treated with mockery and derision, conceived at once i prayer and an apology for his murderers: "Father, forgive ther., they know not what they do." CARAZAN, THE MERCHANT OF BAGDAD. Adventurer, No. 48. Carazan, the merchant of Bagdad, was eminent throughout all the East for his avarice and his wealth: his origin was obscure as that of the spark which, by the collision of steel and adamant, is struck out of darkness; and the patient labor of persevering diligence alone had made him rich. It was remembered, that when he was indigent he was thought to be generous; and he was still acknowledged to be inexorably just. But whether in his dealings with men he discovered a perfidy which tempted him to put his trust in gold, or whether in proportion as he accumulated wealth he discovered his own importance to increase, Carazan prized it more as he used it less; he gradually lost the inclination to do good, as he acquired the power: and as the hand of time scattered snow upon his head, the freezing influence extended to his bosom. But though the door of Carazan was never opened by hospitality, nor his hand by compassion, yet fear led him constantly to the mosque at the stated hours of prayer; he performed all the rites of devotion with the most scrupulous punctuality, and had tl.rice paid his vows at the Temple of the Prophet. That devo tion which arises from the Love of God, and necessarily includes the Love of Man as it connects gratitude with beneficence, and exalts that which was moral to divine, confers new dignity upon goodness, and is the object not only of affection but reverence. On the contrary, the devotion of the selfish, whether it be thought to avert the punishment which every one wishes to be inflicted, or to insure it by the complication of hypocrisy with guilt, never fails to excite indignation and abhorrence. Carazan, therefore, when he had locked his door, and turning round with a look of circumspective suspicion, proceeded to the mosque, was followed by every eye with silent malignity; the poor suspended their supplication when he passed by; and though he was known by every man, yet no man saluted him. Such had long been the life of Carazan, and such was the character which he had acquired, when notice was given by procla mation, that he was removed to a magnificent building in the centre of the city, that his table should be spread for the public, and that the stranger should be welcome to his bed. The multi tude soon rushed like a torrent to his door, where they beheld him distributing bread to the hungry and apparel to the naked-nis eye softened with compassion, and his cheek glowing with del ght Every one gazed with astonishment at the prodigy; and the murmur of innumerable voices increasing like the sound of approaching thunder, Carazan beckoned with his hand; attention suspended the tumult in a moment, and he thus gratified the curiosity which had procured him audience. "To Him who touches the mountains and they smoke, the Almighty and the most merciful, be everlasting honor! He has ordained sleep to be the minister of instruction, and his visions have reproved me in the night. As I was sitting alone in my harem, with my lamp burning before me, computing the product of my merchandise, and exulting in the increase of my wealth, I fell into a deep sleep, and the hand of Him who dwells in the third Heaven was upon me. I beheld the Angel of death coming forward like a whirlwind, and he smote me before I could deprecate the blow. At the same moment I felt myself lifted from the ground, and transported with astonishing rapidity through the regions of the air. The earth was contracted to an atom bereath; and the stars glowed round me with a lustre that obscured the sun. The gate of Paradise was now in sight; and I was intercepted by a sudden brightness which no human eye could behold: the irrevocable sentence was now to be pronounced; my day of probation was past: and from the evil of my life nothing could be taken away, nor could any thing be added to the good. When I reflected that my lot for eternity was cast, which not all the pow ers of nature could reverse, my confidence totally forsook me; and while I stood trembling and silent, covered with confusion and chilled with horror, I was thus addressed by the radiance that flamed before me: "Carazan, thy worship has not been accepted; because it was not prompted by Love of God; neither can thy righteousness be rewarded, because it was not produced by Love of Man for thy own sake only hast thou rendered to every man his due; and thou hast approached the Almighty only for thyself. Thou hast not looked up with gratitude, nor around thee with kindness. Around thee, thou hast, indeed, beheld vice and folly; but if vice and folly could justify thy parsimony, would they not condemn the bounty of Heaven? If not upon the foolish and the vicious, where shall the sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distil their dew? Where shall the lips of the Spring breathe fragrance, or the hand of Autumn diffuse plenty? Remember, Carazan, that thou hast shut compassion from thine heart, and grasped thy treasures with a hand of iron: thou hast lived for thyself; and, therefore, hence forth for ever thou shalt subsist alone. From the light of Heaven, and from the society of all beings, shalt thou be driven; solitude shall protract the lingering hours of eternity, and darkness aggra vate the horrors of despair.' At this moment I was driven by some secret and irresistible power through the glowing system of creation, and passed innumerable worlds in a moment. As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the shadows of total and boundless vacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eternal silence, solitude, and darkness! Unutterable horror seized me at the prospect, and this exclamation burst from me with all the vehemence of desire: Oh! that I had been doomed for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence and guilt! their society would have alleviated the torment of despair, and the rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light. Or if I had been condemned to reside in a comet, that would return but once in a thousand years to the regions of light and life; the hope of these periods, however distant, would cheer me in the dread interval of cold and darkness, and the vicissitudes would divide eternity into time. While this thought passed over my mind, I lost sight of the remotest star, and the last glimmering of light was quenched in utter darkness. The agonies of despair every moment increased, as every moment augmented my distance from the last habitable world. I reflected with intolerable anguish, that when ten thousand thousand years had carried me beyond the reach of all but that Power who fills infinitude, I should still look forward into an immense abyss of darkness, through which I should still drive without succor and without society, farther and farther still, for ever and for ever. I then stretched out my hand towards the regions of existence, with an emotion that awaked me. Thus have I been taught to estimate society, like every other blessing, by its loss. My heart is warmed to liberality; and I am zealous to communicate the happiness which I feel, to those from whom it is derived; for the society of one wretch, whom in the pride of prosperity I would have spurned from my door, would, in the dreadful solitude to which I was condemned, have been more highly prized than the gold of Afric, or the gems of Golconda.' At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan became suddenly silent, and looked upward in ecstasy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude were struck at once with the precept and exam ple; and the caliph, to whom the event was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, commanded it to be recorded for the benefit of posterity. Adventurer, No. 132 A LESSON FROM THE FLIGHT OF TIME.1 The hour is hastening, in which, whatever praise or censur I have acquired by these compositions, if they are remembered at all, will be remembered with equal indifference, and the tenor of 1 The concluding paragraph of the last number of the Adventurer. them only will afford me comfort. Time, who is npatient to date my last paper, will shortly moulder the hand that is now writing it in the dust, and still the breast that now throbs a: the reflection: but let not this be read as something that relates only to another; for a few years only can divide the eye that is now reading from the hand that has written. This awful truth, however obvious, and however reiterated, is yet frequently forgotten; for, surely, if we did not lose our remembrance, or at least our sensibility, that view would always predominate in our lives, which alone can afford us comfort when we die. The following little poem, composed but a month before his death, and dictated to Mrs. Hawkesworth before he rose in the morning, will prove how vividly he felt, at that period, the consolations arising from depender ce on the mercy of his God. HYMN. In Sleep's serene oblivion laid, Once more, with awe, rejoice to be; My doubtful feet are doom'd to tread; A deeper sleep my eyes oppress; Yet still thy strength shall me defend, That deeper shade shall fade away, That deeper sleep shall leave my eyes; Thy light shall give eternal day! His father was county of Westschools, he en Turs distinguished poet, novelist, historian, and essayist, was born at Palla in the county of Longford, Ireland, on November 10, 1728. a clergyman, and held the living of Kilkenny West, in the meath. After studying the classics at two or three private tered Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizer,' in his fifteenth year. Here he was 1 See Note 2. on page 93. idle, extravagant, and occasionally insubordinate; though ought in justice to say that a most injudicious and passionate tutor, a Mr. Wilder, should be held partly responsible for the unsatisfactory nature of Goldsmith's college career. About the time of his leaving the university his father died,' but his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarine, who had already borne the principal part of the expenses of his education, amply supplied the father's place. Disappointed in one or two plans that he had marked out for him, he determined to send him to London, to study the law, at the Temple. But stopping at Dublin on his way, he lost, in gambling, the sum that had been given him for the ex penses of his journey, and returned home penniless. The kindness of his uncle was not yet exhausted, and he sent him to Edinburgh to study medi cine, where he arrived at the close of the year 1752. Here he remained about eighteen months, when, in consequence of becoming security to a considerable amount for a classmate, he was obliged to quit the city abruptly, and sailed for Leyden. Here he studied about a year, and then set out to make the tour of Europe on foot; having with him, it is said, only one clean shirt, and no money, and trusting to his wits for support.2 By various expedients he worked his way through Flanders, parts of France and Germany, Switzerland, (where he composed part of "The Traveller,") and the North of Italy, and returned to London in the autumn of 1756, with an empty pocket, indeed, but with a mind enriched by observations of foreign countries, which he has so admirably expressed in that charming poem-"The Traveller." After trying various means of a professional character for support, he resolved to depend upon his pen; and in April, 1757, made an engagement with Mr. Griffiths, the proprietor of the Monthly Review, to write for that journal, for a salary, and his board and lodging in the proprietor's house. At the end of seven or eight months, this engagement was given up by mutual consent, and Goldsmith went into private lodgings, to finish his "Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe," which was published in 1759. His next publication was "The Bee," a series of Essays on a variety of subjects, published weekly, which, for want of support, terminated with the eighth number, November 24, 1759. Though neglected at their first appearance, yet, when known, some time after, to be from the same pen as The Traveller," and the "Vicar of Wakefield," they were very generally read and admired. Such is the world; withholding from unknown and unhonored genius that praise which it lavishes when needed not. 1 "To this very amiable father, the son, by his power in the delineation of character, has given celebrity in three of his sketches; one in the 'Citizen of the World' (Letter 27th); a second .n Dr Primrose, in the Vicar of Wakefield;' and a third, as the family always stated, in reference to his spiritual character, in the Preacher in the 'Deserted Village.' Each has peculiarities that distinguish it from the other, yet touched so skilfully, that with some variation, they cannot be said to offer a contradiction."-Prior. 2 The following passage in the "Vicar of Wakefield" is supposed to describe his own travels: “1 had some knowledge of music, and now turned what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards night-fall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day." So also the lines in "The Traveller," in the picture of the Swiss "And haply, too, some pilgrim thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed." And also in the picture of France, "How often have I led thy sportive choir With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire " &c. |