VOLUME II. (continued 6)

2 Do. it thundered and lightned, viz 11th and 19th.

16 Do. the wind was to the Eastward of the North and South.

15 Do. the do. do. to the westward of do. do.

26 Do. the wind was light at 8 1 and 6 o’clock.

2 Do. it was a calm.

16 Do. it was clear at do. do.

4 Do. it was cloudy at do. do.

The 29th at 1 P.M. the mercury, was one degree higher than any day in this summer, and 4 lower, than the warmest day in the last.

TO ———.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

LINES

Addressed to a Gentleman who had been a Prisoner to the Indians, and was ransomed by the merchants of Detroit.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO EMMA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

LINES

On the Death of a young Lady who fell a victim to the effects of Lightning.

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, September 14, 1796. [No. 63.

A PEEP INTO THE DEN OF IDLENESS.

Yonder! under those ragged rocks, where the baleful yews waving their sable branches of mournful cypress throws an awful gloom; a den dark and ghastly opens its horrid mouth! ’Tis there idleness is lodged, the great thief of time, and destroyer of innocence and human felicity.

What a dreadful cave!——how it yawns amid the noisome lakes and shaggy bushes! Vice and sin breed here; like monsters they hiss with impudence, and howl with too late repentance. Security and Carelessness, Sloth and Ignorance, joined hand in hand, stalk around. Hark how their mingled yells echo, in the caverns of the rocks, and drive downy footed Silence far away! Prodigality and Wantonness hover aloft, and call their votaries to the scene of irrevocable loss, and to the prison of unavoidable destruction, which at a little distance opens before them: there crowds led on by Error, and intoxicated with Folly sport to ruin.

But what frightful figure is that now emerging from the cave!---Riot and Noise attend him, and Bacchus (jolly god), and Venus, (bewitching queen) appear in the rear. That figure is Idleness, for defiance appears in his looks, and temerity and effrontery are stampt in indelible characters on his brow. Ebriety too with flushed cheeks and staggering gait appears in the group, whilst light-footed Mirth, led on by Gaiety, dance to the warbling notes of the birds of pleasure.

All around see the traps and gins put up to catch the imprudent, the giddy, and the thoughtless! Artfully are they covered over! but Wisdom’s keen eye sees the dangerous snares, and turns back with abhorrence. And see yonder the deceiving waters of pleasure and filthy lakes of impurity; a sink of vice and sin where evil conceptions breed, and hell-bred monsters sport in the sordid waves. I am shocked to my very heart at the sight!---Come, heaven-born peace and meek-eyed Religion, oh! come and destroy this horrid den, this rueful spot, where destruction secretly lurks, and where crowds daily unwaringly resort to inevitable and delicious ruin.

A FRAGMENT ON BENEVOLENCE.

He gives his mite to the relief of poverty. Joy enlivens his countenance, and sparkles in his eye. He can lay his hand upon his heart, and say, “I have done a good thing.” But who can do justice to his feelings? None but those whose lips the God of Israel hath touched with sacred fire! None but those whose pens are guided by the inspiration of the Almighty! And though at this moment my heart expands with the delightful sensation, I am totally unable to express it. Most devoutly do I thank thee, O Lord, that thou hast given me feeling. The sensation, indeed, is sometimes painful; but the intellectual pain far excels the most delightful sensual pleasure.---Ye kings and princes of the earth, possess your envied grandeur! Let the epicure gratify his palate; let the miser hoard his gold in peace. Dear sensibility! do thou but spread thy benign influence over my soul, and I am sure I shall be happy.

He held out his hat. “Pity me,” said he, but turned away his face, to hide his blushing countenance, and the tear which stole down his cheek. I saw it; and that little tear, with a force as powerful as the inundations of the Nile, broke through all the bounds of cautious prudence. Had the wealth of the Indies been in my pocket, I could hot but have given it. I gave all I had. He cast his glistening eyes upon me. “You have saved a family: may God bless you!” with my then sensations I could have been happy through eternity. At that instant I could have wished all the wheels of Nature to have stopped.

CURIOUS SUPERSCRIPTION ON A LETTER.

(Taken from an Irish Paper.)

A letter with the following curious superscription on it was put in the post office of Balbriggen.

“To Mr. John Winters,

Newtown Gore---county Leitrim, to be forwarded to Terence Sheanan, or to John Owen, or Mary Sheanan, all brothers, in Corrocopel, or elsewhere, near or about Newtown Gore, or somewhere else in that country.” !!!

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

Translated from the French.

(Continued from page 75.)

“This news was soon blazed through all Almeria, and fated ever to be guilty of constrained infidelities, I was proclaimed and crowned Sultana Queen, with a magnificence that would have dazzled any one but the Princess de Ponthieu. During the whole ceremony, the image of Thibault never quitted me, I spoke to it, begged its pardon, in short, I was so lost in thought, that Sayda has since told me I had more the appearance of a statue than a living person. As for you, my lord, I often reproached your cruelty, that had brought me to the precipice in which I found myself. There has not passed one day in the nine years I have been married to the Sultan, on which I have not talked of my dear Thibault to the faithful Sayda, with a torrent of tears. The Sultan has kept his word with me, all his court thinks me a Renegada, he alone knows the truth, and without reproaching me with my melancholy, has done his utmost to disperse it. The same respect and complaisance has always accompanied his actions, and you yourselves have been witnesses of my power, by his granting me without hesitation your lives. I knew you again the first moment I saw your faces, and should have discovered myself yesterday, but had a mind to know whether my memory was yet dear. These are my unhappy adventures; but this is not all I have to say: You must, my dear Thibault, in order to regain your wife and liberty, expose your life to fresh dangers: speak, do you think me worthy of so great a testimony of your continued love and tenderness?” “You cannot make a doubt of it,” answered he, “without being guilty of a greater offence than all your distraction made you act——I swear to you, my dear Princess, by the pleasure I had in obtaining you from your father, by the felicity I enjoyed in being beloved by you, by my misfortune, and by the joy I feel in seeing you again, that I never adored you with more ardour than I now do——Fear not therefore to explain yourself, command me, dispose of me as you please.” The fair Sultaness was charmed with this tender assurance, and there being nobody present that she suspected, she again embraced her much loved husband, and then told him what she had proposed to the Sultan. “’Tis of the utmost importance,” added she, “that you should gain his confidence by some signal service, that my designs may the better succeed—he has already lost several battles, through the ill conduct of his generals; but if you fight for him I doubt not of the victory.—He cannot refuse you his esteem, which will enable me to put my project in execution.”

The Count and Thibault approved of what she said; but the young Prince begged she would contrive it so, that he might accompany his brother to the army, his youthful heart burning with impatience to behold so noble a sight; but the Queen told him she could not possibly gratify those testimonies of so early a courage, though she admired them, because she had given her promise to the Sultan, that both he and his father should remain at court as hostages for the fidelity of Thibault. After some further discourse, and renewed embraces, she ordered them to retire, it growing towards the hour in which the Sultan was used to visit her. They were scarce out of the room, before that Prince entered; and having asked her if the valiant captain agreed with her intentions: “Yes, my lord,” replied she, “he is impatient to express by his services the grateful sense he has of his obligation to us.” The Sultan immediately commanded they should all three be brought before him; and observing them more heedful than he had done before, was infinitely charmed with their good mien: the venerable age, and commanding aspect of the Prince of Ponthieu, excited his respect; the beauty and vivacity of the young Prince, his admiration; but in the noble air, and manly graces of the accomplished Thibault, he fancied he discovered an assurance he would be able to answer the character the Sultaness had given of him—The more he considered him, the more he found to increase his love and esteem for him.---“The Sultaness,” said he, “who has saved your life, will needs, out of love for me, and respect for you, have you expose it in my service.---I see nothing about you but what serves to convince me I do not err, when I place entire confidence in you: therefore you must prepare to set out to-morrow, I have in my council declared you general. My subjects are fatigued, and heartless with continual losses, and though you are a christian, my soldiers will with joy obey you, if your valour does but answer their expectations, and the character they have of you.” After Thibault had in the most handsome and submissive manner assured him of his zeal and fidelity, that prince proceeded to give him those instructions which were necessary; and retiring, left him, to receive those of the Sultaness.

He was no sooner gone, than turning towards Thibault, “You are going to fight against infidels,” said she, “tho’ you fight for one; but, my dear husband! consult my repose as well as your own courage, and fight to conquer, not to die;---remember I expose you, that I may the better save you.” He thanked her for her obliging fears, and promised to combat only to preserve his honour, and gain the opportunity to deliver her.---It being time to retire, they quitted the Queen’s apartment, and returning to their own, a slave brought up Thibault, a stately vest and sabre, adorned with precious stones, a present to him from the Sultan; he put them on, and attended that prince at dinner, who saw him with pleasure. They discoursed on the different methods of making war, and the Sultan found his new general so consummate in the art, that he assured himself of victory: he then presented him to the chief men of his court. The rest of the day was employed in reviewing the troops that were in Almeria. As he was to go the next, he begged of the Sultaness by Sayda, that he might be permitted to bid her adieu without any witnesses; the fair Queen, who desired it with equal ardour, appointed night for the interview:---so when all was quiet in the palace, he was introduced by that faithful slave into the apartment of his dear Princess. Then it was, that this long separated husband and wife, now more in love, if possible, than ever, renewed their protestations of everlasting affection, and, forgetting the rest of the world, gave a loose to the raptures of being once more blessed, and the soft hope of re-uniting themselves, no more to be divided. Thus the best part of the night passed, and day would have surprised them, had not Sayda given them notice it was time to part. The Sultaness wept, and Thibault was extremely moved, but reason reassuming its empire, they embraced and bade each other adieu, and begged heaven they might soon meet again. He went not to bed, employing the remaining hours in taking leave of the Count de Ponthieu, and the young Prince his son.---He recommended his dear Princess to the former, intreating him to neglect no opportunities of being with her. He then repaired to the Sultan, to receive his last commands, and set out with a cheerfulness that seemed to presage success.

(To be concluded in our next.)

LOCAL CURIOSITIES.

The indifference with which even the crime of murder is regarded among the lower classes of the Italians, is remarkably illustrated by the following anecdote: A gentleman of Naples, in passing occasionally before the king’s palace, had frequently noticed a man of singular appearance at work. He was chained to some others, and assisted in removing rubbish, and bringing stones for a new building, the foundation of which had been just laid. The man, by having often seen him pass, recollected his person, and always took off his hat as he found an opportunity. The gentleman not knowing how to account for his attention, was induced one day, to inquire the cause of his civility and of his chains. To the first part of the query he answered, in the Neapolitan style, that it was “il suo dovere, his duty;” and to the second he said, that he was in that predicament for “una minchioneriæ, a trifle. Ho ammazanta solamente una donna,” said he “I have only killed a woman.”

Necessity is the prompter and guide of mankind in their inventions. There is however, such inequality in some parts of their progress and some nations get so far the start of others in circumstances nearly similar, that we must ascribe this to some events in their history, or to some peculiarities in their situation, with which we are unacquainted. The people in the Island of Otaheite, in the southern Pacific Ocean, far excel most of the Americans in the knowledge and practice of the arts of ingenuity; and yet, when they were first discovered by captain Wallis, it appeared, that they had not invented any method of boiling water; and having no vessel that would bear the fire, they had no more idea that water could be made hot, than that it could be made solid.

Original: A Comparative Sketch of England and Italy, with Disquisitions on National Advantages (London, 1793), ii, 37-39.

This passage is also quoted in The Analytical Review, September 1793.

REMARK.

Friendship is to love, what an engraving is to a painting.

TACITURNITY.——AN APOLOGUE.

Translated from the French of Abbé Blanchet.

At Amadan was a celebrated academy, the first statute of which ran thus:

The Academicians are to think much, write little, and, if possible, speak less.

This was called the Silent Academy, nor was there a sage in Persia who was not ambitious of being admitted a member. Zeb, a famous sage, and author of an excellent little book, intitled The Gag, heard, in the distant province where he lived, there was a vacancy in the silent academy. Immediately he departed for Amadan, and, arriving, presented himself at the door of the hall where the academicians were assembled, and sent in the following billet to the president:

Zeb, a lover of silence, humbly asks the vacant place.

The billet arrived too late; the vacancy was already supplied. The academicians were almost in despair; they had received, somewhat against their inclination, a courtier, who had some wit, and whose light and trifling eloquence had become the admiration of all his court-acquaintance; and this learned body was now reduced to the necessity of refusing the sage Zeb, the scourge of bablers, the perfection of wisdom.

The president, whose duty it was to announce this disagreeable news to the sage, scarcely could resolve, nor knew in what manner best, to perform his office. After a moment’s reflection he ordered a flagon to be filled with water, and so full that another drop would have made the water run over. He then desired them to introduce the candidate.

The sage appeared with that simple and modest air which generally accompanies true merit. The president rose, and, without speaking a word, pointed, with affliction in his looks, to the emblematical flagon so exactly full.

The sage understood from thence, the vacancy was supplied, but, without relinquishing hope, he endeavoured to make them comprehend that a supernumary member might, perhaps, be no detriment to their society. He saw on the floor a rose leaf, picked it up, and with care and delicacy placed it on the surface of the water, so as not to make it overflow.

All the academicians immediately clapped their hands, betokening applause, when they beheld this ingenious reply. They did more, they broke through their rules in favour of the sage Zeb. The register of the academy was presented him, and they inscribed his name.---Nothing remained but for him to pronounce, according to custom, a single phrase of thanks. But this new, and truly silent academician, returned thanks without speaking a word.

In the margin of the register he wrote the number one hundred (that of his brethren) then put a cypher before the figures, under which he wrote thus:

0100

Their value is neither more nor less.

The president, with equal politeness and presence of mind, answered the modest sage, by placing the figure 1 before the number 100, and by writing under them, thus:

1100

Their value is ten-fold.

Original: Apologues et contes orientaux, etc. 1784 by François Blanchet (1707-1784) and others.

Possible source: Burke’s Annual Register 1788 with full subtitle “...extracted from Tales, Romances, Apologues, &c. from the French, in two vols.”

Notes: “the figure 1 before the number 100 ... 1100”

The Annual Register has the same words and numbers. Both seem like an error for “1000” (a cipher after 100).

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE BEGGAR;

A FRAGMENT IN IMITATION OF STERNE.

**** “We are poor ourselves!” exclaimed the lady of the house, “and have therefore nothing to give.” Wretched being! methinks you receive none other alms from many people of fashion!

“He has had the assurance to come to my door twice to-day. He might have known at the first denial, that a repetition would not make him a whit the better off.”

“It might have been that when he came the second time he expected your ladyship was better disposed to give,” said a gentleman present.—“Perchance he imagined the human heart could not remain so insensible to the woes of others,” thought I, and it had nearly reached my lips, but prudence bade it go no farther.

She again began to ring in my ears a long string of invectives against the poorer class of people, when I hastily took my leave. “For what purpose did Heaven form the rich with such unfeeling hearts?” asked my friend. “That they might be set up as a mark to others; and teach them the danger of riches.”

The man was a few paces before us.

“Surely the lady finds, ere this, that we despise her contracted soul,” said my companion. “You are mistaken in that point,” said I; “this is not the only time I have been a witness of her narrow-mindedness. I dined there some days since, with several other visitors: before the cloth was removed, I heard a slight rap at the door---no one attended to it---it seemed to foretell the approach of poverty—”

“What were the servants doing?” interrupted my friend.

“Their mistress had enjoined it upon them to attend to none but fashionable knocks!”

“Pray what are her fashionable knocks?”

“That I never learned. She has, no doubt, instructed her menials on that head.”

“But go on with your story. I despise from my soul her baseness.”

The man was a few paces before us.

“I sat opposite the entrance. In a few minutes an emaciated figure, cloathed meanly, but her dress clean, and adjusted in as neat a manner as possible, walked feebly along, until she reached the room-door; and then necessity compelled her to seek support from the posts. I could not behold the sight unmoved---”

We had now reached the beggar. We stopped. He held out his hat. I threw in something; my friend did the same. “May Heaven forever prosper your honours!” uttered the pauper. “Amen!” We both responded, and passed on.

“If I had her riches what a deal of good would I do with it! The poor should not depart empty from my door.”

“And perhaps,” said I, “if you had double the wealth she is possessed of, your disposition would be similar to hers.”

New-York, Sept. 1, 1796.

L. B.

CURIOUS ANECDOTE OF MR. HANDEL.

It was Mr. Handel’s usual custom, when engaged to dine out with any nobleman or gentleman, to take a little of something by way of refreshment, and to operate as a damper, that he might not display his vast powers as a gormandiser among people of puny appetites. For one of these previous dinners, or dampers, he ordered at the Crown and Anchor tavern a dozen large mackarel, a duck, and two roasted chickens. One of the waiters, judging from the quantity of victuals ordered, what number of people would probably be expected to dine, laid the cloth, and furnished the table with eight plates, &c. Mr. Handel arrived punctually at the hour he had named for the appearance of his repast, and was informed that none of the company were come, but himself; the landlord therefore humbly suggested to him that the dinner might be kept back, till some more of the company dropped in, “Company!” declaimed the dealer in harmony. “What company?---I expect no company! I ordered these few articles by way of relish for myself, and must beg to be excused from the intrusion of any company whatsoever!”

The twelve mackarel were first introduced, and Mr. Handel paid his devoirs to each of them. He swallowed every one of them with the expedition of a real artist, and seemed almost equal to the task of swallowing the twelve judges. The skeletons of the fish being then removed, in came the duck and the two chickens: the bones of all these were picked with great dexterity; the bill was called, and discharged, and after that the poor gentleman fasted for almost an hour and a quarter, when he repaired to the house of lord H————n, to complete the dinner which he had began at the Crown and Anchor.

ON IMAGINATION.

The imagination is a quality of the soul, not only a brilliant but an happy one, for it is more frequently the cause of our happiness, than of our misery; it presents us with more pleasures than vexations, with more hopes than fears. Men of dull and heavy dispositions, who are not affected by any thing, vegetate and pass their lives in a kind of tranquility, but without pleasure or delight; like animals which see, feel, and taste nothing, but that which is under their eyes, paws, or teeth; but the imagination, which is proper to man, transports us beyond ourselves, and makes us taste future and the most distant pleasures. Let us not be told, that it makes us also foresee evils, pains, and accidents, which will perhaps never arrive: it is seldom that imagination carries us to these panic fears, unless it be deranged by physical causes. The sick man sees dark phantoms, and has melancholy ideas; the man in health has no dreams but such as are agreeable; and as we are more frequently in a good, than a bad state of health, our natural state is to desire, to hope, and to enjoy. It is true, that the imagination, which gives us some agreeable moments, exposes us, when once we are undeceived, to others which are painful. There is no person who does not wish to preserve his life, his health, and his property; but the imagination represents to us our life, as a thing which ought to be very long; our health established and unchangeable; and our fortune inexhaustible: when the two latter of these illusions cease before the former, we are much to be pitied.

This article will appear again on page 164 (No. 74).

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 78.)

The stillness of eternal rest, and the horrors of corruption which were hovering around me, whispered audibly in my ear that this was not a residence fit for living beings. “Is my tutor here?” I enquired after a dreadful pause. The Irishman remained silent, “Hiermanfor! is my tutor here?”

“He is.”

“Alas! then he is dead!” I stammered, staggering against a tomb-stone to support myself.

The face of the Irishman began to brighten up; he took me by the hand; “Come, my Lord, and convince yourself, that even on this spot, where common men behold nothing but death and corruption, the flower of life is blooming!” With these words, he led me round the corner of a small chapel, and I beheld what at first appeared to me the delusion of a dream, my tutor standing five paces distant from me upon a tomb; he was dressed in a white garment, and seemed to await me in tranquil expectation: “Antonio! my friend!” I exclaimed, quivering with joy, and flew with expanded arms to the tomb, but shuddered with horror when I grasped through an airy phantom, instead of embracing my friend.

“Don’t be afraid, Miguel!” said the ethereal being without once opening his lips, or making the least motion, “I am no apparition from the other world. I am yet living; however, the more solid parts of my body are above 600 miles distant. My spirit has assumed this form in order to communicate her ideas to thee. Thou wilt at some future period comprehend this mystery if thou dost follow the directions of Hiermanfor. Young man, there exists a felicity upon earth more sublime than the love of women. Leave Amelia and hasten to Ma***d. Endeavour to break the abominable fetters whereby thy country is chained to the throne of a despot. Down into the dust with Vascon**llos, who has forged these chains, and encreases their weight every day. Thou shalt see me again when thy country is restored to liberty, and I will lead Amelia to thy arms. ’Till then, Miguel, farewell!”

The vision was not dissolved, nor did it sink into the ground, nor rise aloft, and yet it was removed in the twinkling of an eye. “Antonio, my friend!” I exclaimed, “if thy spirit is still hovering around me, tell me whether I may confide blindly in Hiermanfor?”

The vision re-appeared on the tomb as quick as thought. “Follow the advice of Hiermanfor,” he said, “he will supply my place. I have mistaken him like thyself; however, thou shalt know him too as he is known to me; and then we shall be united by stronger ties.”

The vision disappeared, and I heard the Unknown calling to me from the other side of the chapel.

I felt like one who is suddenly roused from a dream, and looked around me with uncertain, examining eyes, searching for the Irishman. He perceived it and came towards me.

The sudden change of the most opposite sensations, particularly the last scene, had affected me very much, and I sat myself down upon a tomb. “Is it not true, Hiermanfor?” said I after a long silence, “I have dreamed?”

“Dreamed?” he replied with astonishment, “and what have you dreamed?”

“Methought my tutor was standing upon this tomb, and talking strange things.”

“I have had the same vision.”

“Hiermanfor! don’t sport with my understanding.”

“It is as I have said.”

“It cannot be!” I exclaimed vehemently, “it was an illusion. Don’t think that I am still as credulous as I have been. Confess only that the vision was a new illusion, whereby you wanted to try me.”

“An illusion requires the assistance of machines: and I give you leave, nay, I beseech you to search for them. You may ransack the whole burying ground, but your labour will be lost.”

“That may be! It has perhaps been one of your finest artifices, but nevertheless it was mere delusion.”

“It was delusion, because you will have it so.”

“Hiermanfor! what do you wish me to believe?”

“Whatever you can believe.”

“Here the figure of my tutor was standing, and there I stood and conversed with him.”

“You may have been dreaming, it was perhaps one of my finest artifices.”

“What can you say against it?”

“Nothing, my Lord, nothing!”

“I conjure you, what can you say against it?”

“On one part I could find it improbable that two people should have the same dream while they are awake; on the other, that the most consummate juggler would find it difficult to produce by day-light, and on an open spot, an airy vision which resembles your friend exactly, talks in a sensible manner, answers questions which are put to it, and appears a second time at your desire.”

“True, very true! however the apparition is not less mysterious to me if I deem it no illusion.”

“You will comprehend it one time, said Antonio.”

“But when? I am dying with a desire to have the mystery unfolded.”

“May I speak without reserve, my Lord.”

“I wish you always had spoken without disguise, and acted openly.”

“What I am going to say may perhaps offend you; Yet I must beg you to give me leave to speak freely. I am not going to address Miguel, but the Duke.”

“Frankness and truth are equally acceptable to the latter as they are to the former; speak without reserve.”

“It is not fondness of truth, but vain curiosity that has driven you upon the dangerous ocean of knowledge, where you are cruising about without either rudder or compass, in search of unknown countries, and enchanted islands. I met you some time since on your voyage, and captured you. You could as well have fallen in with somebody else, who would have forged heavier fetters for you. I have not misused my power over you. You have indeed worked in the fetters which I have chained you with, but not in my service, not for me, but for your country, which you, I am sorry to say, would never have done voluntarily. You have attempted nothing, at least very little, to break those chains, but you struggled hard to avoid serving your country. I endeavoured to keep you in its service by strengthening your chains; however, unforeseen accidents liberated you from your bondage, and then I appeared first to you a lawless corsair, who had made an unlawful prize of you, although you had supposed me, before that time, to be a supernatural being, to whose power you fancied you had surrendered voluntarily. My dear Duke, I am neither a villain, nor am I a supernatural being; however, you are not able to judge of me. It is true that I possess important arcana, by the application of which I can effect wonderful things; but I am not allowed to make use of them before I have tried in vain every common means of attaining my aim. According to my knowledge of your Lordship, the artifices of natural magic were sufficient for carrying my point; but now, as the veil is taken from your eyes, and those delusions by which your will has been guided, have lost their influence upon you, now I could make use of my superior power, by which I have been enabled to effect the apparition of your tutor. However, you judge of my deeds equally wrong as of myself. At first you mistook real delusions, for miracles, and now you mistake the effect of a great and important arcanum, for delusion. Whence these sudden leaps from one extreme to the other? What is it that constantly removes from your eyes the real point of view from which you ought to see things? The source of this evil is within yourself; I will point it out to you, lest you discover it too late. You have an innate propensity, which has been nursed up by your lively imagination, a propensity which is agitating powerfully within you, and struggles for gratification, the propensity to the wonderful. Your tutor strove too late to combat it by the dry speculations of philosophy, instead of guiding and confining it in proper bounds. My God! your friend is an excellent man, who had your real happiness at heart; however, his philosophy was not altogether consistent. A preconceived contempt of all occult sciences prevented him examining them with impartiality, and declaring all events contrary to the common course of nature, to be the effects of imposition. He committed a sin against philosophy, premising as demonstrated, what was to be proved. Your own feeling, my Lord, made you sensible of the defects and exaggerations of his arguments; your reason was not sufficient to rectify, or to refute them; and thus you have adopted the principles of your tutor, not from conviction, but from a blind confidence in his learning and honesty, and believing the assertions of your instructor, you believed in his philosophy.”

“Hiermanfor! I think you are right.”

“Give me leave to proceed. It was consequently not philosophical conviction that made you suspect your inclination to the wonderful; but faith was opposed to faith. The former was founded on the authority of your tutor, and the latter on the secret voice of your heart. Regard for your friend, and the ambition of being looked upon as a philosopher, impelled you to adopt the principles of your tutor, and an innate instinct spurred you to yield to the voice of your heart, and thus you embraced by turns, the opinion of your instructor and the faith which originated from your heart, according to the strength of motive which prevailed on either side. However, these motives were never pure undoubted arguments of reason, but mere sentiments, which made you shift from one side to the other, in the same measure in which your sentiments of one or the other kind, received nourishment or additional strength from without. As soon as I began to play off my magical machineries your belief in miracles began to prevail; but as soon as your tutor recapitulated his lectures, philosophy resumed her former sway. You were a ball which flew alternately in his and my hands, because you wanted firm conviction, to fix yourself upon. Nevertheless I should have succeeded at last in getting an exclusive power over you merely by means of my delusions, because your predilection for the wonderful, and your imagination, which found an excuse and a gratification in my works, would have prevailed over the philosophical sentences which you have been taught. Paleski discovered to you what you ought to have discovered yourself, that my arts were mere delusions, and now you conclude that I can produce nothing but delusions. Perhaps you go still farther, and deny even the possibility of apparitions, because I have raised in Amelia’s house a ghost who was none. At bottom you keep firm to your character; you came over to my party because your feelings found their account in doing so; you find you have been deceived, and you fly back again to the opposite party because you fancy to find truth there. However you are really guided only by a blind instinct, by sentiment and opinion. And with these guides do you fancy you can penetrate to the sanctuary of truth and happiness?——Unhappy young man! you are doomed to deceive yourself and to be deceived.”

After a short pause the Irishman resumed:

“Pardon my frankness, my Lord! I have done.”

(To be continued.)

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

CHARACTER OF A POOR MAN.

Rhebo is hollow-eyed, lank and meagre of visage. He sleeps little, and his slumbers are very short. He is absent, he muses, and, though a man of sense, has a stupid air. He imagines himself troublesome to those he is conversing with. He relates every thing lamely, and in a few words. No one listens to him, he does not raise a laugh. He applauds and smiles at what others say to him, and is of their opinion. He runs, he flies, to do them little services. He is complaisant, bustling, and a flatterer. There is no street how crowded soever, but he can easily pass through it without the least trouble, and slips away unperceived. When desired to sit, he scarce touches the frame of the chair. He speaks low in conversation, and is inarticulate; yet sometimes he discourses freely on public affairs, and is angry at the age. He coughs under his hat, and spits almost upon himself, he endeavours to sneeze apart from the company; and puts no person to the trouble of saluting, or paying him a compliment.——He is poor.

GLEANINGS.

A good author should have the style and courage of a captain, the integrity of a dying man, and so much sense and ingenuity, as to impose nothing, either weak or needless, on the world.

The best of authors are not without their faults, and if they were, the world would not entertain them as they deserve. Perfection is often called for, but nobody would bear it. The only perfect man that ever appeared in the world was crucified.

The man whose book is filled with quotations, may be said to creep along the shore of authors, as if he were afraid to trust himself to the free compass of reasoning. Others defend such authors by a different allusion, and ask whether honey is the worse for being gathered from many flowers?

A few choice books make the best library: a multitude will confound us, whereas a moderate quantity will assist and help us. Masters of great libraries are too commonly like booksellers, acquainted with little else than the titles.

He who reads books by extracts, may be said to read by deputy. Much depends on the latter, whether he reads to any purpose.

Satire is the only kind of wit, for which we have scripture authority and example, in the case of Elijah ridiculing the false gods of Ahab.

He that always praises me, is undoubtedly a flatterer; but he that sometimes praises, and sometimes reproves me, is probably my friend, and speaks his mind. Did we not flatter ourselves, others would do us no hurt.

Men are too apt to promise according to their hopes, and perform according to their fears.

Secrecy has all the prudence, and none of the vices either of simulation, or dissimulation.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

An Enigmatical List of amiable young Ladies in this City.

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NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

At Elizabeth Town, on Saturday evening the 3d inst. by the Rev. Mr. Rayner, Mr. Beza E. Bliss, of this city, to Miss Betsey Jelf Thomas, of that place.

On Sunday evening the 21st ult. by the Rev. Mr. Schenck, Mr. Joel Scidmore, of Crab-Meadow (L.I.) to Miss Hannah Hoyt, of Dicks-Hills, (L.I.)

On Saturday evening the 3d inst. by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Captain Daniel Hawley, of Connecticut, to Miss Catharine Gilbert, daughter of William W. Gilbert, Esq. of this city.

On Wednesday evening the 31st ult. by the Rev. Mr. Burnet, Mr. Joseph Wickes, of Troy, to Miss Susannah Raymond, of Norwalk, (Connecticut.)

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 4th to the 10th 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.

Sept. 4 67 75 7250 nw.do.ne. clear,do.do

5 63 7075 69 ne.nw.do. cleardo.do.

6 6350 7125 7050 ne.dodo. cleardo.do.

7 6825 74 6325 ne.do.se. cloudy,cleardo.

8 66 71 6650 e.do.do. cloudy,lt. wd.do.

9 7150 7550 7550 se.n.w. high wd. & rn. at night

10 6725 7875 73 nw.w.do. clear,lt. wd.do.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO EMMA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF MR. PETER ABEEL, WHO CEASED TO EXIST ON THE 30TH ULT.

EPIGRAM.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE RISING MOON.

THE BATCHELOR’S WISH.

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, September 21, 1796. [No. 64.

AN ENQUIRY INTO THE EFFECTS OF LOVE ON LIFE AND MANNERS.

There is something irresistibly pleasing in the conversation of a fine woman: even though her tongue be silent, the eloquence of her eyes teaches wisdom. The mind sympathizes with the regularity of the object in view, and struck with external grace, vibrates into respondent harmony.

Whether love be natural or no, it contributes to the happiness of every society into which it is introduced. All our pleasures are short, and can only charm at intervals: love is a method of protracting our greatest pleasure; and surely that gamester, who plays the greatest stake to the best advantage, will at the end of life, rise victorious. This was the opinion of Vanini, who affirmed that, “every hour was lost which was not spent in love.” His accusers were unable to comprehend his meaning, end the poor advocate for love was burned in flames, alas! no way metaphorical. But whatever advantages the individual may reap from this passion, society will certainly be refined and improved by its introduction; all laws, calculated to discourage it, tend to embrute the species and weaken the state. Though it cannot plant morals in the human breast, it cultivates them when there: pity, generosity, and honour, receive a brighter polish from its assistance; and a single amour is sufficient entirely to brush off the clown.

But it is an exotic of the most delicate constitution; it requires the greatest art to introduce it into a state, and the smallest discouragement is sufficient to repress it again. Let us only consider with what ease it was formerly extinguished in Rome, and with what difficulty it was lately revived in Europe: it seemed to sleep for ages, and at last fought its way through tilts, tournaments, dragons, and all the dreams of chivalry. The rest of the world, are, and have ever been, utter strangers to its delights and advantages. In other countries, as men find themselves stronger than women, they lay a claim to rigorous superiority: this is natural, and love which gives up this natural advantage, must certainly be the effect of art. An art, calculated to lengthen out our happier moments, and add new graces to society.

Those countries where it is rejected, are obliged to have recourse to art to stifle so natural a projection, and those nations where it is cultivated, only make nearer advances to nature. The same efforts, that are used in some places to suppress pity and other natural passions, may have been employed to extinguish love. No nation, however unpolished, is remarkable for innocence, that has not been famous for passion; it has flourished in the coldest, as well as the warmest regions. Even in the sultry wilds of southern America, the lover is not satisfied with possessing his mistress’s person, without having her mind.

The effects of love are too violent to be the result of an artful passion. Nor is it in the power of fashion, to force the constitution into those changes, which we every day observe. Several have died of it. Few lovers are unacquainted with the fate of the two Italian lovers, Da Corsin and Julia Bellamano, who, after a long separation, expired with pleasure in each other’s arms. Such instances are too strong confirmations of the reality of the passion, and serve to shew that suppressing it, is but opposing the natural dictates of the heart.

AUTHENTICATED ETYMOLOGIES.

When the seamen on board the ship of Christopher Columbus, after a series of fatigues, came in sight of St. Salvador, they burst out into exuberant mirth and jollity. “The lads are in a merry key,” cried the commodore. America is now the name of half the globe.

The famous Hannibal took his name from that of his mother, Hannah Bell, a poor Scotch garter knitter at Carthage.

Dionysius Hallicarnassus derives the word Mediterranean from this event: Two girls of Syracuse used every morning to pour tea and other slops from an upper window into the street: Whenever, therefore, the neighbours heard the sash of their apartments lifted up, they would cry, “Maid or two rain on!” The learned very well know how soon a word is combined, and becomes general.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

Translated from the French.

(Concluded from page 83.)

During his absence, the watchful policy of the fair Sultaness contrived to acquire a great number of creatures, ready to undertake any thing to serve her; she caused several favours to be conferred on them, through the interest the Count had with the Sultan. He was now grown prodigiously in his favour—The Sultan used frequently to divert himself with hunting, it was an exercise he extremely loved, and the Count understanding it perfectly, was always one of the party.—The expresses which were continually brought of the victories Thibault had gained over the enemy, increased the Sultan’s esteem for the two hostages. Three months passed thus, with creating new friends on the Queen’s side, and confidence on the Sultan’s; but the joy of both, though for different reasons was compleated, when a courier arrived with the news that the conquering Thibault had entirely vanquished, cut the whole army of the foe in pieces, killed their prince with his own hand, and not only recovered the dominion they had taken from the Sultan, but also added that of the bold invader to his empire.---These glorious actions were celebrated in Almeria by great rejoicings;—nothing was talked of but the bravery of the captive, and the obligations both king and people had to him. As for him, when he found no more enemies to combat, he made haste to garrison the conquered places, and having deputed such governors as he thought were faithful, returned in triumph to Almeria. The Sultan received him as his guardian angel, restored him his liberty, and pressed him to accept the greatest places in his empire, if he would change his religion; but the other gave him to understand, though with the greatest respect, that he could not embrace his favours, but assured him he would stay at his court as long as he should be wanted. This refusal was so far from incensing, that the Sultan gave him the greater esteem for it; and this illustrious warrior became so considerable at the court of Almeria, that nothing was done but by his advice. The Sultaness finding the success of her project, now thought it time to put the finishing stroke to it. She pretended to be with child, and that the air of Almeria did not agree with her; a Renegada physician, that she had gained to her interest, assured the Sultan that her life would be in danger, if she did not remove from where the was; that prince alarmed by the tenderness he had for her, begged her to make choice of any of his houses of pleasure, to go and reside in.—The Sultaness pitched on one which was by the seaside, and the way to which was by sea.—The Sultan immediately gave orders for the equipping a galley, and the Queen took care to fill it with persons entirely devoted to her interest.—When every thing was ready, she begged the Sultan that she might be accompanied thither by the French cavalier, for the security of her person; as for the Count de Ponthieu and his son, there was no occasion for asking leave for their attendance, because they belonged immediately to her. The Sultan made no scruple of granting every thing she desired, and she embarked with her father, her brother, and husband, and the faithful Sayda; taking with her a son of seven years old, which she had by the Sultan, leaving in Almeria a daughter that was still at the breast. Heaven seeming to favour their designs, they were no sooner got to sea, than our warriors, seconded by the Queen’s creatures, obliged the slaves of the galley to row directly to Brindes, where they happily arrived. The Princess gave the christian slaves their liberty, and put in their places all the Saracens she could purchase, with orders to give the Sultan the following letter:

The Princess of Ponthieu to the Sultan of Almeria.

“If I had only your generosity to have combated, I would have discovered to you the cause which urged me to this flight—convinced, that you would rather have favoured than opposed it; but your love and religion being insurmountable obstacles, I was obliged to make use of artifice to be just.—I quit you not, my lord, through inconstancy, I follow my husband, my father, and my brother, who were the three captives whose lives you granted me; my husband having exposed his for your glory, and the security of your dominions, has, in part, acquitted me of the obligations I owe you.—I am a christian, and was a sovereign before your wife; judge therefore, whether my rank and religion did not demand this of me.---I shall always with gratitude remember the honour you have done me; I have left you my daughter, being obliged to abandon her on account of her youth:---Look on her, I intreat you, with the eyes of a father.---I wish you all the happiness you deserve, and shall with fervency beg of Heaven to bless you with that divine illumination, which is the only thing in which your heroic virtues are deficient.

“Ponthieu.”

The Sultan saw the galley return, and received the Princess’s letter, while she was prosecuting her journey to Rome; he was inconceivably afflicted at the news, but his reason at length getting the better of his despair, he endeavoured to comfort himself, by transplanting all the tenderness he had paid the mother to the little daughter. In the mean time, our illustrious fugitives arrived at Rome; where they were received by the Pope with extraordinary honours; and after having reconciled the Princess and Sayda to the bosom of the church, they departed, loaded with presents and favours to Ponthieu, where the unanimous joy of the people for their return is not to be expressed. The Count dying some time after, his son inherited his dominions; but that young prince not long surviving, he left the sovereignty to the Princess his sister, who with her husband reigned a long time in perfect glory and happy unity. The son she had by the Sultan, married a rich Heiress of Normandy, from whom are descended the lords of Preau; and the princess, who was left behind with the Sultan, was married to a Saracen prince, and from a daughter of that princess was born the famous Saladin, Sultan of Egypt, so known and dreaded by all christianity.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

The influence of music on our affections is a truth established both by sacred and profane history, and confirmed by its constant use in all religious rites where the passions are most deeply interested. If this art has power to direct the emotions of the heart, does it not deserve our most earnest attention to preserve its proper influence, and direct it to the good purposes intended by the wise and kind Author of all things? And this can only be done by preventing the art itself from being corrupted by the caprice and absurdity of human frailty, and by directing the powers of its purity to assist us in the habits of virtue and religion. Plutarch tells us, that a man who has learned music from his infancy, will ever after have a proper sense of right and wrong, and an habitual persuasion to decorum; this is undoubtedly true if we consider the ancient manner of inculcating the laws of their country, the great actions of heroes, the praises of their deities, which were the subjects of this art; not to mention its mathematical principles, which made a part of the Greek education, and induced the youths to serious enquiry, and led them to noble truths. The same author has also told us, that the manners of a people are best denoted by the prevailing music of their country: and this is certainly true; as the mind will always seek its repose and delight in pursuits the most similar to its general tendency and direction. This reflection leads us to consider the present state of music in this country, and how far it may be made subservient to the ornamental part of education; and at the same time a means of inducing the mind to the sober pursuits of virtue and religion, which ought to be the true intention of parents in forming the minds of their children.

Music is to be understood as a powerful assistant to sentimental expression, which by the power of its charms enforces our attention to some particular subject, adapted to some natural passion of mankind. Under such consideration we are strongly impressed with the ideas of love, pity, fear, or some other natural affection. But to produce the effects of nature, the means must be unnatural: and to raise the ideas of certain passions, the means should be consonant to the passion itself; and confined within the simple bounds of nature. If this be not the case in music, its true end is defeated, it ceases to be an assistant to sentimental expression, and we absurdly admire its mere sounds, rather than powerfully feel its proper effects.

A. O.

(To be continued.)

New-York, Sept. 15, 1796.

IMITATION.

The more we follow the example of others, without being able to give a reason for what we do, the more we detract from the dignity of thinking beings; and the more we neglect to analyze and examine the manners of the world we live in, the more we neglect one of the most important duties of human life.

CURIOUS HISTORICAL ANECDOTE.

In the reign of Edward the First of England, the gallant Robert Bruce formed a conspiracy against that monarch, to effect the liberation of his country: Of this Edward was secretly informed, and planted spies to watch the motions of Bruce and his coadjutors: But a young nobleman, a particular friend of the latter, understanding by some means the situation of affairs respecting both parties, and unwilling to act disloyally towards his sovereign, yet solicitous for the safety of his friend, sent him as a present a pair of gilt spurs and a purse of gold. This Robert Bruce considered as a warning to make his escape, which he effected by ordering his horses to be shod with their shoes turned backwards, to prevent his being tracked in the snow which had just fallen.

ANECDOTE OF VOLTAIRE.

A young Frenchman in Paris conceived the most ardent desire to see and speak with the celebrated M. Voltaire. Without any friends who knew the philosopher, he could not hope for an introduction to his person; resolved however not to be disappointed in his favourite object, he went to the house and demanded to see the valet, to whom, having disclosed his unconquerable longing, he presented a few livres, begging to be led to the chamber door of the great man. The valet complied with his request, and the youth tremblingly knocked at the door, “Who’s there?” vociferated a loud voice; he knocked again, “Who disturbs me with such a noise? Come in,” cried the philosopher, who happened to be in rather a sullen humour. The young man, hesitatingly opened the door, and with a faultering step and trembling voice addressed the object he so earnestly wished to see—“I have long ardently desired to behold and speak with the very celebrated M. Voltaire; excuse my intrusion.” “For three sous,” angrily replied the poet, “you may gain admission so see any beast.” “Here, Sir, are six, for this interview, and six more for another sight tomorrow,” replied the youth with some presence of mind. The sage was so struck with his prompt reply, and perhaps his vanity not a little flattered, that he immediately admitted him into the circle of his most intimate friends, and continued ever after to shew him particular marks of friendship and regard.

BEST MEANS OF ACQUIRING HAPPINESS.

The mind is undoubtedly the seat of happiness and misery, and it is within our power to determine, which shall hold the empire there. To maintain an uniform conduct, through all the varying stations of life—to content ourselves with what comes within our reach, without pining after what we cannot obtain, or envying others what they possess---to maintain a clear unsullied conscience---and to allow for the infirmities of others, from a retrospect of our own, are perhaps some of the best rules we can lay down, in order to banish misery from this mortal frame, and to acquire such a degree of happiness, as may enable us to perform our terrestrial journey with some degree of satisfaction so ourselves and others.

MILITARY ANECDOTES.

We use the word Panic or Panic Fear, for a needless or ill-grounded fright. What marshal Saxe terms le cœur humain is no other than fear occasioned by surprise. It is owing to that cause that an ambush is generally so destructive; intelligence of it before hand renders it harmless. At the siege of Amiens by the Gauls, Cæsar came up with his army, which did not exceed 7000 men, and began to intrench himself in such a hurry, that the barbarians judging him to be afraid, attacked his intrenchments with great spirit. During the time they were filling up the ditch, he issued out with his cohorts; and, by attacking them unexpectedly, struck a panic that made them fly with precipitation, not a single man offering to make a stand. At the siege of Alesia, the Gauls, infinitely superior in number, attacked the Roman lines of circumvallation, in order to raise the siege. Cæsar ordered a body of his men to march silently and to attack them on the one flank, while he, with another body, did the same on the other flank. The surprise of being attacked when they expected a defence only, put the Gauls into disorder, and gave an easy victory to Cæsar.

A third instance may be added no less memorable. In the year 846, an obstinate battle was fought between Xamire king of Leon and Abdoulrahman the Moorish king of Spain. After a long conflict, the night only prevented the Arabians from obtaining a complete victory. The king of Leon, taking advantage of the darkness, retreated to a neighbouring hill, leaving the Arabians masters of the field of battle. Next morning, perceiving that he could not maintain his place for want of provisions, nor be able to draw off his men in the face of a victorious army, he ranged his men in order of battle, and, without losing a moment, marched to attack the enemy, resolved to conquer or die. The Arabians, astonished to be attacked by those who were conquered the night before, lost all heart. Fear succeeded to astonishment; the panic was universal; and they all turned their backs almost without drawing a sword.

SIMPLICITY.

Genuine simplicity is that peculiar quality of the mind, by which some happy characters are enabled to avoid the most distant approaches to every thing like affectation, inconsistency, or design, in their intercourse with the world. It is much more easily understood, however, than defined; and consists not in any specific tone of the voice, movement of the body, or mode imposed by custom, but is the natural and permanent effect of real modesty and good sense on the whole behaviour.

It has been considered, in all ages, as one of the first and most captivating ornaments of the sex. The savage, the plebeian, the man of the world, and the courtier, are agreed in stamping it with a preference to every other female excellence.

MEANINGS OF THE WORD MAKE.

The word make is perhaps used in a greater variety of senses than any other word in the English language. For instance:

“To make, fabricate, form, render, create, &c. These words though sometimes used indifferently for each other, yet are by no means synonymous.

The taylor, makes a coat, the shoemaker a pair of shoes, the carpenter a joint-stool, &c. ad infinitum.

We say a man makes a shift, but they must not suppose that he makes use of his wife’s needle, and makes her a shift. The words are used figuratively, and only imply, that when he has no shirt, he makes a shift without it.

Again, kings make war, and children make a noise; but it would be absurd to say, that kings fabricate a war or that children fabricate a noise.

A lady bids her housekeeper make or distil some peppermint, or any other simple water; or to make her some water-gruel in her silver saucepan, but it would be rather indelicate simply to bid her make water in the saucepan.

We may say, indifferently, either to make or to form a party at cards, or on the water. And the word render may sometimes be substituted for make; as making love makes or renders an old man ridiculous.

I believe the phrase is to give, not to make, a rout or a ball. And though if a lady loses her thimble she sometimes makes a rout about it, yet that, I believe, is rather a vulgarism; like making a fuss or a bustle about trifles.

We say, such a thing makes me sick, or makes me laugh.

If a man has a good wife, he should make much of her; if a bad one, he should make the best of it; or at least make himself easy, but not make away with her.

To create, means to make something out of nothing. Hence we say, metaphorically, to create a dispute, that is, to dispute about nothing.

But it is time to make an end of this article.

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DETACHED THOUGHTS.

The Swiss, who shot himself because he was tired of dressing and undressing, would have done so long before, had he not had so much employment. Our Creator, knowing what sort of particles he composed us of, obliged us to labour, not only for the support of ‘life,’ but of existence itself. Were we cloathed by nature like the other animals, and subsisted on the spontaneous herbage of the field, we should lose our patience before fifty, and hang or drown ourselves in dread of three score.

Maids should be seen and not heard, they say. This is comparing them to peacocks.

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REMARKS.

Some prejudices seem to be to the mind what the atmosphere is to the body; we cannot feel without the one, as we cannot breathe without the other.

Many persons complain against fortune merely to conceal their indolence. If you will be content to do nothing, how can you expect the rewards of diligence.

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 86.)

“You have made me behold myself in a view to which I was an utter stranger, and which terrifies me. Hiermanfor, tell it me frankly, if you have to add any thing farther; the more unreserved you shall be, the more my gratitude will increase.”

“Yes, my Lord, you deserve a better fate than what you are preparing for yourself. You possess a noble quality which is but rarely the property of princes, the courage of listening to disagreeable truths; a noble heart is panting in your bosom; you possess more desire for knowledge than you ought; your intention is good, however, you will be ruined in spite of all these noble qualities. You are destitute of firmness of mind; you fluctuate like a wave of the sea, which is driven and tossed to and fro with the wind. You are doomed to be constantly the sport of others, and never to steer your own course. That unshaken firmness of resolution which is the effect of well founded conviction, is not in the catalogue of your virtues. Your reason prevails too little on your sensuality and imagination, which are hurrying you rapidly along through bye ways. Nay, I even maintain that your rage for occult knowledge has had as yet no other source but sensual pleasure; it gratified your ambition to know more than other people; it flattered your self-love to have the powers of nature at your command; it was a pleasing sight to your eyes to witness extraordinary events, as children delight to hear tales of giants and enchanted castles. And could you, in that disposition of mind, think yourself worthy to be introduced to a sanctuary, which even serious disinterested love of truth dares not enter without being first purified. You have experienced what you did deserve, you merited to be put off with mystic words, with juggling tricks and slights of hand; and you were satisfied with these gewgaws. First after the veil had been removed from your eyes by other people, you were highly displeased at my having taken the liberty to sell you delusions for truth—for truth! as if ever pure love for truth had guided you, and what you mistook for it had been any thing else but vain curiosity. Notwithstanding this, I have given you a specimen of my superior power, and shown you the ghost of your living friend, who is many hundred miles distant from hence, and you prove instantly how little you deserve this condescension. You find not the least difference between this vision and the former juggling tricks, mistaking it for a dream, for a new delusion. Young man, learn first to discern truth from illusion, and acquire a proper knowledge of the preparatory sciences, before you attempt at occult wisdom; get first a proper knowledge of yourself, before you strive for knowledge of occult things; endeavour to bridle your imagination by cool reflection, and your sensuality by self-denial, before you dare to grasp at the sway over the powers of nature.”

“How insignificant do I appear to myself, Hiermanfor! don’t spare me, and let me feel my whole nothingness.”

“Man has gained a great advantage, if he has learned to be sensible of his weakness, however he ought also to remain no stranger to his strength. My Lord, we are endowed with a heavenly gift, which is called reason; but how widely does it differ from what one commonly thinks it to be; reason ought first to be purified, and divested of every thing that is not herself, before she can become to us an infallible guide. Assisted by her, we subdue our sensuality, and soar above visible nature. Sensuality is the only thing terrestrial in us: reason raises us to the communication with superior spirits. The more we learn to subdue the former, the more sway do we obtain over the powers of nature; the more we purify the latter, the more intimately are we connected with superior beings. Man is an intermediate being between an angel and an animal; is the sole creature that, by means of his senses, is connected with the physical world, and through his reason with higher spirits, and consequently can act upon both. Do you divine nothing, my Lord? These words imply an important truth; however it would lead me too far, if I should attempt to unfold it at large.”

“O let me taste only a few drops from that sacred fountain!”

“At some other time, my Lord! important affairs bid me at present to leave you. Will you accompany me to town?”

“With pleasure.”

His coach had been waiting for us at some distance from the burying-place.—The Irishman ordered his coachman to make haste, and told me on the road that I must depart for Ma***t in two days. At the same time he promised to meet me the following night at eleven o’clock, and to continue the subject on which he had been speaking. He set me down at my house and took leave.

The time which Lady Delier had fixed for our interview was past. This would have been extremely painful to me in any other situation of mind, but now my thoughts were employed by objects of greater importance. What I had seen and heard at the burial-place had made a deep impression upon me. The more I reflected on the vision, the more did it surpass my power of conception. Deception is afraid of the light, seeking the dusk of evening, or the darkness of night, in order to blind the eyes of the deluded person; deception plays off its machineries in places which are shut up, and previously have been fitted for the purpose; at the same time it endeavours to harrow the mind, by solemn preparations, in a disposition answerable to the deception; but here I could not perceive any thing of that kind. The vision appeared at noon, and in an open place, and when the Irishman called me away to the burial-place, I was going to inform myself of a love affair, and of course, in a disposition very unpropitious for apparitions or ghosts; deception takes care to prevent the beholder from coming near its works, and I was near enough to touch the phantom; deception never exposes its secret machines to the danger of being discovered, and the Irishman invited me to make the strictest investigation. And the vision itself, as it appeared, a living human figure, and yet so incorporeal, that my arms penetrated it without leaving a vestige behind——the resemblance to Antonio so great, that it seemed to be the living original; and this figure spoke and returned answers so adequate to my questions;——it did not, indeed, move its lips, and the voice differed a little from that of Antonio; however, its speaking organs were materially different from his natural ones. At last, the disappearing and re-appearing at my desire——did it not denote a free will of the vision?——In short, the longer I reflected on the matter, the less did it appear to me the work of deception.

And if it were no fiction, what I have seen; what an astonishing mystery does it imply? How is it possible for a living, absent man to appear to his friend, as the deceased are reported to do? How can his soul disembody herself for a short time, and inclose herself in an imitated shape? The Irishman has, indeed, given me a hint concerning the possibility of such miracles; but how unfit was I to comprehend that distant hint, and how much did my soul thirst for the promised continuation of his discourse? He is in the right, I did not, as yet, deserve to be instructed in the mysteries of occult knowledge; I merited to be put off with vain delusions. How little did my impetuous curiosity agree with a disciple of occult knowledge; how insignificant must I have appeared to him! How great did he shew himself to me! With what an astonishing omniscience did he read my most hidden thoughts; with what a great sagacity has he laid open my weakness, and with how much frankness told me my defects! If it were his intention to deceive me any farther, he would silently have taken advantage of my blind side, and carefully avoided to open my eyes. He certainly could not have given me a more unsuspicious and convincing proof of the goodness and purity of his sentiments towards me.—This openness, this noble sincerity, deserves, undoubtedly, my unbounded gratitude. Yes, Antonio, he shall guide me in thy room! I will confide in him as I have confided in thee.

In the evening I went to Amelia, to inform her of my impending departure. She was just playing on the harpsicord, and received me with a silent smile, without suffering herself to be interrupted in her play. The Baroness, however, received me with cold civility; I could guess the reason of it; however I had no opportunity to make an excuse. The affecting pieces, which Amelia played with an unspeakable charm, began to melt my soul, and to thrill me with a sweet melancholy. But suddenly the recollection of the Irishman, of my resolution, and of my departure flushed through my head: I left my dangerous post, and Amelia ceased playing. I had placed myself at the open window——she followed me thither.

“So immersed in meditation, my Lord?”

“I am thinking of my departure.”

“You are not going to leave us?”

“I must depart the day after to-morrow. Business of great importance requires my personal attendance at Ma***t.”

This news produced surprise and silence. The coldness of Lady Delier began to thaw. “I hope your business, my Lord,” said she, “is not so very pressing.”

“Alas! it is so pressing that it suffers not the least delay.”

“Alas!” Amelia repeated, “one should think your departure was painful to your heart!” She blushed, as if she had said something imprudent.

“Alas! it is too painful to my heart; but who cares for my heart?”

“Indeed,” Lady Delier replied, “you think very unkind of us.”

“It is a gloomy night,” said Amelia, going to the window, and the thread of our conversation was cut off at once. I endeavoured to lead it again to its former channel; however I perceived that the conversation grew irksome and dull; it turned on a hundred most insignificant trifles, but the Countess avoided carefully to touch the former string, although I sounded it repeatedly, softer or louder. At length I took leave. Lady Delier was so kind as to see me down stairs; I told her that an important visit from the Irishman, whom I had endeavoured in vain to put off, had prevented me from keeping the appointment. She took my excuse very kindly, and made me promise to meet her the next morning at ten o’clock at the fir grove.

Uneasiness and curiosity drove me thither at the appointed hour. The Baroness was waiting for me. “The Countess is at church,” said she, “let me take advantage of her short absence, and commit a little treachery; but take heed not so betray me to my friend!”

“Certainly not,” I replied, my curiosity being harrowed up to the highest degree by this exordium.

“All that I have to disclose to you is contained in two words: you are beloved, my Lord!”

“My Lady!”---

“Give me leave to relate the matter in a proper manner.” The Baroness, seemed delighted with my astonishment, continued, “recollect your first interview with the Countess; you have not been indifferent to her already, at the time when she accepted the ring which you offered her; however, the good Countess did not know it then herself. She fancied her sentiments to be merely the effects of the gratitude which she imagined the owed you, because you have been the primary cause of the long wished for apparition of her deceased Lord. However, that apparition which declared you, afterwards, the son of the murderer, made thereby Amelia think it her duty to restrain her kindness for you. The difficulty which she had to submit to the voice of duty, told her plainly, that in her heart something more than gratitude was panting for you. Fortunately, the ghost himself had desired her to forgive the murderer; she imagined, therefore, it would be but just to extend the forgiveness to the son. She did not foresee that her tenderness for you, covered by that pretext, would find so much the less difficulty to steal again into the heart which it scarcely had been expelled. Not before Amelia’s tenderness for you rose to a degree, which left no room for doubt of her attachment for you, did she perceive that her readiness to be reconciled to you, originated less from the request of the ghost, than from that of her own heart. You may believe me, my Lord, that it was no easy matter to draw these particulars from Amelia’s lips. She concealed carefully in her bosom a passion, the existence of which she trembled to confess. She had made a vow of eternal fidelity to her late Lord, and although she fancied she had not violated her promise by voluntary sentiments, yet a confession of these sentiments, though deposited only in the bosom of an intimate friend, appeared to her a profanation of her solemn declaration. However her speaking frequently of you with evident marks of partiality, made me, nevertheless, suspect a part of the secret, which the Irishman’s vision unfolded entirely to me.

(To be continued.)

MISFORTUNE.

To fly from misfortunes, and endeavour to console ourselves by retiring from the world, is undoubtedly encreasing the evil we wish to lessen. This has often been the case of disappointed lovers. They have vainly imagined, that there must be something very soothing to the afflicted mind, in listening to the plaintive sound of some purling and meandering stream, or in uttering their plaints to the gentle breezes and the nodding groves. But, alas! these delusive consolations only contribute to feed the disorders of the mind, and increase the evil till melancholy takes deep root in their souls, and renders their complaints incurable.

The society of the polite and refined of both sexes is the only relief, at least the principal one, for any uneasiness of the mind. Here a variety of objects will insensibly draw our attention from that one which tyrannises in our bosom, and endeavours to exclude all others.

EXTRAORDINARY THIRST FOR FAME.

Pausanias, a domestic, and near attendant upon the person of Philip, king of Macedon, enquired of Hermocles, which was the most expeditious way to be famous in the world on a sudden? Who answered he must kill some eminent person, and then the glory of that man would fall upon himself; hereupon, forgetting his duty and obligations, he murdered his sovereign and master king Philip, and had what he aimed at, being as well known in succeeding ages by his horrid parricide, as Philip was by his great virtue.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Sunday evening, by the Rev. Mr. Pilmore, Mr. Leonard Rogers to Miss Betsey Oakley.

Not long since, Capt. James Ward, of Middle-Point, (N.J.) to Miss Jane Vanpelt, of that place.

On Thursday 7th inst. Mr. Francis St Mary, to Miss Elizabeth Rousseau, of Cayenne.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 11th to the 17th 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.

Sept. 11 72 81 79 w.do.do. clear, lt. wd. do. do. do.

12 7475 82 81 sw.w.do. cloudy, lt. wd. do. do.

13 7025 76 7275 sw.do.se. rn lt. wd.clearcloudy do.

14 76 83 7350 swdo.w. clear do. rain thun & lt.

15 73 7850 76 w.do.do. thun. lt. rain at nightdo.

16 64 7125 7050 nw.dow. clear lt. wd. do.do. do.

17 6725 7325 6350 s.sw.w. clear h. wd. do. l. wd.

N.B. On Wednesday last, at about 5 o’clock P.M. a very violent whirlwind seemed to concentrate within the vicinity of the house in which the Balloon was suspended, in the suburbs of this city.—Such was its violence, that it threw down and rent in pieces the said house, in all directions; the fence around it was also destroyed. The Balloon was suspended, and at this time was compleatly filled with atmospheric air; by the fall and rending of the house the Balloon was totally separated in several pieces, and otherwise so torn and rent as to be totally irreparable. Such was the dreadful violence of the wind at this place, and but for a moment, that a round tin gutter, which was well fastened to the house adjoining, and which had resisted other storms, was totally broken in several pieces, and part of it carried 50 yards distant. The fence at this house was rent and torn very much. This storm was attended with very violent thunder and lightning, which continued nearly an hour, and a great quantity of rain. In the night following a very heavy storm of thunder, lightning, very high wind, and rain.

It may very justly be presumed, that there was as great a quantity of thunder and lightning in eight hours, as ever was experienced in so short a time; and it evidently appears to have left a charming, agreeable and healthy atmosphere, and, doubtless, great public good will result therefrom.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ELEGY

ON MISS MARGARETTA HERVEY,

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE March 14, 1796.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

WRITTEN DURING THE STORM ON WEDNESDAY LAST, THE 15th INST.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

LINES

On hearing a young Lady singing a favourite Song.

PADDY’S REMARK ON A TREBLE RAP AT THE DOOR.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE TRIBUNAL OF CONSCIENCE.

THE SHIELD OF SORROW.

By W. P. Carey.