VOLUME II. (continued 3)

“An hour after this scene had been acted, Georgio returned to the apartment, partly with the intention of seeing what effect the incident had produced on the strangers, and partly with a view to deter them from paying a second visit to the castle, and renewed the former scene. Both of them were again stretched senseless on their beds. As soon as Georgio had done with the young nobleman, he left the room without kindling the taper, for fear of being watched by the young spark, if he should recover his recollection a little too soon. He was not mistaken. But who would have thought that the young man would be so daring to pursue the spectre on his return through the dark passage? Georgio, who did not entertain the most distant idea of such an attempt, neither looked back, nor shut the trap-door thro’ which he had jumped down into the subterraneous vault, upon a heap of hay and straw. He had not advanced four steps, when the report of a pistol re-echoed through the subterraneous fabric. Some of our company who were at hand, hastened to the spot from whence the report of the pistol had proceeded, wrapt in black cloaks, and provided with torches and swords. They found the young man lying upon the straw upon which he had fallen in the dark through the trap-door. He was instantly seized and conducted to the assembly-room, where the conspirators, who had previously masked their faces, were sitting around a long table. Hearing that he was to pay with his life for his rashness, he drew his sword, but was soon disarmed and confined in an adjoining chamber.

(To be continued.)

CURSORY THOUGHTS ON THE FICKLE GODDESS, SHEWING WITH WHAT INJUSTICE SHE GENERALLY DISPENSES HER FAVOURS.

It has long been the complaint of the experienced, that no human foresight, no prudence, can at all times ensure prosperity, and avert ill fortune. Something still arises to baffle the counsels of the wise, and to counteract the intentions of the good. The Roman satirist has indeed asserted, that fortune is a deity of our own creation, and that he, who submits to the guidance of prudence, needs not the interposition of any supernatural power; but experience proves the assertion to be rather the effusion of rigid and affected philosophy, than the cool suggestion of well-informed reason.

The observation of a sacred moralist, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, is more agreeable to truth, and has been confirmed by the repeated testimony of some thousand years. Wisdom is often found guilty of folly, and ingenuity of error.

As merit cannot always ensure success, even in the exertion of its peculiar excellence, so it is by no means certain of obtaining a good reception in the world: for history and experience furnish many examples to prove, that wealth and power are not the necessary consequences of wisdom and virtue. To be wise and virtuous, may be learned from an Epictetus, to be fortunate from others.

It might indeed be supposed, that strength of intellects, accuracy of judgment, and extensive erudition, would either secure to themselves good fortune, or would, at least, be rewarded by the world; but it is an incontestable truth, that poets and philosophers, of every age and every nation, have been as much distinguished by their indigence, as their ingenuity. Poverty and poetry are almost synonymous, while the unerring experience of mankind has reduced it to a proverb, that fools have fortune.

The insufficiency of merit, and of honest endeavours, to the acquisition of fame and fortune, has given occasion to the discontented to repine, and censure the economy of human affairs: but they who are conversant in the investigation of final causes, easily perceive, that such a dispensation tends to perfect virtue, by the exercise of patience.

MORAL AXIOM.

Those who reprove with passion for every trifle, in a little time will not be regarded when they reprove with reason.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ACTIVITY CONDUCIVE TO HAPPINESS.

The final cause of the many obstacles which we meet with, and the numerous difficulties in which this journey of life involves us, will readily appear to a confederate mind, as an excellent contrivance of Providence to stimulate us to exertion. Without this order of things, many faculties would lay dormant, the ends of our being would be frustrated, and this world be no longer a scene of trial. Man is naturally inclined to indulge himself in ease and inactivity, and were it not for certain motives, would always remain in a state of rest: But the fluctuating nature of all human affairs constantly counteracts this propensity to accommodate ourselves to every situation, and urges forward on the road in pursuit of something we call happiness, or hastens our flight from some evil. The long-expected hour of happiness is perhaps at length arrived, and deluded man sits down to enjoy life, and hopes at last to find innocent and tranquil pleasures. The storms of adversity arise and obscure the delightful prospect; his attention is excited, and some unforeseen emergency demands the exertion of his talents, and proves that man is made for action.

Account of a WONDERFUL DELIVERANCE at SEA near fifty years ago.

A Dutch seaman being condemned to death, his punishment was changed, and he was ordered to be left at St. Helen’s Island. This unhappy person representing to himself the horror of that solitude, fell upon a resolution to attempt the strangest action that ever was heard of. There had that day been interred in the same island an officer of the ship: the seaman took up the body out of the coffin; and having made a rudder of the upper board, ventured himself to sea in the coffin. It happened fortunately for him to be so great a calm that the ship lay immoveable within a league and a half of the island; when his companions seeing so strange a boat float upon the waters, imagined they saw a spectre, and at last were not a little startled at the resolution of the man, who durst hazard himself upon that element in three boards slightly nailed together, though he had no confidence to find or to be received by those who lately sentenced him to death. Accordingly it was put to the question, whether he should be received or not; some would have the sentence put into execution, but at last mercy prevailed, and he was taken aboard, and came afterwards to Holland; where he lived in the town of Horn, and related to many how miraculously God had delivered him.

OBSERVATION.

A youth is generally laughed at by his youthful companions where they see him pursue the paths of virtue and piety with alacrity and zeal; but let him not be discouraged; if God be on his side, who can be against him?

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED.

On Tuesday, the 28th ult. by the Rev. Thomas L. Moore, of Hempstead, Mr. Minne Schenk, of Cow Neck, to Miss Phebe Toffey, daughter of Mr. Daniel Toffey, of Herricks, (L. I.)

On Thursday evening the 14th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. Cornelius Day, to Mrs. Ann Hameller, both of this city.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 10th to the 23d inst.

Days of the Month. Thermometer observed at 8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M. Prevailing winds. OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

deg.100 deg.100 deg.100 8.1.6. 8.1.6.

July 10 73 7850 74 NW.SWS. cleardo.do.

11 7325 78 7750 S.do.do. cloudydo.do. rn. at n.

12 8075 8750 78 S.SW.W. cr. cy. do. thun. & light

13 76 7250 7425 SWdo.NW raindo.do.

14 72 7475 72 SWdo.SW rain do. do. thun. & lit

15 72 7650 72 Nsesw cy. rn. cy. thun. & lit.

16 7450 8250 7675 WdoSW cloudycleardo.

17 7425 8050 79 SWdo.do. cleardo.do.

18 72 79 73 W.SWW. clear. do. thun. & light

19 7075 78 79 W.dodo. thun. in the nt. cy. do. cr.

20 7050 66 63 NE.do.N. cloudyraindo.

21 7450 7750 77 N.do.SW. cloudycleardo.

22 75 80 73 NE.do.se cleardo.do.

23 69 74 69 Nedo.e cloudycleardo.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO ELIZA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

EJACULATION

Over the grave of my wife.

TO AMANDA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE WISH.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO A GENTLEMAN WHO OBLIGED ME TO READ ALOUD, AND MADE ME PROMISE TO WRITE SOME VERSES.

THE THREAT.

NEW-YORK: Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.—Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane.

UTILE DULCI.

The New-York Weekly Magazine; OR, MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.

Vol. II.] WEDNESDAY, August 3, 1796. [No. 57.

View of the STARRY HEAVENS.

(Concluded from page 25.)

Each star, then, is not only a world, but also the center of a planetary system. It is in this light we must consider the stars, which shine over our heads in a winter night. They are distinguished from the planets by their brilliancy, and because they never change their place in the sky. According to their apparent size, they are divided into six classes, which comprehend altogether about three thousand stars. But though they have endeavoured to fix the exact number of them, it is certain they are innumerable. The very number of stars sowed here and there, and which the most piercing eye can with difficulty perceive, prove that it would be in vain to attempt to reckon them. Telescopes indeed have opened to us new points in the creation, since by their assistance millions of stars are discovered. But it would be a very senseless pride in man to try to fix the limits or the universe, by those of his telescope. If we reflect on the distance between the fixed stars and our earth, we shall have new cause to admire the greatness of the creation. Our senses alone make us already know that the stars must be farther from us than the planets. Their apparent littleness only proceeds from their distance from the earth. And in reality, this distance cannot be measured: since a cannon-ball, supposing it always to preserve the same degree of swiftness, would scarce, at the end of six hundred thousand years, reach the star nearest to our earth. What then must the stars be? Their prodigious distance and their brightness tell us,---they are suns which reflect as far as us, not a borrowed light, but their own light; suns, which the Creator has sowed by millions in the immeasurable space; and each of which is accompanied by several terrestrial globes, which it is designed to illuminate.

In the mean time, all these observations, however surprising they are, lead us, at the utmost, but to the first limits of the creation. If we could transport ourselves above the moon; if we could reach the highest star over our heads, we should discover new skies, new suns, new stars, new systems of worlds, and perhaps still more magnificent. Even there, however, the dominions of our great Creator would not end; and we should find, with the greatest surprize, that we had only arrived at the frontiers of the worldly space. But the little we do know of his works, is sufficient to make us admire the infinite wisdom, power, and goodness of our adorable Creator. Let us stop here, then, and reflect, how great must be that Being who has created those immense globes! who has regulated their course, and whose right hand directs and supports them! And what is the clod of earth we inhabit, with the magnificent scene it presents us, in comparison of the beauty of the firmament? If this earth was annihilated, its absence would be no more observed than that of a grain of sand from the sea-shore. What are provinces and kingdoms in comparison of those worlds? Nothing but atoms which play in the air, and are seen in the sun-beams. And what am I, when I reckon myself amongst this infinite number of God’s creatures? How I am lost in my own nothingness! But however little I appear in this, how great do I find myself in other respects! “How beautiful this starry firmament, which God has chosen for his throne! What is more admirable than the celestial bodies! Their splendor dazzles me; their beauty enchants me. However, all beautiful as it is, and richly adorned, yet is this sky void of intelligence. It knows not its own beauty; whilst I, mere clay, whom God has moulded with his hands, am endowed with sense and reason.” I can contemplate the beauty of those shining orbs. Still more, I am already, to a certain degree, acquainted with their sublime Author; and I partly see some rays of his glory. I will endeavour to be more and more acquainted with his works, and make it my employment, till by a glorious change I rise above the starry regions, and enter the world of spirits.

For sources, see the end of this file.

MAXIM.

If we would be truly great, we must think nothing below our notice, nor any thing too high for our attainment.

EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF A SPANISH NOBLEMAN.

From the Chevalier De Rabilier’s remarkable Events of the present Century.

(Concluded from page 27)

They were accordingly united in the pleasing bonds of Hymen, which are never so indissoluble, as when religion and virtue, disinterested love, and real worth form the bright links of the mystic chain. But as all sublunary happiness is liable to a change, a most dreadful reverse succeeded to this seemingly well established scheme of domestic enjoyment. The duchess from some accident in lying-in, notwithstanding every possible assistance from the faculty, expired three days after presenting her spouse with an heir to his noble possessions. It would be needless to attempt a description of the grief and confusion caused by so dire a misfortune, which were not confined to the castle of St. Lucar, but spread like an epidemic disease throughout the whole district. The church bells rang their usual melancholy dirge, and were echoed by the responsive sighs of city and country for many miles round: to complete this scene of woe, the disconsolate widower, penetrated with the most lively anguish, followed his beloved partner to the tomb in less than six months.

The young duke, now an orphan, remained under the tutelage of the count d’Alvarez, uncle to his father, a nobleman whose fortune was by no means equal to his rank and numerous family.—The immense riches of his ward tempted him to sacrifice the last of this illustrious family to the abominable desire of enriching his own children with the spoils. A mind capable of forming so black a design is commonly capable of carrying it into execution; yet this barbarian, not daring to shed innocent blood with his own hand, bribed one of his domestics to carry the young nobleman to some remote place, and there strangle him. But the servant who fortunately had never been stained with so detestable a crime as wilful murder, though somewhat encouraged by the hopes of a further recompense, seized the wretched victim, and with a tremor and agitation, that equally denoted reluctance and want of skill in the weapons of death, gave him three stabs in the left arm with a poignard, which instantly fell from his convulsed and shaking hand. The cries of this lovely infant, and the blood which ran plentifully from his wounds, quite overcame the youthful assassin, and recalled a sense of the act he was about to perpetrate. He melted into tears, and forgetting both his interest and rigid lord’s commands, ran with speed to a neighbouring surgeon, who on examining the wounds, found them not mortal, though dangerous, and deep enough to leave indelible marks of their malignity on the back of his shoulders.

The domestic having in part discharged the duties of humanity, returned to his lord, and informed him that he had fully executed the bloody commission, which was readily believed, and a report immediately circulated that the young duke died suddenly in a convulsion fit, a coffin was accordingly filled with rubbish, and solemnly interred the following night.

Notwithstanding these precautions, the servant became very uneasy in his mind, and returned privately to the surgeon, under whose care he had left the wounded infant. He found him much mended, and dreading a discovery of the fraud put on his cruel master, which would have endangered his own life, as well as that of the young nobleman, whom he was now determined to preserve, he conveyed him to a distant province, and committed him to the care of an honest peasant, who for a considerable sum in hand promised to take particular notice both of his nurture and safety.

The young duke remained six years in this situation, when the same domestic appeared, and to rid himself effectually of every probable idea of being discovered, brought the child to Malaga, where he sold him to one Jacob de Mendez, a Portuguese Jew, who was about to embark for Constantinople, at the same time telling him, that being the natural son of a Spanish nobleman, by a young lady of the first distinction at the court, it was necessary on several accounts, that so strong a proof of frailty should be removed to a great distance. The Jew paid the price, promised secrecy, embarked with his slave, or pupil, for the Levant, and happily arrived at the port of Modon, in the Morea, from whence he went by land to Constantinople, where we will leave him for the present, and return to the uncle in Spain, whose project of murdering his innocent ward was not attended with the satisfaction he had at first imagined.

About two years after, a strange malady, unknown to the most experienced physicians, broke into the old nobleman’s house, and carried off every one of his numerous issue in less than a month. He himself was attacked by a malignant fever, in which he remained delirious for above six weeks. At length he recovered, and penetrated with the keenest remorse for the unworthy steps he had taken to destroy his innocent pupil, the first use he made of his understanding was a participation of his griefs to the servant who had been his accomplice in the crime, who, believing all danger from his lord’s resentment at an end, confessed the whole truth. This indeed appeased in some measure, the agonies with which the Count’s mind was tortured; he now conceived a glimmering ray of hope that he might one day be instrumental in restoring the young nobleman to his lawful possessions; Providence, moved by his deep contrition, seemed to applaud the just design; he recovered his health, and took every method that prudence could suggest, but his enquiries were a long time fruitless. Happening, however, to be at Marseilles when the Cæsar, a ship in the Levant trade, arrived in the port, the disconsolate count, learned from the captain, who had sailed from Constantinople about six weeks before, that the Portuguese Jew, to whom the young duke was sold by the servant at Malaga, had presented him to lord Paget, ambassador from England, who had returned to London before the French vessel set sail. Count d’Alvarez, on receiving this agreeable news, sent an express to London, but the messenger arrived too late; the young gentleman was not to be found in that city, all he could learn was, that, after living with a barber in Picadilly, who taught him to shave and dress, he had engaged with Count de Gallas, the Imperial Minister, who returned to Vienna some months before. Old Alvarez, not in the least discouraged, sent his confessor to the Emperor’s court, where the Count de Gallas informed him that the domestic in question had quitted his service, and went to live with the Baron d’Obersdorf, governor of Inspruck in Tyrol, where he then resided. That he had married a chamber-maid belonging to Madame, the Baroness, and was much respected in the family.

On this interesting intelligence, the good priest set out for Inspruck, and being conducted to an audience, the governor acquainted him, that the young man he so diligently sought, was gone about a month before to reside on a farm, which the governor had let him at an easy rent, sixteen miles from Munich in Bavaria, where he believed him to be extremely happy, with an amiable girl who had waited on his lady, and was now become his wife. Hither the indefatigable friar hastened, and at length discovered the retreat of this long-lost alien from his family and friends. After some preparatory compliments and questions, the young farmer confessed that he knew nothing of his real name, rank or country. All that he possibly could remember of his early days was his being a slave to a merchant in Turkey, who told him frequently that he was natural son to a Spanish lord. The friar requested to examine his shoulders, and beholding three distinct marks of a poignard, or other sharp weapon, in the places before described, hesitated not a moment to pronounce him the undoubted heir of the duchies of Medina, and St. Lucar. It is impossible to describe the astonishment of the young gentleman, or the lively alarms of his amiable spouse, on the discovery of their true condition. Instead of being elevated or flattered by this double access of immense wealth and princely dignity, they only feared that such a change in circumstances might some way or other deprive them of the innocence and tranquility they enjoyed with each other in a moderate sphere of life. The young farmer, now duke of Medina Celi, and lord of the town and port of St. Lucar, positively insisted on the acquiescence of his family with his choice, and their respect for the deserving person, whom he should introduce to them as his wife, as a necessary condition of his returning amongst them. Matters being thus settled, the confessor, with the duke and his fair spouse, set off for Inspruck, to take leave of, and thank the noble Baron and Baroness d’Obersdorff for all their favours, who understanding, that their graces intended passing through Vienna in their way to Spain, recommended them so strenuously to his imperial majesty Charles the sixth, father to the present illustrious dowager queen of Hungary and Bohemia, as to ensure them a very honourable reception.

After a few weeks stay at the court of Vienna, they all set out for Spain by the way of Italy, and arrived by easy journies at Genoa, embarked on board the Princess Louisa, an English man of war, who landed them safely at Cadiz, where the old count d’Alvarez, with a number of domestics and carriages, waited their arrival. From hence their graces set out with a retinue worthy their rank and virtues, for the castle of St. Lucar, which was finely illuminated on this joyful occasion, and where they yet enjoy the reward of their sufferings and constancy. His grace is now in the seventy-fourth year of his age, and the duchess in her grand climacteric. Both are strong and healthy for their time of life, and continue patterns of every virtue that can do honour to their rank and fortune; happy parents of a numerous and lovely offspring, blessed by the poor, revered by the rich, and in favour with God and man.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

OBSERVATION.

It is never best to bestow encomiums on our friends which are too brilliant for them, in order to hide their defects: for by this means we frequently bring failings to light, which would otherwise have been unobserved; and so defeat the end we aim at. This remark was suggested by the following anecdote:

A young lady, not long since, with a view to represent her brother, who was a mere dunce, as a person of great learning, took occasion to say, in a large assembly, that, “For her part, she was very fond of reading; but Johnny’s books being chiefly Latin or French authors, they afforded her little or no amusement at all.” “Then,” said a gentleman present, who knew his abilities, “I cannot see what use they can be to him, for he hardly understands English.”

ETHICUS.

New-York, July 29, 1796.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ADVICE.

How necessary it becomes us to reflect on our future state, a state in which we are doomed either to possess happiness or misery, according to our deserts---to avoid all painful sensations on the æra of death is to pursue faithfully the grand dictates of our Creator, whilst he gives us strength and power; for without a serious, diligent and punctual attention thereto, the mind must inevitably be much discomposed and filled with imaginations too great to be described, by heretofore neglecting the functions of that duty which he (the Supreme) so strictly commands us to perform. How many of our worthy citizens have been lately cut off, and how many are now on the brink of leaving this world in their youthful prime.

My good friends, do but think of the uncertainty of life, and remember that no moment ought to be neglected in assiduously applying ourselves to the devotion of God, which will secure to us the happiness of futurity.

R. C.

New-York, July 22, 1796.

For sources, see the end of this file.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

Translated from the French.

Among all the great families which flourished in France in the reign of Philip the First, the Count de St. Paul and the Count de Ponthieu were the most distinguished; but especially the Count de Ponthieu, who, possessing a great extent of dominion, maintained the title of sovereign with inconceiveable magnificence. He was a widower, and had an only daughter, whose wit and beauty, supported by the shining qualities of her father, made his court polite and sumptuous, and had attracted to it the bravest Cavaliers of that age. The Count de St. Paul had no children but a nephew, son of his sister, by the Sieur la Domar, who was the only heir of his title and possessions. This expectation was for the present his only fortune; but Heaven having formed him to please, he might be said to be one of those whose intrinsic worth is sufficient to render them superior to the rest of mankind: courage, wit, and a good mien, together with a high birth, made ample atonement for his want of riches. This young Cavalier having engaged the notice of the Count de Ponthieu in a tournament, where he had all the honour; he conceived so great an esteem for him, that he invited him to his court. The considerable advantages he offered him were so much above what the Count de St. Paul’s nephew could for the present expect, that he embraced the proposals he made him with pleasure, and the Count thought himself happy in having prevailed on him to stay with him. Thibault, for so history calls this young Cavalier, was no sooner come to court, than the beauty of the princess inspired him with admiration, which soon ripened into love; and it was but in vain that reason opposed his passion, by representing how little he was in a condition to make any such pretensions. Love is not to be controuled, it is not to be repelled.—But in some measure to punish his temerity, he condemned himself to an eternal silence; yet, though his tongue was mute, the princess, who had as great a share of sensibility as beauty, soon perceived the effect of her charms written in his eyes, and imprinted in all his motions, and, in secret, rejoiced at the conquest she had gained. But the same reasons which obliged Thibault to conceal his sentiments, prevented her from making any discovery of her’s, and it was only by the language of their glances, they told each other that they burned with a mutual flame.

As at that time there were great numbers of sovereign princes, there were very often wars between them; and as the Count de Ponthieu had the greatest extent of land, so he was the most exposed: But Thibault, by his courage and prudence, rendered him so formidable to his neighbours, that he both enlarged his dominions and made the possession of them secure. These important services added to that esteem the Count and Princess had for him before; but at last, a signal victory which he gained, and which was of the utmost consequence to the Count, carried the gratitude of that prince to such a height, that in the middle of his court, and among the joyful acclamations of the people, he embraced the young hero, and begged him to demand a reward for his great services; assuring him, that did he ask the half of his dominions, he should think himself happy in being able to give a mark of his tenderness and gratitude. Thibault, who had done nothing but with a view of rendering himself worthy of owning the passion he so long and painfully had concealed, encouraged by such generous offers, threw himself at the feet of the Count, telling him, that his ambition was entirely satisfied in having been able to do him any service; but that he had another passion more difficult to be pleased, which induced him to beg a favour, on which depended the whole felicity of his life. The Count pressed him to an explanation of these words, and swore to him by the faith of a knight, an oath inviolably sacred in those times, that there was nothing in his power he would refuse him. This promise entirely recovering the trembling lover from that confusion which the fears that accompany that passion had involved him in, “I presume then, my lord,” said he, “to beg, I may have leave to declare myself the Princess’s knight, and that I may serve and adore her in that quality. I am not ignorant,” continued he, “of the temerity of my wishes, but if a crown be wanting to deserve her, let me flatter myself with the hope that this sword, already successful over your enemies, may one day, enforced by love, make my fortune worthy of the glory to which I aspire.” The joy which appeared in the face of the Count at this demand, would be impossible to represent: he raised Thibault, and again tenderly embracing him, “My son,” said he, “for so henceforth I call you, I pray heaven to dispose my daughter to receive your vows as favourably as I shall satisfy them.” He took him by the hand with these words, and led him to the Princess’s apartment; “Daughter,” said he, “as I have nothing so dear to me as yourself, you alone can recompense the obligations I have to this young warrior.—The respect he has for you, makes him desire only to be entertained as your knight; but I come to let you know. I would have you receive him as your husband.” The Princess blushing cast down her eyes; but being commanded to reply, she confessed the choice he had made for her was agreeable to her inclinations, and that it was with pleasure she submitted to her father’s will. Thibault thanked the kind concession in terms that testified his excess of transport. The Count perceiving their mutual wishes, suffered them not to languish in expectation of a blessing he had resolved on; but gave immediate orders for the marriage preparations, and a few days after it was celebrated with the magnificence the occasion deserved. Hymen, in agreement with love, only rendered their flames more lasting; possession was so far from extinguishing them, that it seemed to be the torch which kindled them. The Count was charmed with the happy union he saw between them, and his heart could scarce decide which he most loved, his own daughter, or son-in-law.

(To be continued.)

THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION. OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A.

UNFOLDING MANY CURIOUS UNKNOWN HISTORICAL FACTS.

Translated from the German of Tschink.

(Continued from page 29.)

“Conceive our astonishment, when we heard who the man was whom we had handled in such a dreadful manner! It was Miguel, the son of the Duke of C***na, and Count ****ez, his tutor. Most of the conspirators proposed to dispatch both of them, lest our secret should be betrayed; I insisted however upon their being examined before any thing should be determined, to which they consented. Miguel confessed that he had been sent by his father to visit the principal towns of Europe in company of his tutor, and that the account of the priest at whose house he had supped, had made him curious to have a sight of the inhabitants of the castle. Their examination being finished, they were ordered to retire, and I harangued the assembly in the following manner:

“You expect to avoid a discovery by destroying our prisoners; however, I believe just the contrary will happen. The servant, the priest, and his family, know that they have spent the night at the castle, and if they do not return to-day, the whole village will be alarmed. The old Duke will be informed of the incident, and who can seriously expect that he will be so credulous as to attribute the death of his son to ghosts. His life is too important to the father and the state, not to cause the strictest investigation. The castle will be surrounded, searched, and we shall be detected, or obliged to save ourselves by flight. In either instance, we must leave the castle. This will be the natural consequence, and the death of these two men will certainly be the surest means of betraying our asylum. I would therefore advise you to spare their lives, I know the family of Villa R***l too well, to apprehend the least danger from the execution of this proposal. Miguel and Count ***rez, are men of honour, and if they pledge their word to conceal the events of this night we shall be safe. However, this is not the sole reason for which I would advise you to spare their lives; I have a more important view at heart; I intend to gain Miguel over to our party. He shall become a principal actor in the great drama which we are going to perform, and untwist the knot which we have tied. You are astonished? however, I would have you to recollect that I am not wont to attempt what I am not sure to be able to perform. I will tell you my plan more at large, at some other time; at present let us demand an oath of secrecy from our prisoners and set them at liberty.

“My proposal was adopted, and I sat instantly down to inform your Excellency of that incident.”

I should never have believed the Unknown to be the writer of this letter, if I had not been convinced of it by the other papers. I had always looked upon my adventure at the castle, as a scene which I thought to have been closed with the recovery of our liberty, and entirely unconnected with the subsequent events of my life. I had not entertained the most distant suspicion that the rest of my adventures were any ways connected with that incident. I suspected indeed, from the beginning, the masked persons at the castle to be men of high rank, however, I should never have thought that they were the heads of the conspiracy which had been formed to set my country at liberty. I fancied the Unknown had framed his design upon me when we met him in the disguise of a beggar; but I never dreamed that he had formed it already at the castle; and that I and my tutor owed our lives to his mediation. You may, therefore, easily conceive how much I was surprised at this discovery. I vowed never to forget how much we were indebted to the Unknown. How remarkable was this letter to me! however the second was still more so.

“I intend to submit Miguel to my will by the delusions of magic. Your Excellency perhaps may think, that this plan may be rendered abortive by a young man who gives so little credit to the reality of apparitions, that he dares to take up his night’s lodging at a castle which is famed for being the haunt of ghosts. However, even if I should suppose that he had no other view in his visit to the castle, than to encounter an adventure, yet I must conclude from that step that he has a tendency for enthusiasm, which, however, is very different from that which I want him to have; yet enthusiasm, however it may display itself, is always enthusiasm; and the only thing I have to aim at, is to give it a turn most consistent with my plan, which will be no difficult matter with a young man of his temper, his thirst for knowledge, and unstable principles.

“Certainly it would be a great mistake, if one should conclude from his visit to the castle, that he does not believe in the reality of apparitions. On the contrary; I think I have reason to make just the opposite conclusion from it. If Miguel had been convinced of the vanity of apparitions before he came to the castle, he would not have taken the trouble of acquiring that conviction by experience; a secret voice, which, in spite of his philosophy, pleaded for the possibility of apparitions, excited his curiosity, and gave rise to that resolution which he had carried into execution. If Miguel had been convinced, that the inhabitants of the castle could be no other beings but men, his resorting to the castle would have been not only superfluous, but also fool-hardy, as he would have exposed his life to unknown and suspected people, for no other reason but to convince himself of a truth which he already knew. However, his want of a firm conviction, his wavering between belief and unbelief, was the ground on which he risked so much in order to come to the truth. I am certain Miguel’s philosophy would have received a mortal blow, if Grigorio had acted his part with more moderation.

“It will be my chief, and, I hope, no fruitless aim, to effect this by means of magical delusions and art. If I can but gain so much advantage over Miguel, that he, for want of capacity to explain my deeds naturally, shall begin to think me gifted with supernatural power, then he will suffer himself to be entirely ruled by me. His thirst for knowledge, and his fondness of adventures, will assist me to gain my aim, which would be a difficult matter, if he were of a different turn of mind. In order to enthral his head and heart at one time, I intend to make him acquainted with a female enthusiast who has been prompted by the extraordinary incidents of her life, to believe in wonders and apparitions of all kinds. Enthusiasm is catching, and particularly so, if the enthusiast is such a beautiful and charming woman as the Countess of Clairval. In her company Miguel will easily become an enthusiast, who will be equally capable of seeing ghosts, and staking his life for his mistress and his country. If that point is but gained, then I shall find it easy work to lead him with rapidity to the mark. All arguments of philosophy and patriotism never would be able to gain him so decidedly and so rapidly to our party, as the word of a man whom he fancies to possess supernatural power, and to have been sent from above. I shall think it my duty to account to your excellency for every important step I shall take in this matter, because you being the soul of our undertaking, renders it necessary you should be informed of every action of each individual member, in order to regulate your conduct accordingly. I only beg not to acquaint the Archbishop of L*sbon of my magical operations. Your excellency is no stranger to his rigid principles; how active soever he be in our cause, and how great soever his satisfaction at the conquest of Miguel will be, yet he would condemn without mercy the means by which I intend to gain him over to our party. My own heart would certainly reproach me severely for the fraud which I am going to commit against that excellent young man, if the important end which I am aiming at, did not plead my excuse, and I was not firmly resolved to open the eyes of the deluded man, as soon as I shall have gained my purpose.

“I am, &c. &c. &c.”

The last lines confirmed the declaration of the Count, that the Unknown would have removed himself the veil from my eyes. But this did not justify him in my opinion. Though he should have destroyed the delusion at some future period, was I on that account less imposed upon while the deceit lasted, and can ever low and illicit means be ennobled by laudable views?—However, I cannot deny that the sagacity with which the Unknown had explored my weak side, the dextrous use he made of that discovery, and the finesse of the artifices which he employed to deceive me, excited my admiration to the highest degree; but at the same time, I must confess that I was severely vexed at the ease with which my philosophy yielded to his delusive artifices. I was very agreeably surprised to find that the Archbishop of L*sbon was one of the conspirators. I knew him very well, and it flattered my pride to have a share in an undertaking in which a divine of his worth and uncommon learning was concerned. His rigid principles, which the Unknown dreaded so much, were to me the best security for the justness of his undertaking. I took up the third letter, burning with an impatient desire to know the names of the rest of the conspirators; but its contents were of a different nature.

(To be continued.)

ALL MEN ARE SLAVES.

That the fair sex are supreme sovereigns of the universe, can never be doubted. Man has no will of his own but what woman delegates to him; she moulds him as she pleases; he seems most happy if but permitted to become her vassal, and she deputes and disposes of him according to her will and pleasure.

A smile of approbation, or the squeeze of the lovely hand of a charming woman, will immediately procure thousands of volunteers ready to undertake the most dangerous and hazardous enterprizes, if sanctioned by her enchanting fiat; such enviable distinctions will create cowards into heroes, who are ever willing to risk every thing under the fair one’s banner.

We whine, we tremble, we sigh at the fair one’s feet for days, years and ages, supplicating, some will perhaps say, the most trifling favours in the humblest manner: heavenly woman’s distinctions and favours are almost inestimable; therefore, as such, ought always to be considered of a sublime and fascinating nature. I sincerely pity those, if any such there are, who do not possess a sublimity of ideas to enable them to adore and value the charms and attractions of the fair; for ’tis they only who can expand and enlighten our minds and ideas. It is the bewitching eye, the enchanting features, the soft and delicate complexion, the charming symmetry and the tout ensemble of divine woman; that taketh at pleasure the soul of man by surprise, and renders him a prisoner. Man, as the humblest slave, is most happy in her chains; nor would he exchange them for fetters of gold. By enjoying her charms, he is possest of unspeakable bliss; for on divine woman depends the principal pleasures of life.

CURIOUS ANECDOTES Of THE DISCOVERY OF ANCIENT MANUSCRIPTS.

It was a Florentine who found, buried in a heap of dust, and in a rotten coffer belonging to the monastery of St. Gal, the works of Quintilian: and, by this fortunate discovery, gave them to the republic of letters.

Papirius Masson found, in the house of a book-binder of Lyons, the works of Agobart. The mechanic was on the point of using the manuscripts to line the covers of his books.

A page of the second Decade of Livy was found by a man of letters on the parchment of his battledore, as he was amusing himself in the country. He ran directly to the maker of the battledore: but arrived too late; the man had finished the last page of Livy, in completing a large order for these articles about a week before.

Sir Robert Cotton, being one day at his tailor’s, discovered that the man held in his hand, ready to be cut up for measures, the original Magna Charta, with all its appendages of seals and signature. He bought this singular curiosity for a trifle; and recovered in this manner, what had long been given over for lost.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ON GEOGRAPHY.

Geography is a science which is no more looked upon as a fine accomplishment, but a necessary part of education; for there is no study which seems fitter for the entertainment and instruction of young persons than this. Geography gives them a perfect idea of the exterior surface of the globe, of its natural and political divisions, and of the curiosities of all its parts: hence it may be called with reason, the eye of history, the soldier’s companion, the merchant’s director, and the traveller’s guide.

It is also a study which holds the first rank among those qualities which are requisite for forming the scholar; for it is adapted not only to gratify our curiosity, but also to increase our knowledge, to banish prejudices, and make us acquainted with our real advantages, and those of our fellow-creatures.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ANECDOTE.

During the summer of the year 1780, an old Indian, an inhabitant of the wood, used to visit the town of Poughkeepsie for the purpose of disposing of wooden ware, it being the only means he had for gaining a livelihood---Among the purchasers of his goods, was a lady who much wished for a utensil for working her butter as she called it---and desiring him, when he came again, to bring some butter ladles.---“Butter ladles!” answered the tawny son of the forest, in the native simplicity of his soul---“Why mistress, if I was to fashion such things, they would all melt away before I could get here.”

L. B.

ON THE MUTABILITY OF FORTUNE.

There is nothing certain in this world but death: theory supposes, experience sometimes proves, but the latter often deceives. The fatality which constantly attends the wayward lot of mortals, is so secret in its operations, that it baffles all the penetration of men to discover it. Xerxes came to conquer Greece with such a numerous force, that his armies quite exhausted the rivers in quenching their natural thirst. He covered the sea with ships, as numerous as the caterpillars which formerly infested Egypt; whence he was inflated with such a certain prospect of success, that he already considered himself as a complete master of the sea; and he commanded it to be whipped with rods, for having the insolence to mutiny tempestuously against him. But, alas! he shamefully lost so many thousand men, and such a number of ships, that he thought himself very fortunate in escaping on board a small fishing bark.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Sunday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. Peter Hopmire, to Miss Sally Wilson, both of this city.

On Monday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. James Bleecker, merchant, to Miss Sarah Bache, daughter of Mr. Theophylact Bache, merchant, of this city.

On Saturday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. William James, of this city, to Miss Ann Read, of Trenton.

DIED,

On the 27th ult. of a sudden illness, Timothy Mason, son to Christopher Mason, Esq. of Swansey, in Massachusetts. He promised fair to realize the hopes of his affectionate parents, but was prematurely cut off in the seventh year of his age, on a visit to the city. On the 28th, his remains were interred in the Baptist burying ground.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Elegy on an Unfortunate Veteran, by Matilda, and Twilight, a Sonnet, by Alexis, are received, and shall appear in our next.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 24th to the 31st inst.

Days of the Month. Thermometer observed at 8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M. Prevailing winds. OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

deg.100 deg.100 deg.100 8.1.6. 8.1.6.

Aug. 24 70 74 69 NE.sw.s. cleardo.rain.

25 69 73 67 S.do.do. cleardo.do.

26 70 70 72 E.do.se. clearcloudy.do.

27 70 7650 79 NW.do. N. cleardo.do.

28 73 79 78 SW.do.do. clearcloudyclear.

29 78 8550 80 W.nw.w. cleardo.do.

30 76 86 80 SE.W NW. cleardo.do.

31 75 84 7950 NW. sw.do. cleardo.do.

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

For July, 1796.

deg. 100

Mean temperature of the thermometer at 8 A.M. 73 25

Do. do. of the do. at 1 P.M. 81 5

Do. do. of the do. at 6 P.M. 75 5

Do. do. of the whole month 76 45

Greatest monthly range between the 8th and 25th 21 0

Do. do. in 24 hours the 21st 12 0

Warmest day the 8 88 0

Coldest day the 25 67 0

14 Days it rained. A very large quantity of rain has fallen this month.

13 do. it was clear at 8 1 and 6 o’clock.

5 do. it was cloudy at do. do.

22 do. the wind was to the westward of north and south.

7 Times it thundered and lightned in this month.

ADVERSITY.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE VELVET LARKSPUR AND THE EGLANTINE.

A FABLE OF FLORA.

THE KISS. INSCRIBED TO OLYNDA.

NEW-YORK: Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.—Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane.

UTILE DULCI.

The New-York Weekly Magazine; OR, MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.

Vol. II.] WEDNESDAY, August 10, 1796. [No. 58.

The singular state of man when asleep.

In order to know the omnipotence and wisdom of God, we need not have recourse to extraordinary events. The most common things, the daily changes which happen in nature, and in our own bodies, are alone sufficient to convince us, in the strongest manner, that it is a Being infinite in wisdom, goodness, and power, who has created the world, and who directs every event in it. Of the great number of wonders of which he is Author, I will now mention one only; and, though it happens daily, it does not the less deserve to be remarked, and to become the object of our admiration. How often have those been refreshed and recruited by sleep, who possibly have never reflected on that state; or at least have never considered it as one of the remarkable effects of divine goodness. They think that nothing extraordinary happens when balmy sleep comes upon them. They think the machine their body is formed for that situation; and that their inclination to sleep proceeds from causes purely natural.

But perhaps sleep may be considered in two different lights. On one side there is nothing in it which may not result necessarily from our nature. On the other, there is in this natural effect something so striking and wonderful, that it is well worth a closer examination. In the first instance it is a proof of the wisdom of our Creator, that we go to sleep imperceptibly. Let us try only to watch the moment in which we are falling asleep, and that very attention will prevent it. We shall not go to sleep till that idea is lost. Sleep comes uncalled. It is the only change in our manner of existence in which reflection has no share; and the more we endeavour to promote it, the less we succeed. Thus God has directed sleep, that it should become an agreeable necessity to man; and he has made it independent of our will and our reason. Let us pursue this meditation, and reflect on the wonderful state we are in during our sleep. We live without knowing it, without feeling it. The beating of the heart, the circulation of the blood, the digestion, the separation of the juices; in a word, all the animal functions continue and operate in the same order. The activity of the soul appears for a time in some degree suspended, and gradually loses all sensation, all distinct ideas. The senses deaden, and interrupt their usual operations. The muscles by degrees move more slowly, till all voluntary motion has ceased. First, this change begins by the forehead; then the muscles of the eye-lids, the neck, the arms, and the feet, lose their activity, to such a degree, that man seems to be metamorphosed into the state of a plant. The situation of the brain becomes such, that it cannot transmit to the soul the same notions as when awake. The soul sees no object, though the optic nerve is not altered; and it would see nothing, even if the eyes were not shut. The ears are open, and yet they do not hear. In a word, the state of a person asleep is wonderful in all respects. Perhaps there is but one other in the world so remarkable, and this is visibly the image of that state which death reduces us to. Sleep and death are so nearly alike, it is right to observe it. Who, in reality, can think of sleep, without recollecting death also. Perhaps, as imperceptibly as we now fall into the arms of sleep, shall we one day fall into those of death. It is true that death often gives warning of its approach several hours or days before: but the real moment in which death seizes us, happens suddenly, and when we shall seem to feel the first blow, it may be already our last. The senses which lose their functions in our sleep, are equally incapable of acting at the approach of death. In the same manner, the ideas are confused, and we forget the objects which surround us. Perhaps, also, the moment of death may resemble the moment of falling asleep: and the convulsions of dying people may possibly be as little disagreeable a sensation to them, as the snoring is to those that sleep.

For sources, see the end of this file.

STUDY.

Study, as far as it signifies any thing valuable or commendable, has been defined, the pursuit of youthful knowledge, in a close application of the mind to reading or thinking, for the due conduct or entertainment of life; and it is certainly one of the greatest and noblest pursuits in which the mind of man can be possibly engaged.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

Translated from the French.

(Continued from page 36.)

Two years passed away without any other interruption of their joy, than the want of heirs; and though that no way diminished their love, yet it gave Thibault some uneasiness, which made him resolve on a progress to St. James of Gallicia; that age was not so corrupted as this is, the heroes fought as much to shew their piety as their courage; and what would now be thought a weakness, at that time gave a greater lustre to their virtue. It was not surprising therefore to see the valiant Thibault taking a resolution of going to Compostella; but the Princess not being able to bear a separation from so dear a husband, would needs accompany him, and join her vows with his; his unabated affection for her, made him receive the proposal with joy, and the Count de Ponthieu, always ready to oblige him, ordered an equipage to be got ready, worthy of those illustrious pilgrims, being willing that they should be well enough accompanied, to prevent any accident during their journey. They set out, and the hope of seeing them again in a little time, lessened the Count’s affliction at the separation.

They got safe to a little village within a day’s journey of Compostella; there Thibault stopped, to rest the Princess; and the next day, finding themselves somewhat fatigued, he sent his attendants before him to provide for their coming, that they might lose no time, retaining only his chamberlain. When they thought themselves sufficiently reposed, they set forward; but having learned there was a dangerous place in the forest, through which they were obliged to pass, the Prince sent his chamberlain to recal some of his people. Nevertheless they still went on, and their ill fortune engaged them in a road, which had so many cross ways to it, that they knew not which to take. The robbers had made an easy plain path, which led travellers into the most intricate part of the forest, getting numbers by this means into their power: it was this fatal one; the unhappy Thibault and his lady imagined to be in the right; but they soon perceived their error. When not having gone above two bow-shots into it they found it terminated in a thicket: out of which, before they could avoid them, rushed eight men completely armed, and surrounded them, commanding them to alight. Thibault had no arms, but his courage disdaining to yield obedience to these ruffians, made him answer in terms which let them see it must be to their number they must be obliged to force him: one of them thinking to do so, quitting his rank, made at him with his lance; but Thibault with an admirable dexterity avoided the blow, and seized the lance as it passed him, with the vigour of an arm accustomed to victory; then seeing himself in a state of defence, he set on them with an heroic fierceness, killing one immediately, and facing them all, pierced a second; but in attacking a third, the lance flew into a thousand shivers, and disabled him from resisting farther. The remaining five encompassing him, and killing his horse, seized him; and notwithstanding his efforts, and the piercing cries of the Princess, stripped him, and tied him fast to a tree, not being willing to steep their hands in the blood of so brave a man. The heat of the combat, and their eagerness in tearing off his rich habit, had hindered them from casting their eyes on the Princess; but she being now left alone, she appeared a more precious booty than what they had just taken. Love inspires virtuous minds with a desire of doing only great and noble actions, and in the hearts of any others than these barbarians, would have endeavoured to have insinuated itself by pity: but that virtue being unknown to them, the charms of this unfortunate lady only redoubled their cruelty. Their fury and brutality inflamed them; and no intreaty could deter such hardened wretches from being guilty of the most shameful crimes!---What a spectacle was this for a husband!---The soul of the wretched Thibault was torn with the most poignant anguish---distracted at not being able either to succour, or revenge her, who was a thousand times dearer to him than his life---he conjured heaven to strike him dead that moment---all that can be conceived of horror, of misery, without a name, was his.---But if his despair was more than words can represent, how much more was that of the afflicted Princess?---she tore her hair and face, begged, threatened, struggled, till her delicate limbs had lost the power of motion; filled all the forest with her piercing cries, without making those relentless monsters recede from their design. Never woman so ardently wished to be beautiful, as she did to become deformed, she would have rejoiced so have had her lovely face that moment changed into the likeness of Medusa; but all her prayers and tears were ineffectual; victim of force and rage.---The cruel leader of these fiends had just effected his diabolical intentions, when a sudden noise of the trampling of horses and the distant voices of men, forced them to fly. Fear, the companion of villainous actions, made them abandon their prey, and make off with incredible swiftness, so that the wretched Princess soon lost sight of them; but her irremediable misfortune, too present to her mind, to vanish with the authors of it, disordered her senses so cruelly, that abhorring herself, and believing she could no longer inspire her husband with any thing but contempt, she looked on him as one that was become her cruellest enemy; witness of her disgrace, her troubled imagination made her believe she ought to free herself from the only one who had the power of publishing it.---Struck with the idea of being unworthy of his affection, all the love she had formerly bore him, now changed into hatred and fury; and becoming as barbarous as the very ruffians, who had just left her, she snatched up one of the dying villain’s swords, and ran with her arm lifted up to take away the life of her wretched husband: but little accustomed to such actions, the blow fell on the cords which bound him, and gave him liberty to wrest the weapon from her hands.---He discovered immediately her thoughts, and made use of the most moving softness to calm the tempest of her soul: “If,” said he, “you could read my heart, you would find grief and pity only there---with what alas! can I accuse you!---What are you guilty of?---I still am your husband---still love you with the same unabated fondness---am the only witness of your ill fortune; I’ll hide it from the eyes of the world, nor shall you ever be sensible that I myself remember it---seek not therefore by a blind fury to publish our mutual shame---comfort yourself, and let us by sentiments of piety, endeavour to purify ourselves from an involuntary crime.” In this manner did he talk to her, but all his love and tenderness made no impression on her mind---she answered him only by her endeavours to snatch away the sword, and stab him. During this melancholy struggle their attendants arrived; they had also lost themselves, and having sought their master all over the forest, the noise of their horses, though then at a distance, had frighted the robbers, and saved the Princess from further violation.

Thibault took a cloak from one of his equipage, and having mounted his disconsolate lady on horseback, did the same himself, and in a short time arrived at Compostella, neither he nor she speaking a word. Deep affliction was imprinted in both their countenances; but the princess had a wildness in her eyes and air, that discovered the distraction of her mind. Thibault placed her in an abbey, and went and prostrated himself at the feet of the altars; not with the design he went for, but to beg of heaven to enable him to undergo so terrible an adventure. This act of piety being over, he returned to the Princess: who remaining still in the same humour, not being able to get any expressions from her but threats against his life, he took her out, and returned with all possible speed to Ponthieu, where they were received with a joy that they were not able to partake.

(To be continued.)

ACCOUNT OF THE LAST MOMENTS OF THE CELEBRATED DR. JOHNSON.

He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to Dr. Burney, the following note:

“Mr. Johnson, who came home last night, send his respects to dear Dr. Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.”

Soon after his return to the metropolis, both the asthma and dropsy became more violent and distressful. He had for some time kept a journal in Latin, of the state of his illness, and the remedies which he had used, under the title of “Aegri Ephemeris,” which he began on the 6th of July, but continued it no longer then the 8th of November; finding, probably, that it was a mournful and unavailing register.

Dr. Herberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter, physicians, generously attended him, without accepting of any fees, as did Mr. Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done, from professional skill and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so truly valuable. He himself, indeed, having on account of his very bad constitution, been perpetually applying himself to medical enquiries, united his own efforts with those of the gentlemen who attended him; and imagining that the dropsical collection of water which oppressed him, might be drawn off, by making incisions in his body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut deep, when he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.

About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid him his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said, “I have been as a dying man all night.” He then emphatically broke out, in the words of Shakspeare,

To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered from the same great poet,

Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.

On another day after this, when talking on the same subject of prayer, Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal,

and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly over, he happened in the line

to pronounce “supremum,” for “extremum;” at which Johnson’s critical ear infirmly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as ever of the spirit of the grammarian.

Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson’s intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr. Francis Barber, whom he had all along treated truly as an humble friend. Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to bequeath to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the circumstances of the master; and that in the case of a nobleman fifty pounds a-year was considered as an adequate reward for many years faithful service. “Then,” said Johnson, “shall I be nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a-year, and I desire you to tell him so.” It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time; and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins’s repeatedly urging it, it is probable that his kind resolution would not have been fulfilled.

Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the mind of the dying Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, “Not at all, Sir. The fellow is an idiot; he is as awkward as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse.”

(To be concluded in our next.)

For sources, see the end of the final segment (page 76).

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE FUNERAL—A FRAGMENT.

——The cavalcade moved slowly on—The old mourner raised his eyes to heaven, as if to implore the aid of Omnipotence in resigning him to the fatal stroke, and anon the tear of grief would steal down his furrowed cheek.

How must it rend the heart of a fond, a doting father, who had promised to himself many days of uninterrupted happiness, in an amiable child, to see him torn from his embrace, ere he yet had arrived at manhood! Is it not afflicting? Ye, who have felt the smart, it is you that best can reply: It is you alone can tell what pleasure, and what pain a parent feels.

Full sixteen suns had run their annual course since Samuel saw the light. And on his birth-day morn, sol darted forth his beams in rich effulgence; yet ere the noon-tide came, the only prop of age had sunk to an eternal rest. The sparkling eye, the crimsoned cheek had lost their wonted charms, and nothing in their stead remained, save a sad semblance of mortality. Death, that insatiate monster, had stretched forth his iron fangs, and grasped his spotless soul; and in one moment brought to nought each fancied joy.

Now here is room for one who has ever wept at the wayward lot of mortals, to drop the briny tear, and mourn the partial decree of fate, that summoned hence this opening rose. Alas! that it could not be revoked!

The gate was already open, and the clergyman led the way across several graves that had long been inhabited. Doubtless, their bodies have, ere this, left nothing save a handful of ashes. Once they were as gay as thou art, O reader! Some, perhaps, launched into the vortex of pleasure, while others found happiness at home, in company with their playful infants.---What are they now?

The ceremony was begun: the corpse was deposited in its narrow cell. Tears flowed more freely from the eyes of the mourners, and when the first spadeful of earth had fallen heavy on the lid, they arose to sobs. The spectators dropped theirs in unison.

It resembled the funeral of Jacob. The labourers had ceased:---the spades had fallen from their hands, and they looked round with astonishment. Perhaps they had never witnessed such a scene; and well might they gaze on the one before them. At length the fountains of nature were drained, they could no longer weep.

L. B.

New-York, August 5, 1796.

OBSERVATION.

The coldest hearts, nay the hardest, cannot forbear admiring virtue; but, while they stop at this involuntary and barren homage, the feeling mind burns with emulation.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

STUDY OF NATURE.

From the effect of great objects on the human mind, we may trace the origin of every useful and pleasing art. The painter, whose susceptibility is peculiarly irritable in viewing majestic heights and the variegated foliage of nature, infuses the happiest effect in his productions; the poet’s flight of fancy has its birth in streams, in hills, in vales, &c. The philosopher, in contemplating the heavens and earth, unfolds the omnipotence of the Deity, and conveys the sublime information to surrounding millions, engaging them in pursuits interesting to the present, and necessary to an existence hereafter.—From these observations, how necessary is it to form our minds to the study of nature.

T.

REMARKABLE CURE OF A FEVER BY MUSIC.

AN ATTESTED FACT.

At Aix la Chapelle, a celebrated Master of Music, a doctor in the science, and a great composer, was seized with a fever, which increasing daily, became perpetual: On the 9th day he fell into a very violent delirium, accompanied with shrieks, tears, panics, and a perpetual wakefulness, almost without any intermission. On the third day of his delirium, one of those natural instincts, which, it is said, cause the brute animals, when sick, to seek the herbs that are proper for them, caused him to desire that a little concert might be performed in his chamber. It was with great difficulty that the physician consented to it. On the patient’s hearing a tune he himself composed, and which was much approved, his countenance assumed a serene and pleasing air, his eyes were no longer fierce or wild, the convulsions totally ceased, he shed tears of pleasure, and shewed a much greater sensibility than could be expected or hoped for so soon. He was free from the fever during the whole concert; but as soon as it was finished, he relapsed into his former condition. Upon this they did not fail to continue the use of the remedy, whose success had been so unforeseen, and so happy; the fever and delirium were ever suspended during the time the concert was performing: and music in a few days time became so necessary to the patient, that at night he prevailed on a kinswoman who attended him to sing several tunes and even to dance. One night in particular, when there was not a person with him but the nurse, who had no voice for singing, nor knew any piece but a wretched, stupid ballad, he was obliged to her for even that dull performance, and it is said had some relief from it. In about a fortnight music perfected his cure without any other assistance than once bleeding in the foot, the efficacy of which was held as rather doubtful.

APHORISM.

He who censures with modesty will praise with sincerity.

THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION. OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A.

UNFOLDING MANY CURIOUS UNKNOWN HISTORICAL FACTS.

Translated from the German of Tschink.

(Continued from page 38.)

“I have made my first attack upon Miguel and his tutor. Knowing by their own declaration on their examination, which road they intended to take, I made haste to get the start of them, accompanied by my two servants, and waited for them at the skirts of the forest of ***ulano, three miles distant from the next town. Wishing to make a surprising and lasting impression upon their mind, I chose the most whimsical dress. An old tattered coat, which was composed of numberless patches, and a new embroidered satin waistcoat, which reached down to my knees, gave me a very singular appearance; the rest of my body was naked. I had fastened to my chin a long artificial white beard, which accorded very little with my black hair. As soon as Miguel’s chaise came to the spot where I was lying in ambush, I limped forth upon my crutches and begged the tutor to give me his shoes and stockings. It would have highly amused your Excellency if you had seen the astonishment which my unexpected boldness created. The old gentleman seemed at first to be very unwilling to comply with my extraordinary request; however, when I persisted in my prayer with the impudence of an experienced beggar, without minding his menaces and curses, and did not stir from the window of the coach; he condescended at length to grant my request. When he stooped down to unfasten his shoe-buckles, I perceived a letter-case, lying by his side on the seat, which he probably had pulled out of his pocket with his handkerchief, and taking with one hand his shoes and stockings, I seized with the other the letter-case, without his perceiving it, and put it in my pocket. Then I went to Miguel, whom I begged to give me his coat and breeches. This new request excited the anger of the two travellers to such a degree, that they commanded me to take myself off without delay. Upon which I looked at Miguel with sparkling eyes, and raised such a dreadful laughter, that they were frightened, and ordered the coachman to go on. However, I darted suddenly forth and struck one of the horses so violently, in a tender part, that he dropped down. This had the desired effect. Miguel began to undress; having pulled off his breeches, he took his purse out of the pocket and put it in a coat which the servant had taken out of his travelling trunk, however I espied a proper opportunity while Miguel was putting on a new pair of breeches, and pilfered his purse. When they had done dressing and undressing, I thanked them for their donation, warning them at the same time not to take lodging at the principal inn of the town and to repair again after three days, at a fixed hour, to the same spot where we then were. Then I hobbled with my booty towards the forest, where I contemplated piece after piece, with more satisfaction than a general feels after a gained battle. And indeed, although the deed I had performed was not of the heroic kind, yet it was no trifling action to have demanded and received, of the son of a Duke his coat and breeches, and of a Count his shoes and stockings, armed with no other weapon but my crutches, and dressed in the garments of a miserable beggar. Every one must confess, that this attempt would never have succeeded, if an uncommon degree of resolution, boldness, firmness, and presence of mind had not been at my command, not to mention the seisure of the letter-case and Miguel’s purse, that every pick-pocket would have effected with equal success. However, this action is for Miguel and his tutor, of no less importance than the former. I have gained a great advantage, my first interview with them having been attended with incidents which, for many reasons, will make a deep impression on their mind. I have now the courage to risk bolder attempts with the certain hope of success. Even the conspirators to whom I have sent by one of my servants the pieces of dress which I have got, along with a brief account of my taking possession of them, will look upon these trophies as pledges of far greater victories which I have engaged to gain over Miguel, and for which every preparation has been made. I did not without reason select the spot on the skirts of the forest of ***ulano for the scene of action, for in that forest stands a castle which formerly belonged to the Prince of Ge***, and at present is inhabited by the Countess of Clairval, that enthusiast of whom I have given a description to your Excellency in my last letter. I intend to allure Miguel to her residence, when he shall come to the place of rendezvous. And he certainly will not miss the appointment; for if he does not come out of curiosity, the hope of regaining the purse and the letter-case, which he knows to be in my possession, will make him keep the assignation. And I shall certainly restore these things to him, for I wish to appear to him to be an extraordinary man, but not a pick-pocket; however, he shall receive them no where, but at the castle of the Countess. I have formed a plan to that purpose, which promises to be of important consequences, and shall be laid before your Excellency in my next letter.

“It was also not without proper reason, that I advised Miguel not to lodge at the principal inn of the town, for I wanted to know, by his regarding or disregarding this caution, whether my words had made an impression on his mind, and found credit with him or not. For that reason I went in the dusk of the evening to the town, accompanied by my servant, and dressed in a common unsuspected garb, taking apartments at the inn against which I had cautioned him, in order to know whether he had followed my advice. But alas! I have been rather too sanguine in my hope, for Miguel and his tutor are at present in that very inn: however, I will punish him for it in such a manner, that he shall have reason to repent his having slighted my advice. With that view I have taken an apartment close by his, and I must beg your Excellency to give me leave to lay down the pen and to act, for midnight is set in, and the time for executing my plan is at hand.

“I am, &c. &c.”

The following sheet contained the continuation of this letter.

“Wonderful things have happened since I had the honour to write to your Excellency! My designs have a rapid success, and fortune herself seems to favour them. I had formed a plan to chastise Miguel and his tutor for their disobedience; however, the execution of this design has been interrupted by an accident, which has assisted me to gain my aim in a more glorious manner than I ever could have expected. I had already put on the garb of a monk, which I had brought with me in my portmanteau, had fastened the white beard (which however had been almost set on fire by the candle) to my chin, and was going to execute my plan, when a sudden alarm of fire disturbed the house. The pressing danger not allowing me to change my dress, I effected my escape in my disguise, and concealing my portmanteau which I had fortunately saved in a remote corner, I took with my servant a position which rendered it impossible for Miguel and his tutor to get out of the house without my seeing it. However, my anxiety rose to the highest degree, when the fire had consumed already the greatest part of the house, and Miguel was still in it. My apprehensions had reached the highest summit, when I suddenly saw him and his tutor rush out of the burning building. My servant, whom I had ordered to watch carefully every word and motion of theirs, was close at their heels, while I followed him at a small distance, concealing my face with my hood. They had no sooner stopped, than Miguel recollected that he had left the picture of his mother upon the table; he valued it so high, that he would have gone back to fetch it, if his tutor had not retained him forcibly. My servant, who gave me this intelligence, suffered himself to be persuaded by his love for me, and the ten ducats which I offered to him, to attempt saving it. Pretending to assist in extinguishing the flames, he requested one of the firemen to give him a wet blanket, wrapped himself in it, got safe into the house, went to Miguel’s apartment, seized the picture, which was lying upon the table, and jumped out of the window, which was not higher than one pair of stairs, in order to avoid the dangerous retreat through the house. He pushed through the multitude, who were loudly admiring his boldness, and gave me the picture. I returned it to Miguel, reproaching him severely for having slighted my advice. He was astonished, and looked alternately at me and the picture. I espied a favourable opportunity, concealed myself behind my servant; and stooping down, untied my beard, and pulled off my monk’s garb unobserved by the multitude, whose attention was entirely taken up by the fire. I could not help laughing when Miguel, after he had gazed some time at the picture, took my servant by the arm, mistaking him for me, and perceiving his error, enquired in vain all around for me, though I was not six steps distant from him.

“These events could not fail to strengthen the first impression which I had made upon him in the disguise of a beggar, and to make him believe that I could be nothing less than a soothsayer, and a worker of miracles. This was just what I wanted, for it increased his desire to get better acquainted with me, and made him impatient to meet me the third day at the appointed place.

“Your Excellency may easily think that I was not idle during this interval, and did not omit to make the proper preparations for Miguel’s reception. My principal care was to gain the servants of the Countess, to whose house I intended to introduce him, that I might act my part at the castle without the knowledge of the lady, at the same time I endeavoured to attain a thorough knowledge of all the roads and bye-paths, of all the bushes and haunts of the forest, in order to regulate my measures accordingly, and to take advantage of them as circumstances should require. I also did not omit to train my substitutes properly, for their respective parts which they were to act. Their number amounted to eight experienced fellows, for my servant Manuel, whom I had dispatched to the desolated castle, with the above-mentioned pieces of dress, returned on the second day with six more people, whom the conspirators had sent to my assistance, with the assurance that I could rely upon their fidelity and activity. And, indeed, these fellows rendered me the most essential services, as the consequence will shew.

(To be continued.)

HINT TO THE SCHOLAR.

Learning and genius, like beauty and feminine vivacity, are to be considered but as the ornaments of life, the essentials of which are good temper and virtue: and wherever these latter, or either of them, are wanting, no talents, however brilliant, can give their possessor any genuine title to love, or even to esteem.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

A FACT.

At the commencement of the present war, between France and Great Britain, a serjeant in the recruiting service of the latter power, asked a tall countryman of Yorkshire, what bounty he would take to engage in his Majesty’s service? the countryman replied that he was his man, if he would for the first half inch of his stature give him a halfpenny, (one cent.) a penny for the second, for the third, two pence, and counting at that rate, till he had finished his measure; the bargain being struck, and the countryman measuring six feet in length, the calculation was carried on for some time, until the serjeant thought proper to drown the affair in a bowl of punch. I find, upon calculation, that the countryman’s bounty, allowing five dollars to a cubic inch, would (including fractions, which of theselves come to an enormous amount) have been equal in value to 27,364,368,033,632 globes of solid silver, each globe measuring as large as the earth.