harold felt the rashness of his speech and the inference it admitted, but baffled his inquisitor by retorting can he prove it?"-Stung by the contempt in Clanharold's smile, the bishop exclaimed, "The proof of innocence rests with you. A female strangled and cruelly wounded was conveyed to your dwelling at midnight by men hired as accomplices, but now witnesses of the crime. I adjure you as a minister of justice, and as the friend of your nation's honour, which your public examination would endanger, to confess the truth. Where was the corpse deposited?"-"I know of none!" replied Clanharold firmly; "nor have I admitted any knowledge of the men you name. I have held no secret and dishonourable intercourse in Spain either with the living or the dead. This is my answer, and the last I shall repeat." The prelate smiled indignantly and departed. But notwithstanding his first emotions of anger at the prisoner's haughty defiance, his habitual caution, joined to some generous feelings, enforced, perhaps, by the respect due to Clanharold's nation, rank, and family, suspended his proceedings even beyond the usual degree of Spanish tardiness. Wearied with the misery of an imprisonment which seemed purposely protracted, Clanbarold's pride sunk at length under the anxious entreaties of his sister, and he consented to avail himself of her aid. About this period, her husband's official station rendered another public banquet necessary, and she studiously included the Bishop of Camong her guests. In the chief saloon, where the most numerous and brilliant part of the assembly were engaged in the Bolero, a stranger suddenly entered, whose extraordinary deportment and attire fixed every eye upon him. A mantle of grey silk, strangely painted, was wrapped round him; his feet were bare, and his head covered with a large hat of plaited straw, interwoven with flowers. This fantastic figure moved slowly round the room, looking wildly yet familiarly on the assembly, and waving the remnant of a white glove stained with blood. The females among the croud endeavoured to hide themselves from the intrusion of a maniac, but a few cavaliers ventured to surround and question him. Still waving the glove, he only answered, "My Master's seeret."-No one of the ambassador's

household had seen this person enter, or could guess from whence he came; but the ambassadress leading the Bishop of C towards him, directed his attention to the fragment of a gold chain concealed in the stranger's breast. Dismissing every spectator, and closing the doors of the saloon, the bishop laid his hand upon the maniac's shoulder, and attempted to take the gold chain from his vest. With the same vague and fixed smile, he repeated, "My mas ter's secret," and covered it closer in the folds of his silk mantle. "Do you know this hall?" said the inquisitor"Yes."-" -"And the business of this night?"-It is my master's secret.""But what is your business here?""Mine is with you!" returned the stranger raising his large eyes with a dark fire in them." You are a priest, they say, and I want absolution for My master's secret!" he clenched his hands on his breast with a groan which expressed agony even to suffocation, and fell insensible on the ground.

The Judge had a heart worthy his high station among Christian priests, and an understanding superior to the errors of Spanish jurisprudence. He summoned his secretary and two confidential assistants, who conveyed the unhappy stranger to a chamber near the holy tribunal, and carefully recalled his senses. When his eyes opened, they fixed themselves on the mysterious chest, which had been placed before him by the prelate's order. "Has it struck twelve, and is all done so soon!

Well, carry it gently-my master is not yet at home". Carry the torch, then," said the bishop's secretary. "Here are three of us to take the chest."-"O the dead weigh heavy!but we will have no torch; I know my way blindfolded." The attendants understanding the motion of their mas ter's eye, raised the chest upon their shoulders, and accompanied their guide through the dark and intricate streets of Madrid, till they reached the house once occupied by Clanharold. Still preceded by the unknown, and followed by the bishop muffled up, they entered the bedchamber where it had been first deposited. "Let us look at her again before we leave her," said the secretary affecting to apply his eye to a chink in the coffer. "It is my master's secret!" exclaimed the maniac, pushing him back with the strength of insanity-" but this gold chain will pay

66

At the middle hour of the next night Clanharold's musings were disturbed by the entrance of the prelate with a dark and severe countenance. He accosted him in few words, and announced the certainty of his secret but final trial on the following day. This information only raised the courage and the hopes of the young prisoner, who apprehended nothing so much as the obscure and slow progress of the holy tribunal. No pomp or circumstance was spared to render the judicial court imposing to the Englishman's feelings when he entered it; but those feelings may be well conjectured when he saw the chest which had been employed as Juana's coffin standing in the centre, and her husband at the bar. "Henry Viscount Clanharold," said the inferior judge rising solemnly from his seat under a dark canopied recess, we cite you here to bear witness of the truth. Look on this man and answer us-are ye strangers to each other?" "We have never met before," replied Clanharold, evading a distinct reply to a question which he feared might crimimte a man unjustly suspected. "By the sanctity of that oath which we have imposed on your veracity, we require you to communicate all you know of this chest.""I know not what are its contents" he answered, still seeking safety in evasion. The Conde fixed his show eye on Clanharold as these words were registered, and drew his lip inwards with a ghastly smile. Three men were summoned next, and solemnly attested the conveyance of this chest, at midnight, to the English nobleman's apartment and professed their belief, that it contained a treasure expected by him. His valet followed with a precise and accurate detail of the circumstances atending the opening of the lid, the groanwhich escaped his master, and the short stupor of agony which appeared to seize him, while excited by curiosity and suspicion he had watched his movements. Last came the miserable stranger, stil clothed in his fantastic drapery, with the blood-stained glove in his hand, and the broken chain fastened round his neck. "Master! I have kept your secet!" he exclaimed and fainted. "Spareyour efforts," said the Conde, coldly foldog his arms over

his breast-" this wretch can tell you nothing more than I avow. He knows his master's secret-he knows that an infamous woman left her husband's house on the eve of St. Blasius's festival, and returned to it no more.""And you received her?" added the chief judge, addressing the English prisoner. "My lord," replied Clanharold "I have already disclaimed the guilt imputed to me:-my roof has never been an asylum for infamy in any shape, and I know no Spanish woman to whom it is due."-" He prevaricates!" interrupted the Conde, forgetting his own danger in his zeal to criminate an enemy-"he has spoken falsely!-let him remember Bareges and the accommodating kindness of his sister!"-A momentary blush passed over Clanharold's forehead, followed by a stern and deadly paleness." Under English laws," he said, directing his eyes toward the judges, "frenzy and desperation are not allowed to convict themselves; nor are the most plausible assertions credited without proofs. All the witnesses err. If they can certify the fact of an assassination, let them make known the manner and name the victim."- -"Beware!” said the bishop, "the chief witness has confessed all. Do you venture to look upon this chain?" Clanharold instantly recognised a fragment of the woven gold so fatally employed round Juana's neck.

"You cannot deny that you have seen the instrument of an unhappy lady's death; this glove is the counterpart of one worn by her corpse, and the place of its interment is all we have to ask. You stand here, not as a culprit, but as an evidence against him; unless a contumacious silence renders you an accomplice. Where is the body of Juana?"

Clanharold remained silent till this question had been thrice repeated. To its last solemu proposition he replied, "if the Conde is accused of murder, Í have no evidence to give, but I fully and firmly believe him innocent. I have seen no instrument of death, no place of secret interment, and to your last question I answer- my ignorance is absolute." The secretary of the tribunal recorded this declaration, while the only lamp which lighted the spa cious hall of justice was gradually lowered over the coffin of Juana. Her husband shuddered and turned away his face, while the bishop, executing

the most awful office of his temporal administration, advanced to pronounce his sentence. "Manuel del Tormes, accused and convicted by the assistants of your guilt; and you, Henry Lord Clanharold, subjected to the penalty of death by an obstinate concealment of murder, approach and lay your hands upon this bier."-They obeyed with contrasted, but strongly evident feelings. The Conde's livid lips shook as he attempted to speak; and raising his shrunk eye, he saw another witness standing before him. She wore the white habit of a nun, and extended her hands towards both the prisoners. Judges! the Conde is innocent, and the Englishman has spoken truth. Juana was not wholly dead when the coffer was unclosed, and Clanharold's care revived her; but she could not enjoy even life where her honour was suspected. She escaped from her server to the convent of St. Blasius, where she found refuge without his knowledge or aid. She returns to the world only for a moment, to acquit

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pre

a husband whose rashness was not without provocation, and a generous stranger whose secresy hazards his life to redeem her honour."-Thus speaking,

she raised her veil; and when the assembly had gazed for an instant ou the beauty of the unfortunate Juana,dropped it again for ever.

But the Conde, fully convicted of a barbarous intent, was sentenced to a long imprisonment, which his selfdevouring spirit rendered more bitter than death. His servant, the chief agent in the attempted assassination, died in the receptacle for lunatics, where the ambassadress had discovered him; and her brother quitted Spain in almost incurable dejection, execrating that fierce jealousy which, by urging innocence itself into dark and crooked paths, deprives it of its dignity and its security.

V.

To the Editor of the European Magazine.

SIR,

ALLOW me, through the medium of your valuable and instructive Miscellany, to offer to your classical readers a few remarks on what appears to me an erroneous method of scanning and pronouncing many verses in Homer and other ancient poets, Latin as well as Greek.

The error in question (if it really he

an error) takes place in the pronun ciation of such patronymic titles as Atreides, Peleides, &c. in which the generality of readers make the El a diphthong: and, to determine whether we do or do not rightly scan and pronounce them, it may be proper, in the first instance, to consider the mode of their derivation.

The simplest rule (as I apprehend) for the formation of an ordinary regular patronymic from a proper name, is—

To cut off the final vowel of the dative singular, (counting the sulfscript iota as nothing) and to add IAHE (with the I short) for the masculine, and I for the feminine; as, from Turdafw. masculine Turdans, and feminine T

Much more might be said on the subject of patronymics: but I shall, for the present, content myself with these few general remarks, which are sufficient for the primary object that I had in view and I now proceed to apply them.

:

Agreeably to the preceding rule, the primitive Atreus will, either from the Greek dative Arpe- or the Latin Atre-o, give us the patronyme Arptïồng or

dire ides, in either language four syllables, making a dacy and a semifoot; and, by the same process, we obtain λs-ïồng, Pek-ides, &c. Or, if the Greek scholar, making two rules instead of one, shorld choose to direct, that, from primitives which form the genitive in O2, the patronymic be formed by adding ARE to the dative,

it ultimately amounts to the same thing; the natural un-contracted dative being Arps, Inλsi, of three syllables, which will give Arpions, Indiïdns, of four.

This being the case, I humbly conceive, that, wherever, in Greek or Latin poetry, we find one of those patronymics in such position as to allow the alternative of one long syllable or two short, we are, if not bound, at least authorised, to pronounce the EI as two distinct syllables; thus producing, in each of the following instances, a dactyl, instead of the spondee, which is produced by the ordinary mode of pronunciation; ex. gr.

Ατρείδης τι αναξ ανδρών, και διος Αχιλ λευς

Atreidas, Priamumque, et sævum ambobus Achillem

Thus also, instead of spondaic lines in the following instances (Iliad, B 9, and P 191)

Έλθων εις κλισίην Αγαμεμνονος Ατρείδαο

Οι προτι αστυ φερον κλυτα τεύχεα Πηλεί 800

we should have verses of the regular form, with the dactyl in the fifth place: and the same remark applies to Πηλείωνα, which often occurs in the Iliad, and to various other patronymics, which it is not here uecessary to enumerate.

I do not, however, pretend to say, that this pronunciation will, in all cases, improve the harmony of the verse: but, in some instances, it certainly will; and, on such occasions, I conceive that the reader is perfectly at liberty to consult his own ear-perfectly justifiable in avoiding the synææresis, and preferring the dactyl to the spondee.

Before I quit the subject of patrony. mics, I cannot forbear to notice a glaring error in the text of Ovid, which appears most unaccountably to have escaped the observation of all his editors and commentators. It is in his Epist. 14, 73—

Surge, age, Belide, de tot modo fra

tribus unus

unless it should appear that Belus was otherwise called Beleus, which would of course give Beleides: but, until that be proved, I shall continue to think the present reading incorrect and unmetrical. I am, Sir,

Your humble servant and constaut reader, JOHN CAREY.

West Square, August 4.

LETTERS

FROM A FATHER TO HIS SON

IN AN OFFICE UNDER GOVERNMENT.

MY DEAR G

W

LETTER V.

HEN a father takes upon himself to dictate to a son upon the nature and measure of his amusements, the latter is apt to turn round upon him with the memorandum, 66 Sir, remember you once were young, and youth is the season for amusement."-Now, if such an observation has suggested it. self to you as an answer to my anxiety, I assure you it will instantly be admit ted by me, for I can recal to my reminiscence the days of my youth with many of those happy recollections which I wish to be realized by youbut if by amusement you mean plea. sure, it will be necessary for me to guard my concession with this one con dition, that pleasure be fixed upon the right object. This assumed and granted, I shall feel no hesitation in allowing you to extend your proposition to its utmost application. Now, G—, I can have no idea of the propriety of any amusement that leaves the thoughts more vacant than it found them, or that in unbending, weakens the mind; and, supposing that you are willing to insist upon pleasure as a synonime for amusement, I can have less conception of the word's applica tion to any pursuit that produces painful reflection. It is requisite, therefore, that this "right object" should be defined; and, if I am not much mistaken, it is for want of a just sense of this that so many young men waste their time in idle amusements, and squander their health in vicious plea

sures.

I cannot allow myself to suppose that you feel any inclination to do either; but the result may, perhaps, take place from being imperceptibly led on to it by the influence of asso

ciation-and hence it becomes as indispensable, I had almost said more so, for a young man to be careful whom he chooses for the companions of his leisure hours of relaxation, as he admits he ought to be of those from whose communications he expects instruction in the graver pursuits of life. A man is more readily known by his pleasures than by any other part of his conduct-the character of his mind is more clearly unfolded; he acts less under the controul of reserve, and the sentiment of his heart pours out itself in all the flow of natural feeling. Nothing, therefore, can be more essential to a young man, than that his pleasures should be so constituted, as neither to debase the dignity of his nature, nor commit his character to the reproach of others or of his own conscience. Relaxation cannot, then, be sought in pleasures that debilitate the body, or in amusements that enervate the mind; for as the heart is principally concerned in our enjoyments, so it can neither find virtuous satisfaction nor useful improvement in such degrading gratifications. Indeed, the evil is not merely of a negative kind, since, such is the effect of all corrupt indulgence of the senses, that it not only vitiates our purer inclinations, but dispossesses us even of the power to preserve them from its contaminating influence, until, as our Milton has strongly expressed it, "The soul grows clotted by contagion." There is a passage in Cowper that very beautifully describes the total subjugation of the mind which such an unworthy sacrifice of its moral dignity is sure to produce-allow me to quote

which he had received from a good education, has been gradually seduced into this destructive insensibility by an unwary association with individuals of his own standing and condition, who having failed to apply aright the same opportunities have in the low subtilty of their impure experience, deliberately planned their triumph over his happier ignorance of the existence of vices which they have been long hackneyed in-and I am sorry to add a too notorious fact in support of this assertion, that there is not a more prolific source of such characters than a public office. The hours of labour, if labour it can be called, are few-the time at their own disposal is considerable; and it unfortunately happens, that the season of their leisure is in that part of the day when all the places of evening amusement are open; and it is thought by these "careless ones" a justifiable appropriation of their gains to squander them upon the most seductive of all amusements, those of the theatre, where they are seen lounging in the lobby, a place which may most justly be called the vestibule of vice

they soon become familiar with scenes, which, to the disgrace of our police, are tolerated, as, what has been shamelessly termed "a necessary evil"

and the restraints of virtuous reflection, too weak to resist the torrent of temptation, are borne down by the tide of depraved custom; the moral warnings of early precept and parental caution are forgotten, the checks of conscience repulsed, and the boy boasts of intimacies to which nothing but infamy can be attached, and makes those violations his vaunt which have been the ruin of hundreds of young men in character and constitution, by rendering them regardless of the opinion of the world-"They care not what people say of themthey are their own masters, and are not bound to give an account to any latter assertion to be a very mistaken one one."-But they frequently find this -for the repeated irregularities of their criminal course not unfrequently bring them into involvements out of which they seldom or never extricate them. selves, but with the loss of their reputation, and the forfeiture of the respect of those on whose favour their fu ture prospects generally depend.-I have a higher idea of your prudential estimate of the value of character to