that scarce any man since his time has been able to equal. I believe it is scarce necessary to explain myself by mentioning the name of Socrates when this great, this innocent man, was solicited at his trial to speak in his justification, and stop the sentence that was about to be passed upon him, "My friends (said he), if I should plead in favour of my life; if I should request these judges that I may not die; how can I be assured that I speak not against myself? I know not what it is to die, I am not informed what good or what ill there may be in it: those things which I know to be evil, I avoid; those which I know not to be ills, why should I fear? death is of this number: I know not (continued he, addressing himself to his judges) whether it be more eligible to die, or not to die: I commit myself therefore to you; determine of it as you shall think good." INSPECTOR, No. 53. No. LXXI. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; POPE. ZULIMA, the daughter of Abukazan, was formed for pleasure, and finished for delight. She was tall as the towering palm, and straight as the lofty pine. Her countenance was animated with the glow of health, and her smile was as the dawn of the vernal day. Symmetry was discernible in every limb, in every gesture grace. The hearts of the young men bounded with joy at her approach. They declared she was fairer than a houri; and even the daughters of the land confessed she was beautiful. Yet, with all her personal advantages, Zulima, though she excited admiration, could not attract esteem. She was thoughtless and volatile, fantastical and capricious; and so giddy with the intoxicating fumes of adulation, that she spent the greatest part of her time in changing the position of her vestments, and altering the arrangement of her jewels. Sometimes she braided her jetty tresses, which were black as the feathers of the raven, and turned them up under a muslin, bordered with silver and gold; sometimes she suffered them to flow carelessly on her shoulders, over an azure robe, and placed new blown roses on her forehead, which was as spacious as a full moon. Sometimes she threw a transparent veil over her, but practised a thousand arts to make it rise and fall, and discover, to the enamoured gazer, teeth white as the tusks of the elephant, lips red as the ruby of Ava, cheeks tinged with the blushes of the morning, and eyes piercing as those of the eagle. While she was reclined on a sofa, one evening, after a sultry day, under a pavilion in the garden of her father Abukazan, and lay ruminating on methods to increase her charms, and extend her conquests, she saw a thick smoke rise out of the ground. It curled like a vine, and ascended like a column. While she was earnestly watching its progress, a little old man, with a beard whiter than snow, which reached to his feet, appeared before her. "Zulima (said he), listen to the voice of instruction, and let not the accents of reproof be disregarded. I am the genius Abdaric. I behold thy beauties with delight. Be not therefore vain, for know I behold them with concern. I am come from the bottom of the earth, to teach thee wisdom, and to snatch thee from destruction. Follow my advice and be happy. Thou vainly fanciest, unthinking Zulima, that the fame of thy beauty will be wafted to the pinnacles of Agra by the sighs of thy adorers, and that their applauses will be heard from the cliffs of Taurus, to the Indian ocean. Thou dost not consider, frail child of the dust, that thou art subject to the most loathsome distempers. Thou dost not consider, that a leprosy may render thee an object of detestation, and that the springs of life may be poisoned by maladies innumerable. If the angel of benevolence should intercede for thee at the throne of the great Alla; if the governor of the universe should command the clouds of sickness never to burst upon thy head, yet no interceding angel can rescue thee from the gripe of age, and disengage thee from the talons of decrepitude. Thy love-darting eyes must lose their lustre, and grow dim with years: thy blooming cheeks must be shrivelled like autumnal leaves; and thy graceful body must be bent like the bow of the hunter. Thy admirers will then shun thee with as much caution as they would the mouth of the famished tiger, or the jaws of a hungry crocodile; and start from thee, affrighted, as if they had felt the sting of a scorpion, or the puncture of an asp. Then wilt thou be the unhappiest of women. Thou adornest with too much solicitude thy outward form, which will perish like a garment devoured by the moth, and which will be smote by the arrows of death, as grass is levelled by the scythe of the mower; whilst thy mind, which will endure for ever, resembles the barren mountain or the uncultivated desert. Think, therefore, O daughter of pleasure! ere it is too late. Reflect, whilst thou art capable of reflection. I am come from the bottom of the earth to make thee wiser, better, and even more lovely.Watch thy behaviour with the strictest vigilance, and let not the slightest signs of pride, levity, or self-admiration, be perceptible in thy looks, thy actions, or thy words. Seem not to be conscious of thy charms, and they will beam forth with redoubled splendour: forget that thou art fairer than other women, and thou wilt be the fairest among them. Be not over-studious to make thy neck shine with the glossy pearls of Manar, and thy hair glitter with the diamonds of Golconda. Be neat in thy person, be plain in thy apparel. Simplicity is beyond magnificence. Loveliness wants not the aid of ornament, but is when unadorned, adorned the most. Do not hang over fountains for the pleasure of seeing thy image reflected in them. Such a desire can only be prompted by vanity, and |