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laws. Proud of his authority, and incited by the desire of augmenting his wealth, avarice and pride' were the sole inmates of his heart. He was soon detested by the colonists; and the few Indians, who now and then brought provisions, soon totally disappeared to join the Guaranis.

Amongst the last missionaries arrived at BuenosAyres was an old Jesuit, called Father Maldonado. Never did there exist a worthier priest, nor did the word of God issue from purer lips.

It was neither ambition nor remorse that had led him to seek the sanctuary of the cloister. Maldonado, pious from his infancy, endowed by nature with a mild and tranquil soul, only alive to benevolence, and who only sought for peace and virtue, had taken the vows at the age of eighteen, to enjoy the one, and preserve the other. From that moment his life had been devoted to the relief of humanity, in seeking the unfortunate, as an affectionate heart seeks for friends. Rich in the possession of a considerable patrimony, he had dissipated it little by little in sharing it with the afflicted; and at the age of sixty he perceived he had nothing remaining, and then begged of the King to send him to America. "I have nothing more to bestow," said he: "let me quit a country where I behold my fellow-creatures in want; at Peru every one possesses gold, but they know not the gospel, I will preach it to them, and it is a rich treasure I shall distribute among them.

On his arrival at the Assumption, Father Maldonado was astonished to find, instead of the Indians he came to convert, nothing but christians, who stood greatly in need of consolation. He was the more zealous; hastened to visit the colonists, and found the means of gaining their confidence, listened to their complaints, relieved them, and became their advocate towards their inflexible governor. The good Jesuit was blessed by all, and even respected by Pedreras, who since his arrival had displayed less tyranny, for it is in the nature of virtue, and perhaps its recompence, to render better all those who approach it.

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knees, and fixing his eyes upon him, his counte nance seemed to express piety, affection and despair, he pronounced a few words in a faultering voice, which the Jesuit could not understand, the language being unknown to him, but which did not the less affect the worthy father. He raised the child and allowed himself to be led towards the boy, which he examined and found perfectly cold and lifeless. The unhappy boy contemplated the Jesuit, attentively watched all his motions, and continued to speak to him in his unintelligible tongue; but when he comprehended by Maldonado's gestures that all hope was fled, he threw himself on the dead body, kissed it a thousand times, tore his hair, then suddenly starting up rushed precipitately towards the stream.

Notwithstanding his age, Maldonado, swifter than the child, caught and held him in his arms, and forgetting that the young savage could not understand him, sought to calm his grief with consoling words. As he wept while speaking the child comprehended his meaning; returned his caresses, always pointing to the corpse, while pronouncing the name of Alcaipa, then turning towards the river, he pronounced that of Guacolde; he laid his hand on his heart and bent over Alcaipa, then again turned to the river and repeated several times Guacolde. Maldonado who sought to read his thoughts, soon comprehended that the dead savage was his father, and was called Alcaipa; but he could not make out why the child always extended his arms towards the river, while calling on the name of Guacolde.

After several hours spent in useless efforts to engage the child to accompany him to the town, Maldonado who would not leave him, fortunately perceived a soldier passing, and desired him to go to the Assumption and seek for assistance.

The soldier obeyed, and soon returned with the surgeon of the hospital, who examined the body and confirmed the Jesuit's opinion, that it was dead. At the entreaty of Maldonado the surgeon and soldier dug a grave in the sand, where they laid the corpse, while the good father forcibly held the boy, who redoubled his tears and lamentations.

Maldonado at last succeeded in conducting the young savage to his home; lavished on him the most soothing caresses, offered him food, and after much difficulty, prevailed on him to take a small quantity. The child did not appear insensible to his kindness; but often kissed his

One day as Maldonado was walking alone, at some distance from the town, while ascending the banks of the river, he heard screams and sobs, and distinguished on the edge of the water a naked child, violently agitated, by the side of a man who was lying on the ground. Maldonado ran towards the child; who was a boy of about twelve or thirteen; his face bathed in tears, he sobbing embraced, and endeavoured to animate the life-hands, and looking mournfully in his face, would less body of a man apparantly between thirty and forty, naked like the child; his hair wet and in disorder, and bearing on his pale face the marks of long fatigue, and a painful death.

As soon as the child perceived Maldonado, he ran to him, knelt before him and embracing his

again begin to weep. Thus he passed the night without closing his eyes. As soon as the dawn appeared, he made signs that he wished to go Maldonado opened the door and followed him. The boy bent his steps towards the spot where his father was interred. When he reached

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it, he knelt on the grave, kissed it several times and remained for a considerable space prostrate upon it. He afterwards arose and performed the same ceremonies beside the river; then returning to the Jesuit, he raised his eyes to heaven, pro. nounced mournfully the names of Alcaipa and Guacolde, made a sign which seemed to express that they no longer existed; and threw himself into the arms of Maldonado, as though to make him understand that having lost every thing on earth he gave himself to him.

bows; we then embarked on the great river, without knowing where to land, for the Brasilians were behind us, and we trembled at the thoughts of advancing towards thy countrymen.

"The river had overflowed its banks, and in its course carried away large trees: Our canoe was overturned. My father supported me with one hand while he swam with the other. My mother who had for some time been ill swam with difficulty, yet she also assisted in sustaining me. But fatigue soon exhausted her strength as well as mine; Alcaipa observed it, placed us both on his back, and swam in this manner for several hours, but could not land on account of the rocks that edged the river. The rapidity of the current dragged him on, he felt himself become weak, but concealed it from us: we were incapable of supporting ourselves above water. At last when we arrived near this plain where the river widening forms a sea, my father exclaimed: we are going to perish my dear Guacolde! I cannot with my double burthen reach the shore. If you had sufficient strength to follow me for a few moments, perhaps. My mother without hearing any more let go her hold and immediately disapIpeared crying, save our son! and I die happy.

The good father's benevolent attentions soon won the savage boy's affection: as mild as he was grateful, he seemed to delight in obeying his commands, and even sought to anticipate them. He consented to wear clothing, and accustomed himself with little trouble, to habits which he did not understand, and which often were repugnant to him. But a sign from his benefactor reconciled him to every thing. Endowed with a lively understanding and an excellent memory, he very soon knew enough Spanish to comprehend the Jesuit. The first word he learned, and which struck him particularly when he knew its signification, was that of father, by which every one addressed Maldonado: O my father, said he, had lost the hope of ever again pronouncing that name: but it is to thee I owe this happiness; and I see you are the best of men, for every one call you their father.

As soon as he could answer the good Jesuit's questions, he informed him of his birth and his misfortunes; it was at the tomb of his departed sire that the youthful savage related his his tory.

"My name is Camire," said he; "I belong to the nation of the Guaranis, whom your brethren the Spaniards have driven from these plains, and who now inhabit the woods behind those blue mountains. I was the only child of Alcaipa and Guacolde. They had been tenderly attached to each other all their lives, and since my birth all || their affection was centered in me. When my father took me to the chase, my mother accompanied us; and when my mother detained me at home, my father remained also with us. My days were spent with them and at night I reposed in their arms. If I was happy they did not fail to be the same, and our hut re-echoed with their songs; if I was ill, they were overwhelmed with grief, and if I slept, they gazed upon me, and my slumbers gave them repose.

"A nation called the Brasilians who I supposed had been drived away by your brethren, came and attacked us in our forests. A battle was fought, and the Brasilians triumphed. My father and mother, obliged to fly, hastily built a canoe of bark, in which we placed all that we possessed, which consisted of two hammocks, a net, and two No. XX. Vol. III.

"I would have followed my mother; but Alcaipa held both my arms in his hand. He made a last effort to cross the river, reached the shore laid me on the sand, kissed me, and fell dead at my feet.

"You my father soon arrived. You know the rest."

The Jesuit could not hear this relation without weeping he did not endeavour to console the young savage; he did not tell him to dry up his tears, but shed some with him, and Camire's ceased to flow that he might wipe away those of the worthy old man.

Maldonado's paternal affection soon won the heart of the sensible Camire. He studied at his school, and learned to read and write with astonishing facility. The pious missionary spoke to him on the subject of religion, and described it according to his own feelings. His eloquence which flowed from the soul soon reached that of his pupil, who easily believed the good father's words, because he saw him daily put them in practice: he accompanied him to the hospital, to the poor and the sick, when seated on the bed of disease; Maldonado calmed the grief of the unfortunate by his consolatory discourse. But when he shared with the Indians his frugal repast, and even his clothing, and the young savage admired his charity, "My son," would the Jesuit exclaim, this is not sufficient, my god is the father of the poor, of the orphan, of the afflicted; they are his favourite children, it is thus we must assist each other if we wish to please him.

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Charmed with these divine precepts, and impatient to follow so pleasing an example, Camire asked to be baptized. This desire filled the missionary's breast with joy, and he flew to acquaint the Governor with it. Pedreras offered to stand god-father to the converted American; all the Spaniards made him presents, and the Jesuit busied himself in endeavouring to insure an independency to his new proselyte.

The credit and consideration which Maldonado enjoyed in the colony, and even in Spain, insured him an easy means of procuring Camire various situations. At sixteen his education was finished, and the Jesuit's pupil learned more than most of the colonists. He understood Latin, was well acquainted with mathematics, well read in history and poetry, as well as all Spanish works of celebrity. His intelligent mind had profited by what he had read; he loved books, and understood them well, and often culled more real philosophy from them than the author himself professed.

Maldonado, whom he astonished by his genius, spoke to him seriously on the necessity of choosing a profession which would lead him to fortune; he proposed to him the study of the law, the army, or commerce, and with his usual indulgence, left him a free choice. Ca. mire thus replied:

"The only error of which I find you guilty, my father! is that of believing that fortune, which you so often mention, can be necessary for my happiness. I know very well from what I have read, and from the information you have given me concerning your Europe, where the whole of nature's gifts only belong to a sinall part of its inhabitants; where the poor are condemned to serve the rich, to be allowed the right of breathing the air, and feeding on the fruits of the earth-I can easily conceive. that in that country every means are employed, just or unjust, to leave the extensive class of those who possess nothing, to become a member of the one that enjoys every thing. But look around you, my father! look at these almost unbounded plains, where the maize, the ananas, and a crowd of other salubrious plants grow before our eyes, almost without cultivation look at those immense forests, filled with cocoa trees, pomegranate, lemon, and citron trees, and many other delicious fruits, which nature creates with less trouble than you have in repeating their names; all those belong to me, I may enjoy them; and the population of Paraguay will not for a long time be sufficiently great for men to divide this extensive country, name a master for each spot of land, and deprive their successors of the gifts of nature.

"As to those employments, which I know not

for what reason you call professions, I will franklý confess that none of those you described pleased me. I do not like your laws, insufficient, uncertain, and often contradictory; of all the books you have made me read it is these i have found the most tedious; and as we never acquire well what we dislike, I will not learn them, nor waste my time as many have done. War makes me shudder. I admire, I love the courageous man, who, if his wife, his children, or country be attacked, takes up arms, and braves death in defence of his brethren: that man is not a warrior, as he is erroneously called in your country'; he is a man of peace and justice, for he defends the one and the other. But for me, born a Guarani, to engage my life to sell my blood to the King of Spain, to ravage the earth, or destroy men, according to his will! no, my father, the religion you have taught me prohibits this, and I have yet to learn how your Spaniards accord this profession with their duties as Christians.

"Commerce at first pleased me; I thought it charitable and agreeable to cross the sea, and spend one's life in labour and danger, to carry distant nations the assistance they stand in need of, to share with the large family of mankind the gifts of our common father; but, upon further investigation, I discovered the motives which actuated this charity, I discovered that the honestest merchants did not scruple to give savages deadly weapons, and to intoxicate them with strong liquors, to conclude their bargains to advantage. In short, I have seen them bring Africans from their own country, and here expose them for sale in the market-place, like cattle!-Sell our brethren!-Oh! my father, this is galling commerce!-My friend! I will not be a merchant!

"Let me then remain what I am. You may smile, and make me understand I am nothing; but I assure you I am something, and something tolerably good and tolerably happy; thanks to thy care I enjoy health, a good conscience, and am prepared at this instant to appear before the God of mercy, and the only regret I should feel would be that of leaving you. Innocence, my father! is an excellent profession; allow me to have no other. Beside you, I want for nothing; and if I had the misfortune to lose you, I would return to my woods, there our trees would afford me satisfaction, and thy memory would detain me in the paths of virtue. Let me then enjoy in peace the happiness you have bestowed upon me. We have perused many large books on what men denominate felicity. I could form a little treatise, which might be reduced to these two lines:-To preserve the heart in its native purity, and to know how to renounce those things which are of little consequence."

Maldonado was at a loss for a reply to his young philosopher's arguments. He agreed that the disciple had surpassed the master, and smiling, asked Camire to instruct him in his turn. But it was ordained that this wisdom should soon be put to the test.

A few months previous to this conversation, a ship from Cadiz had brought to the Assumption, a young niece of the Governor's, whom her father, Don Manuel, Pedreras's younger brother, had left a portionless orphan. Her relations thought the best way of getting rid of the incumbrance of a poor girl was to send her to America, where her uncle had the reputation of being rich. Pedreras received her with more surprise than joy; he was at first tempted to send her back to her other relations in Spain, but Maldonado's representations prevented him; he contented himself with making them some very severe reproaches for having troubled him with her, and consented, through a forced humanity, to allow his brother's only child to remain in his house.

It will naturally be imagined that the young lady did not enjoy much happiness with Pedreras ; she knew well, and every day observed that she was a weighty burden. Trembling with the fear of irritating her uncle, certain of displeasing him, she kept a strict watch over her smallest actions, paid the most minute attention to his commands, and thought herself extremely happy when she escaped being rebuked. She had just attained her sixteenth year, and was called Angelina, and truly worthy of that name, by her beauty, elegance, amiable disposition, and more particularly by the qualities of her heart, which were inestimable.

It was impossible to see her without feeling an affection for her; those who loved her dared not confess it; her pure soul was devoid of vanity, and the sentiment she inspired was so nearly allied to virtue, that it might be thought one in those who experienced it.

Angelina often sought the solitude of the country. Profiting by he liberty which the colonists enjoyed, followed by a servant, she walked out every evening to contemplate the face of nature, breathe the perfume of flowers, listen to the birds' songs, and admire the setting sun. These were her only pleasures, and sufficed her mild and placid soul, always quick at appreciating the good, and satisfied with her condition.

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In her walks she had often remarked a young man, who each day at the same hour repaired to a certain spot, where he remained kneeling for a considerable time, and afterwards returned to the town. Angelina, who had little curiosity, had avoided meeting him; but one evening as she

was returning home later than usual, and passel near the spot, a monstrous serpent, of the species called hunters, so common in Paraguay, raised its head above the long grass, and hissing with threatening rage, sprung towards Angelina. The terrified girl screamed aloud, her attendant ran away with all possible haste, and she attempted to follow her; but the serpent pursued her, gained ground, and had nearly reached her, when Camire appeared, holding a leathern sling, the use of which the Peruvians so skilfully understand. He threw the running knot at the reptile's head, then flying with extreme quickness, dragged with him the strangled monster.

Angelina had fainted. Camire approached, assisted her, and recalled her senses; he then supported her tottering frame till she arrived at her uncle's dwelling, received her grateful thanks with blushes, and left her experiencing a mixture of anxiety and confusion which he had never before felt.

He immediately repaired to Maldonado to acquaint him with what had happened. The joy the good Father felt at Angeli a's escape, the interest he took in her fate, and all the prai-es he bestowed on her, augmented Camire's confu

s on.

While listening, he appeared wrapped in thought, and passed a sleepless night The next morning he asked the Jesuit, with some embarrassmen', whether it would not be proper for them to wait on the Governor to inquire fter his niece's health. Maldonado agreed, and they repaired to the house. Pedreras received them with much politeness, re-assured them respecting Angelina's health, and invited them to spend the day. The young Guarani again saw the fair Spaniard, conversed freely with her, and inhaled on all sides the consuming flames of love.

The history of Alcaipa, and the praises which the good Jesuit delighted to bestow on his adopted son, were the subject of the conv.rsation AngeHina, who did not lose a word, kept her eyes bent on the ground, a livelier hue overspread her cheeks, and a secret emotion agitated her heart. From Maldonado's recital she comprehended he cause why Camire so often visited the river's banks. His piety and filial love redoubled the gratitude she felt for her amiable deliverer. She was happy that it was he who had snatched her from the arms of danger; and was pleased to be compelled to bestow her este mon so good a you ́h, but dared not raise her eyes upon him.

A very short time sufficed h young lovers to make each other sensible of what they felt, and to assure them, without the assistance of words, that their love was mutual. Angelina kept the secret which her eye had betrayed; but the ingenious Guarani confided all his thoughts to

the Jesuit. In burning words, he described to || make him forget thy birth, if we could give him

him the passion which filled his soul, and declared a thousand times that death alone could extinguish it; that he was ready to undertake every thing to become worthy of her hand, and concluded by asking his assistance to attain this happiness.

Maldonado listened to him with grief. "Oh! my son," said he, "how you afflict me, and how many evils do you prepare for yourself. You, who are acquainted with our morals, our customs, our respect for birth, and our passion for riches, can you suppose that the Governor of Paraguay will consent to bestow his daughter on a stranger!—an unknown, who possesses nothing; and whose project is, after my death, to go and live among the savages his brethren. The contempt in which you hold the vain idols which corrupted men adore I have not sought to combat in you, my son-I have held it sacred; but when a human being pretends, my dear Camire, to be above the errors inherent to humanity, he must renounce love: for that passion is sufficient to place us within the reach of all the prejudices of mortals, and all the caprices of fortuue. You excite my pity, my child! all remedies and advice are at present useless; it is hope that you stand in need of, and my affection would vainly seek to mislead me a while in order to deceive you. I only know of one method which might succeed the Governor's avarice might perhaps;

a large sum of gold; but neither you nor I possess this valuable metal"

"Gold!" hastily rejoined Camire, throwing his arms round the old man's neck, "re. joice my father! it only depends on me to procure some; the mountains where I formerly lived are filled with it; I know the road which leads to it. I will fetch as much gold as you desire; you shall offer it the Governor, and for so vile a gift he will bestow on me the most beautiful, the most virtuous being of the universe; and this fatal metal, which has been the cause of so many crimes, will still make two people happy."

The good Jesuit, whose heart always beat at the sound of happiness, shared his son's joy. The next day he repaired to Pedreras; but knowing well the character of him he wished to gain over, thought he might be allowed to employ a little cunning. He began by speaking of the difficulty of establishing Angelina in a way suitable to her birth; he then made him understand that by dispensing with nobility she would find husbands that would consider themselves very happy to lay a large fortune at her feet, and even to pay the uncle for the honour of his alliance; and seeing this overture did not displease Pedreras, he concluded by proposing his pupil, with an hundred thousand ducats.

[To be continued.]

E. R.

A TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND,

Along the Right and Left Banks of the Rhine, to the South of Germany, by Sir John Carr, Author of the Stranger in Ireland; a Tour round the Baltic, &c. Phillips, June 1807.

THE extraordinary successes of the French have, for some time past, almost entirely closed the avenues of the Continent against us; we have heard but little, and that very imperfectly, of the internal policy of those countries which have unhappily fallen under French domination; or, what is equally fatal in its result, under French influence. It is with pleasure, therefore, we turn our attention to a Tour made so lately as during last summer and autumn in that part of Europe, in which the arms or terror of the enemy have so irresistibly prevailed.

This must be our apology for giving, contrary to our practice, an account of this work in the present place.

A short time before Sir John Carr visited Holland, the Dutch, who seem to have been long destined to the broils of war and a variety of revolutions, experienced a new political change; they beheld their government transmuted from a republic into a kingdom, and a new dynasty of princes created for them by that wonderful and malignant spirit which has so long embroiled the repose of the world.

Our Tourist also continued his route along the right and left bank of the Rhine, the latter of which now forms the frontier of the French empire towards Germany; and also through several of the sovereignties which have been incorporated into a confederation, by which the imperial dig

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