this situation; and if any accident should throw you again in the way of the stranger, on no account give him your conversation, or entertain him with a single word.' Not speak to him!' cried Almira. I have said it,' cried Alphonso, and expect to be obeyed!' and immediately left her to herself. "Good Heavens!' reflected Almira, what cause of anger can I have given to my father! Surely there can be no harm in the stran ger's love for me, or in mine for him. He surely has too much generosity to deceive me, and can have nothing more in view than my good. At least it would be cruel in me not to love him, since that alone, hẹ says, would make him happy.' Such were the reflections that filled Almira's mind. The appearance and language of Rinaldo had worked most powerfully on her, and established an interest equal to his wishes. In this situation her distress may easily be imagined. Her father had imposed on her an injunction against holding any further discourse with Rinaldo, should chance again throw him in her way, and it was impossible for her to muster up resolution enough to make a discovery of his being at that very time concealed near the hut. Rinaldo's presence, however, suddenly put an end to all further reflections. I have sought you, lovely maid!' cried Rinaldo, unable any longer to forbear your presence; for be assured it will never be possible for me to endure your absence. The impression your beauty has made on me can never be effaced. My heart is yours. I live but in your smiles, and pant for an opportunity of making your father acquainted with it.', Alas! replied Almira, that cannot be. He must not know you are here.' 'Not know I am here!' exclaimed Rinaldo. 'Did you inform him of the declaration I had made you of my love?-I will go this instant and seek him. But first, my dear Almira, let me know who and what you are; for though I have found you and your father obscured here in this humble hut, a thousand things conspire to convince me that you are not what you seem, and that while adversity appears to surround you resplendent hope breaks in, and cheers you with the expectation of better days.' Almira for a while resisted his curiosity, but, importuned, she at length revealed every circumstance of her history necessary for him to know. 'Good Heavens!' exclaimed Rinaldo, is it possible that Alphonso can still be living? I know his story well, and often have heard his fate lamented. All Sardinia is in his favour, and would gladly place the prince on the throne whose supposed death they so generously mourn.' Rinaldo now insisted upon seeing Almira's father. But it was in vain that he urged her to consent.—' I entreat not,' said he, an interview for my own happiness, but to make myself known to him, and concert the best measures that can be taken for restoring to him his long-lost dignity. For however I may wish to make you mine, every hope of it is now no more! Your birth places you, my dear Almira, too high for an untitled individual, as I am, to look up to.-Heavens!' exclaimed Rinaldo, what situation can possibly be too great for virtue and merit like yours? You declared you loved me when interest could have no share in it; and if fortune should ever place me on a throne, the only reason I shall have to rejoice at it will be on account of the opportunity it will afford me of evincing the sincerity of my love.' During this interview, Alphonso having accidentally gone to the apartment in which Rinaldo slept, was alarmed at finding a man's cloak, richly embroidered with lace. It is impossible to conceive the thoughts that rushed into his mind, and tortured his imagination, upon a discovery of so novel and unexpected a nature. How to account for it, or what to think, he knew not. The freshness of the dress plainly proved that it could not have been there any length of time, and the value of it at once denoted it to have been worn by a person of some distinction. The account given him by Almira of her meeting with Rinaldo came to his recollection. He instantly went to the hut, and found Almira from home. A variety of conjectures now distracted him. Almira's virtue would not suffer him to think for a single moment that she could have done any thing that could dishonour her; but he thought there was too much reason to apprehend that she had been thrown again in Rinaldo's way, and his imagination suggested to him the worst of consequences; sometimes fearing that she might have been prevailed upon to quit the place under his protection; and sometimes dreading, lest she might have been dragged away by force, and that he should never see her again. Rinaldo having used many arguments with Almira, why he should be permitted to have an interview with Alphonso, at length prevailed upon her to introduce him; an opportunity for doing which offered itself at this very juncture of time, Nothing could exceed the surprise of Alphonso, or the suspicion with which he viewed Rinaldo. An angry eye at first darted his resentment against Almira for her apparent disobedience; but the generous youth, having obtained an op portunity, addressed himself with such address, as not only to convince him of the honour and sincerity of his love for Almira, but to gain his confidence so far as to obtain his promise to accompany him to Sardinia, for the purpose of restoring him to his long-lost father, from whom he had been severed by his cruel and ambitious uncle, whose life a short fit of sickness, Rinaldo informed him, had just put an end to, hated and despised by the generality of the people, since through his art and villany they had long suspected the infant prince, Alphonso, had been deposed. CHAP. IV. Alphonso prepares to quit the forest -Almira relates a disagreeable dream--Antonio, Rinaldo's uncle, discovers Almira, of whom he becomes enamoured--Consequences of his meeting with her. EARLY the next morning Rinaldo awakened Alphonso and Almira, in order to prepare for their intended journey. No bride, surely, ever felt so great a pleasure on the day of marriage, as both the father and daughter experienced in his visit, made for the purpose of conducting them, as it were, to a new world. And here let me ask those who can best read the human heart what must have been the state of Alphonso's mind, called by an angel, as it were, to life and prosperity, to wield, perhaps, a sceptre, and emerge from a state of indigence and obscurity to that of wealth and fame. Almira, she knew not what to think, or what idea to form of the station she was likely to fill, from the account she had received of it from Rinaldo. Every distinction in life Almira was taught to expect, and she was too sensible of her personal As to Generous youth!' cried Alphonwhat but Heaven could have directed you hither? A life of gratitude can but poorly repay your kindness. As to Almira, you know her sentiments too well not to be convinced that her affections must be eternally fixed on you as her deliverer. 'Hold,' exclaimed Rinaldo, interrupting him; it was impossible to lock on Almira without feeling a more than common degree of pleasure and delight. I owned, too, that I loved her; but to be moved in your behalf by any other impulse than that of friendship would be to dishonour and reproach my name. No, good Alphonso, my life and fortune, such as it is, shall be at your service; and if, after I have procured you justice, you should think me deserving of Almira's hand, I shall think it a reward infinitely beyond any thing I can possibly have a right to claim.' Oh! cried Almira, you are all goodness, and Providence surely designed you for my happiness; but I have had a dream to-night--a dream that fills me with the worst of apprehensions. I thought I was in the midst of the forest, alone, and unprotected; and that a wild beast, of a most ferocious nature and hideons form, came suddenly upon me, and scized hold of me with his teeth. A stream of blood appeared to gush out at his nostrils, and lifting my feeble arm to strike the monster, his horrid groan instantly roused me out my sleep.' Alphonso could not help shew ing how much he was disconcerted at her relation; but Rinaldo endeavoured to explain the dream to have been occasioned by her over anxiety for their safety, and entreated her to consider it as wholly undeserving her serious attention. There is a fatality, however, in dreams, that frequently baffles every endeavour to disregard or despise them. From whatever cause they arise, the effects are too well known to be disputed; and idle and superstitions as those may be thought who give them any sort of regard, evenis have been, perhaps, accidentally preceded by them, which, though not exactly the same, yet in some shape or other so much resemble them as to recal them to our memory and reflection, Thus it happened with Almira. Little respect was paid to her dream ; but it was in vain that care was used to avert what it predicted, and turn aside an incident that for a while delayed their intended journey. Antonio, the uncle of Rinaldo, it seenis, had been thrown out of the hunt just after his nephew, and wandering about the forest in search of some refreshment, happened to come near the hut, at the very moment Rinalde and Almira were discoursing together near the grotto. The sight of his nephew was so wholly unlooked for, that it was impossible for him not to be struck with astonishment the moment be saw him; but a still greater degree of surprise seized him, upon perceiving him in company with the most accomplished beauty his eyes had ever beheld. Antonio, who gazed with wonder and admiration, was for a while at a loss to determine whether to accost his nephew, and make himself known to him, or watch for an opportunity of addressing Almira alone. While he was thus deliberating within himself, Rinaldo left his fair companion for a conversation with her father. The moment, at once the most favourable to his wishes, was too precious to lose. He immediately alighted from his horse, and presented himself before her. Almira screamed with alarm, demanded whence he came and who he was, and entreated him to forbear offering any violence. But Antonio, wholly disregarding her admonition, proceeded to salute her, declaring that nothing should ever dissposess him of a woman so fair and lovely. At this instant Rinaldo returned! He returned, but who can describe his feelings? It would have been enough to have struck him motionless to have found her with a man; but to behold his dear Almira rudely folded in the arms of another was death itself. Fired with too much rage for reflection, he immediately drew his sword, and running up to Antonio, was upon the point of plunging it into his heart, when he perceived it to be his uncle. 'Heavens!' exclaimed Rinaldo, is it possible that my eyes can see right, or do they not deceive me, when they present to my view one of the worst of ruffians, in the person of my uncle Antonio?' Antonio, instead of offering any excuse for the insult he had given, used the grossest language to Rinaldo, and loaded Almira with the foul-est abuse, telling her that his power for her to be alarmed than he was aware of; for Antonio quickly ap peared again with three attendants, and demanded admission at the hut, in which Alphonso had, for the present, advised Rinaldo to secure Almira. Every argument was used in vain to dissuade Antonio from proceeding any farther in his views against Almira. Every assurance of opposition was treated with contempt, and he only became more irritated when he was informed, that, whatever her present appearance might be, she would in a very short time move in a sphere of life as much above him in rank, as she was superior to him in every accomplishment of the mind. Antonio, notwithstanding, still per-, sisted in his resolution to possess himself of Almira, for whom he assured Alphonso he had imbibed the most inviolable regard. Rinaldo, he said, was no stranger to his title and riches, both of which he was ready to lay at Almira's feet, however above what she could have any right to expect; but that if she was still denied to his wishes, she should nevertheless be his. Antonio, having expressed himself to this effect, immediately left the hut, bidding Alphonso and his nephew beware of provoking his re sentment. (To be continued.) LETTER I. was not to be resisted, and that no LETTERS TO A YOUNG LADY. protection should shelter her from his intentions. So saying, he turned abruptly away, and, after remounting his horse, vowed he would presently return with a force too powerful for them to think of oppo Dear Betsey, I RECEIVED yours, in which I find nothing to complain of but a little false spelling, which is generally to be expected in letters from young persons unused to epistolary correspondence. It is not the ca LI pacity of spelling with correctness with the tongue that is always at tended with the certainty of writing with the same correctness with the pen. The eye must be taught as well as the ear; and here, perhaps, the means of instruction may be considered of a twofold nature. The habit of knowing correct orthography by sight must be acquired. Spelling rightly is sometimes gained by reading the thoughts of others; but it is oftener obtained by writing our own. I much question, could you spell all the words of the English language by rote, as they occur in the dictionary, if you have not been accustomed to see them as they are arranged in the manner they are used in compositions, whether it would be possible for you, in many hours, to write correctly one single line. You are therefore, if for no other purpose but to improve yourself in orthography, to accustom yourself very frequently to be giving your thoughts to paper, upon one subject or other; which are then to be carefully examined by the helps to be obtained from your dictionary, with a view to correct the errors you have made. It matters not what you write, so that you write as good sense as you can: by this means you will soon perceive that you will make considerable improvement; for every error you detect by these means is more likely to be impressed on your mind, than if you had been told of them by another person. But there is another advantage in this practice: by habituating your mind to produce matter to be expressed with your pen, you will soon find no difficulty when you sit down to write to your friend, or for your own private perusal, to fill up your paper with facility and pleasure; or at least the essays thus produced will give you more satisfaction in the course of a few months than you can really imagine. And in the next place, reading different authors will very much contribute to help you forward in spelling, and for this reason, because the words most in use, by occurring the most frequently, become the more familiar to the mind, and the true manner of spelling them is by this means the more likely to be seen and remembered. But still inditing your own conipositions has very much the advantage of reading the productions of others, to aid you in the accomplishment of the art I am speaking of. The eye becomes familiar t the word as it is written, and when' a word correctly spelt has occurred to your eye frequently, it makes an impression on the mind peculiar to itself; by which the same word im-" properly spelt creates a kind of disgust, which is principally the reason why false spelling is so extremely disgraceful to the writer and offensive to the reader. You would little suppose it, but I can fully assure you that by frequently exercising yourself in this way, you, in a very little time, would be able to detect any error in spelling,' almost the moment you fix your eye upon the paper, or letter you have to read; by a single glance from the top to the bottom of the page. I will venture to say, you will be enabled to discover any incorrect spelling in it, though, perhaps, there is but one single mistake. Any disproportion in a word, any little error would appear obviously to your sight at once; so astonishingly correct is the faculty of seeing, in discovering by a certain rule it has attained any thing that does not correspond with that rule. You will be able now, my dear Betsey, to take the few errors you have made in your letter |