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Adventures e/*Cecilia, Daughter os Achmet III. 369

I was not worth a

"I am now (fays he) worth eight hundred pounds, but (lull never be so

happy as when
farthing *."

Some Account rs the Adventures (j^" Cecilia, daughter of Achmct III. Emperor of the Turks. E-xtrattedfrom Cccile Fille d'Achmet III. Empereur dfi Turcs, 15V. 2 vol. I2w/s.

HE adventures of the daughter tracted by the young man's singing, of Achmet are introduced by and made up to them, With full fail.

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an advertisement, in which we are informed by the editor, a man of veracity and credit; that, however extraordinary and romantic the ciicumstances and events which are related in these volumes may appear, they arc, in genera), strictly true. He has also informed the public, in a letter address.

Salmoni gallantly defended his lovely Emily; but, after receiving a number of wounds, was left for dead in his boat; andEmilia was conveyed on board the vessel of the pirates. While Emilia was carried to Turkey, and, on account of her beauty and accomplishments, was purchased for the service

ed to the editors of the Journal de and amusement of the Sultan. SaJmo

Paris, that the lady is still alive, in ni recovered, and {pent ten years in

Paris, and notwithstanding her ad- an unsuccessful search for his mistress

vanced age, enjoys a good state of through all the sea-port towns in Eu

health. Without labouring to refute, rope. After ten years inquiry, learn

er to estublilh the truth of these particulars, and, without entering into the reflections of the editor, we shall lav before our readers a short detail

ing that (he was at Constantinople, he undertakes a voynge thither, and, oh his arrival, disguises himself in the Turkilh habit. By means of an Icog

of the interesting adventures of this Ian, or page of the seraglio, who was

Turkish Princess. made to regard Salmoni as the father

One half of the first volume is ta- ofFatme (for that was the name which

ken up with an account of the misfor- they had given Emily) the lovers

tunes of Emilia, a great part of which meet and recognize each other. She

are unconnected with the history of was then governess to Achmet's in

the daughter of Achmet. Emily was fant daughter, who was six months

a native of Genes; as well as her lo- old; and was high in favour with the

ver, whose name was Salmonii The Emperor and the Sultana, having been,

lovers were together in a pleasure- very seiviccable on the late occasion

boat, on the sea, one sine Summer of the Sultana's lying-in, by means of

evening, when some Turkish pirates, some medical skill which she had ac

who were lying on the coast with a quired from her father, a physician in

yiew to intercept some prize, were at- Genes. The

* Gent. Mag. This article is succeeded by the following letter to the Publisher. SIR, Dublin, Feb. 25.

"In the course of a late conversation with a nobleman of the first consequence and information in this kingdom, he assured me, that Mr Benjamin Holloway, of Middleton Stony, assured him, some time ago, that he knew for fact, that the celebrated romance of Robinson Crusoe was reallv written by the E. of Oxford, when •confined in the Tower of London; that his Lordship gave the manuscript to Daniel Defoe, who frequently visited him during his confinement; and that Defoe^ having afterwards added the second volume, published the whole as his own production. This anecdote I would not venture to fend to your valuable Magazine, if I did not think my information good, and imagine, it might be acceptable t« your numerous readers, notv> ithltanding the work ha* heretofore been generally

attributed to the latter.

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The authority which the monarch, in reward of her services on that occasion, had given her over all the (laves of the seraglio, afforded her easy means of making her escape. With a view to that, she ordered the bqstangl, or master of the gardens, to raise, to an equal height with the wall, a seesaw which was there; that from it, as she told him, she might enjoy the grand view of the whole city. At the lame time site wrote to Salmoni, to procure a ladder and a steel-yard, to make sure of a vessel, and, when all was ready, to wait behind the gardenwall. Salmoni failed not, after taking the necessary precautions, to convey a billet to his mistress, in which he fixed the night, and the hour for their departure. The Sultan enters her apartment while she is reading .Salmoni's billet. She has just time to throw the paper into a vase of porphyry (that circumstance is, by no means, jndisserent.) The hour approaches. Her breast is filled with a thousand anxieties. These arise not from the consideration of the part which she has determined to act; bnt from her unwillingness to leave, in the bosom of idolatry, a child whom she can now so easily introduce to a participation of the blessings of Christianity. As long as she had thought only of making her own escape, she had paid no attention to the care of her fortune; but, now, regarding it as her duty, to secure from indigence the child whom me was going to carry with her, she hastily collects her own jewels, as well as all that Turkish magnificence had lavished on the daughter of Achmet. The hour arrives. She mounts the feesow, which is instantly fixed by means of the steel-yard. A ladder is held tip to her, and she goes down. A person, wrapped in a grey clokc, with a slouched hat on his head, receives her in his arms. She, believing him to be her lover, locks him in hers. At that instant, another man appears, and plunges his sword in the breast of

the former. Fatme falls down, beside them, in a swoon. The captain of Salmoni's vessel runs up, on hearing the noise, takes off the hat of the person who was killed, and, without faying more than, " it is not he," orders Fatme to be carried on board, and sets fail, with all possible speed, for fear of being pursued and detained. Fatme is ignorant of the fate of her lover; but her first care, on arriving at Genes, is, to have the daughter of the Grand Signior baptized by the name of Cecilia. She herseif now recovers the name of Emilia. She educates Cecilia in the Christian religion. On her reaching the age of fifteen flie informs her of her high birth, and carries her through all the courts of Europe; in which she is received with the honours due to her illustrious rank. At Rome, Emilia has the happiness of again meeting Salmoni. The person who had been killed, was only a sailor : the same that had assisted Salmoni in finding Fatme. This man had hoped to make his fortune by discovering her intended slight to the Sultan; and a maid, belonging to the seraglio, with whom he hid engaged to share the reward of his treachery, having got into her hands the billet which was mentioned above, had erased twelve, the hour fixed by Salmoni, and had written in its place eleven; so that the sailor had time for the execution of his purpose. Cecilia falls in love with a Knight of Malta, whom the interests of his somily had obliged to take the vows of the order. A young duke falls in love with her; she makes him her friend; but he can obtain no dearer name, because her heart is already engaged. Salmoni marries Emilia, and they go to Paris. Cecilia entertains the Prince

, father of the chevalier her lover.

He,too, falls in love with her.and wiihes to make her his wife. She represents to him all the inconvepiencies attending such an alliance; particularly the injury which he would thus do his


daughter fs Achmet lit. 271

.eldest tail, to whom he had thought it this time in a swoon, is put into a carriage, and conducted to the Prince's hotej. As soon as she found herself alone with him, drawing two pistols, which she recollected having in her pockets, she turns one of them upon, herself, and presenting the other to him, says, "The least rudeness or violence on your part, shall occasion the death of us both." The astonished Prince allows her to retire. She goes off with the Chevalier, Salmohi, and Icoglan, who, in France, passes by the name of his employment in the seraglio as his proper name. At Toulon, the Chevalier receives the news of the death of his father and his eldest brother. He agrees with Cecilia, that, while she makes her voyage to Turky, he shall solicit, of the Pope and the Grand Master of Malta, the favour of being released from his vows. Icoglan remains with his friend. Salmoni accompanies Cecilia to Turky, and is slain, on his arrival there, by the Janissaries. Cecilia displays the setfa, an undeniable proof of her royal birth, being borne by none but the family of the Sultan. The Turks prostrate , themselves before it: they conduct her to the palace of her father. Mahomet V. receiving a description os her beauty, conceives a passion for her. Soon alter this, the Bcglicrbey of Natolia, the friend and confident of the Emperor, is employed to inform her of Mahomet's paflion, and to threaten her with violence or punishment if fiu should refuse to yield to his desires. "What is it in my appearance," fays she to this messenger, "that pleases him most." Being answered, that it was her fine hair, which adorned all that profusion of other charms, "go," fays she, (seizing her hair, and cutting it off above her neck) "bear to thy master this object of his love, and tell him that a woman, capable of such a sacrifice, knows no master but heaven and her own heart." Achmet

necessary to sacrifice his second. She loses a great part of her fortune by the knavery of a b.inker in whose hands Emilia had placed it. From sixty thousand livres, her yearly incunie is reduced to ten thousand.

In the mean time, Emilia falls sick. Sulmoni asks Cecilia, who was her constant attendant during her illness, to take a walk on the boulevards, in order to enjoy the fresh air, and divert her anxiety. They go out together. She seels a sudden indisposition. He proposes going into a coffee-house. It was yet early in the day, arid therefore they found scarce any body there. After taking some refreshment) Cecilia happens to cast her eyes on a gazette, and reads, that Achmet III. is deposed. She faints away, and, on recovering from her swoon, vows to go to console him, and to share his afflictions.

Emilia dies. The Prince becomes more urgent, and less respectful. Cecilia, determined, by these last events, not to delay her journey, sets out alone for Fontainblcau, to solicit a passport, and to make her acknowledgments to the minister for the attention which the Court of Fiance had paid her. Returning at midnight, her carriage is stopt in the forest. A well-dressed man persuades her to go into a voiture (drawn by six horses) without obliging him to use violence. He is the Prince . Cecilia utters a shriek,of terror and indignation. Another voiture passes. It is tfte young Duke's. He recollects the daughter of Achmet, and instantly engages in "her defence. A third Voiture arrives. The gentleman within springs out. He is the Chevalier. His father lets him know that the Duke is going to deprive him of his rtiistress, and that he is forced to draw his sword against him iu defence of his dearest interests. The young man occupies his father's ■place, and leaves the Duke bathed in his blood. Cecilia, who L?.d been all

Vol. VII. No 40.

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M.diomet, pereeivir

Advantages of a Talent for discerning Times and Seasons.

ceiving her virtue* and fortitude to be invincible, commands the highest honours to be paid her at her departure. On her arrival at Toulon, (he meets with the Lieutenant of the Chevalier's galley, from whom she learns that the vengeance of the Duke's parents has pursued her lover ever since her departure ; that he was killed in a duel; and that Ieoglan, who bid been most affectionately attached to him, could not bear to survive him. Cecilia having now scarce a friend lemaining in the world, and finding herself reduced almost to poverty, the consolations of religion at length soothed her, under the remembrance of her misfortunes, "I looked around me," fays she, "Paris appeared to be the only place where I could hide myself from the eyes of all the world. Five hundred ducats, and the diamond which I had received from my father, were all that remained to me. And this (mail sum, aster being considerably diminished by 'my journey to Paris, would be far from sufficient to eriable me to enter any religious house in a manner suitable to my birth. I chose rather to conceal myself from every eye. 1 hired a lodging suitable to my present circumstances: and the daughter of Achmet III. at a distance from the thrones of the earth, at a distance from wealth and grandeur, which too often bring on the storms which harrass life, has spent her days with peace

and quiet in the bosom of obscurity and virtue; and the descendant of those monarch* whose power has for ages made so distinguished a figure on the earth, has not always enjoyed—even the bread of poverty. The death cf my illustrious father, who died in the year 1763, after arriving at a good old age, and attaining the greatest glory, has occasioned the only lively sensation of grief which I have se!t since the loss of the Chevalier. God has blest- my fortitude. Born in the year 1710, I have sred to fee the 1st of January 1786; and I now calmly expect that death, which must bring \ recompence for all those amazing and distressful varieties of fortune which I have experienced through the course of life."

Journal de Paris, &c.

The Fctfa-is a large piece of yellow silk, on which are embroidered, in letters of gold, the names of the Sultan, of the child, and of its mother, the day and hour, and its birth, together with certain passages from the Alcoran. The children of the Sultans are clothed with the fetfa immediately after their birth, and it is always held a sacred and authentic proof of their royal descent. At the sight of it every Mussulman is obliged, by their law, to prostrate himself on the ground, and to defend with life the person who possesses it.

Advantages cf a Talent for discerning Times and Seasons*.

THERE is a certain delicacy in some men's nature, which, though not absolutely to be termed a moral attribute, is nevertheless so grateful to society at lsvrge, and so recommendatory of those who possess it, that even the best and worthiest characters cannot be truly pleasing without it: I know not how to describe it better, than by saying it consists in a happy discernment of times and seasons.

* From the Observer.

Though this engaging talent cannot positively be called a virtue, yet it seems to be the result of many virtuous and refined endowments of the mind which produces it; for when we sec any man so tenderly considerate of our feelings, as to put aside his own for our accommodation and repose, and to consult opportunities with a respectful attention to Out ease and leisure, it is natutal to us to think favourably

of of such a disposition; and although much of his discernment may be the effect of a good judgment and proper knowledge of the world, yet there must be a great proportion os sensibility, candour, diffidence, and natural modesty in the composition of a faculty so conciliating and so graceful. A man may have many good qualities, and yet if he is unacquainted with the world, he will rarely be found to understand those apt and happy moments of which I am now speaking ; for it is a knowledge not to be gained without a nice and accurate observation of mankind; and even when that observation has given it, men, who are wanting ia the natural good qualities above described, may indeed avail themselves of such occasions to serve a purpose of their own, but without a good heart no man will apply his experience to general practice.

Advantages of a Talent for discerning Times and Seasons* 273

But as it is not upon theories that I wish to employ this paper, I shall now devote the remainder of my attention tr. such rules and observations as occur to me upon the subject of the times and seasons.

Men who, in the fashionable phrase, live out of the ixiorld, have a certain aukwardnels about them, which is for ever putting them out of their place in society, whenever they are occasionally drawn into it. If it is their studies which have sequestered them from the world, they contract an air of pedantry, which can hardly be endured in any mixed company without exposing the object os it to ridicule; for the very essence of this contracted habit consists in an utter ignorance of times and seasons. Most of that class of men who ate occupied in the education of youth, and not a few of the young men themselves, wha are educated by them, are of this description: We meet with many of Jack Lizard's cast in the Spectator, who will learnedly maintain, there is no heat in fire. There is a disputatious precision in these people, which lets nothing pass


in free conversation, that is not ma thematically true; they will confute a jest by syllogism, canvass a merry tale by cross-examination and dates, work every common calculation by X the unknown quantity, and, in the festive sallies of imagination, convict the witty speaker of false grammar, and nonsuit all the merriment of the table.

The man of form and ceremony, who has shaped his manners to the model of what is commonly called TheOld Court, is another grand defaulter against times and seasons: His entrances and exits are to be performed with a stated regularity ; he measures his devoirs with an exactitude thatbespeakshimacorrect interpreter of The Red Book; pays his compliments with a minuteness, that leaves no one of your family unnamed, enquires after the health of your child who is dead, and desires to be kindly remembered to your wife, from whom you are divorced: Nature formed him in strait lines, habit has stiffened him into an unrelenting rigidity, and no familiarity can bend him ont of the upright. The uneducated squire os rustic manners forms a contrast to this character, but he is altogether as great an intruder upon times and seasons, and his total want of form operates to the annoyance of society as effectually as the othei's excess. There cannot be in human nature a more terrible thing than vulgar familiarity; a low-bred fellow, who assects to put himself at his ease among his superiors, and be pleasant company to them, is a nuisance to society: there is nothing so ill understood by the world in general as familiarity; if it was not for the terror, which men have, of the very troublesome consequences of condescension to their inferiors, there would not be a hundredth part of that pride and holding-back amongst the higher ranks, of which the low are so apt to complain. How few men do we meet with, who, when the heart if open and the channel free, know how to keep their comsc within the.buoy* m 2 and

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