licly passed among the janisaries, so injurious to his reputation and his interest.

The sultan, after remaining some moments in profound silence, as if deliberating what step he ought to take, made no reply; but, under the pretence of a review of the troops, ordered Mustapha to assemble on the next day all the bashaws in the neighbourhood of the city. He then retired to the chamber of Irene, with whom he continued till the morning.

Never did this young princess appear to him so charming, and never till then did he caress her with such tender affection: to give if possible, an additional lustre to her beauty, he ordered her women to employ all their address and art in the elegance and grace of her attire. After she was completely arrayed, and prepared to make her public appearance, he took her by the hand, and led her into the midst of the assembly.. Then lifting up the veil, which concealed her face, he asked the bashaws that surrounded him,. if they had ever before beheld such exquisite beauty. All his officers replied to him in an excess of admiration, and in court language congratulated him on the possession of so much happiness. Upon this, Mahomet, seizing with one hand the hair of the young Greek, and with the

other drawing his cimeter, at one blow severed her head from her body; and turning towards the nobles around him with looks wild and fu

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rious, "This steel," says he to them, can sever even the powerful fetters of love!"

SUCH an action is more like the ferocity of a tyger than the rational conduct of a man. Mahomet, incapable of conquering his passions, appeared great from but the excess of his weakness.

THE passion of love exerts its utmost power only on dignified and sensible minds; and it is then capable of actions the most virtuous as well as the most atrocious, the most brilliant as well as the basest, according to the nature of the character which it influences. But on weak and little minds it degenerates into libertinism and licentious gallantry.

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LETTER XIII.

ON FRIENDSHIP.

HAVING spoken to you in my former letter upon the subject of Love, it is my design in the present to say a few words upon that of Friendship.

GENUINE and perfect friendship is a sentiment which can exist only united with principles of honour. A philosophical author describes it as a tacit covenant between two virtuous and sensible minds.'" I say sensible,” adds he, “because a monk or a recluse may not perhaps be wicked, and yet may live without knowing any thing of friendship. I say virtuous-for the vicious have only accomplices; the voluptuaries, only companions in debauchery; the interested have associates; the politician, his faction; the bulk of the people, their connections; princes, their courtiers; the virtuous alone have friends."

FRIENDSHIP cannot long subsist, if esteem does not regulate the articles of the contract. It is a commerce, with reciprocal engagements:

where nothing is bargained, nothing is required; but wherein the most honourable commonly make the greatest advances, and are most happy when they make the highest offers. Riches, reputation, pleasures, even life itself, are all devoted to our friend.

NEVER, perhaps, was there a more sincere and elegant friendship than that between Scipio and Lælius. The former was one of the greatest generals and best men that Rome ever produced; the other, for his probity and prudence, was distinguished by the surname of "the Wise." They were almost of the same age; and had the same temper, benevolence of mind, taste for learning of all kinds, principles of government, and zeal for the public good. If Scipio excelled in the point of military glory, his friend had perhaps the superiority in eloquence. But let us hear Lælius himself upon so interesting a subject:-"As for me, of all the gifts of nature or fortune, there are none, I think, comparable to the happiness of having Scipio for my friend. I found in our friendship a perfect conformity of sentiments, in respect to public affairs; an inexhaustible fund of advice and support in private life; with a tranquillity and delight not to be expressed. I

never gave Scipio the least offence, to my knowledge nor ever heard a word escape him that did not please. We had but one house, and one table, at our common expence: the frugality of which was equally to the taste of both. For in war, in travelling, in the country, we were always together. I do not mention our studies, and the attention of us both always to useful learning; this was the employment of our leisure hours, removed from the sight and coinmerce of the world."-Is there any thing comparable to a friendship like that here described?

What a consolation is it," says Cicero, "to have a second self; from whom we have nothing secret, and into whose heart we may commit our own with perfect unreserve! Can we taste prosperity so sensibly, if we have no one to share with us our joy? And what a relief is it, in adversity, to have a friend who can sympathise with an equal degree of feeling in our distress!"

But what more highly exalts the value of the friendship in question was, its not being founded at all in interest, but solely in esteem for each other's virtues. "What necessary occasion," says Lælius, "could Scipio have for me? Undoubtedly none; nor I for him. But my attach