left a race of creatures, whose love is as delicate and affectionate as the passion which an alderman feels for a turtle. We find ourselves among beings, whose love is a purely disinterested emotion,--a loyalty extending to passive obedience,--a religion, like that of the Quietists, unsupported by any sanction of hope or fear. We see nothing but despotism without power, and sacrifices without compensation. We will give a few instances. In Aurengzebe, Arimant, governor of Agra, falls in love with his prisoner Indamora. She rejects his suit with scorn; but assures him that she shall make great use of her power over him. He threatens to be angry. She answers, very coolly: "Do not: your anger, like your love, is vain: Whene'er I please, you must be pleased again. Knowing what power I have your will to bend, I'll use it; for I need just such a friend." This is no idle menace. She soon brings a letter addressed to his rival,--orders him to read it,--asks him whether he thinks it sufficiently tender,--and finally commands him to carry it himself. Such tyranny as this, it may be thought, would justify resistance. Arimant does indeed venture to remonstrate:-- "This fatal paper rather let me tear, Than, like Bellerophon, my sentence bear." The answer of the lady is incomparable:-- "You may; but 'twill not be your best advice; 'Twill only give me pains of writing twice. You know you must obey me, soon or late. Why should you vainly struggle with your fate?" Poor Arimant seems to be of the same opinion. He mutters something about fate and free-will, and walks off with the billet-doux. In the Indian Emperor, Montezuma presents Almeria with a garland as a token of his love, and offers to make her his queen. She replies:-- "I take this garland, not as given by you; But as my merit's and my beauty's due; As for the crown which you, my slave, possess, To share it with you would but make me less." In return for such proofs of tenderness as these, her admirer consents to murder his two sons and a benefactor to whom he feels the warmest gratitude. Lyndaraxa, in the Conquest of Granada, assumes the same lofty tone with Abdelmelech. He complains that she smiles upon his rival. "Lynd. And when did I my power so far resign, That you should regulate each look of mine? Abdel. Then, when you gave your love, you gave that power. Lynd. 'Twas during pleasure--'tis revoked this hour. Abdel. I'll hate you, and this visit is my last. Lynd. Do, if you can: you know I hold you fast."