1809.] 
crowned and dethroned in one day, not 
less sensible of the uncertainty of human 
happiness. . There, they discover a 
hoary hermit, under the feigned name of 
Misseno, but who, in fact, is Uladislaus, 
who had been a king of Poland. They 
observe him with * his spade, and with 
many an unwearied stroke, turning that 
stony soil; and thus compelling the un- 
grateful earth to repay him in nourish- 
ment, what she cost him in the sweat of 
his brow. He sang between each stroke; 
and the birds, attracted by the harmony, 
danced among the boughs, responding to 
the old man in their charming language. 
His hair was white, his beard vene- 
rable, and his figure graceful, while a 
noble air, diffused in all his actions, 
made them suspect a certain I know not 
what of greatness; which, however it 
may be concealed, is still felt. The 
song of the old man. declared, that he 
possessed within himself the fountain of 
happiness ; and that he had always pos- 
sessed it, but had only lately known it.” 
This song excited the curiosity of the 
two wanderers; and Misseno, perceiving 
their unhappiness, paints his own, which 
he had acquired by means of misfortune. 
How he had cured his own melancholy, 
by that philosophy which he had drawn 
from the scriptures. This leads him to 
deliver his mystical ethics in allegorical 
figures, which sometimes are poetical, 
and often turgid. But hence rises the 
great object of the fable; and Misseno’s 
account of the fortunate day of his dis- 
‘covery, has something iu it that, arrests 
the imagination. 
An exile from his father’s kingdom, 
Uladislaus lived in the woods,a roving hun- 
ter. “ # prey,” says he, “ tomelancholy, 
I sought the most secluded and stormy 
Spots. One day, 
-mountainoas height, I suddenly entered 
an obscure valley; there the trees, left 
to their own wildness, had formed an 
almost impenetrable grove. There I ven- 
tured to roam, full of my own melan- 
choly fancies. Mysterious forest! how 
melancholy was thine image then, but 
how pleasing through all my life will be 
thy memory! There, my friends, I dis- 
covered the principle of perpetual hap- 
piness, at the moment I was sinking into 
the deepest despair of grief. 
_“ Even now I seem looking on that 
Singular spot! There night for ever 
_ dwells; melancholy breathes, and:terror 
_ Covers thecountry. Funereal cypresses, 
brambles, and prickly shrubs, entangled 
at every step, had formed a painful las 
Monruty Mac. No. 188. 
| Father D’ Almetda’s Ethical Romance. 
descending from a” 
25 
byrinth. I heard only the horned owl 
at times lamenting ; the wing of the ugly 
bat flapping; the nocturnal owl hooling ; 
some solitary eagle shrieking as he past ; 
while the serpents wound along the earth. 
Atniast these horrors, my heart seemed 
embalmed in its own melancholy, and 
my mind was preserved from terrors. 
“* A strange light suddenly issued from 
a hollow grotto, and curiosity allured me 
to examine this wonder. L entered, and L 
beheld a celestial habitation. Therocks 
that formed this natural grotto, ap- 
peared like pure crystal, brilliant as‘dia- 
mond. The green moss which spread 
among the clifts, looked like a graceful 
wreath of emeralds. A perfume crept 
over my senses, which were absorbed and 
bound up, without my knowing the cause 
of this enchantment. My soul having 
httle by little recovered from its first 
alarms, I discovered, in the most retired: 
part of the grotto, a venerable old man, 
on his knees, immoveable. I stopped, 
in doubt to proceed. His flowing white 
beard réached his girdle: his hands most 
white, but dry, and seemingly nothing 
but bones, rested on a sheep: hook, sup- 
porting his head, which leant on them. 
Timidly, but curiously, I approached 
him, and beheld on the ground, m well- 
known characters, this surprising inscrip= 
tion—* Thou, Uladislaus, wilt bury m 
body, and in this book shalt-thou find th 
reward, and thy model? — 3 
‘“‘ I trembled to have seen my name 
written; I returned to read what I had 
read, andmy admiration increased. [ 
looked upwards on the figure of the her- 
mit, and he appeared to me alive, while 
the inscription, the silence, and his ime 
movability, convinced me that he was 
dead, In truth he was; and though I 
touchéd him reverently and lightly, he 
instantly fell prone on the earth. I 
raised, as well as I could, a sepulchre 
over his corpse; and, taking the book, 
which he had bequeathed me as my le-~ 
gacy, I opened it: I read it, and found 
a hero,* the most famous all ages have 
seen; a hero, who, without depending 
on numerous armies, or valiant generals, 
or on the favour of fortune; without any 
human aid, and only by the strength of 
his own intrepid heart, enlightened by 
God, and fortified by the Divinity, knew 
how to triumph over himself, over the 
world, and over fate itself !—A hero, who © 
knew how to make himself permanently 
happy, and preserve himscif on the 
eo jopd 
throne 
