The paintings of Thibet discover great patience in the artist, and are remarkable for the fineness of their strokes Their painters might dispute with Apelles and Protogenes for extreme tenuity of pencil; but it is in this alone, without any regard to the art, in which their merit consists. Some of the idols in Thibet are executed in a certain style of relievo; but these produc tions are not only imperfect, they are also so destitute of beauty as to forbid every hope of excellence in the art. The same thing may be observed with regard to many of the eastern nations; they seem to have that want of style which would for ever condemn them to medio- ' crity, even if they should happen to arrive at that point. [To he continued.] ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT. THE COUNT D TO RISOT. Paris, 1764. Dearest Risot, recal the malediction which you pronounced over me; the curse that I should never again be happy. Can then no repentance expiate guilt? Is not four years' infernal torture punishment enough for my crime. Bestow your benediction, dear Risot; till then I cannot give my hand to the dear object to whom I am to be united. Give me your blessing, my noble friend, and pardon 'me; then Heaven will not be more severe than you. O, Risot! I implore you, recal the curse which you pronounced against me upon my return from Germany. RISOT TO THE COUNT D Visseur, 1764. THE COUNT D TO RIsot. 0———, 1794. Providence is merciful and just, dearest Risot. Now bless me without trembling. I am on the verge of life; and the goddess of Justice and Vengeance shews me the glistening sword without using it. O, you were right! the mercy of Heaven granted me a whole life of felicity, and deferred the misery till its concluding moments. I have suffered an easy, and at the same time a very severe punishment for my guilt. My wife is at Vienna, and has saved the greatest part of her property; she does not know that I am still living. I fied in the disguise of a beggar through France and Flanders, and arrived safely at the Rhine. Here I first learned that my wife If your heart has removed the curse, dearest || had escaped, and that I was supposed to be Count, my lips willingly recal it, and I pray dead. Having crossed the Rhine I was taken Heaven also to pardon you. But forget not ill at a small town. I had not thought of my a moment that the goddess Nemesis accom- unhappy Henrietta for years. Here, so near panies you through life. Felicity is a word the spot where she lived, the old wound openthat you ought not to pronounce withouted afresh. "Here," thought I, "here, where trembling; you have destroyed the felicity of you committed the crime, you shall die." I a virtuous heart, though you received a timely || warning. Many virtues, many noble actions are necessary to counterbalance in the eyes of a righteous Providence this solitary deed. Be virtuous; it is not possible for me to add-be happy! Be firm, be contented; this is all that my heart can say to you. Repentance atones for every crime; and your repentance, Count, was genuine and sincere. But should Providence-I write with trembling-remind I never could hear the name of O-withyou of your guilt by repeated and heavy mis-out trembling; and now, with death in my fortunes, could you say it is too severe? The bosom, it was a consolation to me to be able Almighty bless you! Be virtuous! Farewel! to die in the place. Before we entered the desired the physician not to conceal the truth from me. He shrugged his shoulders. My six months' wanderings in France, the inclemencies of the weather, bad food, care and anxiety, had destroyed my constitution, and entirely dried up the sources of life. I smiled when the physician informed me that I could not recover, took his medicines, called for a coach, and proceeded to O——. awakened me from my profound reverie. village I ordered the postillion to stop, and alighted. There stood the grove of birches, there was the church steeple, and there the two chimnies of Henrietta's habitation rose above the surrounding cottages. O, Risot! my youth ouce more revived within me. Ah! Iquested me to wait beneath his roof for the never loved any other woman like Henrietta; this I felt by the redoubled pulsation of my heart, by the life which was diffused with new power through my veins. A dream of my blissful hours hovered over my soul; I trembled, but only with joy, not with anxiety and remorse. Such ought to be the feelings of a dying man. I proceeded slowly through the village; every step carried me back, as by enchantment, thirty-four years, and a torrent of exquisite sensations overpowered my soul. How happy might I have been had I remained virtuous! The postillion took my things out of the carriage at the door of the little inn. My emotions had been too powerful for the weak remnant of my life; I was obliged immediately to throw myself upon a bed. The landlord had only a small damp apartment which likewise served for a store room. He desired me to continue my journey, but a seasonable preseut rendered him more civil. Here I am now, Risot. Ah! I have not the courage to ask whether Henrietta be yet living. This letter I write with a trembling hand. ORisot! here I was so happy, so inexpressibly happy! And now! now! Ah! had I remained here as I wished; had I made her my wife; how many things would now be dif ferent from what they are! May I not say that for death in this damp chamber I sacrificed Henrietta, my happiness, and my repose? Sometimes I even think that the dreadful revolution of my country was a judgment sent to punish me for my guilt. Good night! good night! A Risot! the earth totters under me; my senses are confused; my life ebbs with each pulsation, and yet the power of Omnipotence seems to detain it-I am with Henrietta. thousand times I ask myself whether I am still alive. As yet I am ignorant of every thing. What have I still to hear? My host informed me that he had provided for me a more commodious apartment in the village. All toy thoughts were now directed to one object; I acquiesced, without asking whither he was going to take me. My landlord conducted me slowly towards Henrietta's habitation. When we arrived at the courtyard, the sight of the lime-trees, beneath whic!. I bad so frequently sat with the dear girl, restoration of my health. I sat down under "Your friend?" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. She then went in silence to the window. In this situation I at length took the courage to look at her attentively. I observed, with trembling, that she was pale, and that long affliction had preyed upon her. She turned round, after a long pause, and again approached me, and said stammering:—“ Did be never mention to you the name of Heurietta Büchner?" I know not how I mustered the strength to reply:-" The unfortunate man loved her till his latest breath." "Loved?" she exclaimed." Then he is dead?" she added after some pause, and wiped her eyes. How did he die?" "With the name of Henrietta on his lips, and hell in his heart, because he had deceived her." She walked up and down the room, and then returned to me. "Were you his friend-I too was his friend," said she tenderly; adding in a louder tone: "I am the unfortunate, the deluded Henrietta." O, Risot! I resolutely exposed my heart to paio, in hopes that it would break; I took Henrietta's hand and pressed it to my bosom. My life was stronger than my pain; my heart did not break, even when her tears fell upou my face. O, Risot! have I not now expiated my guilt? She left me, but soon returned. Ah! what violence I was obliged to do myself, not to tell her who I was! "My son! my son!" he cried with astonishment. "Henrietta! unfortunate Heurietta! I am the monster that deceived you!" You cannot, Sir, conceive the effect of these few words. I stood like a statue. My mother threw herself into his arms, and exclaimed: She dropped a few words--O, Risot! they rend my soul!-a few obscure words concerning four years' insanity. I-I could go mad" O, beloved Charles!" She turned pale. I at the thought! Four years only reflect how many thousand hours! Ah! wretch that I am, why did I flee from the guillotine! CHARLES BUCHNER TO RISOT. O, 1794. Herewith, Sir, I transmit you the last letter of the Count D. I found your address in one of your letters from London. Your friend was interred here yesterday; you are acquainted with his unfortunate history excepting the catastrophe. Chance conducted him to the house of my mother, to whom he once paid his addresses. She discovered to him who she was. We regarded the extreme anguish and despair which he manifested as the effects of his illness. My mother has been very unhappy. After his departure, in the year 1761, she learned from his uncle that she was deceived, and fell into the blackest melancholy; she was pregnant by the Count. After my birth she lost her senses. At the end of, four years she again recovered her reason; but not her cheerfulness. With these circumstances my father, whom we supposed to be merely a friend of the Count, became acquainted by degrees. I observed how deeply these conversations affected both our sick guest and my mother. In vain I endeavoured to draw her from his bed-side; indeed I almost considered it as cruel; for the stranger's assurances that the Count's love to her had ceased only with his life, now restored her, for the first time, to happiness. The unfortunate man was still ignorant that Henrietta had a son by him, and that I was this son. One day when I entered his room I found my dear mother in tears. I took her gently by the hand, and said :--" It affects you too much, my dearest mother." At these words the stranger suddenly raised himself up in the bed, and, fixing his eyes on me, exclaimed: Mother? mother?" with great earnestness; "how is this?" My mother led me to his bed-side, and said: "This is the son of the Count D-" caught her in my arms, and carried her to a chair, where she soon came to herself. "O, Charles, beloved Charles!" she again exclaimed, and extended her arms towards him. My father, before I could prevent him, sprung from the bed, and threw himself at my mother's feet, crying out:-" O merciful God! do you forgive me, Henrietta? do you forgive me, my beloved?" She raised him up, and pressed him to her bosom. He grew paler and paler. “◊ God,” he suddenly exclaimed with he drew me to his breast; my Henrietta.” a smile, so happy! so happy!-my son!” He threw his arm round my mother, and leaned his head upon her shoulder. His hand became cold. He expired, smiling, in the arms of his beloved and his son. "Charles!" said His arm sunk my mother affectionately. down. We supposed him to be in a swood, but he was dead. I was filled with apprehension on account of my mother; but, thank Heaven, she is composed and even cheerful. This melancholy occurrence diffuses over the remainder of her days a kind of tranquil felicity. "He loved me," says she smiling, when I speak to her. "He called you his son," she adds, while the transports of heaven are impressed on her pallid lips. The physician conceives that this circumstance has produced a beneficial effect on her health; but I ani convinced that she will soon follow her lover. God be thanked that a mild serenity enlivens her last hours. A With this letter you will receive a ring, in-. scribed with the words,-For my Risot. paper, in my father's hand-writing, declares my mother the heiress of all the valuables he had with him. My mother intends to have her grave dug by the side of his. I fear that they, who were unfortunately separated upon earth, will soon be again united. Farewel, Sir, I honour you as the friend of my father, and the protector of my forsaken mother. Farewel. THE EFFECTS OF SELFISH PRINCIPLES. ROUELLE D'AGUESSAU, a young noble- || not long at a loss for one. This interval he man of great fortune, became independent at an early period, by the death of his parents. His education was entrusted to a contemptible wretch, who regarded polished manners, and a knowledge of the world, as the only qualifications requisite for a man of rank and opulence. By this tutor he was introduced early into life; and the vices of every description which he witnessed, the disregard of morality manifested by almost every person of fashion, the flattery incessantly bestowed on the amiable and polished youth, tended to corrupt his heart in a very high degree. The acquaintances which he formed at this period completed his ruin. He soon adopted the system of the Parisian beau monde to live only for himself and his own pleasures: and his cultivated mind endeavoured to defend this principle as the only true system of human existence. The youthful Rouelle was a philosopher in his way:"Pleasure," said he, "is my object; moderation will prolong the enjoyment, and prudence will secure it." Moral purity seemed to him a chimerical idea, adapted only to the stupid and the vulgar. The appearance of virtue was every thing in his eyes; and he was actually considered at Paris as one of the most virtuous young men of his time. employed in attempting to discover Susannah's weak side; but he soon perceived that his usual arts were incapable of gaining the heart of this lovely female: he was obliged to depart without having obtained any further advantage than the moment he first beheld her. She spoke of virtue, and with such earnestness, that he could not refrain from considering this virtue as something more than a mere phantom, but studiously avoided betraying his own principles. He called again upon his return: his modesty gained the confidence of his host, and his amiable manners procured him Susannah's good will: but the latter opposed his advances with such resolute constancy, that he could not proceed a single step without the utmost caution. All his artifices were not sufficient to subdue her heart. He considered the sex, without exception, as the votaries of vanity and sensual pleasures; but he now met with one who was equally a stranger to vanity and desire: The mere suspicion that it was possible to entertain principles like Rouelle's, excited horror in the mind of the virtuous Susannah. In vain he employed every possible method to inflame her vanity. His utmost exertions were ineffectual; but his passion was only strengthened by the opposition he On a journey to Poitou, in which province experienced. He was in a manner fascinated his estates were situated, he was detained at a by her; he even felt respect for her virtue. village, where the sudden inundation of a river "If I meet with two other such mortals," he had swept away the bridge. As the inn afford- exclaimed to himself, "my system will be ed but wretched accommodation, he inquired|| overturned." It is true he still retained his for a night s lodging at a decent house, belong-system, but his sensuality was converted into ing to a farmer in the village. The farmer, a respectable old man, received him with the ut most cordiality, and assigned him the best apartment. Rouelle came down stairs at night to sup with the farmer: he was astonished to see the most beautiful girl his eyes had ever beheld, seated by the side of his host. Her conversation at table soon convinced him that she had not received a common education. Her father had lived many years in the world, but being weary of its inquietudes had withdrawn to this spot with the remainder of his fortune, to enjoy tranquillity, and devoted his attention to the education of his daughter. The sight of the charming girl inflamed Rouelle's desire: he sought a pretext for staying a few days at the house; and such was the hospitality of his venerable host, that he was No. XXXIV. Vol. V. something of a superior nature-into love. He felt, that with Susannah, in the confidence in ber virtue, he might live happily even in the country; and he was surprised by an idea which he had before considered impossible, that of an union with the object of his passion. "Pshah!" said he to himself, at this idea, which the more frequently recurred to his mind, the more his hope of seducing the girl diminished. Rouelle found that he had gained Susannah's love; and he almost despaired that her love was the medium by which to inflame-her imagination. He exerted every effort to obtain bis aim; and thus more than once excited Susannah's mistrust. This gave occasion to scenes of a very serious nature, in which Susannah's character, and her abhorrence of criminal desire, appeared in such a strong light, that he was at a loss what to think of those among whom a female of this stamp resided. His heart began to oppose the system to which his head still adhered: he was irresistibly hurried away by the omnipotent passion of love. He had no other method left of becoming happy, than to offer Susannah his hand. He scarcely knew himself what had happened to hiín: he even felt a secret antipathy to the idea of destroying Susannah's peace; so that there existed at least one individual whose happiness he respected. With a sensation of composure that was quite new to him, he offered Susannah bis haud; and when with tears of rapture, and a throbbing bosom, she sunk into his arms, be felt the re ward of virtuous minds-regard for himself. He exclaimed as soon as he was alone, "No, by God! virtue is not a chimera!" Susannah became the wife of Rouelle. At her request he accompanied her to his estate. The felicity resulting from the tranquillity, confidence, and tender affection which he now enjoyed; the virtues of his 'spouse, her chastity, her benevolence, her humility, shook his system, and raised in his wind powerful objections against it. At the expiration of a year Rouelle became the father of a son. He pressed the infant, with trembling joy, to his bosom, and exclaimed-“ No, by God! by the conviction of my existence! virtue is not a phantom." Susannab presented him with another son; but, on this occasion, his joy was moderate. He had passed a few months at Paris, where a charming opera-dancer had excited his desire, so that he returned with only half a 1.Şart to his country seat. He soon set off again for Paris. With an inquietude surpassing what he had ever felt, he sought the acquaintance of the captivating dancer. He was unintentionally guilty of infidelity to his wife, and he again flew to his system, because it alleviated his uneasiness. He ceased to love Susannah, but he felt for her a boundless regard, and this regard became an oppressive burthen, because it interrupted the tranquil enjoyment of his plea sures. "Pho" thought he, at last, mankind are all alike, and my wife is not better than the rest: she wished to be called Madame de Rouelle; and hence the part that she acted. Her wish was rank, title, wealth; mine is pleasure His system returned to its former channel: he remained at Paris, and compelled himself to forget his regard for his wife. She wrote to him; he returned her a cold answer. She repaired to Paris; and he said to her, drily, "I have no objection to your re 66 || || siding here." When she observed his deviations, she employed her utmost endeavours to restore the felicity of the first years of their union-but in vain. That he could not withdraw his respect of her virtues, only rendered him still more cold and indifferent; and, by way of revenge, he even represented his principles as worse than they actually were. Susannah's bosom was wrung with the acut- | |