pearance had continued the same. But, however exactly my picture had been drawn, there was one circumstance, of no small importance, which luckily was not, nor could not, be attended to; the alteration which, in this interval, my misfortunes had occasioned. The man, whose necessities had reduced him so low, that he was supported only by his faithful dog, could resemble but little the vanquished monarch. I remained, therefore, at Ispahan a whole month in security, and from thence continued my journey at leisure, until at last I reached Constantinople. Here I purchased a solitary mansion, and have now lived for sixteen years, far from the dangerous society of men. My parsimonious way of living required but little, and that little my ring has supplied. I have never demeaned myself by asking assistance, nor have I ever regretted the loss of my crown. I never complained of my present situation, nor did I ever again shed a single tear, till yesterday, that my companion, my friend, and my preserver, my faithful Murckim, at last forsook me. I was robbed of him by age; and such was his affection, that even to the last he licked my hand, and it seemed as if he expired with reluctance, only because he was parted from me.

My history now approaches to a close; out

of eleven stones which were once in my ring, two of the most valuable yet remain. For the few days which I have now to live, the least of these two will be more than sufficient. Take then the other; and let your chisel be employ ed in commemorating the virtues of a faithful creature, who, though only a dog, you will surely acknowledge to be more worthy of that honour than many conquerors and heroes."

During this relation, which the tone of the speaker made much more interesting than it can be rendered to a reader, the eyes of the artist melting into tears, more than once testified what were his emotions. When Melai had now finished, Melonion began,-" Oh monarch!" "Monarch no more; I am only an

Melai.

old man."

Melonion. "Noble, generous, godlike old man, how deeply has thy fate affected me; with what warmth and sincerity do I thank you, for resolving to intrust to my slender abilities, a task, which, at first indeed, appeared to be degrading, but which I now consider as of more dignity, than that of commemorating many princes! Two requests you must, however, grant me." Melai (smiling). "Two for one: well, what are they?"

already sufficiently enriched me; and I can easily afford to spend some of my time, in working entirely for my own satisfaction. This was my first request, and here is my second; however well grounded may be your hatred of mankind, carry it not, I beseech you, so far, as to disbelieve entirely in human virtue. What instinct, without the assistance of reason, sơ frequently produces among the inferior animals, reflection and feeling, however seldom, will surely sometimes effect among ourselves. I have, indeed, no crown to offer you, as an atone. ment for the one which you have lost; but the last and severest of all your losses, the loss of a friend, I may be able to supply."

Melai. "You?"

Melonion. “Yes; abandon your solitude, and trust yourself to me. In my house you shall always be master; nay more, you shall be my father and my king; and then you can behold with your own eyes, the gradual progress of that monument, from which your favourite is to receive immortality."

The source from which this history was drawn begins here, unfortunately, to fail. It is only added in a few words, that the old man, after many denials, at last resolved to pass his life with Melonion; that he never had any reason to re

pent his resolution; and that a beautiful monument of the finest alabaster, was erected to the memory of his faithful dog. To most of those, however, by whom it was beheld, the meaning and intention of it must have been totally a secret; although, after the death of the venerable monarch, we may suppose that this history would no longer be concealed.

It is more than probable, that this monument was remaining at the time that Constantinople was taken by the Turks. What might afterwards become of it I know not, although I would not absolutely discourage my readers from hoping, that so precious a specimen of sculpture may still exist in some neglected corner, where some future traveller may perhaps light upon it, and restore it to the curiosity of the admirers of art, and to the tears and enthusiasm of the lovers of virtue.

THE BEE, vol. iii. p. 69, May 18, 1791.

No. CXLIX.

Quòm Pan,

Pinea semiferi capitis vallamina quassans,
Unco sæpe labro calamos percurrit hianteis,
Fistula sylvestrem ne cesset pondere musam.

LUCRETIUS.

Led on by Pan, with pine-leave garland crown'd,
And seven-mouth'd reed his labouring lip beneath,
Waking the Woodland Muse with ceaseless song.
Good.

If the difficulty of an art is to be estimated by the many attempts that have been unsuccess fully made to succeed in it, then we should be induced to conclude, that a talent for pastoral poetry is one of the rarest endowments conferred upon man. Among a few hundreds who have attempted epic poetry, a Homer and an Ossian, and in the drama, an Euripides, a Sophocles, and a Shakspeare, will be admired while the languages in which they wrote are known; but among the myriads who have attempted to write pastorals, if Theocritus alone be excepted (and it is even doubtful how far. he will be allowed to be a fair exception), there is not, perhaps, another name that can be held up to the world as a model to be admired in this species of composition.