Imatges de pÓgina
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was formed by Firnaz himself to give perfect happiness. She had, by the orders of the genius, been shut up remote from men in a retired palace, where she passed the first years of innocence among companions almost as fair, and quite as harmless as she. Here she strayed among cool meadows and refreshing streams, attended by twelve nymphs, as beautiful and fresh as the morning; her young heart was not as yet agitated with any desire, and virtue only had a power of giving her any emotions. She would, at proper intervals, descend from her palace of marble to a retired valley, and there with her lute, joined to the sweetness of her voice, celebrate the charms of piety, charity, content, and friendship. These were all the pleasures she knew, and even her dreams had never informed her that there were any still greater.

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In the mean time, she approached that period when age has expanded every charm. Her desires seemed to increase with her years, and she found in her breast a chasm that friendship alone was not sufficient to supply. She chanced to wander near a glassy fountain: the polished surface reflected back her beauties. Surprised, she stood in silent contemplation of her charms. Strange!" cried she, "to what purpose are all these charms, or why have I been made thus lovely? The rose is beautiful, to obtain a place in my bosom; the violet sheds perfume for me only, but why am I thus fair! am I only formed beautiful in vain?" It was thus the beautiful Galhinda reasoned with herself, while Firnaz, the guardian genius, concealed in a cloud, attended the soliloquy.

While Galhinda was thus agitated, Zenim felt not less strong, though equally inconceivable emotions. His brow, once so serene, resembled now the sun hid in clouds. He sought for solitude, and fled from his friends, who offered their company. Here he usually gave way to the torrent

of his reflections, while Firnaz his guardian, secretly and unobserved, watched all his uneasinesses, and enjoyed his perturbation. "Now," cried the genius, "now will be the time to gratify their desires, and to make two of the most deserving objects on earth happy. With what rapture shall I not enjoy their mutual astonishment at first meeting each other! How refined a pleasure, that of being able to please!"

Thus saying, he flew upon the zephyr's wing to where Galhinda was enjoying a balmy slumber. A dream which had been produced by the genius, presented to her imagination the image of the prince. She fancied him searching the forest in pursuit of a lost friend with seeming inquietude. She seemed to fly; and, while he appeared to pursue, the illusion was dissolved by her awaking.

She had, in the mean time, been transported while she slept, with a rapidity swifter than thought, to the retreat of the young prince, and upon awaking, she perceived nothing but what was strange around. But, what were her emotions, when she perceived approaching the very image that had been so lovely in her dream! She seemed quite disordered; and the prince himself suffered not less than she. Expression is unable to paint their circumstances at that juncture; their fears, their transports, can only be conceived by souls formed for tenderness and each other. In the mean time, Galhinda, incapable of resisting her natural timidity, modestly looked down, as if dazzled with his charms. The prince was absorbed in a succession of pleasingly painful ideas, yet found courage to approach the object of all his desires. He attempted to speak, but found his voice as if fled from him. He attempted to grasp her hand, while she gently repressed his temerity.

In this state of fear, desire, and mutual admiration they continued for some time, when Firnaz spread a shining

light around them, and appearing before them under a celestial form, thus addressed the happiest lovers that ever added grace to humanity :-"Happy, happy mortals! in me behold the cause of your present felicity. Fate designed you for each other, and I charged myself with executing its decrees. Yet trust not to personal beauty alone for a continuance of your mutual passion; that love that is of long continuance most be founded truly in mutual esteem; that passion, which deserves the name of love, must arise only from an union of those sentiments which form the basis of the soul. Lovers, formed for each other, are attracted to this happy union, even without perceiving the cause of this attraction. Let humanity teach you to turn a part of that regard you have for each other on those around you. Let not that virtue in which you have been early instructed, ever forsake you, and still continue to improve by the brightness of each other's example, till you have attained the perfection of the celestial flame."

Thus saying, Firnaz surrounded them with a cloud, and disappeared. But he left them, as companions, Wisdom, Joy, and Peace. Those tender lovers were still attended by that celestial guard, and the most distant posterity have learned to admire the fidelity and virtue of Zenim and Galhinda.

ESSAY XXXI.

SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE IN MINIATURE.(1)

We essayists, who are allowed but one subject at a time, are by no means so fortunate as the writers of maga

(1) [This and the two succeeding articles were introduced by Goldsmith into the volume of Essays' of 1765. The publication in which they first appeared has not been ascertained.]

zines, who write upon several. If a magaziner be dull upon the Spanish war, he soon has us up again with the Ghost in Cock-lane; if the reader begins to doze upon that, he is quickly rouzed by an Eastern tale; tales prepare us for poetry, and poetry for the meteorological history of the weather. It is the life and soul of a magazine never to be long dull upon one subject; and the reader, like the sailor's horse, has at least the comfortable refreshment of having the spur often changed.

As I see no reason why they should carry off all the rewards of genius, I have some thoughts for the future of making this essay a magazine in miniature: I shall hop from subject to subject, and, if properly encouraged, I intend in time to adorn my feuille volante with pictures. But to begin in the usual form with

"A Modest Address to the Public.

"The public has been so often imposed upon by the unperforming promises of others, that it is with the utmost modesty we assure them of our inviolable design of giving the very best collection that ever astonished society. The public we honour and regard, and therefore to instruct and entertain them is our highest ambition, with labours calculated as well for the head as the heart. If four extraordinary pages of letter-press be any recommendation of our wit, we may at least boast the honour of vindicating our own abilities. To say more in favour of the Infernal Magazine, would be unworthy the public; to say less, would be injurious to ourselves. As we have no interested motives for this undertaking, being a society of gentlemen of distinction, we disdain to eat or write like hirelings; we are all gentlemen resolved to sell our sixpenny magazine merely for our own amusement.

"Be careful to ask for the Infernal Magazine.”

"Dedication to that most ingenious of all Patrons, the Tripoline

Ambassador.

"May it please your Excellency: As your taste in the fine arts is universally allowed and admired, permit the authors of the Infernal Magazine to lay the following sheets humbly at your Excellency's toe; and should our labours ever have the happiness of one day adorning the courts of Fez, we doubt not that the influence wherewith we are honoured, shall be ever retained with the most warm ardour by, may it please your Excellency, your most devoted humble servants, The Authors of the Infernal Magazine."

"A Speech spoken by the Indigent Philosopher, to persuade his Club at Cateaton to declare war against Spain.

"My honest friends and brother politicians; I perceive that the intended war with Spain makes many of you uneasy. Yesterday, as we were told, the stocks rose, and you were glad; to-day they fall, and you are again miserable. But, my dear friends, what is the rising or the falling of the stocks to us, who have no money? Let Nathan Ben Funk, the Dutch Jew, be glad or sorry for this; but my good Mr. Bellows-mender, what is all this to you or me? You must mend broken bellows, and I write bad prose, as long as we live, whether we like a Spanish war or not. Believe me, my honest friends, whatever you may talk of liberty and your own reason, both that liberty and reason are conditionally resigned by every poor man in every society; and as we are born to work, so others are born to watch over us while we are working. In the name of common-sense then, my good friends, let the great keep watch over us, and let us mind our business, and perhaps we may at last get money ourselves, and set beggars at work in our turn. I have a Latin sentence that is worth its weight in gold, and which I shall beg leave to translate

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