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SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES.— No. V. 



SosTRATES had the preference; Sostrates, the richest and most 

 illustrious citizen in that town. He displayed all his magnificence in 

 behalf of his new guest. It was thus Sosthenes had welcomed and 

 entertained me. Oh ! Dymas, to be served by Sophene was the only 

 thing wanting to your glory ! But, what am I saying ? She served you 

 — but then we were alike ignorant of the fact. 



Rhodope, the daughter of Sostrates, had a thousand charms ; and she 

 might have been said to be the most perfect beauty upon this earth, had 

 Sophene been dead. But let the graces of her beauty be ever so 

 shining, the endowments of her heart eclipsed them. I invariably and 

 silently listened to her with admiration ; but my heart did not share in 

 the ravishment of my eyes. She was Venus — but she was not 

 Sophene. Love, thou knowest that Sophene was still present to my 

 mind : I never ceased to mourn her irreparable loss ! 



The diversions they procured for Dymas gave me some leisure 

 moments : I made use of them to yield myself up to the dismal sorrow 

 that preyed upon me. One day, that I thought I was alone in Sos- 

 trates's garden, I gave vent to my sorrow. I said, " Gods ! are you 

 not satisfied yet ? Must your revenge be eternal as yourselves ? 

 Wretch that I am, my ' sensibility' increases with my afilictions ! How- 

 much I envy the fate of those who suffer without expecting an end to 

 their woes ! The ' fallacious hope' that seduces me is a thousand 

 times more cruel than the dark certainty of despair!" 



Rhodope was then watching : she had heard my mournful exclama- 

 tions — my deep-felt lamentations. They found their way to her sensible 

 and affectionate heart. She called to me. I had preserved that in- 

 genuous look, the index of a generous birth, that even fortune cannot 

 blot out. I came up to, and asked her, what she desired of an unfor- 

 tunate man, that fate had reduced to the impossibility of serving her. 



" Tacita," said she, to me (for this was the name I had taken with 

 my slavery), "it is not difficult to guess, upon seeing you, that you 

 are in a condition altogether unworthy of you ; and if I do not deceive 

 myself, ' slavery' is not the greatest of your griefs. I offer you. all the 

 relief in my power." 



" Generous Rhodope," answered I, " it is quite natural for 'bene- 

 volent hearts' to compassionate the unhappy. This is the reason that 

 draws your pity upon me. I know how truly valuable it is ; but I feel, 

 also, that I do not deserve it — nor can I make use of it. The gods — 

 whose image you are ; the gods — if they have yet something left to do 

 for you — will reward your kindness ! I do not dare intreat them for 

 it ; my vows might prove fatal to you." 



I could not refrain from — tears. I wished to withdraw; and re- 

 proached myself Tvith having indulged in a conversation in which 



