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From the FREEMASON'S MAGAZINE.
ADELROSA DI VALMONTE.

On the other hand she knew that Mortimer was no less firmly attached to the Protestant religion; and if he were to promise that both should continue the form of worship of their own country, what

should she not endure at the thot

of bestowing her affections on one whom her religion commanded her to believe would be eternally wretched? Shuddering at the prospect of parting from her lover, and feeling that all her earthly happiness was wrapped up in him, she resolved to consecrate her life to the exercise of that religion to which she was so inviolably attached, and, quitting Italy, to take the veil at the convent of St. Clair in Languedoc. With trembling steps. she sought her father, and imparted her sorrows to him. He strove to combat her resolution, but, finding her immoveably fixed, he consented to assist her in escap

Adelrosa was descended from one of the neblest families of Tuscany. Her mother had long been dead, but her father, the Marchese di Valmonte, amply supplied the deficiency, and was at once a vigilant guardian and an affectionate friend. Nature had bestowed on Adelrosa every grade both of mind and person: education had rendered her, almost faultless. She had hardly attained her eighteenth year, when Mr. Bentick, an English gentleman, who was strongly recommended to the Marchese, became an inmate of the palazzo di Valmonte. This gentleman was no less elegant and accomplished than Adelrosa; and a mutual affection had taken root in the hearts of both before they were conscious of it. Mortimering: since, if she openly left the Bentick, however, soon feeling his happiness entirely dependent on Adelrosa, acquainted her with his passion, entreating her permission to endeavour to obtain the concurrence of the Marchese. Adelrosa, then first sensible of her love, owned that she returned his passion, and hastily retired. Scarcely had she left him, when the plea-palazzo, and trusting her design sures she had just felt was converted into grief, for she recollected the difference of religion. She had been educated in the Roman Catholic persuasion, and she would have thought it a crime, even to listen to any argument against it

palazzo, it would be impossible to avoid a parting with Bentick. Not without extreme grief did her father think of loosing her, yet his affection overpowered his regret,. and he yielded to her entreaties. She therefore determined to escape the following night, when there was to be a masked ball at the

to her confessor, who applauded. her heroic resolution, she prevailed on him to promise that he would wait for her at the extremity of the gardens with a carriage to conduct her to Leghorn, secure her passage to Marseilles, whence

A

rors attendant on the prospect of
spending the remainder of her
existence in hopeless solitude.
long and mournful space of time
had elapsed without the slightest
variation in her monotonous life,
when a novice who was the fol-
lowing day to take the veil, seem-
ed to promise some alleviation of
her state. Adelrosa was young,
and still eminently beautiful; but
regret for her Mortimer had blight-
ed the rose of her cheek, and ill-
ness had worn almost to a skele-
ton her once perfect form. Her
health daily declined, and at times
her intellects seemed disordered
by her sorrow. The evening pre-
ceding the day when the novice
was to bury herself in a cloister,
Adelrosa sat at her window mourn-
fully watching the waves of the

she might easily reach the convent, and himself return to his monastery before break of day. The following night Adelrosa habited herself as a Savoyard peasant, hoping in that dress to escape observation. When the appointed hour arrived, she hastened to the endof the gardens, and there found the monk waiting her approach. When she entered the carriage she gave way to a violent burst of tears which after a time subsided || into a deep melancholy. They reached Leghorn in about three hours, and in one more Adelrosa, still in the habit of a pesant, found herself on board a vessel bound for Marseilles. When she was missed at the palazzo, the grief of Mortimer was unbounded, and the Marchese, though inward. ly applauding his daughter's firm-Mediterranean tipped with the red ness. so deeply felt the loss of her constant attention and tender love, that he fell into a deep melancho-sparkling with radiance, so were ly, which in a short time terminated his existence. He first however, enjoined Mortimer, who with a son's affection waited on hina in his last moments, to return to England, and evour to forget Adelrosa. He deje mined to devote a year to the search of her

"As

light of the setting sun.
these waters," said she, " are now

my prospects once enlivened by hope; but all is past." Here Adclrosa paused and wept. She recalled to her mind her sad destiny, and felt no comfort but from the hope that Mortimer still cherished her memory, and was constant to her idea, though the re

continued wrapt in mournful revcrie till she was summoned to vespers. When she returned to

and if his enquities proved fruit-ality was lost to him forever. She less, to return at the end of that period to his native country. He executed his design, and falling in his search, went back to Eng-her call, she tried to sleep, but an land. In the mean time Adelrosa had taken the veil, and even the consciousness of doing her duty could not save her from the her

unusual gloom opprest her, a painful presentiment of she knew not what misfortune. Morning came, and she tepaired with the

nuns to the chapel. Before the ceremony began, while the spectators were beginning to assemble near the altar, the choral song was raised. Adelrosa's voice, marked by mild yet sweet sadness, was, higher than the rest, and she was prolonging a note of peculiar harmon, when a loud groan drew her attention to the strangers who were in the chapel. She uttered a loud shriek, and fell fainting into the arms of her companions. They carried her from the confined gallery where she then was to the open part of the chapel, and Mortimer, for it was indeed he who had uttered the groan at the sound of Adelrosa's voice, and whose appearance had caused her swoon, rushed from the place where he was standing, and in the most frantic terms implored her to awake. She opened her eyes, and turning them on Mortimer, faintly uttered, "Farewell! Since you are constant I die content! Farewell!" then sank into his

arms and expired. "Ah no my love," exclaimed the distracted. Mortimer, "I am not constant !" He said no more, but rushing wildly from the chapel, flew to his lodning, and firing one of his traveling pistols at his head, sunk lifeless on the ground.

abroad, with his wife, ostensibly for the purpose of recovering his health, but really with the feint, & scarcely to himself confest hope, of meeting by accident with his Adelrosa.

Thus perished, by an untimely fate, Adelrosa di Valmonte, the sacrifice of enthusiasm, and Mortimer Bentinbk, thd unfortunate but criminal yictim of romantic affection.

THE HINT-No. XVII. The following letter having been sent to us by one of that class, which, on account of the number, at least, is so truly respectable, we have thought proper to give it a passport to the public eye, in this day's Hint. We shall not now deny the justness of the writers' remarks, nor do we pledge ourselves to give unlimited support to his sentiments; but after a diligent investigation of the subject, shall declare our opinion in the next succeeding number.

E.

-Varium et mutabile femper, Femina, -VIR. Woman is a capricious being, ever changing :

Woman is like a weather-cock in a gale of wind.

LINKUM FIDELIUS.

MR. ¡INTER,

He had married on his return I belong to that class of men to England an amiable & beautiful who are frequently aspersed, and woman, whom he esteemed, though courted, ridiculed and carressed, I he still in secret loved none but mean old bachelors. We have a Adelrosa. Her idea perpetually high regard for the fair sex in genhaunted him, and he had come eral, but forbear to point out in

stances of particular excellence. || feelings slumbered ; love dared not

Such instances I formerly believed to exist, as you will perceive in the sequel of my observations, and therefore I hope none of those unmated ladies denominated old maids, will censure us for celiba cy, when they hear the causes which bave produced it

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The first lady of whom I became

enamoured, was not beautiful, and therefore I did not expect to find in her either caprice or vanity. I thot' she possessed an angelic mind highly accomplished, and manners distinguished by their elegance and delicacy. The love of admiration, is no stranger to a woman's heart. Poetry, history, astronomy, chemistry, philosophy and politicks, were the constant subjects of her conversation. She wished to gain admiration for her knowledge and science, but alas ! she was a woman. The tendrels of friendship could twine around the heart, where the moral and social

approach the warmth of her la

boratory and I left with a quiet and cured heart the first object of its fondness.

The next who engaged my af. fection was beautiful and vivacious, imparting gaiety and lustre whereever she appeared. Her thoughts bright and luminous, were uttered with the rapidity of lightning.. She sighed for conquests, and ad vocated something to which she gave the name of independance of character; this is the liberty of rudely contradicting the opinions of others, and with little delicacy of manners or feeling advocating

her own.

A caquet, she wished to be beloved; a wit to be admired and feared; a woman of mental independance, to be regarded as the heroine of her sex. If Apollo, in throwing a dart at the noblest of

animals should chance to wound a toad or a grass-hopper, we may suppose, that he would regard the circumstance without exultation.But unlike Apollo, every wound made by her beauty, in whatever object, she noticed with evident pleasure. Her friendships never endure; she must therefore soon. cease to have friends..

I left her regretting that beauty should be so guided by caprice, and talents so diverted from the attainment of excellence. With less sanguine expectations, I became the admiration of a lady

beautiful and affectionate, but vain of her charms, possessing a weak mind and at the same moment benevolent and mercenary. Suddenly raised by fortune from obscurity, she always regarded the means of her elevation with particular complacency.

Well versed in povels, she adopted as an article of her creed, that her lover must appear in a chariot, with the splended equipage of a "three tailed bashaw,” or of a new-coined French nobleman; ignorant, or incapable of mental recreation, she sought happiness in the gratiñcation of vanity, and was deemed, perhaps, the most graceful at the ball, and the most perfect beauty at the Thea

tre.

Her heart, however, possessed many amiable qualities; but a fashionable education, by giving a fashionable bias to her mind,almost obliterated them. The affection she excited was not of long continuance, as I could not be convinced that happiness could be found were she was most inclined to seek it nor perminantly enjoy. ed without an accomplished mind, an amiable disposition, and a virtuous heart. This, Sir is the history of my youthful amours, and I offer it as the apology of an OLD BACHELOR.

EXTRACT.

acter are well founded, there are
certain considerations, which ne-
ver entirely lose their influence
on the minds of men, even when
they are in the height of passion.
I do not mean that there are not
instances of men being thrown in-
to such paroxysms of fury,as total-
ly deprive them of reflection, and
make them act like madmen,
without any regard to consequen-
çes; but extraordinary instances,
which depend on peculiarities of
constitution, and very singular cir-
cumstances cannot destroy the face
of any observation which general-
ly speaking is found just. We
every day see men, who have the
character of being of the most
ungovernable tempers, who are
apt to fly into violent fits of pas-
sion upon the most trivials occa-
sions, yet, in the midst of all their
rage, and when they seem to be
entirely blinded by fury, are still
capable of making distinctions;
which plainly evince that they are
not so very much blinded by anger,
as they would seem to be. When
people are subject to violent fits
of choler, and to an unrestrained
licence of words and actions, only
in the company of those, who from
their unfortunate situation in life,
are obliged to bear such abuse, it
is a plain proof that considerations
with regard to their own personal
safety, have some influence on
their mind, in the midst of their
certo ratione modoque.
fury, and instruct them to be mad

From Dr. Moors Travels, in Italy.
If the observations I have been
able to make in the human char-the choleric people themselves,

This is frequently unknown to

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