand the shock. This vest, and this badge of mourning (pointing to his girdle) have been the melancholy emblems of the sorrow which constantly preyed upon my heart. You sir, have restored comfort and felicity to our declining years, nor will Persia's prince suffer so noble a deed to go unrewarded. This palace must be your residence while you remain in Persia; your business shall be despatched with all possible speed; I will provide a ship for conveying my daughter home, which I will place under your direction when you return to England. At present I must go and inform my consort of the happy tidings, and this I must do with caution, as in her weak and declining state, a sudden flood of joy might be productive of fatal effects."

He then called a slave and ordered him to conduct Melville to the prime minister; "you will deliver him your credentials (he said) in a short time I will see you again.["]

Melville was conducted to the prime minister, who received his credentials, and was told by a Grecian interpreter, that he must wait in an adjoining room, to which he was shown, where were several of the Turkish merchants, who had accompanied him thither. In about an hour, a slave entered and delivered him a note from the prince, desiring his attendance, when he was immediately conducted into a splendid apartment where were the prince and his lady; she reclined upon a couch, and appeared to be about forty-five years of age; the grandeur of faded beauty was still visible upon her countenance, which the withering storms of grief had blighted; supported by assistants, she arose, and, with a feeble voice, received Melville as the deliverer of her daughter--she addressed him in imperfect English.

Melville was received as one of the prince's family; he sat at the same table with him and his consort; a room was provided for his private retirement, where attendants were ordered to serve him; measures were taken for the speedy accomplishment of his affairs, & every preparation made for his immediate return to England. It now occurred to him why the countenance of the prince had, at first sight, appeared familiar to him--in the manly features of his face, he recognized the softer graces of Phalez.

The business which Melville came upon was, at length, completed. The day before his departure the prince came to his apartment, accompanied by the Grecian interpreter, whom Melville had seen in the apartment of the prime minister. "As you are now ready to depart for England (said the prince) I have provided a ship for my daughter's return, which is to be entrusted to your care; this man is to have the command of the ship; He is a native of Candia, has been in my service about two years, and is the most skilful navigator in my dominions. His name is Aphello, and you will find him trusty and faithful." He then desired Aphello to withdraw, after which he thus resumed his discourse. "It must appear singular, sir, to you, that while I and my family have some knowledge of the English and French languages, it is yet spoken in no other part of my dominions. You, who are entitled to all my confidence, shall know the occasion, by which you will be informed of some circumstances known to no person on earth, except myself and my immediate predecessors and descendants. Listen, then, attentively to what I have to say."

(To be continued.)


[No. 56; June 28, 1803, p. 4]

"THE father of my great grand-father (said the prince) was born, of good family, at Marseilles, in France. His name was D'Valance. In early life he went over to England, to transact some mercantile business, where he became acquainted with a young lady, whose name was Sophia, the daughter of an English nobleman. An ardent and mutual attachment took place, which, as soon as discovered, was opposed by the friends of the lady, and they undertook to drive D'Valance from the country; for this purpose slanderous stories were raised to bring him into disgrace; one of the principal actors in this business was a lord, who had long sought to obtain the affections of Sophia, and though his addresses were firmly supported by her friends, yet was he received by her with a coldness which withered all his hopes. Sophia was forbid to receive the visits of D'Valance, but she received them privately. This was discovered, and she was, of course, closely confined to her chamber, of which the young lord was entrusted with the key; she found means, however, to convey a letter to D'Valance; a plan was concerted whereby she was to escape from the window of her apartment, and accompany him to France. At the time appointed, which was late in the night, D'Valance appeared with his carriage, under her window, which looked into the street; he gave the concerted signal, (a whistle) she raised her window, flung out a bundle of clothes and jewels, which he put into his carriage; he threw up one end of a ladder of ropes, which she caught and secured, and he was preparing to fasten it at the bottom, when he was alarmed by a sudden scream of the lady! the window dropped; he heard voices and saw lights in her chamber; he found he was discovered; the front door of the house was opened, he rushed in through a crowd of servants and flew to the chamber; the first object he saw was Sophia, struggling in the arms of the young lord, while the servants were fastening the windows; D'Valance seized Sophia by the arm, and dashed the young lord to the floor, who immediately rose, drew his sword, made a pass at D'Valance, and wounded him in the shoulder; D'Valance drew, and pierced his antagonist through the body! "You have killed me," he cried, and fell, weltering in his blood! The servants gathered round, and, for a moment, were too much panic struck to secure D'Valance, who bore Sophia to the carriage in almost a breathless state, drove rapidly to Dover, got on board a packet, and crossed to France; there he collected what money he could, and they speedily left that country, knowing that as the young lord whom he had slain was nearly connected with the royal family, no means would be left untried to apprehend them; they proceeded to Switzerland, where they were married, and were preparing to settle, when they found they were pursued, even there; they fled to the remote parts of Russia, where, supposing themselves secure, they fixed upon a spot and sat themselves down; but here they were soon found out by their pursuers, apprehended, put into a stage-coach under a strong guard, and ordered back to England; but as they were upon the confines of the Russian dominions, they were attacked by a clan of robbers in the night; in the conflict, D'Valance and Sophia made their escape and fled to the woods, from whence, by the assistance of a peasant, who lived on the verge of the wilderness, they got to Siaskoi, where they kept concealed as much as possible until they found an opportunity to leave the country, and came into Persia; they settled in Schiras; my great grand father, the son of D'Valance, became an active warrior in the service of the prince, and was invested with distinguished honors and emoluments; his son, my grand father, married the then prince's daughter, and my father, consequently, succeeded to the throne of Persia, whose successor I am; we have eve retained the French and English languages in our family, though they have become imperfect by a want of intercourse and the changes of time. Thus, Melville, have I entrusted you with the secret history of my family, and in this I have nothing to fear; the man who can act as honorably and as disinterestedly as you have done, cannot act dishonorably."

Melville bowed; his mind labored with the eventful dealings of providence with man.--It grew late; the prince withdrew, and he retired to rest.

The next day, as he was about to depart, the prince took Melville and Aphello into his closet--"The ship (said he) in which my daughter is to return, you will find when you arrive at the port where you left your own; she has a cargo of the produce and manufactures of our country, which is presented to you; in the cabin you will find a trunk, containing letters to my daughter, and a small sum to defray the expence of the voyage. I have one stipulation to make--I know you will restore me my daughter; I know if you entrust her with any other person, it will be a person of honor; if, therefore, you should be prevented from returning, either by choice or by death, the man who restores her shall be promoted to honor, and shall receive rewards which shall place him in an independent situation; and if he be a worthy person, and single, he shall have the offer of my daughter in marriage, provided he gain her consent."

Melville and Aphello took leave of the prince and his lady, and set out on their journey; when they arrived at the port they found the ship, which the prince had provided, it was built much after the English model, deeply loaded with rich silks, carpeting, laces and cloths of gold and silver embroidery. In the cabin he discovered a large trunk; he opened it--it was nearly filled with gold and jewels! He found therein letters to Phalez, and a note to himself from the prince, containing these words--"dispose of the contents of this trunk as you please, except the charges of my daughter's return.["]

They soon sailed, and when they arrived in Turkey, Melville communicated his good fortune, and the history of Phalez, to his friend, the merchant; restored him the money which he had advanced for her ransom, & took his departure for England, with Aphello, in the prince's ship, where they arrived in due time.

Melville found Aphello to be of a shrewd and artful character; a specious semblance of honor marked all his actions, which, on a critical investigation, appeared grounded on one principle--self-aggrandizement. He was a man of animated and irregular passions.

The house where Melville's mother and Phalez resided, was a few miles distant from London, in rather a lonely and solitary situation, no other building standing very near. It was late at night when he set out, from the metropolis, for his maternal residence. Aphello was left with the ship. His heart swelled as he traced the well-known path through the suburbs; the lights were all extinguished; the barking of the attentive watch-dog only broke the solemn stillness. "These messengers (said he, clasping the prince's letters to his breast) will consolate the bosom of my afflicted Phalez; but why do I call her mine? What reason have I to cherish that extravagant hope, which is the only support of my life?--What grounds have I to hazard the presumptuous supposition that the princess of Persia will so far forget her dignity as to"----at that moment he arose [sic] a hill within a few hundred yards of his mother's dwelling; he started; the whole hemisphere around him seemed illuminated; he ascended the hill, darted his eyes on the plains below; his mother's house was in flames! he shouted--he flew with the speed of an eagle; the neighbors had gathered round, but too late to yield assistance, the house was built of wood, and in a gener[a]l blaze; even the rafters had fallen in; he rushed among the crowd--"Where is my mother--my Phalez?" he wildly exclaimed. The peasants stared at him, but made no reply. He vehemently reiterated the enquiry; at length one of the spectators replied, "if you mean the inhabitants of this house, they have perished in the flames!" He would have rushed into the midst of the burning mass, had he not been prevented; but excess of grief soon overcame his vital powers, and he sunk to the ground in speechless agony! He was carried to the nearest dwelling, the owner of which now recognized Melville, having formerly seen him at his mother's house. When Melville revived, the peasant told him that they were first alarmed by seeing the light shine in at the windows, when they awoke in the night; that then the flames had made such progress, that the house was in one general blaze; that the morning before, he saw the two ladies, and heard them conversing with much anxiety concerning his expected return.--This relation pierced his soul!

For two days Melville was confined to his bed; the third he arose, and the first place he visited was the ruins of the house. In searching among the cinders he found a heap of rubbish which appeared like stacked lime intermixed with ashes. "Here (he said) is all on earth that is left of beauty, loveliness, perfection, and maternal tenderness. Ye sacred relics! could I wear thee next my heart! but ye are mingled with dust and ashes, to be trampled upon by the heedless foot of the vulgar and the profane!"--He communicated to Aphello the sad catastrophe--"Return (said he) to the prince of Persia with the doleful tidings, I will retire to some remote parts, far from society and the face of man!" Aphello, accordingly, was to depart in a few days.

Melville also made preparations to leave England for some remote country; while he staid in London, he made it his practice every day to visit the ruins, and drop the bitter tears of recollection over the desolated place; the day previous to which he intended to set out, and which Aphello was to sail for Persia, he was detained by illness until the dusk of the evening; nothing, however, could prevent him from taking a last farewell of the melancholy scene; he resorted to the place; as he approached near, he heard plaintive moans of grief; he looked, and saw two persons standing by the ruins; he hesitated--he advanced--he came nearer--they were his mother and Phalez! Description would fail in painting the emotions of his soul! he sprang to them, clasped their hands, but could not utter a word! They were almost as much surprised.--They retired to an adjacent house, where mutual explanations took place. The day before Melville arrived, his mother and Phalez had gone into the country to tarry a week with an acquaintance; how the house took fire was not known, nor had they heard any thing of it; until they, that evening, returned to the spot. What Melville supposed to be the calcinated bones of his mother and Phalez, was only a heap of lime which had been deposited in the garret.

Phalez fixed an inquisitive eye on Melville; he handed her the letters from her father; she looked at the inscription, and burst into tears! she asked leave to withdraw a few moments; after she was gone, Melville informed his mother of all that had occurred in his voyage. When Phalez returned, "shall I accompany you to Persia (said Melville) or entrust you to the care of another?" "I beg you will not leave me (said she, sweetly smiling through her tears) until you have restored me to my father, the particular reason of this request I will give you when I arrive in my own country."

The next morning Aphello was sent for and introduced to Melville's mother, and to Phalez as the particular favorite of her father. As such she received him with politeness, and he expressed great joy to find them in safety.

Phalez solicited Melville's mother to accompany them, to which she consented. They now sold off their cargo, purchased such articles as they wanted, and in a few days sailed for Persia.

Aphello extremely regretted that Melville had concluded to return; the latter, he hoped, would have been contented with the gold and riches which had been heaped upon him, and that he himself would have the privilege of restoring Phalez to her father, and consequently of receiving her promised hand, with the honors and the emoluments. This chagrin and disappointment vexed him to the heart, but he artfully concealed it.

Prosperous gales wafted them gently over the ocean for a long time. One day Aphello informed them that, by his reckoning, they were within two days of their destined port. This was pleasing news to them, and they, in consequence, devoted that afternoon and evening to hilarity and joy. Phalez was more than usually cheerful. She was soon to be restored to the arms of a fond mother--to the embraces of an endearing father; these, with other considerations of a no less tender nature, served to exhilirate [sic] her spirits, and animate her feelings, beyond what she had for a long time experienced. Alas! unfortunate and infatuated maiden! how deficient thy prescience! how blind art thou to the events of one future hour! soon shall the daggers of disappointment torture thy peace; with to-morrow's sun shall thunders burst upon thee, which shall blast all they prospects of future happiness!

When the evening was far spent, Aphello proposed, as the weather was sultry, that the men should sleep on the quarter deck, where a kind of arbour had been formed with some spare sails, for their evening's entertainment; this proposal was readily agreed to; it was about two o'clock in the morning before the ladies retired to the cabin; the men soon after reposed upon the deck, and it was not long before they were all fast locked in the arms of the god Morpheus, except Aphello and the man at helm, whom the former thus addressed--"Go (said he) repose with thy companions. I will take charge of the ship;" the man retired and was soon, with the rest, asleep. Aphello lashed the helm, and paced the deck with tremulous and varying strides; "shall I (he exclaimed) who have never known fear, be baulked in my designs, when the means of prevention are in my power? Shall Aphello, who has dared death and danger in all their various forms--who has never withheld his hand from murder and blood to remove objects which thwarted his purposes--who has arisen to fame and to favor by his own subtilty [sic] and artifices--shall he now fail of gaining superior honors and preferment by the want of a little energy and execution? Forbid it ye Gods, if any Gods there be, who preside over the fate of mortals!" So saying, he hastily advanced to the place where Melville lay slumbering--the wind had begun strongly to breeze; the sea rolled heavily and wrought tempestuously; he cast a malignant eye upon the sleeping Melville, seized him in his arms and threw him into the ocean! "Now (said he) shall I secure the prize--the man who restores the princess to her father, his bride she shall be"--Thrice rose the struggling victim, and thrice he screeched for help--he was heard no more! the ominous bird of the approaching storm, dolefully screamed the knell of his destiny, and the groans of his guardian angel mingled with the sound of the roaring waves!

(To be continued.)


[No. 57; July 5, 1803, p. 4]

THE wind blew furiously; the sea rose into mountains; the ship rocked and trembled; sheets of lived [sic] flame burst from the heavens; thunders bellowed around them, and the rain began to pour in torrents; the men left the deck and huddled below, all but Aphello and the crew, who were busily employed in managing the ship. But the squall soon passed away; the demon of the tempest ceased to howl, and a general calm succeeded. The battle of the storm served, however, to arouse Phalez from a troubled dream. She thought she was walking with Melville on a beautiful plain near her father's palace; suddenly the ground opened beneath them, and Melville sunk into the chasm! at that instant appeared Aphello: she endeavored to call to him but was speechless; as he approached her, his visage turned black, his eyes glared hideously, he grinned in a ghastly manner, and brandished in his hand a bloody dagger! She turned to flee but was unable to stir; at a little distance she saw an elderly person hastening towards her; his long silvery hair flowed loosely upon the white robe which hung gracefully from his shoulders; benignity beamed from his countenance, and his seeming to move above the surface of the ground, spoke him an inhabitant of "other worlds." Phalez strove to meet him, but was fixed to the spot, The distress caused by the dream, added to the crash of a loud clap of thunder, broke the charm, and she awoke, happy to find it was but a dream.

The tempest had abated, but Phalez could sleep no more. The impressions which the "visions of the night" had left upon her mind, were too strong to admit of immediate rest.

The sun arose the next morning in usual splendor, the sea was at rest, and the air was calm. Phalez also arose, ascended from the cabin, and cast an anxious and inquisitive eye around the deck; no one was yet stirring except Aphello; he approached her; "Madam (said he) a sad accident has happened to our friend; Melville is not in the ship; he must have fallen overboard during the storm." She uttered a faint scream, and fell breathless upon the deck! Aphello raised her up; the people were alarmed, and the women came to the assistance of Phalez; as they unloosed her robes to give her fresh air, Aphello discovered a remarkable natural mark upon the right side of her neck; he started with horror! "Ye Gods! (he exclaimed) what do I see! has the dead arisen, or"----recollecting himself he turned away, and in apparent agitation, walked to another part of the deck. The tidings of Melville's death soon spread among the people on board and reached the ears of his aged mother; her heart was wrung with bitter anguish, "now (she cries) will my grey hairs be brought down to the grave in sorrow." A general lamentation prevailed among all in the ship; "Melville (said they) was beloved by all, but, alas! he is no more."

Phalez gradually revived, but she revived a monument of distress! she spake not, except in incoherent and unmeaning sentences; no tear moistened her eye, and she refused all sustenance; sometimes she earnestly called on Melville, sometimes on the name of her father, her mother, or the mother of Melville, who, when she was able, sat by her, but Phalez knew her not. Sometimes she would stare at her for a long time, with a wild vacancy of expression, and then turn her head away with a heart-rending sigh.

The third day, in the morning, after this distressing event, they came within sight of land. As soon as they arrived in port, messengers were dispatched to the prince who came, with his attendants, to receive the princess; Melville's death filled the old prince with grief, but his daughter's situation pierced his soul! he clasped her in his arms; she gazed at him a few moments, with a fixed attention, when floods of tears suddenly burst over her cheeks, and she called for water, of which she drank very freely. Her tears continued to flow, and reason slowly resumed its seat. But to what did her reason return but to scenes of sorrow, misery and woe! "Where is Melville," she cried, as her scattered senses collected, but keen recollection taking place, "my father! oh my father!: she would say--sobs and tears would permit no more.

She was too much exhausted to remove immediately, and therefore remained a few days on board the ship. Her father prevailed on her to take a little wine, and other sustenance. Any attempt to alleviate her affliction, at present, would be improper; time only could apply an antidote to mitigate her sufferings.

In a few days she was so far restored that they set out for home. The old princess met them at the palace gate, and received her daughter in her arms; neither of them could speak, the silent language of tears was their only conversation.

For several days, Phalez was unable to leave her room. Her mother, her father, and Melville's mother, were her constant attendants; nature, at length, in some measure, gained the ascendency [sic] of grief; she so far recovered as to walk out into the adjoining fields and gardens. Every day she indulged in a solitary walk to a neighboring grove, where she would sit and mourn her sad loss. She reproached herself exceedingly that she had not been more explicit with Melville; that she had not unfolded to him the secrecy of her heart. "But alas! (she would say) he is dead!["]

'He's dead, and never knew how well I lov'd him.'

One day Aphello desired a private audience of the prince. "Great prince (he said, and bowed himself to the floor) my dear departed friend and your worthy servant, Melville, shortly before the doleful catastrophe which caused his death, grasped my hand, "Aphello (said he) to reward you for all the kind services you have rendered me, will never be in my power; in whatever honors and emoluments the prince shall bestow upon me, you shall be a sharer, one only excepted; you know that in restoring the princess, I obtain the honor of her hand, if I am but so happy as to gain her affections; this I have ever considered as the richest blessing life can give. If, however, any unfortunate accident should intervene whereby I should never reach the prince's court, remember that there is no person whom I esteem so worthy the hand of the princess as Aphello; the prince is as generous as noble, he will never refuse your request, provided the lady accepts you; his royal promise was, ["]she shall be bride to the man who returns her, if he be worthy, and she not averse to him;" and now, most mighty prince, your slave bows before you, to claim, if it be consistent with your royal will, the fulfilment of your engagement."

The prince sighed for the fate of Melville!--"Yes (said he) that was my promise, nor will I revoke it; you have been to me a faithful servant; your conduct, since in my employ, has been irreproachable; you say you were nobly born; this, however, is, with me, the least consideration; I shall never be infatuated by the sound of names and titles; my daughter, at present, is too disconsolate to think of love; when the cloudy season of grief has passed away, obtain her consent, mine you have already."

Aphello prostrated himself--"Honored and noble prince (he said) if the lady shall be personally opposed to my suit, I shall by no means urge it, but submit to my hard fate; but would it not be adviseable that your majesty first break the matter to her--she may have some scruples; by the advice of a father, joined to the last request of her friend, Melville, perhaps those scruples may be removed." "Perhaps this method will be best (said the prince) I will think of it, and you shall know the result." Aphello again prostrated himself, arose, and departed.

The princess gradually recovered her health, but her mind remained in a state of settled melancholy.

One day when the prince, his lady and Phalez were sitting together, the prince thus addressed her. "My daughter, (said he) by the extraordinary interposition of a mighty providence hast thou been returned to us, after we had given thee up as numbered with the silent dead. We had designed to have bestowed thee upon the person who redeemed thee from death; he, unfortunately, is no more. We had also promised that the man who restored thee to us should, with your consent, be rewarded with your hand. Our laws debar women from the throne of Persia, but the son or husband of my daughter may fill that important station. If you die unmarried, then at my demise, my sceptre passes into the hands of strangers. I have mentioned these circumstances believing that my daughter will not act unwisely; Aphello restored you to me; he is a worthy man, and sighs for the honor of your hand."

After a little consideration Phalez replied--"Honored father, if it will add to the glory of your kingdom, your own peace, or the dignity of your family, I shall not oppose any arrangements your wisdom shall make respecting me; dispose of me, sir, as you please, I can have no choice of my own."

["]I know it, my daughter, (said the prince) I know your feelings; and I shall justly appreciate the sacrifice you make--I might have informed you that it was Melville's request, if he should not live to restore you, for you to accept of Aphello's hand."

Phalez--Was this Melville's desire, sir?

Prince--It was his last, and earnest request but a short time before he was lost.

Phalez--This is extraordinary! Indulge me, my honored father, in the usual time of mourning for the man who saved my life, and your injunctions shall be obeyed." "This I readily grant (said the prince) and shall hereafter treat Aphello as my adopted son, [sic]"

The prince sent for Aphello and communicated to him the determination of his daughter--"You are now (said he) to consider yourself as heir apparent to my sceptre, and will act accordingly."

Aphello prostrated himself with the profoundest reverence; "arise (said the prince) my daughter claims, for her friend, Melville, the accustomed season of mourning; at the end of sixty days, therefore, she shall be your bride."

Aphello left the prince exulting in the success of his sanguinary schemes. "Now (said he) Aphello, hast thou raised thyself, by thine own prowess, subtilty [sic], and perseverence, to the pin[n]acle of fortune and fame. What though the blood of the innocent--yes (said he, while his eyes flashed desperation) though blood more sacred than the holy fire of Ali has been shed by this right hand, yet has it no voice to cry for vengeance. But still am I not at rest--that mark!--should that operate against me--I have an antidote! The old prince too--let my marriage be safely consummated, and I will devise a method to dispose of him! at any rate I must work my way to the throne of Persia, and that speedily. But why those horrid dreams! last night I saw the ghost of Melville, calling in a voice of thunder for vengeance upon me--a curse light on such visions!--not only the ghost of Melville but the ghastly shades of"----a noise behind him aroused him from his reverie; he started; it was a messenger from the prince to invite him to supper.

Aphello was admitted at all times to the prince's table, and raised to the first honors. A splendid apartment in the palace was allotted him with a train of servants at his call. Meanwhile the days rolled on, and the time had nearly arrived when Phalez was to put off mourning, and preparations were making for a most splendid wedding. As the day approached, Phalez began to feel all the horrors of her situation. In a single state, with her parents, she could endure life; connected with Aphello she could only sustain it. In losing Melville, all but her parents was lost, but her fate could not be reversed.

At length the day previous to the celebration of the nuptials arrived. Couriers had been dispatched into all parts of the empire to notify the solemn event, and many of the first personages had arrived to grace the ceremony. Phalez walked out, towards evening, in solitary contemplation, to her favorite grove. It was a bright and beautiful day; the sun shone with placid beam; the gales which gently agitated the air, bore on their wings a wilderness of odours, from the flowers of surrounding fields, and the adjacent groves of spices. Birds enlivened the scene with artless melody, the tops of the lofty green-wood waved majestically to the passing breeze, and the distant blue mountains rising in grandeur terminated the view. "Blest harmony of nature (said Phalez) once couldst thou dissipate the clouds of melancholy which hovered about my heart; alas! that hour is fled, never to return! to-morrow completes my misery! the sable aspect--the ghastly countenance--the reeking dagger, press with renewed terror upon my imagination! Why did my father--why did Melville urge the odious measure--But let me not complain--it was well meant--it was for the honor of my father's kingdom; and of what other use, now, is my future life? Shortly will Phalez rest where grief no more will find her."

As she returned, pensive and slowly, to the court, she saw a person at a little distance, crossing the fields towards the palace. A tattered and filthy robe was wrapped around his emaciated frame; a bushy and lengthy beard covered the lower part of his face; his aspect appeared pale and haggard, and he walked with tottering steps. "Here is some mendicant (said Phalez) to solicit the bounty of my father, nor will he solicit in vain." As the course this person pursued brought him upon the path in which the princess was walking, they were, shortly, near together; as soon as he discovered her, he stopped short, and gazed at her with earnestness. She, also, involuntarily paused. He advanced towards her; she thought she recognized his countenance. "Phalez!" said the stranger. "Melville! (she vehemently exclaimed) mysterious Heaven! it is Melville!" and sunk powerless to the earth!

(To be continued.)


[No. 58; July 12, 1803, p. 4]

MELVILLE raised Phalez, she revived in his arms, but with mingled emotions of surprise, joy, and amazement. "Is it possible that I am deceive[d] by a vision! (said she) are you from the mansions of the dead, or are you still among the living?" "Let us hasten to the palace (said he) by some obscure way; you shall there be made acquainted with all that has happened to me since I saw you." They moved slowly by a back path, to the palace, where they soon arrived; Melville was taken to a remote room, the servants were ordered to attend him; his rags were taken off, he was shaved, supplied with clothes, and immediately introduced to the prince, and his lady, by Phalez. As he entered the room, the prince arose with astonishment, seized the hand of Melville, and exclaimed "Good Heavens! are you still alive!-tell us by what miracle you have escaped death." "Is Aphello in the court?" said Melville. "He is (said the prince) and shall be called, he must be a sharer in our joy." "Hold! (said Melville) if I am not greatly deceived it was Aphello that flung me overboard." "Aphello!" they all vociferated. "Impossible! (said the prince) he tho't you dead, and was, to morrow, to have been married to my daughter!" "Immortal Powers! (cried Melville) he has deceived you; I cannot be mistaken, it was he who cast me into the sea; if your majesty has no objection let him be called." He was sent for, and came immediately; he entered with an obsequious air, and prostrated himself before the prince; as he arose he caught the eye of Melville; he started and shuddered, while horror, guilt and confusion were pourtrayed [sic] upon his countenance. He moved to the door and opened it, two armed slaves appeared before it. He turned, walked hastily across the room, lifted his hands and exclaimed "Fate, thou hast conquered!" The Prince arose; "Aphello! (said he) the tempest which now ravages thy bosom, is sufficient evidence of thy guilt; there is but one circumstance from which you may expect the least mitigation of the punishment you so justly deserve; tell me the motives which prompted you to the barbarous deed you have committed, and what were your future designs." "A mitigation of punishment (answered Aphello) I neither expect nor ask; nor is it in your power to grant it; banishment, imprisonment, torture, death, you can inflict, but they are nothing to lost grandeur, disappointed ambition, and complete disgrace; all these I now experience; you may wrack your invention for keener torments, it will be in vain; I shall smile at the attempt. On one condition, however, I comply with your demand; whatever by my crimes, whatever my fate, that they be buried within the walls of this palace; that my name, my deeds, and my sufferings, be not sent forth for the sport, the censure, or the execration of the malignant world." "Your request, thus far, I grant (replied the prince) on the conditions you have named." Aphello seated himself and thus began.

"My father was a native of Old Castile, in Spain: during the time of the civil wars which took place in that kingdom, he left his country and settled in Candia, where he married, acquired a princely estate, and was blest, or rather curst, with me, his only child. Every indulgence, and every advantage was given to my early years, to acquire knowledge, which I improved to good advantage, so that at the age of nineteen I was a master of all the languages and theoretic science of the East. By nature, I was formed for dissipation and extravagance; I gave way to all manner of licentiousness. To reclaim me, my father proposed my connecting with a lady of noble family; her I ruined, and then refused to marry her; my father, who, on a sick bed, had disposed of all his fortune to me, by will, at his decease, solemnly declared that he would revoke the will, and disinherit me, unless I married the lady. To prevent this----(his utterance was choaked, he arose, clenched his hands) I murdered him!----(he seated himself.) On a dark and dismal night, as he was returning home from a friend's house, I way-laid him, and stabbed him to the heart! By the light of a lantern which he held in his hand he discovered me: "Aphello! (said he) my dear son!--may heaven forgive!"----and expired. He was found next day; it was supposed he was murdered by robbers. My mother died with grief; I sold the estate, and removed to Italy, where I lived in rioting and debauchery until I had spent it. I then married a lovely and beautiful woman, who had recently come into the possession of a splendid fortune, by the death of an old aunt. The one half of this fortune I squandered; my wife would remonstrate, but she never murmured. Her friends then interfered, and as the remainder of her property lay in real estate, I could not realize it without a written conveyance from her; this her friends prevented her from giving; she, however, offered to sign a conveyance provided she was permitted to keep it herself, "then (said she) if I die before you, the estate will be yours;" this was done & she raised me a present sum of money by the sale of her jewels. Though I neglected her, and frequently attached myself to other women, yet she never upbraided me; sometimes she would sigh, "I wish I could make home more agreeable to my Aphello," she would say, her tears would then flow, but she endeavored to conceal them.

One night in a debauch I had lost all my money at the gambling table, and involved myself in debt to considerable amount, which I promised to pay the next day, without any prospect of obtaining the money to cancel the debt. I walked home, vexed, chagrined and sorely disappointed: I took a light and went to my wife's chamber; she was in a sound sleep; a pleasing dream appeared to hover around her; a smile played upon her cheek, which was suffused with the glow of youth. I was preparing for bed, but had no disposition to sleep; "to morrow (said I) I must meet my gay companions with shame and disgrace; I have promised to cancel a debt of honor, but how am I to fulfil this engagement? Whether I shun them or meet them, it is the same; the finger of scorn will be pointed at me; the eye of contempt bent upon me!" Agony swelled my heart! at that moment my eye caught a locket which hung about my wife's neck, in which was enclosed the conveyance; I was about to seize it, when I recollected that I could not inherit the premises until after her death; I stalked across the room in the most violent perturbation! frenzy fired my brain! I sprang--(here again he lost the power of speech; horror and agony distorted his features; despair flashed from his eyes; after the spasm had somewhat abated, he continued) I sprang to the bed, and seized my amiable, innocent, slumbering wife by the throat! she struggled, and broke my grasp; "My God! (she exclaimed) what have I done to deserve this!" then with a look that pierced--no it could not pierce a soul like mine--"Aphello! O, my dearest Aphello! (she said) you cannot--O tell me! tell me what"----by this time I had again grasped her throat--she struggled, but I held her fast! she soon grew weaker; her face turned black--blood gushed from her nose and mouth----I see! I see the ghastly glare of her eyes, which almost started from their sockets!--her tongue hanging out--the convulsive gasp--the horrid grin--the horrible yawn, and all the dreadful symptoms of agonizing death! the effects of nature were finally over; she ceased to stir! I tore the locked from her bosom, dashed it against the wall, and took thence the conveyance. (Aphello appeared exhausted; he sat down, and for some minutes remained silent; at length he proceeded) I alarmed the servants, sent for a physi[ci]an, and the friends of my wife; they came; I told them she was taken with a fit, and expired before they arrived. The physician examined her, and gave it as his opinion that violence had been used. Her brother fixed his eye upon me; I had not had the p[r]ecaution to secure the conveyance, but still held it in my hand, he reached (I had no power to prevent him) & took it: as soon as he found what it was, he pointed to me, and, with an exclamation of horror, cried "you are her murderer!" They attempted to seize me; I kept them off and ran out of the room; they pursued me, but the night was dark and favored my escape. I fled to Constantinople.

"I soon got the command of a Turkish corsair, and many were the depredations I committed on the Christians. In one of my cruises I took a ship and massacred every soul on board except an old and a young lady, the former of whom died before we reached port, of a wound she received in the action. (Phalez trembled and turned pale.) I went on board the captured ship to secure the plunder, the young lady was in convulsions; I then discovered a natural mark upon her neck--I now know, O prince, it was your daughther [sic] !--On our return from England, she fainted at the news of Melville's death, and the same mark presented itself to my view.--After I had seen the plunder secured, I went on board my ship before your daughter revived, she was sold as a slave, and I realized the profits of her sale.

"At Constantinople I became acquainted with a young lady whose father had been a rich merchant. I gained the lady's affections, but her father opposed me, and forbade his daughter to receive my addresses. We were privately married; the old gentleman got intelligence of it, but refused to acknowledge me as his son; piqued at this, I one day found means to convey a dose of poison into his bowl of soup, which, in a few hours, produced his dissolution! when the news of his death reached his daughter, she fell into convulsions which caused her death in twenty-four hours. as he had no other child, I, as lawful heir, seized his money and effects, had them removed from the hired house in which he lived, and secured. A single debt of five hundred sequins was brought against him, which I refused to pay; as he was a Christian, his dead body was therefore refused a grave, and, according to the Turkish custom, exposed, naked, by the way-side, where it lay for three days, when an English trader discovering it, paid the debt, and it was interred. ("Good Heavens! exclaimed Melville, "the very body which I procured burial in Turkey!") Other claims, however, soon came against the estate of the deceased. I was cited to shew what had become of the property. My conduct in secreting it, and the sudden death of the father and daughter, had excited suspicions that I was their murderer. At the instance of some Europeans, an arrest was procured for me on this suspicion; I had notice of it, and was preparing to remove my treasure, when one day the officers of justice entered my house; I sprang out of the window, and fled from one place to another, until I arrived in Persia. It was about the time I left Turkey that the lady I had sold, and who proves to be your daughter, was condemned to be strangled for striking her mistress, I therefore supposed her dead until I discovered the mark: this mark, I found, might, at some future day, discover me; one Turkish slave, of which you have many about you, might produce this; to prevent it, however, I had formed the following plan; as soon as I had married your daughter, poison should have taken you off, thereby securing to myself the throne of Persia; and if any danger appeared from the mark, by a similar method I would have removed the princess.----You now have my history."

The prince, with his family and Melville, sat in silent astonishment. Aphello started up and hastily traversed the room--"I know how you will proceed (said he) you will inflict no other punishment than to banish me from the court and kingdom of Persia; this you will think a mild punishment. But do you think (raising his voice) that Aphello will live in disgrace! Do you suppose he will, even for a single day, endure the thought of being dashed from the throne to the dung-hill! Aphello, who has trampled on blood (his eyes blazed) more holy than the sacred temples of all your gods! will he submit to--no!--perish the thought!--I have one friend--to arrest the"----So saying, he snatched a dagger from under his robe, and plunged it into his breast! immediately his aspect assumed that ter[r]ific appearance which Phalez had seen in her dream; he fell backward, rolled in his blood, and, with an awful groan, expired!

(To be continued.)


[No. 59; July 19, 1803, p. 4]

The sensations produced in the family of the prince, by Aphello's story, and his disastrous fate, are indescribable; the old princess and Phalez left the apartment; the prince ordered the body of Aphello removed, & the next day it was committed to the dust. Melville breathed a sigh--it was the sigh of philanthropy--over his grave. "To the demons of ambition and pleasure (he said) hast thou yielded the government of thy passions, and they have hurried thee to a most dreadful destruction!" The prince gave orders that no circumstances attending his death should be mentioned; it was given out that he died suddenly in the palace, and there were none to make further enquiry.

Melville was now desired to give an account of his being cast into the sea, and of his preservation; he readily complied, and related as follows.

"On the night when I was thrown over-board, I was sleeping on the quarter-deck; having retired late to rest, I slept, for a while, soundly, but was aroused, though not completely awakened, by the rocking of the ship, and the roaring of the wind and waves; at that moment a person clasped me in his arms; I started, and though the night was dark, yet I plainly perceived it to be Aphello. As he lifted me from the deck, "Aphello! (said I) what are you about to do?" "To remove thee (he replied) from the throne of Persia!" and immediately plunged me into the sea. I struggled with the waves, and called, in vain, for assistance; the ship was soon too far separated from me for my cries to be heard; I was thus left to the mercy of the tempest, without one glimmering ray of hope, supposing myself to be far distant from any land; even in this situation of dreadful despair, nature seemed to prompt my exertions, for a while, to keep upon the surface of the water; I at length became overpowered and exhausted; I lost all sensation, and sunk amidst the turbulence of the ocean. The first that I recollect after that, I was struggling in water, mud, and sand; the water poured out of my mouth; I attempted to rise, but was unable; a wave soon overwhelmed me, which would have swept me from the shore, had I not grasped and adhered to the ground with all my might; after it had retired I crawled up higher upon the beach; I was in extreme distress, but after a copious discharge of water at the mouth I felt relieved.

Day soon appeared, when I found myself on a small island, about two miles in circumference, barren and desolate; it lay almost on a level with the sea, except some rocky eminences near the shore. I pulled off my clothes, rinsed them in the water, and dried them in the sun. I became exceedingly thirsty, and soon found an excellent spring of water in the centre of the island. Great numbers of shell-fish were washed upon the shore, or lay hid in the sand upon the beach; I had a knife, and with a hard stone, which served as a flint, I got fire, by which I was enabled to cook my shell-fish; on the side of a rock was a natural sort of a cave, which I barricaded by the numerous pieces of wrecks which had been cast upon the shore; hither I carried a quantity of dry sea-weed, for a bed. Birds were the only animals which inhabited the island; of these there were great numbers which produced vast quantities of eggs, and these served to heighten the luxury of my feasts. Thus while I was in no danger of starving, yet the prospect of again mingling with society was dubious and uncertain.

On the 25th day after I had been cast upon the Island, as I clambered up one of the high rocks to look onto the sea, I discovered a sail at a vast distance; I kept my eye fixed upon it; the thoughts of deliverance animated my spirits; when it approached near enough to the island to perceive a signal, I took the longest pole I could find, fastened my garments thereon, ran to the shore, and waved the signal, but to no purpose, they passed by without perceiving it. One sad disaster, however, took place, in my exertions to hail the ship, a flaw [sic] of wind took my clothes from the pole, and wafted them into the sea; I was thus left destitute of any apparel except a shirt, small clothes and stockings; about ten days succeeding this, after a most terrible storm, some pieces of a wreck came floating ashore, among which was a part of an old rug, which thereafter served me for a kind of garment.

I had now been on the island fifty eight days, and began to despair of ever getting off, when, as I was rambling on the beach one morning, I perceived a man in a small open boat, at no great distance; revived at the sight, I halloed as hard as I could, to hail him; for some time I could not make him hear; at length I shouted with all the force I was able; he turned, gazed at me for a few moments, and immediately rowed for the shore; supposing him to be one of the Persians who frequently venture out to sea in their open boats, I expected to find difficulty in making him understand me, as I had but a very imperfect knowledge of their language; but what was my surprise when he accosted me in English! "What do you do here (said he) on this desolate island?" I told him that in a voyage to Persia I had fallen overboard in the night, and had been cast on the island, where I had remained for about two months; that if he would convey me to the continent, I would liberally reward him. "On one condition (he replied) and but one only will I relieve you. Promise to give me the first child that is born to you, and I will convey you to the place you desire." I enquired the reason of so extraordinary a demand, he said he had not time to explain; in vain was it to expostulate, he refused all reward but that which he had named; not knowing whether it would ever be in my power to comply with his demand, or if it was, supposing that the stipulation might be commuted, and dreading a continuance of my solitary separation from society, added to the consideration that another opportunity might never offer for my deliverance, I was influenced to agree to his proposal, and directed him to carry me, as near as possible, to the palace of the prince of Persia.

As soon as I had got into the boat, it skimmed lightly over the waves, and I left my island with inexpressible joy. I questioned by deliverer concerning his country and place of abode, but he evaded my enquiries by giving no answer thereto, or by an abrupt and vague reply. We pursued our course all that day and the succeeding night; the next morning we entered a small river, which we followed until about noon, when my deliverer turned the boat to the shore, "a few hours travel (said he) in an easterly direction, will bring you to the palace of the prince." I leaped on shore, and bestowed grateful thanks upon my preserver, to which, however, he made no reply, but turned his boat and was out of sight in an instant; by following his direction, I arrived in due season at your majesty's court."

While the prince and his lady expressed their gratitude to the generous act of benevolence which had delivered Melville, Phalez appeared surprised at the demand the stranger had made, and enquired of her father what it could mean; "There is (said the prince) and order of Religiosos [sic] who inhabit the mountainous parts of my dominions, and who take opportunities to extort large sums from the credulous, by pretended incantations, for the cure of diseases, the recovery of lost property, and fortune-telling. When a ship is wrecked upon the coast, they immediately put off to it, and either plunder it, or obtain considerable rewards by taking off the survivors. It is generally supposed that they possess a knowledge of future events; this man must, by some means, have guessed or suspected something of your history, and his intention is to make you pay well for your deliverance. It may cost you (said the prince, smiling) a few thousand sequins, that, however, will be the extent of the commutation."

Some days after, when the prince and Melville were alone, "Melville (said the prince) I consider my crown and my kingdom, as well as the life of my daughter, preserved through your means; had not providence, by you, unveiled the plots of Aphello, my family would probably have been destroyed, and Persia under the dominion of an usurper; you have only to mention some suitable reward, and if in my power, it shall be granted." "Your majesty, (replied Melville) has already rewarded me beyond my deserts; suffer me to remain at your court, to fulfil such service as you shall please to appoint me." "You say nothing of my daughter (said the prince) you recollect my promise." ["]I do, with gratitude (answered Melville) but such a blessing I neither dare ask or expect; the princess will never descend so low as to accept the hand of a man of my pretensions." ["]I will inform you (replied the prince) something of my daughter's history which you do not know;--when she was carried captive into Turkey, she concealed her name and nation, supposing that to divulge them, as I was not then upon an amicable footing with that nation, might involve me in war, and perpetuate her captivity; but when she was condemned to die, she then informed them who she was; the time, however, which was fixed for her execution, was too short to give me notice, and the sentence could not be suspended; they therefore set her ransom at the price you gave, but no one appeared to redeem her until providence conducted you to the place where she was to suffer, even at the moment appointed for her death. Two reasons prevented her from making you acquainted with her history while she was in England; she understood your finances; she did not wish to put you to the trouble and expence of conveying her to Persia: she hoped to have some oppor[t]unity of returning by other means; none presented, as few of your ships ever sail these seas; when you declared your attachment to her, and offered to devote to her your hand & fortune, she then would have been explicit, but she knew not my pleasure; she knew not whether the prince of Persia would consent to her espousing any man beneath the first character in his dominions: here was a great struggle between duty and affection; she could not consent to remain in England, separated from her parents; she could not return to Persia and leave her Melville behind. When she found you had undertaken a voyage to this country, she knew you must appear in my presence before you could be admitted to trade; by the expedient of the embroidered vest, she knew I should learn something of her destiny, as no person in my dominions can embroider in the same manner, and the vest I wear is the only one she ever wrought thus, except yours; when you returned to England, delicacy sealed her lips on this subject, she beli[e]ved that on her desire, at least, you would accompany her home, there she knew an ecclaircissement [sic] might take place, and her presence, in so interesting a crisis, be dispensed with.----Now, Melville, how do you like my recital?"

(Concluded in our next.)


[No. 60; July 26, 1803, p. 4]

MELVILLE expressed himself in terms of the most respectful gratitude to the prince; he felt his mind relieved from a burthen with which it had long been oppressed; as to the determination of Phalez respecting himself, he had ever been kept in ignorance; he had, it is true, entertained hopes, but they were mingled with doubts. He knew that she was not under the influence of that vain pride, so frequently the attendant of nobility, yet he knew not but that some courtier of her own nation might be held in preference to a plain English merchant. He could not believe that Persia's princess would connect herself with a person of his standing in life, and, above all, he knew not that she entertained any other feelings for him than those excited by gratitude and friendship. These doubts were now removed by the explicit declarations of the prince.

Preparations were now made for the marriage of Melville and Phalez. An edict from the prince went forth through the kingdom, notifying that the marriage of the princess had been, for a time, suspended, but that it would certainly take place on an appointed day. The guests who had arrived on the first invitation, when Aphello was the intended bridegroom, had been dismissed with this notice.

The morning, at length, arose which was to crown the wishes of, now, a happy couple. The palace was crowded with guests of the first distinction in Persia. Melville, by the direction of the prince, was arrayed in royal purple, Phalez, in a white robe of costly silk, decorated with gold and silver embroidery, and richly spangled with variegated gems; around her waist was a tissued, crimson sash; her hair waved loosely, and half-concealed the transparency of her neck and bosom. A garland of artificial flowers, starred with brilliants, adorned her head, and a splendid diadem sparkled upon her breast. Thus attired was Phalez led to the altar, while her cheek glowed, varying and vivid, as the lambent tinges of early morn on the orient cloud. The marriage-rites were solemnized amidst a splendid concourse of guests, after which, soft music, in harmonious numbers, invited to the feast: as they seated themselves, Phalez leaned on Melville's arm, gently pressed his hand, "I beg (said she) you will not leave me until you have restored me to my father, the particular reason of this request I will give you when I arrive in my own country."* {See Melville and Phalez, Barom. No. 56.} Do you now ask an explanation?"--Melville smiled; "You have every way (said he) anticipated my requests & my expectations, though not my hopes & wishes; your explanation has been explicit, and the event shews that it has exceeded what Melville dared even to aspire to."

Several days were devoted to feasting, and to different kinds of sport, after which the guests withdrew, and left the prince and his court to the enjoyment of domestic felicity. Melville and Phalez were happy in a peaceful retirement, after scenes of stormy trouble and dangerous difficulties. In a most distressing manner had she been lost to her parents; sold into slavery; condemned to an ignominious death by the barbarous laws of a tyrannic [sic] nation; led to the place of execution, and the sentence commenced its operation, yet was she delivered by an interposition little short of miraculous. Once had she, apparently, to Melville, perished in the flames, yet was suddenly restored, like an angel sent from heaven to speak peace to his mourning soul.--Once had Melville been entombed amidst the relentless waves, yet had he returned in season to save the prince and his family from a disastrous destiny. "Never (would Phalez say to Melville) would my father have consented--never would I have submitted to a connection with Aphello, had he not deceived us by asserting that it was your desire, in case you should not live to restore me."

Time rolled on, and in about two years Melville and Phalez were blessed with two twin children, a son and a da[u]ghter; the son was the first-born, and of course devoted to the redemption of his father, should the person who delivered him from the island, ever appear to make the demand. Sometimes melancholy suggestions would oppress their minds upon this subject, especially to Phalez it gave many disagreeable hours. The prince treated it as a light affair;--"A little money (said he to his children) will purchase your first-born, should your deliverer ever claim the fulfilment of your promise; though perhaps it may be a sum, far superior to any which that Order has ever yet received, and so ought it to be; it is the price of your life; probably the lives of us all. This Order (continued the prince) stile themselves The Order of the Magi; it is composed, not entirely of Persians, but is said to comprise some of almost every nation in Europe and Asia; it is said, also, that they have connections with several societies in Europe, and that certain select members of them are constantly travelling in rotation through various parts of the world. Hence the knowledge which they are supposed to possess, of future events. Their Dervis[h]es, or chiefs, pretend to great sanctity, and indeed I have heard of their performing many good acts, though I believe them to be generally a vagrant set, who live by pilfering and the credulity of the people, who render them great reverence; their chiefs seldom make their appearance among us, but the inferiors of their Order, frequently stroll over the land, making people the dupes of their impostures."

Melville, by the prince's request, began to turn his attention to the study of government. He visited various parts of the kingdom, regulated trade, redressed grievances, promoted agriculture and restricted abuses. On his return from one of these excursions, he set apart a day for the celebration of his children's birth-day, who were now three years old, and possessed all the endearing qualifications which sprightly infancy, and perfect innocency are capable of reciprocating. A bower was erected in the fields, near a beautiful grove, where the family, with a few friends, passed the afternoon; the melody of the birds, the prattle of the infants, and the fragrance of the gales, all tended to heighten the enjoyment. Melville and Phalez recited the history of their lives; the guests listened with attention; the old prince, his lady, and Melville's mother, wept and rejoiced. At evening the guests took their leave, and the family returned to the palace, where supper was prepared in the hall. Soon after the tables were removed, a stranger was announced by the servants, who desired to speak with Melville; as he entered the door, Melville arose to meet him; the light shone dimly upon the stranger's face, but Melville recognized, in his countenance, the person who had delivered him from the desolate island! An impulse of terror shook his frame, which was increased as the stranger spoke. "I am come (said he, in a solemn tone of voice) to claim the fulfilment of your promise, and to receive the stipulated reward for saving your live." "I acknowledge your claim (said Melville) but have ever supposed that a pecuniary bounty would be received in lieu thereof."--"Not so (said the stranger) I ask nothing more than you agreed to give." "Name any sum (repled [sic] Melville) nor need you be cautious of the amount, and I will readily advance the substitute." "I name no sum (answered the stranger) I receive no substitute; I name nothing but your first-born child; this you engaged to give me, and nothing, in lieu thereof, will I receive." The old prince then approached the stranger, while groans and lamentations echoed through the hall; "Whoever you are, or whatever your design (said he) let the prayers and tears of an aged parent, and and [sic] a distressed family, prevail. You see how, by such an event, we shall be hurled, in a moment, from the height of happiness to the depth of misery; certainly, to you, honors and emoluments may be an equivalent to the promised reward, to us they will bear no comparison to the loss we should sustain; of those it is in my power to answer your demand, be it ever so extensive; and I now offer you, as a commutation, any honors, any emoluments you shall require, if it be the first office in my court, and the one half of the kingdom of Persia." "You entirely mistake the matter (said the stranger) and me you know not; neither honor nor riches are of any consideration to me; I want them not; nor is there any thing on earth, which I will receive as an equivalent. You talk of your power, I will say something of mine; it is in my power, whatever you may think of it, to enforce my demand; but this I judge to be needless; I trust I have the promise of an honorable man, if so, it will be fulfilled. My time grows short; it will allow me but a few minutes longer; in what you have to say or do, be therefore brief." "Your claim is just (rejoined Melville) nor can I, if you persist in your determination, withhold my child; but it is cruelty; it is inhumanity! Could my life redeem my son, it should be given; would to heaven I had perished in the waves, or famished upon the island! all my future days must be embittered with deep distress, a prey to anguish and despair!--Ah, Phalez! the thought is too excruciating!"----"You have no reason to complain (said the stranger) Providence has dealt kindly with you, there is one babe for you, and another for me; give me--(with more austerity) give me, immediately, the child!" Phalez, who had frequently swooned during the discourse, was aroused by the last words of the stranger; she sprang upon her feet, and raised her hands in wild agony; "Spare him! O spare my child! (she exclaimed) what will he do with my darling?--Perhaps he will be devoured by wild beasts--perhaps torn in pieces by more barbarous man!" The old princess and Melville's mother, could only sigh their anguish, uttering their lamentations with floods of tears! the old prince stood motionless, a solemn monument of silent woe! Melville took his infant son in his arms, and approached the stranger; "Thus (said he) I fulfil my promise, though the sure destruction of my family will be the consequence!" The child clung, screaming, to its father's breast, begging that he would not give him away, while his little twin sister hung upon her despairing mother's bosom, sobbing for the fate of her dear little brother.--The stranger advanced to the midst of the hall; the light shone full upon him; the frantic eye of Phalez caught his countenance; she gazed with astonishment--it was the venerable personage she had seen in her dream, when Melville sunk into the chasm! the same white robe, the same silvery hair, the same benign aspect! She viewed him with increasing surprise, and for a moment her heart ceased to bleed. "Melville! (said the stranger) your fidelity has been tried, your philanthropy remembered, your benevolence rewarded. Your charitable deed, in burying the dead boy of the Christian in Turkey, has restored your child. Still pursue the roads of [c]andor, honesty and virtue, and peace, honor and felicity will still increase. Keep your babe, and may heaven shower its richest blessings on you, and this family, and your posterity, for numerous years yet to come. Adore your dispensations of providence, and remember STANKS [sic]."--so saying he hastily departed out of the hall, leaving the whole court in petrified amazement at so extraordinary a procedure.

So sudden a transition from the extremes of distress, to joy and felicity, excited the highest gratitude, and filled the court with rejoicings; they clasped the infants to their bosoms, then fell upon their knees, in thankful adoration to that omniscient power who presides over the destinies of man. The last words of the stranger left an inexplicable impression on their minds, till searching among the papers of Aphello, they discovered that Stanes was the name of the person whose dead body Melville had caused to be buried in Turkey! Who this stranger could be, or how he became acquainted with Melville's history, was never known.

As uninterrupted a course of happiness, hereafter, attended the family of the prince, as could be expected in this variegated state; the old princess and Melville's mother lived several years after those events; the prince died in advanced years, when the eldest son of Melville and Phalez (who had, besides, several other children) was seated on the throne of Persia. Melville and Phalez died in a gold old age, and their successors, for many generations, held the regal sceptre, administering the government with lenient firmness, and equal distributive justice.

[NOTE--As the character of the stranger who delivered Melville from the desolate island, appears involved in mystery, a few remarks on this subject may not be amiss.--From the singularity of the circumstances attending this event, it was the opinion of some, that it could be no other than the ghost of the deceased STANES: others supposed it to be one of the Magi. There were two ancient Orders in Persia, and other parts of the East, the Astrologers and the Magi. The Astrologers were a vagrant set, who lived by pilfering and imposition; the Magi, like the knight-errants of old, made it their business to punish vice and reward virtue, by, seemingly, miraculous means; they were connected with congenial societies in different parts of the world, and were supposed to possess supernatural powers.--The prince has confounded those two orders together. It was the interest of the prince to suppress all Orders of this description, to prevent innovation of government, which had once nearly taken place under Alhumed Shah, who usurped the throne of Persia. (See Clifford's Travels in Persia, sect. 29, art. Astrologers & Magi; Lond. Edit. 1642.]

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