IN the rich and beautiful province of Andalusia lived the prince of Dorando, of the race of the ancient kings of Arragon. His family had long subsisted in splendour, and se­veral branches of it were established in different parts of Europe. But Don Carlos, the last of the male line, hav­ing in his youth had some difference with his sovereign, quitted the court, and taking a disgust at the world, shut himself up in the castle of his ancestors.

Here he lived in retirement for up­wards of thirty years; and although a prince of admirable parts, yet in [Page 6] this gloom of solitude his mind lost its natural vigour; and, indifferent a­bout his affairs, he resigned himself to the guidance of people who were artful enough to insinuate themselves into his favour.

Don Carlos had no brothers; but an only sister, amiable and accom­plished, educated by the princess her mother in the strictest honour and piety. This lady refused many ad­vantageous offers of marriage from sentiments of delicacy rarely to be found in one of her rank. She was often asked by her brother to marry; but she diverted the discourse by tel­ling him, that it was his duty to con­tinue his illustrious line. At last she listened to the addresses of Don Spiri­toso, a cavalier of good family, some­what advanced in life, but of very en­gaging manners. The princess Ma­ria [Page 7] herself, was then in her forty se­venth year.

Their nuptials were privately ce­lebrated by the bishop of the city where they lived: for, understanding that the prince of Dorando had taken up some prejudice against Don Spiri­toso, they resolved to conceal their marriage; and accordingly set out for France, taking with them Donna Ju­stina, who had lived both with the princess and her mother in the cha­racter of a waiting-woman.

They resided for some time in a pleasant village in France, till the princess became pregnant, and her marriage could no longer be conceal­ed; while at the same time she hop­ed, that the prince her brother could not be offended at an event, of which he should no sooner hear, than he should also be informed of its happy consequences.

[Page 8] The princess therefore wrote an affectionate letter to her brother, ac­quainting him of her situation, and begging his kind protection; but a­las! the worthy prince had already been most unhappily imposed upon.

For in the neighbourhood of Do­rando lived the prince of Arvidoso, who by an intermarriage of the fa­milies entertained some hopes of suc­cession to the estate of Dorando. The adherents therefore of the family of Arvidoso did all in their power to poi­son the ear and vex the noble spirit of the unsuspecting Dorando. The principal of these adherents were Don Stocaccio, Don Tipponi, and Don Ro­domontado. These three never ceased to throw the most injurious suspicions upon the character of the absent prin­cess. They exaggerated every impru­dency in the conduct of Don Spiri­toso, [Page 9] so as to prevent any hope of the prince being reconciled to his mar­riage with the lady Maria. At last the princess went to Paris, where she was safely delivered of two sons.

This event was an alarming stroke to the family of Arvidoso with all its train. They therefore formed a scheme, the most unjust and cruel both to the princess Dorando and to her brother, by which they endea­voured to prevent that lady and her sons from inheriting the family pos­sessions, and at the same time to de­prive her brother of the happiness he must have had to see his family car­ried down by the issue of his beloved sister.

This scheme was no other than a downright accusation against the lady Maria, of what is called in the law Partus, Suppositio counterfeiting a birth. [Page 10] A report of which they industriously propagated. Few indeed would give credit to so black an aspersion.—It was however fatal to the repose of the prince of Dorando. For these de­signing people represented him as a kind of melancholy madman, to whom no body could have access; so that they might have a full opportu­nity of practising upon his mind. Stocaccio who constantly resided with him in the castle, though a dull ani­mal, had cunning and wickedness enough to affect a thorough convic­tion of the princess's imposture, and to repeat it continually to her bro­ther. Tipponi told him a variety of stories which he had heard over his cups; and Rodomontado blustered and swore, that the whole matter was as clear as the sun in the fir­mament.—Blow out my brains, [Page 11] most mighty prince, would he say, and toss me from the tower of Tole­do, if ever a more arrant cheat was attempted since the day that Noah went into his Ark.

The unfortunate Dorando believed the barbarous tale. He did not ima­gine that any man alive could have dared to tell the prince of Dorando, that his sister was an abandoned and infamous woman, had it not been true beyond a possibility of doubt. He felt the deepest anguish; but his spirit was roused with indignation; and he resolved never again to see his sister, and to show her every mark of his displeasure.

Having brought him to this state of mind, the adherents had no diffi­culty to accomplish their designs. The gentlest hints were sufficient; so that the prince of Dorando settled his [Page 12] opulent domains on the house of Ar­vidoso, and sunk a family which had been illustrious for ages.

The princess Maria immediately returned to Spain with her husband and children. Her brother had with­drawn from her even the appoint­ments which he had assigned for maintaining her court; and had it not been for the generosity of some of the neighbouring princes, the la­dy Maria Dorando must have been reduced to actual want.

All who lived under her brother lamented her situation. They croud­ed to see the children, and it was u­niversally agreed, that Don Ferdi­nand, the eldest, had a strong resem­blance to the prince his uncle; and that Don Philip, the youngest, was the very picture of his mother. The honest peasants kissed the hands of [Page 13] the young princes with the sincerest marks of joy and affection, wishing that the prince could only see his ne­phews, as that would be sufficient to convince him how false were the sus­picions against them.

But the prince had received too strong impressions, and was too close­ly watched. Often did the lady Ma­ria write to him in the most moving terms; but all in vain. She at last resolved to make a desperate effort, and went to the gate of his castle with her two children. And there did the princess Dorando and her sons stand like the lowest supplicants, till the prince should return an an­swer to a pathetic letter which she sent up to him.—The prince began to relent. He walked through his castle musing with much agitation, while the big tear ran down his [Page 14] cheek. But Stocaccio, like a hell­hound, dogged him from room to room, and with a villainous appear­ance of concern, bid him be firm, nor weakly yield to the whining of a wo­man, who had forfeited every claim to his regard. The prince overcome with a tumult of contending passi­ons, retired to his closet; and Stocac­cio desired the servants to tell the la­dy Maria, that she could have no ad­mittance there.

Treatment so harsh and severe from him who had formerly been a fond brother, was beyond measure distres­sing to the princess; but she behaved with calmness and moderation, for her hope was fixed on heaven.

Soon after this her youngest son died. She was in the deepest afflic­tion, and the bitterness of her sorrow so affected her spirits that she never [Page 15] recovered. When she felt the ap­proach of death, she received the ho­ly sacrament with much devotion. She called to her bed-side the prince Ferdinand her first born, and now on­ly child, and, after leaving with him many pious lessons, she raised herself a little, as if animated with extraor­dinary life; ‘'My son, said she, be not cast down. God bless you. God make you a good and an honest man; for riches I despise. Take a sword in your hand, and you may one day be as great a hero as some of your predecessors.'’ Having thus spoke, she reclined her head with peace and complacency; while Don Ferdinand stood by her like ‘'the young eaglet of a valiant nest,'^*’ in an atti­tude as if already facing all the dan­gers of the field, and at the same [Page 16] time touched with the deepest con­cern for his dying mother, who ex­pired a few minutes after.

Don Spiritoso, whose liberality of disposition far exceeded his fortune, was unable to support his son; but a princess of great worth, the friend of lady Maria, took under her protecti­on the young Don Ferdinand, and gave him an education suitable to his real birth. And in whatever way it is, that the qualities of nobility are transmitted, it is certain, that this prince by his sentiments, his man­ners, and his air, could not but be ac­knowledged as of superiour rank. His uncle however remained inexorable, and Don Ferdinand never flattered himself with any expectation of hap­pier days.

But Providence, whose awful de­signs cannot be penetrated by mor­tals [Page 17] —Providence, who is sometimes pleased to manifest his justice, even in this world of imperfection, where we are not always to expect it—Provi­dence determined to reward the piety of the princess Maria Dorando, by res­cuing her memory from reproach, and vindicating the honour of her son by means the most extraordinary.

Not far from the castle of Doran­do was the seat of a knight, who claimed a distant connection with the illustrious house, having the honour to bear the name; but he was never allowed to approach the castle, as he was well known to be inviolably at­tached to the family from whence he sprung, and had even fought several duels with persons who said in his presence, that the lady Maria had brought home supposititious chil­dren.

[Page 18] The daughter of this knight was Donna Eleanora, of uncommon ta­lents, and all the high spirit of her race. Her brother was an officer in the service of Naples, during the mo­narchy of Don Carlos, when king of the two Sicilies, and as the prince of Dorando had been baptized the same day with his majesty, received the same name, and been ever intimate with him, Donna Eleanora deter­mined to solicite his interest in fa­vour of her brother, and as Stocac­cio was just dead, she resolved to im­prove a favourable interval.

She accordingly went to the castle, and was allowed admittance to the prince.—Dorando rose and received her with an easy dignity, as if he had not been a day absent from court. ‘'Fair lady, said he, how am I so for­tunate.—To whom am I indebted [Page 19] for so agreeable a visit?'’ Donna E­leanora told him her name and Fa­mily, and why she had presumed to come into his presence; and she spoke with such openness and unaffected vivacity, that the prince was charm­ed with her behaviour,—told her that she might command his services in every thing, and that he would the very next morning dispatch a special courier to Naples, with the strongest recommendations of her brother to his Sicilian majesty. He insisted that she should stay with him a day or two, and very pleasantly said, ‘'I hope, cousin, you are not afraid of being eaten alive by the wild man. God forbid, Sir, said Donna Eleanora, that I, whose veins are warm with the blood of Dorando, should be af­fected by such imaginations. I am a woman, but, I hope, I am free [Page 20] from the weaknesses which render our sex contemptible.—Will your highness allow me to see the castle.'’

The prince conducted her through the apartments with the most cour­teous affability. Donna Eleanora ad­mired their grandeur; but her atten­tion was chiefly fixed on the portraits of the renowned heroes of the house of Dorando. ‘'Ah prince! said she, is it not sacrilege to let so glorious a sun set for ever?—Your highness will forgive me for mentioning the name of the lady Maria.—My tears must plead my excuse.'’—The prince fetched a deep sigh, and stood for a minute or two as if looking towards heaven, but made no reply. Don­na Eleanora assumed a gayer tone;—‘'Well then, prince, is there no la­dy in Spain who deserves the ho­nour of having her picture placed [Page 21] in this gallery? Are women so de­generated, that the house of Doran­do must fail for want of a consort?'’ The prince kissed her hand, and walk­ed a-cross the room, as if he had something in his mind which he could not communicate. Donna E­leanora was not at all discomposed. Though she had heard many reports, that the prince was subject to furious fits, she considered them as the in­ventions of interested people; and she stood fearless and unconcerned, till he recovered from his reverie; and asking her ten thousand pardons, led her to the room where dinner was served up.

Donna Eleanora appeared at table with such gracefulness and majesty, that the prince often fixed his eyes upon her, and then hastily withdraw­ing them, was heard to say,—‘'This [Page 22] is strange!—This is strange!'’—Af­ter dinner she was shewn to her a­partment to take a siesto, or gentle sleep, as is the custom in Spain. She dreamed that a lady appeared to her with a celestial countenance, inform­ing her, she was the princess Maria, and saying, ‘'Noble lady, I am come to tell you, that Donna Eleanora was born for the deliverance of my injured son.'’

This vision left a wonderful im­pression on the mind of Donna Elea­nora; she wist not well what to think of it.—She rose and went to the draw­ing room, where she found the prince reclined on a sofa, and playing on the lute with inimitable taste; she begged that he would continue his music, of which she was very fond. The prince did so, and touched the instrument with such delicacy, that [Page 23] Donna Eleanora thought herself in an enchanted region. His airs were mostly melancholy; but he would now and then entertain the lady with a favourite love-song. After this they talked together till supper; and the prince seemed more and more delight­ed with her conversation. When she retired to her room at night, she could hardly sleep for reflecting on the extraordinary scene of the former day: but how much was she surpriz­ed next morning, when, on coming down to breakfast, she found the knight her father sitting with the prince of Dorando.

His highness accosted her with true Spanish gallantry. ‘'Donna E­leanora, it would seem that heaven has destined you for my happiness. I sent an express at midnight for your father, whom I rejoice to see [Page 24] under this roof. If your affections are not engaged, I hope you will accept the hand of the prince of Dorando.'’

Donna Eleanora was struck with wonder. The vision came full in her mind; and she adored the benignity of Providence. Then turning to the prince; ‘'My affections, said she, are no otherways engaged than to this illustrious house. They have long been so engaged; and they are now a thousand times more so since I have seen the representative of the family.—Your highness does me an honour which I cannot find words to express.—It shall be the study of my life to deserve it.'’—His high­nesses priest was called in to his pre­sence, and the ceremony was imme­diately performed. Now madam, said the prince, I can show you my galle­ry [Page 25] without being afraid of any re­proof from you.

The news of this marriage flew o­ver the country, and filled every ho­nest heart with joy: but it was like a clap of thunder to the house of Arvi­doso. They feared that their hopes were blasted. The adherents could not conceal their vexation, but went about cursing the day that Stocaccio died, and imprecating vengeance on Donna Eleanora.

The prince Dorando now resumed in a great measure his former chear­fulness. All the nobility around came and paid their court to him: and he found himself as fit for society as e­ver. He went to Sevile with his prin­cess, and resided a part of the winter. His levee was continually crouded. A celebrated tragedy, in honour of his family, was performed in the [Page 26] public theatre, where the prince him­self appeared amidst the acclamations of the audience.

Something was still wanting to render the felicity compleat. The princess Dorando could have wished to have brought the prince a son of his own to take up his succession; but in the mean time she was anxi­ous to undeceive him with regard to his nephew; and when she despaired of her own offspring, she became still more anxious. She took every opportunity of talking to the prince concerning his sister, and she con­vinced him of the falsity of many of the stories that had been told him.

It was now ten years since his ne­phew's birth, but Donna Justina was still alive in obscure apartments at Sevile. The prince was prevailed with to visit her, and was alone with [Page 27] her for a considerable time, when he examined her as to the whole affair, with that keen penetration for which he was distinguished. The accounts which he heard from Donna Justina, were so direct, and enforced with such serious and solemn asseverati­ons, while his strict attention made it impossible for her to dissemble, that the prince was much persuaded of his sister's innocence, and of the honour of his nephew.

He owned this to the princess his consort, who insisted that he was cal­led upon to show his conviction to the world, and to do justice to his injur­ed heir. And when the prince seem­ed still to hesitate, her eagerness for the young Don Ferdinand would sometimes throw her into transports of passion, which her enemies repre­sented as gross affectation, but which [Page 28] the prince saw to be real. He there­fore committed to the flames his set­tlements on the house of Arvidoso, and devised his succession to his nephew Don Ferdinand.

He was often asked by the prin­cess to see his nephew, but he would not agree to it, crying, ‘'Ah madam! These wretches—These wretches—They have planted thorns in my mind, which have taken root for so many years, that I cannot entire­ly pull them out, without tearing myself to pieces. Let me alone! I cannot bear to think of the subject. It opens afresh the wounds of my heart—I have been imposed upon—I have been unjust—I have been cruel—But God knows, my inten­tions were upright—I have made reparation, and my soul shall rest in peace.'’

[Page 29] Soon after this, the prince Carlos Dorando died, and was carried in great funeral pomp to the tomb of his ancestors.

The family of Arvidoso would not yet give over their designs upon the wealth of Dorando. Its prince was then in minority, and he had several guardians of high rank and charac­ter, but so extravagantly keen to ag­grandize their pupil, that they grasp­ed at a tempting appearance, with­out perceiving that it was only a bubble raised by the breath of ma­lignity.—They fondly wished to commence a process of Partus Suppo­sitio, against Don Ferdinand; and to make enquiries for it, they sent pri­vately to Paris Don Stivalbo, a lawyer, who lay under great obligations to the family of Arvidoso, and was pre­vailed [Page 30] with to undertake the ungra­cious task.

Don Stivalbo was a man of prin­ciple, and he resolved to conduct him­self with the utmost impartiality; but when he arrived at Paris, he was soon surrounded by French priests, advo­cates, and agents of all kinds, who wished no better than so fat a sub­ject as the domains of Arvidoso and Dorando to feed upon. The gallant Stivalbo understanding little of their language, with true Spanish genero­sity, trusted to the reports of these gentry; who with many bows, shrugs, and compliments, pretended they had made astonishing discove­ries, till Stivalbo had his imagination so warmed, that he himself gave credit to the imposture, and a suit was immediately raised before the senate of Sevile.

[Page 31] In the meantime the guardians of Don Ferdinand began to be some­what apprehensive, knowing that it was not difficult to bring very extra­ordinary proofs from the Gavaccios, as the Spaniards call the French, whom they detest.—The princess dowager was determined to be at the bottom of the affair, and set out her­self for Paris, carrying with her seve­ral lawyers of great eminence in their profession, and remarkable for their honour as private gentlemen. She had the satisfaction to find, upon a careful enquiry, that the house of Ar­vidoso had been led a wild-goose­chace, and that there was nothing to fear.

The Arvidoso party, however, still continued their pursuit, changing their ground, and taking up a varie­ty of different plans; so that the prin­cess [Page 32] was obliged to make no less than three or four journeys a-cross the Py­renees, in order to get every new sto­ry refuted; and indeed this was easy enough, for no sooner did the priests of Arvidoso conjure up a spectre, than the princess Dorando found priests who as cleverly laid it. Such, how­ever, was the ingenuity of the sharp­set emissaries in France, that they con­trived to keep the affair afloat for seve­ral years, while they were magnifi­cently entertained by both parties, who, according to the Parisian phrase, avoient beaucoup d'esprit, et donnoient bien à manger.

While all this was transacting, it was thought proper to call Don Spi­ritoso before the senate of Sevile, to have him examined concerning the particulars of the delivery of the prin­cess his spouse. He was then very [Page 33] old, and brought low with sickness; but the liveliness of his temper still continued, and he answered every question that was put to him with frankness and readiness; at the same time telling the judges, that he had all his life-long had an irregular and imperfect memory, which was now grown still worse; and therefore it would not be fair should every ad­vantage be taken of his inconsisten­cies against his son, whom he had always acknowledged. Not long af­ter this examination, Don Spiritoso died, and with his dying breath con­firmed the legitimacy of Don Ferdi­nand.—Donna Justina also died, and stept into eternity declaring, that she had been present at the birth of the prince.

During the dependance of this te­dious process, Don Ferdinand behav­ed [Page 34] with a manly composure and de­cent gravity, which showed his good sense and proper feelings. He one day called aside one of his lawyers, and insisted with him to tell his real opinion of the cause; ‘'For, said he, whatever opulence I might gain by it, I should be sorry to contaminate the blood of a family which I re­vere. But I have another reason for insisting to know the event of the cause; I am yet a young man, and if you think I shall be proved an impostor, I would lose no time, but go immediately to the Indies, where my disgrace will not be known, and where I may pass my days with some reputation.'’—The lawyer was greatly moved by this speech of the prince; but assured him that he need be under no concern.

The cause was at length ready for [Page 35] determination; volumes of proofs and memorials were laid before the judg­es; and a day was appointed for its decision in the senate of Sevile.

Never was there a more interest­ing scene. The judgment-hall was filled with a croud of spectators, mostly people of rank, who waited in the greatest anxiety and trepida­tion, to hear the fate of Dorando. When the senators took their places, not a murmur was heard, all was fixed attention.—The senators sat for some minutes in awful silence.

The chief justice was a man of great knowledge in the laws of his country; of a clear head and a sound understanding. He was descended of a distinguished house in Andalusia, which had produced so many sena­tors, that the office seemed to be he­reditary in the family.—He at last [Page 36] addressed his brethren—‘'It is not my custom, respected signors, to speak in this court, till I have first heard your worshipful sentiments; but I now feel myself called upon to take the lead, and to offer, with humble deference to your mighti­nesses, my opinion on the manner in which we should take up this very important cause.—I am a lawy­er it is true,—but I am also a noble­man,—and it is for the honour of Spain that our lawyers are such.—I find here before me, a process, the intention of which is to stigmatize with infamy a princess of the noblest blood in Europe. We have the con­tinued acknowledgment of pa­rents.—We have their positive and dying testimony; with the positive and dying testimony of a woman who was present at the birth of the [Page 37] defendant.—I lay my hand upon my heart, and I judge as I would wish to be judged. Can I then sup­pose all this to be a complication of guilt, of deliberate and down­right perjury?—No, signors;—I can­not, unless upon a strong proof in­deed. And what is the proof that has been brought? These testimo­nies remain untouched.—They are uniform and consistent in the grand point. Upon what then do the plaintiffs rest their extraordinary plea?—They have embarked us in a mare magnum of circumstances, picked up at the distance of four­teen years. And I must say, picked up from the streets of Paris, from the very dregs of the French Ca­naille. It is true, that the defendant has also his ragged evidences; but let us consider who first called in [Page 38] the lame and the blind. Had not the plaintiffs built, the defendant had not been obliged to pull down.—Signors, I am only surpris­ed to see Don Pedro here. I know him, and I regard him; and it has all along been most difficult for me to reconcile the cause and the lawyer; but when I consider how imperceptibly he has been led a­way, I excuse him; and I here pu­blickly acquit his honour. For my own part, signors, I have no diffi­culty; and were not the prince of Arvidoso a minor, these plaintiffs should not go without paying costs of suit.'’

Thus spoke the chief justice, with a warmth of feeling which went to the heart of every spectator. Several of the senators delivered their senti­ments in terms a little different, but [Page 39] to the same purpose with their head; and only one or two remained still under the cloud of prejudice, but did not venture to say one word.

The spectators could not contain their joy, but shouted as at a bull­fight, or any other of the superb spectacles of Spain. Most of the win­dows of Sevile were that evening il­luminated, and bonefires blazed in every corner of the city, while health and prosperity was drunk to the prince Ferdinand of Dorando.

Stung to the quick, the Arvidoso train gnashed their teeth in rage and despair. They however carried their cause by appeal, before the grandees of Spain at Madrid; but it only serv­ed to make their desperate scheme fall upon their own heads with re­doubled vengeance. That illustrious assembly could hardly hear them [Page 40] with patience. One of the grandees muttered, that the Arvidoso party had said strong things,—that they had a heavy memorial.—‘'Heavy! cryed the chancellor of Spain, with a violence that made his brother shrink with­in himself.—Heavy! yes it is hea­vy; but heavy as was chaos,'’

An illustrious grandee—the great­est minister that Spain ever saw, and whose eloquence vied with that of the orators of Greece and Rome, rose up, and looking around him with a piercing eye—he thus be­gan—‘'Though long accustomed to hold with a steady hand the ba­lance of Europe, and mark the fate of nations; I confess, most mighty signors, that I have at no time been more affected than I now am by [Page 41] this private question—Private, did I say?—I recall the expression—It is a question of the most public na­ture—in the event of which every thing that is dear and valuable to humanity is concerned—What is Spain? What is our country? It is not the valleys though ever so gay—It is not the fields, though e­ver so rich, that attach us to our native land—No. It is our fami­ly—It is our wives—It is our chil­dren—And what have we before us? A daring attempt to render our children uncertain. If adulterers have been thought worthy of death, what punishment do those deserve, who would introduce what is still more dangerous to society? A few wives may be unfaithful; but every wife may be attacked like the prin­cess of Dorando. Have we not here [Page 42] the constant acknowledgment of pa­rents unredargued, unconcussed; but by vague suspicions mustered up twice seven years after the birth of the prince? And must we then prove the birth of our children? I tremble—I shudder at the conse­quences. They are big with dan­ger and destruction to society. Shall those brave officers whom I have chosen—whom I have sent out—whom I have inspirited—shall those souls of fire who have carried the Spanish arms to the most distant corners—who have been victori­ous—who have shook the thrones of Europe—shall those brave offi­cers, nay shall any of the gallant soldiers who have had children born abroad—shall they, when returned home to enjoy the blessings of peace, every man under his own vine, and [Page 43] every man under his own fig-tree—shall they be obliged to bring legal evidence of the legitimacy of the children whom they acknowledge, before they can be received as citi­zens? And if a succession should o­pen to these children—shall we at the distance of twelve, fourteen, or perhaps twenty years, allow foreign proofs to be imported to deprive them of their estate, and their very name? No, signors! While my blood is warm, I hope Spain shall never adopt such unjustifiable measures. I speak with more confidence, that upon this occasion, I see not the least doubt. The defendant's honour is cleared from every stain; and as I heartily disapprove of the temerity of the plaintiffs, I think we should award the defendant very large costs of suit, that those who bring such [Page 44] odious actions before us may see what sort of a reception they are to meet with—The court of Sevile has been too indulgent—It is true, the prince of Arvidoso is a minor; but let him call his guardians to ac­count when he comes of age. In this great assembly we are moved by no particular considerations—we know no private parties—our views are enlarged and extensive—let our sentence be issued with the proper authority of the grandees of Spain.'’

The whole assembly, except a very few, unanimously agreed with the e­loquent minister—and by a great majority it was carried, that the plaintiff should pay 50000 zechins as costs of suit. Thus was the prince Ferdinand of Dorando raised to the illustrious state of which he had been so long deprived. His dignity sat ve­ry [Page 45] easy upon him, for it was natural to him. Envy and malevolene gra­dually decayed; and even his bitterest enemies began to repent.

He was one day out a hunting in a large forest, which belonged in common to him and to the prince of Arvidoso, who was now come of age, and was a prince of great virtue and accomplishments; but was prevented by those about him from ever having any intercourse with the prince of Dorando, though they had often seen each other at court. The prince of Arvidoso was also out a hunting that morning, and his dogs happened to catch the scent of the wild boar which was pursued by the prince of Doran­do. The spirited Arvidoso followed hard in the chace; but just as the boar stopped to turn upon the dogs, his horse fell within half a yard of [Page 46] the furious animal. At that instant the prince of Dorando came up, and seeing the prince Arvidoso engaged with the boar, in whose mouth he had broke his sword, and was now in the most imminent danger; he run to his relief, and attacking the boar with great strength and agili­ty, he soon laid him dead upon the ground.

During the heat and hurry of this adventure, the two princes had total­ly forgot all family differences; and indeed had hardly time to recollect their own quality.—They now stood for a minute and looked at each o­ther, when Arvidoso, with tears of gratitude in his eyes, run up, and throwing himself into the arms of Dorando; ‘'Generous prince, said he, forgive what is past, I am not to blame; let there be henceforth an e­verlasting [Page 47] friendship between us.'’—Dorando embraced him with equal cordiality and told him ‘'That he wished for nothing more than what he now had obtained—The friend­ship of so amiable a prince.'’

In the mean time the attendants of Arvidoso, who had been left far behind, came up.—They had been in great apprehensions for their prince. But how were they astonish­ed and confounded, when they saw him with the prince of Dorando!—They stopt short and were at a loss what to do.—The prince of Arvido­so perceived it, and calling to them to approach, he advanced walking arm in arm with the prince of Do­rando, and told his attendants what had happened, saying, ‘'Gentlemen, you now see my deliverer and best friend.'’

[Page 48] The prince of Dorando saluted the company with a graceful ease; and turning to the prince of Arvidoso, ‘'Sir, said he, your highness has been pleased to call me your friend—Let me have a proof that you are in earnest. My castle is nearer than yours, and I hope you will do me the honour to be my guest for this night? And I insist upon it that your company shall also go with us.'’

It was accordingly agreed, and they all went to the castle of Doran­do, where they were sumptuously entertained.—After supper, when warm a little with wine, the two princes retired to a window, where, after talking a few minutes in pri­vate, prince Arvidoso made a sign to Don Pedro to join them. When he came, the prince Arvidoso said to the [Page 49] prince Dorando, ‘'Allow me to pre­sent to your highness this gentle­man, he is worthy of your esteem, and his candour is such, that I have convinced him he was in the wrong to you; for young as I am, I have studied with great application the cause in which both of us were so much concerned; and I give you my word, that I have always de­clared my opinion, that it was an injurious process. I have only to ask one favour of you, my dear prince, which is, that you may not give my mother as much trouble as our family has given yours.'’

Dorando assured Don Pedro that he heartily forgave him, and as he knew him to be a man of parts would be glad to show him every mark of his attention. This done, they returned to the table. Dorando [Page 50] grew exceedingly g [...]y. He gave them several strokes of pleasantry on their famous cause; and turning to Rodo­montado, said with a very sly look, ?‘'What say you to it, my old Trojan? Will you be tossed from the tower of Toledo now?'’

From that time foreward, the greatest intimacy subsisted between the two families. The prince of Dorando married a lady of great beauty and merit and continued in dignity and in lustre the race of his ancestors.