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tenderness and affection; the heart that could be dead to gratitude was lot to love; and the unfortunate Yarico was doomed to a life of flavery!!

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CHAPTER VI.

STORY OF ALCANDER AND SEPTIMIUS.

LCANDER and Septimius were two Athenian students, whofe tafte for the arts and sciences became the foundation of their future friendship, and they were scarcely ever feen apart. Although Alcander's breast was animated by that tender fentiment, a ftill more lively one found entrance, and the fair Hypatia became the ob ject of his love: He declared his paffion and was accepted.

2. Septimius happened to have left the city, when his friend first faw the blooming fair one, and did not return until the day fixed upon for his marriage. The moment that introduced him to the view of fuch perfection, was fatal to his peace; and the struggle between love and friendfhip became too violent for his refolution. A fudden and dangerous fever attacked him; and the unfufpicious Alcander introduced the object of his affection to affist him in his unwearied care of his friend.

3. The moment the phyficians beheld Hypatia enter, they were no longer at a lofs to account for their patient's illnefs; and calling Alcander afide, they informed him of the nature of it, ani alfo expreffed their fears that Septimius' recovery was impoffible! Tortured between the dread of lofing the friend of his heart, and agonized at the idea of relinquishing the object of his affection, his anguish for fome time deprived him of utterance; but recovering that fortitude which had ever marked his conduct, he flew to the bedfide of his apparently dying friend, and promised to renounce his claim to Hypatia, if the confented to a union with Septimius.

4. Whether Hypatia had not been strongly attached to the amiable Alcander, or whether compaffion urged her to accept the hand of his friend, is uncertain; but they were united, quitted Athens, and went directly to Septimius' houfe at Rome. Hypatia's friends, imagining Alcander had relinquished his betrothed bride for the fake of a

rich reward,commenced an action against him for a breach of promife; and the judges, biaffed by the reprefentations of his enemies, ordered that he should pay a heavier fine than his whole property amounted to.

5. The wretched Alcander was now reduced to the molt melancholy fituation; his friend abfent, the object of his love loft, and his own character ftigmatized wi h bafe nefs! Being abfolutely unable to pay the demand, his per fon became the property of his oppreffors, and he was car. ried into the market place and fold as a common flave. A Thracian merchant became his purchafer, and for fév. eral years he endured a life of torment. At length liberty prefented itself to his view, and the opportunity of flight. was not to be rejected. Alcander ardently embraced it, and arrived at Rome in the dusk of the evening

6. Friendless, hopeless, and forlorn, the generous Alcander had no place of fhelter, and neceffity compelled him. to feek a lodging in a gloomy cavern. Two robbers, who had long been fufpected to frequent that fpot, arrived there foon after midnight, and difputing about their booty, fortunately did not perceive his prefe ›ce. One of them at length was fo exasperated against his companion, that, drawing a dagger from his fide, he plunged it into his heart, and left him, weltering in his blood at the mouth of the cave.

7. Alcander's miferies had been fo accumulated, and his✨ diftreffes fo undeserved, that his mind at last was worn down. by his afflictions, and he became indifferent to every thing around him. In this fituation he was discovered, and drag. ged to a court of juftice, as the murderer of the man whofe body had been found in the cave. Weary of existence, he did not deny the charge; and sentence was going to be pronounced against him, when the murderer, fmitten with a pang of confcience, entered the court, and avowed the fact!

8. Aftonishment feized every mind, but particularly that of the judge who was going to condemn him, who, examining the countenance of a man capable of fuch fingular conduct, discovered the features of his beloved friend Al cander! Rifing from the throne of juftice, and flying to the bar of guilt, he caught his fuffering Alcander in his arms, and, after fhedding over him tears of joy and compaffion, prefented him to the Senators, as a man whofe difinterested conduct had been the means of preferving his awn existence.

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CHAPTER VII.

CHARACTER OF A true friend. (1) ONCERNING the man you call your friend, tell me, will he weep with you in the hour of diftrefs? Will he faithfully reprove you to your face, for actions for which others are ridiculing, or cenfuring you behind your back? Will he dare fland forth in your defence, when detraction is fecretly aiming its deadly weapons at your reputation? Will he acknowledge you with the fame cordi-" ality, and behave to you with the fame friendly attention, in the company of your fuperiors in rank and fortune, as when the claims of pride or vanity do not interfere with thofe of friendship?

2. If misfortunes and loffes fhould oblige you to retire into the walk of life, in which you cannot appear with the fame diftinction, or entertain your friends with the fame li berality as formerly, will he ftill think himfeif happy in your fociety? And inftead of gradually withdrawing him-felf from an unprofitable connexion, take pleasure in profeffing himself your friend, and cheerfully affift you to fup. port the burden of your afflictions?

3. When ficknefs fhall call you to retire from the gay and bufy fcenes of the world, will he follow you into your gloomy retreat, and liften with attention to your tale of wo? Will he adminifter the balm of confolation to your fainting fpirit? And lastly, when death fhall burst asunder every earthly tie, will he fhed a tear upon your grave, and lodge the dear remembrance of your mutual friendship in his heart, as a treasure never to be refigned? The man who will not do all this, may be your companion, your flatterer, your feducer-but, believe me, he is not your friend.

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CHAPTER VIII.

ON ELOCUTION.

1. YOUR very bad congratulate both you and hyfelf, OUR very bad enunciation, my fon, gives me real concern; and I

that I was informed of it, as I hope, in time, to prevent it; and fhall ever think myself, as hereafter you will, I am fure, think yourfelf, infinitely obliged to your friend, for informing me of it. If this ungraceful and disagreeable (1) See Rule V. page 17

manner of Speaking had, either by your negligence or mine, become habitual to you, as in couple of years more it would have been, what a figure would you have made in company, or in a public affembly! who would have liked you in the one, or attended to you in the other?

2. Read what Cicero and Quintilian fay of enunciation, and fee what a ftrefs they lay upon the gracefulness of it; nay, Cicero goes further, and even maintains that a good figure is neceffary for an orator; and, particularly, that he muft not be overgrown and clumfy. He fhows by it, that he knew mankind well, and knew the powers of an agree able figure and a graceful manner. Men are much oftener led by their hearts than by their understandings. The way to the heart is through the fenfes; please their eyes and their ears, and the work is half done.

3. I have frequently known a man's fortune decided for ever by his first addrefs. If it is pleasing, people are hur. ried involuntarily into a perfuafion that he has a merit, which poffibly he has not; as, on the other hand, if it is ungraceful, they are immediately prejudiced against him, and unwilling to allow him the merit, it may be he has.Nor is this fentiment fo unjuft end unreasonable as at first it may feem; for, if a man has parts, he must know of how much confequence it is to him to have a graceful manner of Speaking, and a genteel and pleafing addrefs; he will cultivate and improve them to the utmost.

4. What is the constant and just obfervation, as to all actors upon the stage? Is it not, that thofe who have the molt fenfe always fpeak the beft, though they may not have the best voices? They will speak plainly, diftinctly, and with a proper emphafis, be their voices ever fo bad. Had Rofcius fpoken quick, thick, and ungracefully, I will anfwer for it, that Cicero would not have thought him worth the oration which he made in his favour.

5. Words were given us to communicate our ideas by; and there must be fomething inconceivably abfurd in utter. ing them in fuch a manner, as that either people cannot understand them, or will not defire to understand them. I tell you truly and fincerely, that I fhall judge of your parts by your fpeaking gracefully or ungracefully. If you have parts, you will never be at reft till you have brought yourfelf to the habit of speaking the most gracefully; for I aver, that it is in your power.

6. You will defire your tutor, that you may read aloud to him, every day; and that he will interrupt and correct you, every time you read too faft, do not obferve the proper flops, or lay a wrong emphafis. You will take care to open your teeth when you fpeak; to articulate every word diflinctly; and to beg of any friend you speak to, to remind you, and stop you, if ever you fall into the rapid and unintelligible mutter.

7. You will read aloud to yourself, and tune your ut terance to your own ear; and read at first much lower than you need do, in order to correct that fhameful habit of Ipeaking fafter than you ought. In fhort, you will make it your bufinefs, your ftudy, and your pleasure to speak well, if you think right. Therefore what I have faid is more than fufficient, if you have fenfe; and ten times more would not be fufficient, if you have not: fo here I reft it.

CHAPTER IX.

VIRTUE OUR HIGHEST INTEREST. (1)

1. FIND myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded every way by an immenfe unknown expansion.Where am I? What fort of a place do I inhabit? Is it exactly accommodated, in every instance, to my convenience? Is there no excefs of cold, none of heat, to offend me? am I never annoyed by animals, either of my own kind, or a different? is every thing fubfervient to me, as though I had ordered all myself?

2. No, nothing like it; the fartheft from it poffible.The world appears then not originally made for the private convenience of me alone? It does not--but is it poffible fo to accommodate it, by my own particular industry? If to accommodate man and beast, Heaven and Earth; if this be beyond me, it is not poffible--What confequence then follows? Or can there be any other than this? If I feek an intereft of my own, detached from that of others, I feek an intereft which is chimerical, and can never have exiflence.

3. How then muft I determine? Have I no intereft (1) See Rule V. page 17.

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