his horse to the back of the carriage, and then come and seat himself within it. My endeavours to encourage her were fruitless; she sat in the middle, held the man by the arm, and protested that if he did but save her life, she would make his fortune. Her uneasiness gave me much concern, and it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore to acquaint her that she was imposed upon; but the mutual fear of the captain's resentment to me, and of her own to him, neither of which would have any moderation, deterred me. As to the footman, he was evidently in torture from restraining his laughter, and I observed that he was frequently obliged to make most horrid grimaces from pretended fear, in order to conceal his risibility. Very soon after, 'The robbers are coming!' cried the coachman. "The scheme was the captain's; I even opposed it; though I own I could not refuse myself the so long wished-for happiness of speaking to you once more without so many of-your friends to watch me. And I had flattered myself that the note I charged the footman to give you would have prevented the alarm you have received.' 'Well, sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; and if you will not go yourself to seek for Madame Duval, at least suffer me to inquire what is become of her.' 'And when may I speak to you again?' 'No matter when; I don't know; perhaps ''Perhaps what, my angel?' 'Perhaps never, sir, if you torment me thus.' 'Never! O Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul is that icy word! Indeed, I cannot endure such The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the displeasure.' chariot. Madame Duval gave a loud scream. I could no longer preserve my silence. For Heaven's sake, my dear madam,' said I, 'don't be alarmed; you are in no danger; you are quite safe; there is nothing but' Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks, who at each side put in their hands, as if for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bottom of the chariot, and implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily, although prepared for the attack: one of them held me fast, while the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in spite of her cries, threats, and resistance. I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. 'My angel!' cried the man who held me, 'you cannot surely be alarmed. Do you not know me? I shall hold myself in eternal abhorrence if I have really terrified you.' 'Indeed, Sir Clement, you have,' cried I; 'but, for Heaven's sake, where is Madame Duval?-why is she forced away?' 'She is perfectly safe; the captain has her in charge; but suffer me now, my adored Miss Anville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed me to speak upon another, a much dearer, much sweeter subject.' And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself next to me. I would fain have disengaged myself from him, but he would not let me. Deny me not, most charming of women,' cried he-'deny me not this only moment lent me to pour forth my soul into your gentle ears, to tell you how much I suffer from your absence, how much I dread your displeasure, and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness!' 'O sir, this is no time for such language; pray, leave me; pray, go to the relief of Madame Duval; I cannot bear that she should be treated with such indignity.' 'And will you-can you command my absence? When may I speak to you, if not now?-does the captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of his sight?-and are not a thousand impertinent people for ever at your elbow ?' 'Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will not hear you. The impertinent people you mean are among my best friends, and you would not, if you really wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully.' 'Wish you well! O Miss Anville, point but out to me how in what manner I may convince you of the fervour of my passion-tell me but what services you will accept from me, and you shall find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your devotion.' 'I want nothing, sir, that you can offer. I beg you not to talk to me so-so strangely. Pray, leave me; and pray, assure yourself you cannot take any method so successless to shew any regard for me as entering into schemes so frightful to Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself,' Then, sir, you must not provoke it. Pray, leave me directly.' 'I will, madam; but let me at least make a merit of my obedience-allow me to hope that you will in future be less averse to trusting yourself for a few moments alone with me.' I was surprised at the freedom of this request; but while I hesitated how to answer it, the other mask came up to the chariot door, and in a voice almost stifled with laughter, said: 'I've done for her! The old buck is safe; but we must sheer off directly, or we shall be all aground.' Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off. The captain having given some directions to his servants, followed him. I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame Duval, and immediately got out of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman to shew me which way she was gone; he pointed with his finger, by way of answer, and I saw that he dared not trust his voice to make any other. I walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my great consternation, perceived the poor lady seated upright in a ditch. I flew to her, with unfeigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage and terror. As soon as she saw me, she redoubled her cries, but her voice was so broken, I could not understand a word she said. I was so much shocked, that it was with difficulty I forbore exclaiming against the cruelty of the captain for thus wantonly ill-treating her, and I could not forgive myself for having passively suffered the deception. I used my utmost endeavours to comfort her, assuring her of our present safety, and begging her to rise and return to the chariot. Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and with frightful violence she actually beat the ground with her hands. I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong rope, which was fastened to the upper branch of a tree, even with a hedge which ran along the ditch where she sat. I endeavoured to untie the knot, but soon found it was infinitely beyond my strength. I was therefore obliged to apply to the footman; but being very unwilling to add to his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval's situation, I desired him to lend me a knife. I returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were soon disentangled, and then, though with great difficulty, I assisted her to rise. But what was my astonishment when, the moment she was up, she hit me a violent slap on the face! I retreated from her with precipitation and dread, and she then loaded me with reproaches which, though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined I had voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that she had not been attacked by real robbers. I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that for some time I suffered her to rave without making any answer; but her extreme agitation and real suffering soon dispelled my anger, which all turned into compassion. I then told her that I had been forcibly detained from following her, and assured her of my real sorrow at her ill-usage. She began to be somewhat appeased, and I again entreated her to return to the carriage, or give me leave to order that it should draw up to the place where we stood. She made no answer, till I told her that the longer we remained still, the greater would be the danger of our ride home. Struck with this hint, she suddenly, and with hasty steps, moved forward. Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to have her figure exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation of their master, hold her in derision; however, the disgrace was unavoidable. The ditch, happily, was almost dry, or she must have suffered still more seriously; yet so forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before saw. Her head-dress had fallen off; her linen was torn; her negligée had not a pin left in it; her petticoats she was obliged to hold on; and her shoes were perpetually slipping off. She was covered with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible, for the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road, were quite pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge, made so frightful a mixture that she hardly looked human. The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment they saw her; but not all my remonstrances could prevail on her to get into the carriage till she had most vehemently reproached them both for not rescuing her. The footman, fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of again trusting himself to look at her, protested that the robbers avowed they would shoot him if he moved an inch, and that one of them had stayed to watch the chariot, while the other carried her off; adding, that the reason of their behaving so barbarously, was to revenge our having secured our purses. Notwithstanding her anger, she gave immediate credit to what he said, and really imagined that her want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her with such cruelty. I determined therefore to be carefully on my guard, not to betray the imposition, which could now answer no other purpose than occasioning an irreparable breach between her and the captain. Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss which her head had sustained, and called out 'My God! what is become of my hair? Why, the villain has stole all my curls!' She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any of them in the ditch. He went, and presently returning, produced a great quantity of hair in such a nasty condition, that I was amazed she would take it; and the man, as he delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep his countenance; which she no sooner observed, than all her stormy passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in his face, saying: 'Sirrah, what do you grin for? I wish you'd been served so yourself, and you wouldn't have found it no such joke; you are the impudentest fellow ever I see, and if I find you dare grin at me any more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing your ears.' Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove on. [Miss Burney explains to King George III. the circum stances attending the composition of 'Evelina.] The king went up to the table, and looked at a book of prints, from Claude Lorraine, which had been brought down for Miss Dewes; but Mrs Delany, by mistake, told him they were for me. He turned over a leaf or two, and then said: 'Pray, does Miss Burney draw too?' The too was pronounced very civilly. 'I believe not, sir,' answered Mrs Delany; 'at least she does not tell.' 'Oh,' cried he laughing, ‘that's nothing; she is not apt to tell; she never does tell, you know. Her father told me that himself. He told me the whole history of her Evelina. And I shall never forget his face when he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book; he looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that moment. I never can forget his face while I live.' Then coming up close to me, he said: 'But what! what! how was it?' 'Sir,' cried I, not well understanding him. 'How came you-how happened it-what-what?' 'I-I only wrote, sir, for my own amusement-only in some odd idle hours.' 'But your publishing-your printing-how was that?' "That was only, sir-only because' I hesitated most abominably, not knowing how to tell him a long story, and growing terribly confused at these questions; besides, to say the truth, his own, 'what! what?' so reminded me of those vile Probationary Odes, that, in the midst of all my flutter, I was really hardly able to keep my countenance. The what was then repeated, with so earnest a look, that, forced to say something, I stammeringly answered: 'I thought, sir, it would look very well in print.' I do really flatter myself this is the silliest speech I ever made. I am quite provoked with myself for it; but a fear of laughing made me eager to utter anything, and by no means conscious, till I had spoken, of what I was saying. He laughed very heartily himself-well he mightand walked away to enjoy it, crying out: Very fair indeed; that's being very fair and honest.' Then returning to me again, he said: 'But your father-how came you not to shew him what you wrote?' 'I was too much ashamed of it, sir, seriously.' Literal truth that, I am sure. 'And how did he find it out?' 'I don't know myself, sir. He never would tell me.' Literal truth again, my dear father, as you can testify. 'But how did you get it printed?' "I sent it, sir, to a bookseller my father never employed, and that I never had seen myself, Mr Lowndes, in full hope that by that means he never would hear of it.' 'But how could you manage that?' 'By means of a brother, sir.' "Oh, you confided in a brother, then?' "Yes, sir-that is, for the publication.' 'What entertainment you must have had from hearing people's conjectures before you were known! Do you remember any of them?' 'Yes, sir, many.' 'And what?' 'I heard that Mr Baretti laid a wager it was written by a man; for no woman, he said, could have kept her own counsel.' This diverted him extremely. 'But how was it,' he continued, 'you thought most likely for your father to discover you?' 'Sometimes, sir, I have supposed I must have dropt some of the manuscript; sometimes, that one of my sisters betrayed me.' 'Oh, your sister? what! not your brother?' 'No, sir, he could not, for' I was going on, but he laughed so much I could not be heard, exclaiming: Vastly well! I see you are of Mr Baretti's mind, and think your brother could keep your secret, and not your sister. Well, but,' cried he presently, how was it first known to you, you were betrayed?' 'By a letter, sir, from another sister. I was very ill, and in the country; and she wrote me word that my father had taken up a review, in which the book was mentioned, and had put his finger upon its name, and said: "Contrive to get that book for me.” And when he got it,' cried the king, he told me he was afraid of looking at it, and never can I forget his face when he mentioned his first opening it. But you have not kept your pen unemployed all this time?' 'Indeed I have, sir.' 'But why?' 'I-I believe I have exhausted myself, sir.' He laughed aloud at this, and went and told it to Mrs Delany, civilly treating a plain fact as a mere bon mot. Then returning to me again, he said more seriously 'But you have not determined against writing any more?' 'N-o, sir.' of this volume.) The father died in 1770, and when the young heir came of age, he succeeded to a fortune of a million of money, and £100,000 a year. His education had been desultory and irregular— partly under tutors at Geneva-but a literary taste was soon manifested. In his eighteenth year he wrote Memoirs of Extraordinary Painters (published in 1780), being a burlesque guide-book to the gallery of pictures at Fonthill, designed to mislead the old housekeeper and ignorant visitors. Shortly afterwards, he wrote some account of his early travels, under the title of Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents, but though printed, this work was never published. In 1780, he made a tour to the continent, which formed the subject of a series of 'You have made no vow-no real resolution of that letters, picturesque and poetical, which he published sort?' 'No, sir.' 'You only wait for inclination?" (though not until 1835) under the title of Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal. The high-bred How admirably Mr Cambridge's speech might have ease, voluptuousness, and classic taste of some come in here. 'No, sir.' A very civil little bow spoke him pleased with this answer, and he went again to the middle of the room, where he chiefly stood, and, addressing us in general, talked upon the different motives of writing, concluding with: 'I believe there is no constraint to be put upon real genius; nothing but inclination can set it to work. Miss Burney, however, knows best.' And then hastily returning to me, he cried: What! what?' No, sir, I-I-believe not, certainly,' quoth I very awkwardly, for I seemed taking a violent compliment only as my due; but I knew not how to put him off as I would another person. SARAH HARRIET BURNEY, half-sister to Madame d'Arblay, is authoress of several novels, Geraldine, Fauconberg, Country Neighbours, &c. This lady has copied the style of her relative, but has not her raciness of humour, or power of painting. WILLIAM BECKFORD. : In 1784 there appeared, in French, the rich oriental story entitled Vathek: an Arabian Tale. A translation into English, with notes critical and explanatory, was published in 1786, and the tale, revised and corrected, has since passed through many editions. Byron praises the work for its correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination. 'As an Eastern tale,' he says, even Rasselas must bow before it his Happy Valley will not bear a comparison with the Hall of Eblis.' It would be difficult to institute a comparison between scenes so very dissimilaralmost as different as the garden of Eden from Pandemonium; but Vathek seems to have powerfully impressed the youthful fancy of Byron. It contains some minute Eastern painting and characters-a Giaour being of the number-uniting energy and fire with voluptuousness, such as Byron loved to draw. The Caliph Vathek, who had 'sullied himself with a thousand crimes,' like the Corsair, is a magnificent Childe Harold, and may have suggested the character. of these descriptions and personal adventures have There thou, too, Vathek! England's wealthiest son, The poet, however, had been misled by inaccurate WILLIAM BECKFORD, the author of this remark-containing every sort and size of the finest river-fish. able work, was born in 1759. He had as great a passion for building towers as the caliph himself, and both his fortune and his genius have something of oriental splendour about them. His father, Alderman Beckford of Fonthill, was leader of the city of London opposition in the stormy times of Wilkes, Chatham, and the American discontents. (See notice of Horne Tooke in a subsequent part On one side, loads of game and venison were heaped up; on the other, vegetables and fruits in endless variety. Beyond a long line of stores, extended a row of ovens, and close to them hillocks of wheaten flour, whiter than snow, rocks of sugar, jars of the purest oil, and pastry in vast abundance, which a numerous tribe of lay-brothers and their attendants were rolling out, and puffing up into a hundred different shapes, singing all the while as blithely as larks in a cornfield.' Alas! this regal splendour is all gone. The magnificent monastery of Alcobaça was plundered and given to the flames by the French troops under Massena in 1811. details are characteristic of the author of Vathek, and form an interesting illustration of his peculiar taste and genius. In 1822, Mr Beckford sold Fonthill, and went to live at Bath. There he erected another costly building, Lansdowne House, which had a tower a hundred feet high, crowned with a model of the temple of Lysicrates at Athens, made of cast-iron. He had a magnificent gallery built over a junction archway; the grounds were decorated with temples, vases, and statues; and the interior of the house was filled with rare paintings, sculptures, old china, and other articles of vertu. His old porter, a dwarf, continued to attend his master as at Fonthill, and the same course of voluptuous solitude was pursued, from his new tower one morning, Beckford found the Fonthill tower gone! He was not unprepared for the catastrophe. The master of the works at Fonthill on his death-bed confessed that he had not built the tower on an arched foundation; it was built on the sand, he said, and would some day fall down. Beckford communicated this to the purchaser, Mr Farquhar; but the new proprietor, with a philosophic coolness that Beckford must have admired, observed he was quite satisfied it would last his time. It fell, however, shortly afterwards, filling the marble court with the ruins. Of the great Abbey only one turret-gallery now remains, and the princely estate, with its green drive of nine miles, has been broken up and sold as three separate properties. Mr Beckford died in his house at Bath on the 2d of May 1844. His body was enclosed in a sarcophagus of red granite, inscribed with a passage from Vathek: 'Enjoying humbly the most precious gift of heaven, Hope.' More appropriately might have been engraved on it the old truth, Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas. Of all the glories and prodigalities of the English Sardanapalus, his slender romance, the work of three days, is the only durable memorial. In the year 1796, Mr Beckford returned to England, and took up his residence permanently on his Wiltshire estate. Two burlesque novels from his pen belong to this period-Modern Novel Writing, or the Elegant Enthusiast, two volumes, 1796; and Azemia, two volumes, 1797. They are extravagant and worthless productions. At Fonthill, Beckford lived in a style of oriental luxury and vice. He built a wall of nine miles round his property to shut out visitors; but in 1800 his gates were thrown open to receive Lord Nelson and Sir Williamthough now his eightieth year was nigh.' Looking and Lady Hamilton, in honour of whom he gave a series of splendid fêtes. Next year he sold the furniture and pictures of Fonthill, pulled down the old paternal mansion, with its great hall, and for years employed himself in rearing the magnificent but unsubstantial Gothic structure known as Fonthill Abbey, and in embellishing the surrounding grounds. The latter were laid out in the most exquisite style of landscape-gardening, aided by the natural inequality and beauty of the ground, and enriched by a lake and fine silvan scenery. The grand tower of the abbey was 260 feet high, and occupied the owner's care and anxiety for years. The structure was like a romance. 'On one occasion, when this lofty tower was pushing its crest towards heaven, an elevated part of it caught fire, and was destroyed. The sight was sublime; and we have heard that it was a spectacle which the owner of the mansion enjoyed with as much composure as if the flames had not been devouring what it would cost a fortune to repair. The building was carried on by him with an energy and enthusiasm of which duller minds can hardly form a conception. At one period, every cart and wagon in the district were pressed into the service, though all the agricultural labour of the county stood still. At another, even the royal works of St George's Chapel, Windsor, were abandoned, that 460 men might be employed night and day on Fonthill Abbey. These men were made to relieve each other by regular watches; and during the longest and darkest nights of winter, the astonished traveller might see the tower rising under their hands, the trowel and torch being associated for that purpose. This must have had a very extraordinary appearance; and we are told that it was another of those exhibitions which Mr Beckford was fond of contemplating. He is represented as surveying the work thus expedited, the busy levy of masons, the high and giddy dancing of the lights, and the strange effects produced upon the architecture and woods below, from one of the eminences in the walks, and wasting the coldest hours of December darkness in feasting his sense with this display of almost superhuman power.'* These The outline or plot of Vathek possesses all the wildness of Arabian fiction. The hero is the grandson of Haroun al Raschid (Aaron the Just), whose dominions stretched from Africa to India. He is fearless, proud, inquisitive, a gourmand, fond of theological controversy, cruel and magnificent in his power as a caliph; in short, an Eastern Henry VIII. He dabbles, moreover, in the occult sciences, and interprets the stars and planetary influences from the top of his high tower. In these mysterious arts the caliph is assisted by his mother, Carathis, a Greek, a woman of superior genius. Their ambition and guilt render them a prey to a Giaour—a supernatural personage, who plays an important part in the drama, and hurries the caliph to destruction. But the character of Vathek, and the splendour of his palaces, is described with such picturesque distinctness, that we shall extract some of the opening sentences. * Literary Gazette, 1822.-Hazlitt, who visited the spot at light, satin borders, marble floors, and lamps of solid gold the same time, says: Fonthill Abbey, after being enveloped-Chinese pagodas and Persian tapestry-all the splendour of in impenetrable mystery for a length of years, has been unexpectedly thrown open to the vulgar gaze, and has lost none of its reputation for magnificence-though perhaps its visionary glory, its classic renown, have vanished from the public mind for ever. It is, in a word, a desert of magnificence, a glittering waste of laborious idleness, a cathedral turned into a toy-shop, an immense museum of all that is most curious and costly, and, at the same time, most worthless, in the productions of art and nature. Ships of pearl and seas of amber are scarce a fable here-a nautilus's shell, surmounted with a gilt triumph of Neptune-tables of agate, cabinets of ebony, and precious stones, painted windows shedding a gaudy crimson Solomon's temple is displayed to the view in miniature-whatever is far-fetched and dear-bought, rich in the materials, or rare and difficult in the workmanship-but scarce one genuine work of art, one solid proof of taste, one lofty relic of sentiment or imagination.' The collection of bijouterie and articles of vertu was allowed to be almost unprecedented in extent and value. Mr Beckford disposed of Fonthill, in 1822, to Mr Farquhar, a gentleman who had amassed a fortune in India, for £330,000 or £350,000, the late proprietor retaining only his family pictures, and a few books.-Gentleman's Magazine, Oct. 1822. Mr Beckford is said to have spent £273,000 on Fonthill. 149 [Description of the Caliph Vathek and his Magnificent Palaces.] Vathek, ninth caliph of the race of the Abassides, was the son of Motassem, and the grandson of Haroun al Raschid. From an early accession to the throne, and the talents he possessed to adorn it, his subjects were induced to expect that his reign would be long and happy. His figure was pleasing and majestic; but when he was angry, one of his eyes became so terrible that no person could bear to behold it; and the wretch upon whom it was fixed instantly fell backward, and sometimes expired. For fear, however, of depopulating his dominions, and making his palace desolate, he but rarely gave way to his anger. Being much addicted to women, and the pleasures of the table, he sought by his affability to procure agreeable companions; and he succeeded the better as his generosity was unbounded and his indulgences unrestrained; for he did not think, with the caliph Omar Ben Abdalaziz, that it was necessary to make a hell of this world to enjoy paradise in the next. He surpassed in magnificence all his predecessors. The palace of Alkoremi, which his father, Motassem, had erected on the hill of Pied Horses, and which commanded the whole city of Samarah, was in his idea far too scanty; he added, therefore, five wings, or rather other palaces, which he destined for the particular gratification of each of the senses. In the first of these were tables continually covered with the most exquisite dainties, which were supplied both by night and by day, according to their constant consumption; whilst the most delicious wines, and the choicest cordials, flowed forth from a hundred fountains that were never exhausted. This palace was called The Eternal, or Unsatiating Banquet. The second was styled The Temple of Melody, or The Nectar of the Soul. It was inhabited by the most skilful musicians and admired poets of the time, who not only displayed their talents within, but, dispersing in bands without, caused every surrounding scene to reverberate their songs, which were continually varied in the most delightful succession. The palace named The Delight of the Eyes, or The Support of Memory, was one entire enchantment. Rarities, collected from every corner of the earth, were there found in such profusion as to dazzle and confound, but for the order in which they were arranged. One gallery exhibited the pictures of the celebrated Mani, and statues that seemed to be alive. Here a wellmanaged perspective attracted the sight; there the magic of optics agreeably deceived it; whilst the naturalist, on his part, exhibited in their several classes the various gifts that Heaven had bestowed on our globe. In a word, Vathek omitted nothing in this palace that might gratify the curiosity of those who resorted to it, although he was not able to satisfy his own, for of all men he was the most curious. The Palace of Perfumes, which was termed likewise The Incentive to Pleasure, consisted of various halls, where the different perfumes which the earth produces were kept perpetually burning in censers of gold. Flambeaux and aromatic lamps were here lighted in open day. But the too powerful effects of this agreeable delirium might be alleviated by descending into an immense garden, where an assemblage of every fragrant flower diffused through the air the purest odours. The fifth place, denominated The Retreat of Mirth, or the Dangerous, was frequented by troops of young females, beautiful as the Houris, and not less seducing, who never failed to receive with caresses all whom the caliph allowed to approach them, and enjoy a few hours of their company. Notwithstanding the sensuality in which Vathek indulged, he experienced no abatement in the love of his people, who thought that a sovereign giving himself up to pleasure was as able to govern as one who declared himself an enemy to it. But the unquiet and impetuous disposition of the caliph would not allow him to rest there. He had studied so much for his amusement in the lifetime of his father as to acquire a great deal of knowledge, though not a sufficiency to satisfy himself; for he wished to know everything, even sciences that did not exist. He was fond of engaging in disputes with the learned, but did not allow them to push their opposition with warmth. He stopped with presents the mouths of those whose mouths could be stopped; whilst others, whom his liberality was unable to subdue, he sent to prison to cool their blood a remedy that often succeeded. Vathek discovered also a predilection for theological controversy; but it was not with the orthodox that he usually held. By this means he induced the zealots to oppose him, and then persecuted them in return; for he resolved, at any rate, to have reason on his side. The great prophet, Mohammed, whose vicars the caliphs are, beheld with indignation from his abode in the seventh heaven the irreligious conduct of such a vicegerent. Let us leave him to himself,' said he to the genii, who are always ready to receive his commands; 'let us see to what lengths his folly and impiety will carry him; if he run into excess, we shall know how to chastise him. Assist him, therefore, to complete the tower, which, in imitation of Nimrod, he hath begun; not, like that great warrior, to escape being drowned, but from the insolent curiosity of penetrating the secrets of Heaven: he will not divine the fate that awaits him.’ The genii obeyed; and, when the workmen had raised their structure a cubit in the daytime, two cubits more were added in the night. The expedition with which the fabric arose was not a little flattering to the vanity of Vathek: he fancied that even insensible matter shewed a forwardness to subserve his designs, not considering that the successes of the foolish and wicked form the first rod of their chastisement. His pride arrived at its height when, having ascended for the first time the fifteen hundred stairs of his tower, he cast his eyes below, and beheld men not larger than pismires, mountains than shells, and cities than bee-hives. The idea which such an elevation inspired of his own grandeur completely bewildered him; he was almost ready to adore himself, till, lifting his eyes upward, he saw the stars as high above him as they appeared when he stood on the surface of the earth. He consoled himself, however, for this intruding and unwelcome perception of his littleness, with the thought of being great in the eyes of others; and flattered himself that the light of his mind would extend beyond the reach of his sight, and extort from the stars the decrees of his destiny. After some horrible sacrifices, related with great Power, Carathis reads from a roll of parchment an injunction that Vathek should depart from his palace surrounded by all the pageants of majesty, and set forward on his way to Istakar. "There,' added the writing of the mysterious Giaour, 'I await thy coming: that is the region of wonders: there shalt thou receive the diadem of Gian Ben Gian, the talismans of Soliman, and the treasures of the pre-adamite sultans: there shalt thou be solaced with all kinds of delight. But beware how thou enterest any dwelling on thy route, or thou shalt feel the effects of my anger.' The degenerate commander of the true believers sets off on his journey with much pomp. Carathis remains, but gives the caliph a series of tablets, fraught with supernatural qualities, which he is to consult on all emergencies. Vathek, to conciliate the spirits of |