VOLUME II. (continued 7)

On a Lady putting a White Rocket in her Bosom.

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.

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 28, 1796. [No. 65.

THE LADIES’ MONITOR.

ADDRESSED TO EVERY FAIR READER, WHETHER SINGLE OR MARRIED.

A multitude of admirers is an object too generally coveted by young females, yet it is certainly a very improper method to be taken by such as wish to be happy in matrimony. Sensible and well-meaning, worthy and sincere men, are seldom attracted within the circle of those who adopt this conduct; if they should fall within it, it is very seldom that they long retain the slight chains of such a love.—In particular, it is remarkably improper and absurd for a woman, who has already a sensible lover, to languish for a number of flatterers to admire her---should she miss of her aim, she fancies herself unhappy: should she succeed, she is likely to be really so. A man who values his own honour, or the dignity proper for the female whom he addresses to assume, will by no means admit of this plurality of lovers, any more than the laws will admit of a plurality of husbands.

A neatness, without excess, in point of dress, a prudent restraint of the tongue, a moderation in taking diversions, and an unaffected ease and politeness, joined to the usual accomplishments, must complete the character of an accomplished lady in a single state; and will, in the end, outweigh the transitory, though delightful charms of a beautiful person.

However, it frequently happens that women, as soon as they are married, seem to think their task is entirely done, yet it is no less common for them to find that it is just then to begin again. It is often an easier matter to win a man than to keep him; and those who have found little trouble in conquering a sweetheart, have had no small difficulty in preserving the affections of a husband.

In the first place, there is nothing more proper, than to observe, with the utmost nicety, the temper of the person to whom you are to be joined in matrimony---For this is the very key to happiness in that state, and if it be not found, all other efforts will be ineffectual. It is in vain to conclude, that, from the apparent disposition of the former lover, you may draw that of the husband. It is not so, it cannot be so; for, besides that the best humours of the former are only seen, circumstances being altered, will doubtless make an apparent alteration in the same person, to which the knowledge of his natural disposition must lead you. It is to this alone you must expect to owe that empire which you wish to maintain over the heart you have conquered; though, amongst the variety of dispositions observeable in men, there are but few, where an even mildness on the side of the female, will best secure her sway; and she will always rule most perfectly, who seems not ambitious of governing---Jealousy is what every married woman should beware of; when once she admits of it, she treasures up anxiety in her mind---Should she entertain it in her bosom, it will be perpetually preying, as it were, upon her vitals; if she is imprudent enough to avow it, there will ever be found a number of officious people, who will fill her ears with tales which will destroy her peace. The fond wife will then be looked upon as a kind of domestic foe; for her husband will shun her accordingly, and whenever they are together, they will be the mutual torment of each other.

EXTRACT FROM A ROYAL GRANT OF LAND IN CARNATA,

TRANSLATED FROM THE SANSKRIT BY SIR WILLIAM JONES.

Written on Palmyra leaves, with a stylus.

STANZAS!

1. Adored be the god Sambhu, on whom the city of the three worlds rested in the beginning, as on its main pillar, and whose lofty head is adorned with a crescent, that kisses it, resembling the point of a waving Chamara.

2. May the tusks of that boar whose form was assumed in sport by Heri, when the raised earth was his gorgeous umbrella, with Hermadri (or the golden mountain) for the ornament of its top, be a staff to keep you secure.

3. May the luminous body of that God, who though formed like an elephatst, was born of Parvati, and is revered even by Heri, propitiously dispel the gloom of misfortune.

4. There is a luminary which rose like fresh butter from the ocean of milk, churned by the gods, and scattered the gloom from around it.

This serial will run for 15 installments, ending in no. 79 (pg. 212). For sources, see the end of this file.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI.

With a relation of the most remarkable occurrences in the life of the celebrated Count Pulaski, well known as the champion of American Liberty, and who bravely fell in its defence before Savannah, 1779.

Interspersed with Anecdotes of the late unfortunate King of Poland, so recently dethroned.

My history presents a frightful example of the instability of fortune. It is indeed very flattering, but it is also sometimes very dangerous, to have an ancient title to sustain, and a large estate to preserve. The sole descendant of an illustrious family, whose origin is lost in the darkness of remote ages, I have a right to aspire to, and to occupy the first employments in the republic which gave me birth, and yet I behold myself condemned to languish in a foreign country, amidst an indolent and inglorious obscurity.

The name of Lovzinski is honourably mentioned in the annals of Poland, and that name is about to perish with myself! I know that an austere philosophy either rejects or despises vain titles and corrupting riches; and perhaps I should console myself if I had lost only these; but, I weep for an adored spouse, I search after a beloved daughter, and I shall never more revisit my native land. What courage is capable of opposing griefs like mine?

My father, the Baron de Lovzinski, still more distinguished by his virtues than his rank, enjoyed that consideration at court, which the favour of the prince always confers, and which personal merit sometimes obtains. He bestowed all the attention of a tender parent on the education of my two sisters; and in regard to mine, he occupied himself with the zeal of a man of family, jealous of the honour of his house, of which I was the sole hope, and with the activity of a good citizen, who desires nothing so ardently as to leave to the state a successor worthy of him.

While I was pursuing my studies at Warsaw, the young P—— distinguished himself among the rest of my companions by his amiable qualities. To the charms of a person at once noble and engaging, he joined the graces of a cultivated understanding. The uncommon address which he displayed among us young warriors, that rare modesty with which he seemed desirous to conceal his own merit from himself, on purpose to exalt the abilities of his less fortunate rivals, who were generally vanquished by him in all our exercises; the urbanity of his manners, and the sweetness of his disposition, fixed the attention, commanded the esteem, and rendered him the darling of that illustrious band of young nobility, who partook of our studies and our pleasures.

To say that it was the resemblance of our characters, and the sympathy of our dispositions, that occasioned my attachment to M. de P—— would be to pay myself too flattering a compliment; however that may be, we both lived together in the most intimate familiarity.

How happy, but how fleeting is that time of life, when one is unacquainted with ambition, which sacrifices every thing to the desire of fortune and the glory that follows in her train, and with love, the supreme power of which absorbs and concentres all our faculties upon one sole object! that age of innocent pleasures, and of confident credulity, when the heart, as yet a novice, follows the impulse of youthful sensibility, and bestows itself unreservedly upon the object of disinterested affection! Then, surely, friendship is not a vain name!

The confidant of all the secrets of M. de P——, I myself undertook nothing without first intrusting him with my designs; his counsels regulated my conduct, mine determined his resolution; our youth had no pleasures which were not shared, no misfortunes which were not solaced, by our mutual attachment.

With what chagrin did I not perceive that fatal moment arrive, when my friend, obliged by the commands of a father to depart from Warsaw, prepared to take leave of me! We promised to preserve for ever that lively affection which had constituted the chief happiness of our youth, and I rashly swore that the passions of a more advanced age should never alter it.

What an immense void did the absence of M. de P—— leave in my heart! At first it appeared that nothing could compensate for his loss; the tenderness of a father, the caresses of my sisters, affected me but feebly. I thought that no other method remained for me to dissipate the irksomeness of my situation, than to occupy my leisure moments with some useful pursuit. I therefore cultivated the French language, already esteemed throughout all Europe; I read with delight those famous works, the eternal monuments of genius, which it had produced; and I wondered that, not withstanding such an ungrateful idiom, so many celebrated poets, so many excellent philosophers and historians, justly immortalized, had been able to distinguish themselves by its means.

I also applied myself seriously to the study of geometry; I formed my mind in a particular manner to the pursuit of that noble profession which makes a hero at the expence of one hundred thousand unfortunates, and which men less humane than valiant have called the grand art war! Several years were employed in these pursuits, which are equally difficult and laborious; in short, they solely occupied my thoughts. M. de P——, who often wrote to me, no longer received any but short replies, and our correspondence began to languish by neglect, when at length love finished the triumph over friendship.

My father had been for a long time intimately connected with Count Pulaski. Celebrated for the austerity of his manners, famous on account of the inflexibility of his virtues, which were truly republican, Pulaski, at once a great captain and a brave soldier, had on more than one occasion signalized his fiery courage, and his ardent patriotism.

He trusted in ancient literature, he had been taught by history the great lessons of a noble disinterestedness, an immoveable constancy, an absolute devotion to glory. Like those heroes to whom idolatrous but grateful Rome elevated altars, Pulaski would have sacrificed all his property to the prosperity of his country; he would have spilled the last drop of his blood for its defence; he would even have immolated his only, his beloved daughter, Lodoiska.

Lodoiska! how beautiful! how lovely! her dear name is always on my lips, her adored remembrance will live for ever in my heart!

From the first moment that I saw this fair maid, I lived only for her; I abandoned my studies; friendship was entirely forgotten. I consecrated all my moments to Lodoiska. My father and hers could not be long ignorant of my attachment; they did not chide me for it; they must have approved it then? This idea appeared to me to be so well founded, that I delivered myself up, without suspicion, to the sweet passion that enchanted me: and I took my measures so well, that I beheld Lodoiska almost daily, either at home, or in company with my sisters, who loved her tenderly:—two sweet years flew away in this manner.

At length Pulaski took me one day aside, and addressed me thus: “Your father and myself have formed great hopes of you, which your conduct has hitherto justified; I have long beheld you employing your youth in studies equally useful and honourable. To-day—(He here perceived that I was about to interrupt him) What would you say? Do you think to tell me any thing I am unacquainted with? Do you think that I have occasion to be hourly witness of your transports, to learn how much my Lodoiska merits to be beloved? Is it because I know as well as you the value of my daughter, that you never shall obtain but by meriting her? Young man, learn that it is not sufficient that our foibles should be legitimate, to be excusable; those of a good citizen ought to be turned entirety to the profit of his country; love, even love itself, like the basest of the passions, is either despicable or dangerous, if it does not offer to generous hearts an additional motive to excite them towards honour.

“Hear me: Our monarch, for a long time in a sickly habit of body, seems at length to approach towards his end. His life, become every day more precarious, has awakened the ambition of our neighbours. They doubtless prepare to sow divisions among us; and they think that by over-awing our suffrages, they will be enabled to force upon us a king of their own chusing. Foreign troops have already dared to appear on the frontiers of Poland; already two thousand Polish gentlemen have assembled, on purpose to punish their audacious insolence. Go and join yourself with those brave youths; go, and at the end of the campaign return covered with the blood of our enemies, and shew to Pulaski a son-in-law worthy of him!”

I did not hesitate a single moment; my father approved of my resolutions, but being unable to consent without pain to my precipitate departure, he pressed me for a long time against his bosom, while a tender solicitude was depicted in all his looks; his adieus seemed to be inauspicious; the trouble that agitated his heart seized upon my own; our tears were mingled on his venerable cheeks. Pulaski, who was present at this moving scene, stoically reproached us for what he termed a weakness. Dry up your tears, said he to me, or preserve them for Lodoiska: it belongs only to childish lovers who separate themselves from each other for five or six months, to weep in this manner! He instructed his daughter in my presence, both of my departure, and of the motives which determined me to it. Lodoiska grew pale, sighed, looked at her father with a face suffused with blushes, and then assured me in a trembling voice, that her vows should be offered up for my safe return, and that her happiness depended on the safety of Lovzinski.

(To be continued.)

ANGER.

It was a memorable saying of Peter the Great; “I have civilized my country, but I cannot civilize myself.” He was at times vehement and impetuous, and committed, under the impulse of his fury, the most unwarrantable excesses; yet we learn, that even he was known to tame his anger, and to rise superior to the violence of his passions! Being one evening in a select company, when something was said which gave him great offence, his rage suddenly kindled, and rose to it’s utmost pitch: though he could not command his first emotions, he had resolution enough to leave the company. He walked bare-headed for some time, under the most violent agitation, in an intense frosty air, stamping on the ground and beating his head with all the marks of the greatest fury and passion; and did not return to the company until he was quite composed.

++++++++++++

AUTHENTICATED ETYMOLOGIES.

Antiquarians say, that an old negro at Cape Cod, whenever his master required any thing of him, would exclaim, “Massa chuse it.” Thence in time the name of Massachusett.

The city of Albany was originally settled by Scotch people. When strangers on their arrival there asked how the new comers did? the answer was, “All bonny.” The spelling we find a little altered, but not the sound.

When Julius Cæsar’s army lay encamped at Ticonderoga, near a thousand years ago, the deserters were commonly tied up upon a battering ram and flogged: When any culprit was brought out, the commanding centurion would exclaim, Tie on the rogue! The name, we see, has worn well.

A fat landlady, who about the time of the flight of Mahomet from Mecca, lived between new Orleans and the Chicasaw cliffs, was scarcely ever unfurnished with pigeon sea pye; and thence got the name of Mrs. Sea Pye. The enormous river Mississipi, owes its name to the fat landlady.

In the reign of Dermot O’Mullogh, in the kingdom of Connaught, about the beginning of the second century, a noisy fellow by the name of Pat Riot, made himself very conspicuous; the word Patriot has come down to us perfect and unimpaired.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

JULIET.——A Story.

The sun had descended just below the horizon—all nature was wrapped in solemn silence—when Juliet hastened to the tomb of her dear friend. Having seated herself upon the green turf near his head, and looking with anxiety to the grave, she exclaimed— “Oh Lovemore!— Why leave your Juliet thus to mourn?— Answer me, my dear, this once—how cruel to separate us!— Oh Death, thou welcome messenger to those who are troubled—thou finisher of grief and despair—thou antidote to all future evils— Why thus delay thy second coming?--- Or, why didst thou come so soon?— What have I been guilty of, that thus thou dost torment?— If Lovemore received the summons, why not Juliet?— Oh Lovemore!--- thou who wert once the boast of creation, now to be no more!— Thou who were once the delight of all who had the pleasure of thy acquaintance---now to be a companion for worms.--- Cruel fates thus to deprive me of my all--- If the summons must be obeyed, why was not the tomb of Lovemore made the receptacle for Juliet too.--- Lovemore---he is gone---alas! he’s gone---never to return---never to behold his Juliet again.--- Lovemore! Lovemore!--- why thus callous to the cries of her whom it was ever thy wish to please?--- Must Juliet, thy beloved Juliet, weep in vain?--- And must those lips which never spoke of Lovemore but with affection and delight, be silenced without a reply?--- Surely you have not grown disdainful to her whom you once adored?--- If still thou art the Lovemore whom Juliet once beheld---if still thy affection for her is pure, why thus be silent?--- I conjure you by those tender vows which once you made, answer me now.”—— “Juliet--- Juliet”—— “Hark!--- What voice is that I hear calling on Juliet’s name?”—— “Why thus repine at the will of Heaven?--- and why thus dictate to thy Creator how to act?--- Consider thy presumption in reproving him.--- Will your repeated cries to heaven restore new vigour to that inanimate, cold, and putrified clay?--- No;--- all will be in vain.--- I charge you, reflect.”—— “Have I erred?--- Oh! righteous Heaven, and have I been guilty of accusing thee of injustice?--- Have I called in question thy power?--- Yes;--- it is too true--- I have.--- Why did Juliet murmur, and why oppose thy just decrees?--- O Heaven, was it not for the affection she bore to thee, Lovemore, that caused her thus to transgress?--- Yes, it was, Juliet loved him, and Juliet still loves him---but her will must be submissive to the will of Heaven.--- He who gave thee birth, O Lovemore! has called you hence--- You have answered your mission.--- The summons served, the debt of nature’s paid.--- Juliet will no longer grieve.--- Lovemore, soon shall you find thy Juliet in thy arms:--- then that tomb which is now the receptacle of thy body, shall be mine--- And that tear which was seen on Juliet’s cheek shall be changed to joy.--- She who now weeps over thy cold clay, shall then be thy companion for ever.” Here Juliet embraced the grave of Lovemore, and summoning up the virtues of resignation and patience to her aid, she silently quitted the spot---and calmly mourned, not murmured, till Heaven united her spirit with that of her departed lover.

TYRUNCULUS.

New-York, Sept. 21, 1796.

A RURAL PICTURE.

On a spacious lawn, bounded on every side by a profusion of the most odoriferous flowering shrubs, a joyous band of villagers were assembled; the young men dressed in green; youth, health, and pleasure in their air, led up their artless charmers, in straw hats adorned with the spoils of Flora, to the rustic sound of the tabor and pipe. Round the lawn, at equal intervals, were raised temporary arbours of branches of trees, in which refreshments were prepared for the dancers; and between the arbours, seats of moss for their parents, shaded from the sun by green awnings, on poles, round which were twined wreaths of flowers, breathing the sweets of the spring. The surprise, the gaiety of the scene, the flow of general joy, the sight of so many happy people, the countenances of the enraptured parents, who seem to live anew again, the sprightly season of youth in their children, with the benevolent looks of the noble bestowers of the feast, filled my eyes with tears, and my swelling heart with a sensation of pure, yet lively transport, to which the joys of the courtly belles are mean.

GLEANINGS.

When a man is disposed to reveal a secret, and expects that it shall be kept, he should first enquire whether he can keep it himself. This is good advice, perhaps a little in the Irish way.

All the wisdom in the world will do little while a man wants presence of mind. He cannot fence well that is not on his guard. Archimedes lost his life by being too busy to give an answer.

Notwithstanding the difference of estate and quality among men, there is such a general mixture of good and evil, that in the main, happiness is pretty equally distributed in the world. The rich are as often unhappy as the poor, as repletion is more dangerous than appetite.

It is wonderful how fond we are of repeating a scrap of Latin, in preference to the same sentiment in our own language equally well expressed. Both the sense and words of Omnia vincit amor (love conquers all) are worthy only of a school-boy, and yet how often repeated with an affectation of wisdom!

Revenge, speaking botanically, may be termed wild justice, and ought to be rooted out, as choaking up the true plant. A first wrong does but offend the law, but revenge puts the law out of office. Surely, when government is once established, revenge belongs only to the law.

For more than a century, has Billingsgate been proverbial for the coarseness of its language. Whence is this? What connexion is there between fresh fish and foul words? Why should the vending of that useful commodity, and elegant luxury, prompt to oaths, execrations, and every corruption of language, more than any other? And to think that the parties concerned are of the fair sex---O fye!

Reason has not more admirers than there are hypocrites. Hypocrites admire only the profits of wisdom, and approve just so much of her, as is agreeable and serviceable to their ends.

For sources of this continuing serial, see the end of the Index file.

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 95.)

“You know that he has been in our house some time ago, informing us of your exaltation to the ducal dignity, and at the same time, placed the declaration of the ghost, concerning the murder, in its proper point of view. However, you are still ignorant of the most important circumstance. I will not dwell on the uncommon praise he bestowed on your family, and you in particular, but only mention that he concluded his panegyrics with the observation, that the Countess herself would deem you deserving her love, if she should be acquainted more intimately with your Grace. This unexpected turn perplexed Amelia evidently. She replied, she did not doubt the amiable qualities of the Duke, however she vowed eternal fidelity to the Count. ‘If that is your sole objection,’ the Irishman replied, ‘then I shall soon remove it. The deceased himself shall release you from your vow, from the performance of which he can derive neither benefit nor pleasure; it is in my power to make him declare it himself.’ ‘No, no!’ exclaimed Amelia, terrified, ‘the rest of the deceased shall not be interrupted; I should not be able to stand the sight of him.’ ‘No apparition, my Lady,’ the Irishman replied, ‘you shall neither hear nor see the deceased!’—With these words he took a blank piece of paper out of his pocket-book, requesting Amelia to write upon it the following words:——‘Spirit of the Count of Clairval, shall I preserve my heart and hand faithful to thee till death, according to my vow?’ As soon as the Countess had been persuaded to it with great difficulty, and wrote these words, the Irishman prevailed upon her to carry the paper to an apartment to which no one could have access without her knowledge and leave. Amelia chose the apartment contiguous to her bed-chamber. The shutters were bolted from within, the paper placed upon a table, and the room strongly fumigated by the Irishman, who uttered some mysterious words. When they had retired, the Irishman requested her to return and look after the paper; however she could see nothing but the words written by herself, upon which she shut the door, and put the key in her pocket.

“‘Sleep easy,’ the Irishman added, ‘and don’t open the chamber before to-morrow morning, when you will find an answer to your question.’

“The Irishman left us at eleven o’clock, and Amelia went to her bed-room, which she left not for a moment all night.—She went to bed, but uneasiness and curiosity did not suffer her to close her eyes. Not the least noise was heard in the adjoining apartment, and when Amelia entered it early in the morning, she had observed beneath the lines she had wrote, pale but legible characters, which she instantly knew to be the hand-writing of her deceased Lord———‘Thy vow, which binds me to be a living being upon earth, and, thee to one who is deceased, shackles my liberty. I break these chains. The man by whose orders I have been assassinated is Vasco**ellos.’

“Imagine how Amelia was astonished at an incident which evidently was the effect of a superior power; the apartment, the shutters, and the door of which had been carefully secured, and which was guarded by Amelia herself, being entirely inaccessible to any mortal, except by violent means, of which no traces could be perceived on the window shutters. This miraculous event was decisive for my friend, who professed herself entirely at liberty from that moment.

“Your Grace will easily believe me, that the tender attachment to you, which had found access to her heart, guarded by a solemn vow, acquired additional activity when the shackles were thrown off. The ghost himself appeared to have silently approved, by naming the real murderer, the passion for a Prince, whose father had been injured by an unjust suspicion. Amelia endeavoured, nevertheless, to conceal from me the real state of her heart, and, out of caprice, rather would leave me to guess, than to confess herself, what might have been misinterpreted as a weakness. However, that very constraint which she experienced by concealing a secret that struggled to break its confinement, some words which she dropped unknowingly, her gloomy looks and silent melancholy——in short, all those traits which seem to have told you so very little of Amelia’s secret sentiments, convinced me soon that love was the silent tormentor of her heart. I communicated my discovery to her, and she confessed at last that I was not mistaken.”

“Gracious Heaven!” I exclaimed, “she confessed---”

“And at the same time desired me earnestly to conceal it carefully from you; and do you know for what reason?”

“No!”

“Amelia feared she was not beloved by you. Your having proceeded on your travels during her illness without so much as taking leave of her, made her already suspect your indifference. This suspicion gained additional strength by your never having wrote a single line to her after your departure. Your behaviour during your present stay with us too, has cured her of that error as little as the information of your departure.”

“Should it be possible my love could have escaped Amelia’s looks?”

“It did not escape my observation.——I gathered carefully all the marks of it, and communicated them to my friend. However, they appeared to her to be nothing farther than proofs of gallantry, which every well-educated man is wont to offer at the shrine of beauty. ‘Is it possible,’ she said, ‘that true, ardent love, could refrain so long from coming to an explanation?’ And indeed, my Lord, can you say any thing against this objection?”

“My Lady, I could not entertain the least idea of such an explanation, while the misunderstanding concerning the murderer of Count Clairval was not removed, although I had not been ignorant of the residence of Amelia, which was unknown to me ever since the removal from the castle in the forest, and the mysterious conduct of the Countess has prevented me from declaring now, what I ardently wished to avow publicly ever since I got acquainted with her. What has made you guess my happiness has induced me to apprehend my misfortune——I even feared to offend the Countess by my presence. I expected secret dislike to me, at most pity, but never a return of my love.”

“I see you are but a novice in love,” Lady Delier said smiling, “and I have of course acted wisely that I opened your eyes!”

“O! my dearest Baroness!” I replied, kissing her hand, my gratitude will end only with my life.”

“Silence! Silence!” she exclaimed, putting her hand on my lips, “I have told you, as yet, only good news——the worst is coming now!”

“What can that be?” I asked with consternation.

“You shall hear Amelia’s own words: ‘The Duke’ said she, ‘does not love me, and even if he should have a passion for me, and avow it, he should hear the confession of my reciprocal tenderness, but never receive my hand. I am indeed released of my vow, but my present liberty will raise my fidelity to my deceased Lord, which was till now mere duty, to merit, and I will remain constant to him, as far as it will be in my power. I cannot command my love for the Duke, however my hand is at my disposal.”

“Heavens! how you have damped my happiness!” I replied after a painful pause.

“Should a mere whim of the Countess really be able to dishearten your Grace? You do not consider how soon the love of a living adorer can subdue the fidelity to a deceased husband. Amelia’s heart is yours, and her hand will certainly follow.”

“It is not only this incertitude that makes me uneasy; the Countess loves me because she cannot help it. Can a love which I do not owe to a voluntary attachment render me happy?”

“How you are roving! what ought to make you proud and happy damps your spirits. What was it that impelled Amelia irresistibly to love you? can it have been any thing else but the consciousness of your perfections, and an irresistible sympathy which has united your hearts; and what can be more desirable, what more sincere and durable than such bonds? My Lord, love has done every thing for you, and you have done nothing for love. Disclose to Amelia your sentiments, communicate to her your tenderness, and her involuntary attachment to you will soon be changed into a voluntary passion.”

“My dearest friend! My comforter!” I exclaimed, “what friendly genius is it that speaks through you, and animates my whole nature?”

“The genius of love—I have loved too, and know how to advise in affairs of the heart. But tell me sincerely, my Lord, would your father consent to a match beneath your dignity?”

“It would be of no consequence if he should not; I am Duke.”

“I understand you; however I fear Amelia would never consent to a union which should be destitute of the benediction of the Marquis of Villa**al.”

“My father loves me, and he will never oppose his only son in a matter upon which depends the happiness of his life.”

“Well then! I will leave you to your good fortune. I shall not fail to contribute as much as is in my power to promote that union. However, (added she with dignity) I expect from your candour, that you will not misinterpret my interview with you, and the interest I take in that affair.”

“I look upon it as a proof of your inestimable friendship.”

“O! my children!” the Countess resumed with great emotion, “I love you as a mother. I could not bear any longer that two people, who seem to have been born for each other, should misunderstand one another in a manner so tormenting to both of you. You will render Amelia happy, my Lord, or I am dreadfully mistaken in my opinion of you. With this hope I put the fate of my friend entirely in your hands. I confide to your care an angel, whose early improvement was my work; and constitutes my pride, and whose perfections you scarcely know by half. I entrust to you a being of the purest and most excellent of hearts. Conclude from this, upon the confidence I repose in you.”

“I shall endeavour to deserve it.”

“Retire now, else we shall be surprised by Amelia; but take care not to make her suspect our interview and conversation. You even must not visit us this evening earlier than usual.”

I promised it, and retired. My whole frame had been in a feverish tremor from the beginning of our conversation. I could scarcely utter the most necessary answers to the discourses of the Baroness. To be beloved by Amelia! This intelligence imparadised me, and my heart could scarcely contain the unspeakable bliss which had been showered down upon me. I went home like a dreaming person, went again abroad, and my feet carried me, unknowing to me, to the spot whither a secret impulse urged me to go. However, the severe command of the Baroness had drawn a large circle around Amelia’s abode, which repelled me. I hovered at the margin of it like a spell-bound spirit, and sighed for the arrival of the appointed hour. Never had the setting in of night been expected with more impatience, and the sun appeared to me to retire unusually late from the horizon.

At length the wished-for hour arrived; however, the moment when I was going to the house which contained all that was dear to me, an unspeakable anxiety damped suddenly my rapturous joy. I had promised not to betray by my behaviour the intelligence which the Baroness had imparted to me, and yet I deemed it impossible to preserve such a dominion over myself if the vehemency of my state of mind should not abate. This was the source of my anxiety, which added to the danger of exposing myself, because it deprived me of the small remnant of self dominion which my rapturous joy had left me. I entered the house. The woman of the Countess told me her Lady was in the garden. I went through several rows of trees without finding her. The moon peeped now and then through the fleecy clouds, and concealed her silvery orb again. The great extent of the garden, and the impetuous state of my mind, increased the difficulty of finding the idol of my heart. At length, stepping forth from a side path, enclosed with high hedges, I fancied I saw something stirring at a distance, near a statue. Having advanced some paces the light of the moon reflected from the marble statue upon Amelia, removed every doubt. I approached with tottering steps, and found Amelia reclining against a pedestal of a Diana, and immersed in profound meditation. The rustling of the dry leaves beneath my footsteps, roused her from her reverie.

(To be continued.)

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 91.)

The present universal passion for this art, and the fashion of making it a necessary part of education, induces me to consider it as relating to the fair sex, more particularly. Parents are naturally inclined to make their children partake of those amusements the most prevailing and fashionable. As music in this age comes under that denomination, it is no wonder we find every attention paid to this qualification at the earliest period of life. The most eminent masters are obtained; and much time and expence bestowed to acquire this accomplishment. The fond parent, anxious to embellish the darling child, and render her fit for polite company, compels her to perseverance, without discriminating the propensity of her own nature, but vainly imagines, that a proficiency is certainly to be obtained in proportion to the reputation of her instructor. Under this delusion the young lady is too often brought into public company, and exhibits her own performance, to the well-bred, amidst the admiration and astonishment of the ignorant many, and the silent pity of the judicious few. Here again let us call to mind the observation of Plutarch, and consider how far the manners of a people are denoted by the state of their music. The present state of dissipation in the fashionable world, and the agitation of spirits ever attendant on crouded assemblies and pleasurable pursuits, elevate the mind and taste above the standard of sober thoughts. Every thing is sought which can assist the temporary frenzy, and nothing deemed worth our knowing but how to forget ourselves. This unhappy situation renders the generality of our fashionable people lost to any serious examination of true or false impression, while they are indiscriminately led to approve or condemn whatever the multitude of fashion establishes by its sanction. It is not now sought as a repose for the mind after its fatigues, but to support its tumults; and the imagination is now to be surprised with the wonderful execution of the performer, whilst the effect is totally neglected.

Since the supreme Being has formed many of his most beautiful works according to the principles of harmony, from whence some of our most pure and affecting pleasures arise, can it be looked upon as unbecoming, that our youth of both sexes should bestow some portion of their time to the study of what was manifestly intended by Providence to allure us to love of order, according to the Platonic doctrine quoted by Plutarch? surely not; the younger part of the female sex, who discover the least propensity to music, or shew any signs of having a good ear, should certainly learn music, not for the sake of rendering these fit for the fashionable world, nor for parade and ostentation; but should so learn as to amuse their own family, and for that domestic comfort they were by Providence designed to promote; and to relieve the anxieties and cares of this life, to inspire cheerfulness, and elevate the mind to a sense of love of order, virtue and religion.

A. O.

(To be continued.)

New-York, Sept. 26, 1796.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED.

A few days ago by the Rev. Dr. Beach, Mr. Richard Ellis to Miss Catharine Van Tuyl.

Also Mr. Peter Vandervoort Leydard to Miss Maria Van Tuyl---both the ladies, daughters to Andrew Van Tuyl, Esq. of this city.

On Wednesday last by the Rev. Dr. Beach, Mr. Robert Wardell to Miss Lavinia Woods, daughter to John Woods, Esq.

++++++++++++++++

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 18th to the 24th 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. 18 55 5825 5375 nw.do.do. cloudy, h wd.do.do.

19 5250 64 5350 w.nw.do. clear, h. wd.do.do. lt w.

20 5775 68 6675 nw.do.do. clear, h. w.do.do. do.

21 57 6750 6350 nw.sw.ne. clear, lt. wd.do.do. do.

22 66 7375 5850 s.sw.sw. clear, rn. very high. wd.

23 50 63 59 n.do.do. clear, lt. wd.do.do.

24 5325 6775 64 w.sw.do. clear, lt. wd.do.do.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO CLARA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

SONNET.

THE CAPTIVE’S COMPLAINT.

(Inscribed to Anna.)

UTILE DULCI.

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

Vol. II.] WEDNESDAY, October 5, 1796. [No. 66.

On Singularity of Manners.

There are few people of such mortified pretensions, as patiently to acquiesce under the total neglect of mankind; nay so ambitious are most men of distinction, that they chuse to be taken notice of, even far their absurdities, rather than to be entirely overlooked, and lost in obscurity, and, if they despair of exciting the attention of the world, by any brilliant or useful accomplishment, they will endeavour to regain it by some ridiculous peculiarity in their dress, their equipage or accoutrements.

But if we must distinguish ourselves from the rest of mankind, let it be by our intrinsic virtue, our temperance and sobriety, and a conscientious regard to every relative duty; but as we ought “to think with the wise, and talk with the vulgar,” let us also act differently from a great part of the world in matters of importance, but conform to them in trifles. This is what Seneca so forcibly inculcates in his fifth epistle to his friend Lucilius.

“I both approve of your conduct, and sincerely rejoice that you resolutely exert yourself; and, laying aside every other pursuit, make it your whole study to improve yourself in wisdom and virtue. And I not only exhort, but earnestly intreat you to persevere in this course.

Give me leave however, to caution you not to imitate those pretended philosophers, who are more solicitous to attract the notice of the world, than to make a progress in wisdom; nor to affect any thing singular in your dress, or in your manner of life. Avoid that preposterous ambition of gaining applause, by your uncouth appearance, your hair uncombed, and your beard neglected; nor be always declaiming against the use of plate, of soft beds, or any thing of that kind. The very name of a philosopher is sufficiently invidious, though managed with the greatest modesty and discretion.

Suppose we have entered upon our stoical plan, and began to sequester ourselves from the conversation and customs of the vulgar; let every thing within be dissimilar; but let our outward appearance be conformable to the rest of the world. Let not our apparel be splendid or shewy, nor yet mean or sordid. Let not our plate be embossed with gold; but let us not imagine, that the mere want of such expensive plate is a sufficient proof of our frugality. Let us endeavour to live a better life, not merely a life contrary to that of the vulgar; otherwise, instead of conciliating the favour of those whom we wish to reform, we shall excite their aversion, and drive them from our company; we shall also deter them from imitating us in any thing, when they are afraid that they are to imitate us in every thing.

The first advantages which philosophy promises are, a just sense of the common rights of mankind, humanity, and a sociable disposition; from which advantages, singularity and dissimilar manners will entirely seclude us. Let us beware, lest those peculiarities by which we hope to excite the admiration, should expose us to the ridicule and aversion, of mankind.

Our object is to live according to nature; but to torture our bodies, to abhor cleanliness in our persons, when attended with no trouble, or affect a cynical filthiness in our food; this sure is living contrary to nature. As it is a mark of luxury to hunt after delicacies, to reject the common unexpensive comforts of life is a degree of madness. Our stoic philosophy requires us to be frugal, not to mortify ourselves; but there is such a thing as an elegant frugality. This moderation is what I would recommend.”

SOCIETY.

Society has been aptly compared to a heap of embers, which, when separated, soon languish, darken, and expire; but, if placed together, glow with a ruddy and intense heat, a just emblem of the strength, the happiness, and the security, derived from the union of mankind. The savage, who never knew the blessings of combination, and he, who quits society from apathy or misanthropic spleen, are like the separated embers, dark, dead, and useless; they neither give nor receive any heat, neither love or are beloved.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI.

With a relation of the most remarkable occurrences in the life of the celebrated Count Pulaski, well known as the champion of American Liberty, and who bravely fell in its defence before Savannah, 1779.

Interspersed with Anecdotes of the late unfortunate King of Poland, so recently dethroned.

(Continued from page 99.)

Encouraged in this manner, what dangers had I to fear? I departed accordingly, but in the course of that campaign, there happened nothing worthy of narration; the enemy, equally careful with ourselves to avoid any action which might produce an open war between the two nations, contented themselves with fatiguing us by means of frequent marches: we, on the other hand, bounded our views to following and observing them; and they only seemed to oppose themselves to us, in those parts where the open country afforded them an opportunity of making good their retreat.

At the end of the campaign, they prepared to retire on purpose to take up their winter-quarters in their own country; and our little army, composed almost wholly of gentlemen, separated soon after.

I returned to Warsaw full of joy and impatience; I thought that Love and Hymen were about to bestow Lodoiska on me.——Alas! I no longer had a father. I learned, on entering the capital, that Lovzinski died of an apoplexy on the night before my arrival. Thus I was deprived of even the sad consolation of receiving the last sighs of the most tender of parents; I could only offer up my sorrows at his tomb, which I bathed with my tears!

——“It is not,” says Pulaski to me, who was but little moved with my profound sorrow; “it is not by means of barren tears that you can do honour to a father such as thine. Poland in him regrets a Citizen—— ——a hero, who would have been of immense service during the critical moment which now approaches. Worn out with a tedious malady, our monarch has not a fortnight to live, and on the choice of his successor depends the happiness or misery of our fellow-citizens.

“Of all the rights which the death of your father transmits to you, the most noble is undoubtedly that of assisting at the Diet, in which you are to represent him; it is there where he will revive in you; it is there, where you ought to exhibit a courage infinitely more difficult to be sustained than that which consists only in braving death in the field of battle!

“The valour of a soldier is nothing more than a common virtue; but they are not ordinary men who on awful emergencies, preserving a tranquil courage, and displaying an active penetration, discover the projects of the powerful who cabal, disconcert the enterprises of the intriguing, and confront the designs of the factious; who, always firm, incorruptible, and just, give not their suffrages but to those whom they think most worthy of them; whom neither gold nor promises can seduce, whom prayers cannot bend, whom menaces cannot terrify.

“These were the virtues which distinguished your father; this is the precious inheritance which you ought to be desirous of sustaining. The day on which the states assemble for the election of a king, will be the epoch on which the pretensions of many of our fellow-citizens, more occupied with their private interests than jealous of the prosperity of their country, will be manifested, as well as the pernicious designs of the neighbouring powers, whose cruel policy it is to destroy our strength by dividing it.

“I am deceived, my friend, if the fatal moment is not fast approaching, which will for ever fix the destinies of our country,——its enemies have conspired its ruin; they have secretly prepared for a revolution;——but they shall not consummate their purposes while my arm can sustain a sword! May that God, who is the protector of the republic, prevent all the horrors of a civil war! But that extremity, however frightful it appears, may perhaps become necessary; I flatter myself that it will be but a short, although perhaps a violent crisis, after which the regenerated state will assume its ancient splendour.

“You shall second my efforts Lovzinski; the feeble interests of love ought to disappear before more sacred claims. I cannot present my daughter to you during this awful moment of suspense, when our common country is in danger; but I promise to you, that the first days of peace shall be marked by your union with Lodoiska.”

Pulaski did not speak in vain. I felt that I had now more essential duties to fulfil than those of love; but the cares with which my mind was occupied, were hardly able to alleviate my grief. I will even avow to you, without blushing, that the sorrow of my sisters, their tender friendship, and the caresses more reserved but no less pleasing of my mistress, made a stronger impression on my heart than the patriotic counsels of Pulaski. I beheld Lodoiska tenderly affected with my irreparable loss, and as much afflicted as myself at the cruel events which forced us to defer our union; my chagrin, by being thus divided with that lovely woman, seemed insensibly to diminish.

In the mean time the king dies, and the Diet is convoked. On the day that it was to open, at the very instant when I was about to repair to the assembly, a stranger presented himself, and desired to speak to me in private. As soon as my attendants were retired, he enters my apartment with precipitation, throws himself into my arms, and tenderly embraces me. It was M. de P——! Ten years, which had elapsed since our separation, had not so much changed his features as to prevent me from recognizing him, and testifying my joy and surprise at his unexpected return.

“You will be more astonished,” says he to me, “when you know the cause. I have arrived this instant, and am about to repair to the meeting of the Diet;—would it be presuming too much on your friendship to reckon on your vote?”

“On my vote! and for whom?”

“For myself,” continues he with vivacity; “it is not now time to account to you the happy revolution that has taken place in my fortune, and which at present permits me to entertain such exalted hopes: it is sufficient to observe, that my ambition is at least justified by a majority of suffrages, and that it is in vain that two feeble rivals would attempt to dispute with me the crown to which I pretend.

“Lovzinski,” adds he, embracing me again, “if you were not my friend, and I esteemed you less, perhaps I should endeavour to dazzle you by means of promises; perhaps I should recount to you the favours which I intend to heap upon you, the honourable distinctions that are reserved for you, and the noble and glorious career that is about to offer itself to your ambition;——but I have not any need of seducing, and I only with to persuade you.

“I behold it with grief, and you know it as well as myself, that for several years past our Poland, become enfeebled, owes its safety to nothing else than the distrust of the three great powers* which surround it, and the desire to enrich themselves with our spoils, may in one moment re-unite our divided enemies.

“Let us prevent, if we can, this inauspicious triumvirate from dismembering the republic. Undoubtedly, in more fortunate times, our ancestors were able to maintain the freedom of their elections; it is necessary however that we should yield to that necessity which is become inevitable.

“Russia will necessarily protect a king, whom she herself has elevated; in receiving the sovereign of her choice, you will defeat the views of that triple alliance which will render our perdition certain, and we shall acquire a powerful ally, who will oppose herself with success to the two enemies that remain to us.

“These are the reasons which have determined my conduct; I do not abandon part of our rights, but to preserve the most precious of them. I wish not to ascend a fickle throne, but with the intention, by the means of a sage policy, to give it stability; I consent not to alter the constitution of the commonwealth, but to preserve the kingdom entire.”

We repaired to the Diet together; I voted for M. de P——. He in effect obtained the majority of the suffrages; but Pulaski, Zuremba, and some others, declared themselves in favour of Prince C——. Nothing was decided amidst the tumult of this first meeting.

When the assembly broke up, M, de P—— invited me to accompany him to the palace, which his secret emissaries had already prepared for him in the capital†. We shut ourselves up together during several hours, and renewed the promises of a friendship that should endure for ever. I then too informed M. de P—— of my intimate connection with Pulaski, and of my love for Lodoiska. He repaid my confidence with more important communications; he informed me of the events which had led to his approaching grandeur; he explained to me his secret designs; and I left him, convinced that he was less occupied with the desire of his own elevation, than with that of restoring Poland to its ancient prosperity.

Possessed with these ideas, I flew towards my future father-in-law, burning with the desire of adding him to the party of my friend. Pulaski was walking at a great pace up and down the chamber of his daughter, who appeared equally agitated with himself.

“Behold,” said he to Lodoiska, the moment that he saw me enter, “behold that man whom I esteem, and whom you love! He has sacrificed us both to his blind friendship.” I was desirous to reply, but he went on—“You have been connected from your childhood with M. de P——. A powerful faction is about to place him on the throne; you know you are acquainted with his designs; this very morning, at the diet, you voted for him;—you have deceived me:—but do you think that you shall deceive me with impunity?”

I besought him to hear me, and he constrained himself so far as to preserve a stern silence: I then informed him that M. de P——, whom I had for a long time neglected, had agreeably surprised me by his unexpected return.

Lodoiska appeared charmed to hear me commence my justification.—“You shall not deceive me in the same manner as if I were a credulous woman, says Pulaski.—But it signifies not---proceed.”

I then recounted to him the particulars of the short conversation that I had with M. de P——— before I repaired to the assembly of the states.

“And these are your projects!” exclaims he. “M. de P——— sees no other remedy for the misfortunes of his fellow-citizens than their slavery! He proposes this, one of the name of Lovzinski, approves of it; and they despise me so much as to tempt me to enter into this infamous plot! Shall I behold the Russians commanding in our provinces in the name of a Pole?”

“The Russians, say I with fury; the Russians reign in my country!” On this Pulaski, advancing towards me with the greatest impetuosity, cries out: “Perfidious youth! you have deceived me, and you would betray the state! Leave my house this very moment, or know that I shall order you to be dragged out of it!”

I frankly acknowledge that an affront so cruel, and so little merited, disarmed me of my prudence: in the first transports of my fury, I placed my hand upon my sword; and quicker than lightning Pulaski brandished his in the air.

His daughter, his distracted daughter, rushed forward, and precipitated herself upon me, crying out: “Lovzinski, what are you about to do?” On hearing the accents of a voice so dear to me, I recalled my wandering reason; but I perceived that a single instant was about for ever to bereave me of my Lodoiska! She had left me to throw herself into the arms of her father. He, cruel man, beheld my grief, and strove to augment it: “Go, traitor!” says he, “be gone---you behold Lodoiska for the last time!”

(To be continued.)

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 103.)

Music is capable of a variety so infinite, so greatly does the most simple differ from the most complex, and so multiplied are the degrees between those two extremes, that in no age could the incidents respecting that fascinating art have been few or uninteresting: But, that accounts of these incidents should be handed down to us, scanty and imperfect, is no matter of surprize, when we recollect that the history of music is the history only of sounds, of which writing is a very inadequate medium; and that men would long employ themselves in the pleasing exercise of cultivating music before they possessed either the ability or the inclination to record their exertions.

No accurate traces, therefore, of the actual state of music, in the earlier ages of the world, can be discerned. Our ideas on the subject have no foundation firmer than conjecture and analogy.

It is probable, that among all the barbarous nations some degree of similarity is discernable in the stile of their music. Neither will much difference appear during the first dawnings of civilization. But in the more advanced periods of society, where the powers of the human mind are permitted without obstacle to exert their native activity and tendency to invention, and are at the same time affected by the infinite variety of circumstances and situations which before had no existence, and, which in one case accelerate and in another retard; then that similarity, once so distinguishable, gives place to the endless diversity of which the subject is capable.

The practice of music being universal in all ages and all nations, it would be absurd to attribute the invention of the art to any one man. It must have suffered a regular progression, through infancy, childhood, and youth, before it could arrive at maturity, the first attempts must have been rude and artless; probably the first flute was a reed of the lake. Music is supposed to have taken its rise in the earliest periods of society. “Juba,” we find soon after the creation of the world; “was the father of all such as handle the harp and the organ;” and it is more than probable that Moses, the most ancient of all writers, was well acquainted with this art. The Egyptians, were the promoters of science in the Hebrew nation, and Moses was instructed in all the learning of the Egyptians. The sublime and animated song of Moses on the overthrow of Pharoah in the red sea, was, we believe, adapted to the sweet strains of music; for we are told it was sung by Moses and the children of Isræl:—&Israel; After the conclusion of the song, “Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances; and Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.”

We read in the Mosaic law of the sounds of trumpets in approaching the field of battle, and the power of trumpets in its religious observances.

A. O.

(To be continued.)

New-York, Sept. 26, 1796.

FRIENDSHIP.

Friendship, among people who have not been corrupted by those artificial vices which fatally wait upon civilized life, exists in the greatest possible purity and constancy. The Abbé Fortis gives some curious particulars relative to the friendships of the Morlacchi, a people who inhabit the mountainous part of inland Dalmatia. Friendship is lasting among the Morlacchi. They have even made it a kind of religious point, and tie the sacred bond at the foot of the altar. The Sclavonian ritual contains a particular benediction, for the solemn union of two male or two female friends, in the presence of the congregation. The Abbé says, that he was present at the union of two young women; who were made Posestre in the church of Perussich. The satisfaction that sparkled in their eyes when the ceremony was performed, gave a convincing proof, that delicacy of sentiments can lodge in minds not formed, or rather not corrupted by society, which we call civilized. The male friends thus united are called Pobratimi, and the females Posestreme, which mean half-brothers and half-sisters. Friendship between those of different sexes are not bound with so much solemnity, though perhaps in more ancient and innocent ages it was also the custom. From these consecrated friendships among the Morlacchi, and other nations of the same origin, it should seem that the sworn brothers arose, a denomination frequent enough among the common people in many parts of Europe. If discord happens to arise between two friends among the Morlacchi, it is talked of all over the country as a scandalous novelty; and there have been some examples of it of late years, to the great affliction of the old Morlacchi, who attribute the depravity of their countrymen to their intercourse with the Italians. Wine and strong liquors of which the nation is beginning to make daily abuse, after our example, will, of course, produce the same bad effects as among us.

Nor is the Abbé mistaken. When these simple people become more men of the world, the romantic part of their friendships will degenerate into that motly unintelligible thing which many people call Friendship. Whoever, therefore, wishes to enjoy real friendship, must in the first place expect no more from man than the frailty of his nature will admit; and in the second place, he must not expect friendship from those, who from their ignorance are not enabled, or from their wickedness are not disposed, to perform acts of mutual benevolence in trying situations.

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 103.)

“Good evening, my Lord,” said she with evident confusion, “have you not met Lady Delier?”

“No, my Lady! I have not.”

“She left me some time since, and might already have returned.”

“Very strange! I am come to take leave, and meet you first by accident.”

“Leave?” she replied with surprise, “Then you are determined to depart to-morrow.”

“I must.”

A long pause.

“And you are going to Ma***t?”

“To Ma***t, and from thence to my native country.”

A second pause. At length she said with emphasis and affection: “Heaven protect you on your journey.”

“Dearest Countess—”

“What is the matter with you, my Lord?” Amelia exclaimed, fixing her eyes on me, “Good God, how pale you look!”

The emotions of my heart were dreadful; my working bosom threatened to burst. “God knows,” I replied with a faltering voice, “whether I shall see you again.”

“We shall certainly meet again,” said she, looking up to heaven.

“Merciful God! should my hopes blossom first beyond the grave.”

“What hopes”? she exclaimed with inquisitive astonishment.

“And do you not divine how this separation will wound my heart?”

Amelia looked anxiously around, as if seeking Lady Delier; and then fixed her eyes again doubtfully on me.

“My Lord, your words and your behaviour are mysterious to me.”

“Then receive their explanation kindly,” I replied, letting myself down on one knee, and taking hold of her hand, “I love you.”

The Countess was struck dumb with surprise.——“And this you tell me when taking leave!” she lisped at length.

I fancied I perceived a soft pressure from her hand, and returned it with glowing lips. She bent her taper form to raise me up, and Lady Delier stepped suddenly between us. “What do I see?” she exclaimed, dissembling astonishment, “a declaration of love?”

Amelia remained silent, and the Baroness repeated her question.

“A declaration, my Lady!” I replied, but no answer.

“My sweet friend,” she whispered archly in Amelia’s ear, “I hope you will not let him despair.”

“I cannot conceive, my Lord,” Amelia replied, “why you make this declaration when taking leave!”

I told her nearly the same I had said to the Baroness in the morning. Amelia viewed me a long time with silent astonishment, and at length replied:

“A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding on both sides! very strange indeed!” she shook her head smiling.

“My dearest love,” the Baroness exclaimed, “look at the Duke, how he watches every word of yours in hope of receiving an answer.”

Amelia seemed to hesitate what to reply; however, after a short silence, said to me with the innate dignity of a noble, generous mind: “My Lord, if you want to have a consort, then I must beg you to forget me. But if you are in quest of a loving heart, then—” added she in a low accent, and with crimsoning cheeks, “you have found it.”

I don’t know what I replied, nor can I recollect what I said afterwards; for from the moment she had pronounced the confession of her reciprocal love, I thought myself transported to Paradise, and breathed in a new and better sphere. The possession of Amelia’s heart, ensured to me by the declaration of her own lips, had expelled from my breast every terrestrial wish; my whole nature seemed to me exalted and purified of all earthly dregs, and the flame which had penetrated my frame, was a sacred fire cleared of every particle of sensuality. O! innocent love, thou offspring of the sacred affinity of two congenial souls, thou art perhaps the sole species of union and enjoyment, which is capable to afford us here below a notion of the union and the pleasure of the inhabitants of the heavenly regions. How natural therefore, if we, particularly in the first moments of enjoyment, are incapable to express such sentiments by words. However, my faltering accents, my confused expressions, and my incoherent sentences, seemed nevertheless to be as well understood by Amelia, as if she were reading in my soul, which I could conclude from her words, and the still plainer speaking play of her mien. Love had diffused over her countenance new and unspeakable charms, which surrounded her with a glory that made her appear to me a more than mortal being. And to be beloved by her—that bliss would have overpowered me, if I had not been made acquainted with my happiness in the morning.

Lady Delier, who had left us to ourselves all the time, interrupted us at length. “Children!” said she, “do you know that it is not far from eleven o’clock?” I started up as if some grisly spectre had surprised me, because I recollected the Unknown, eleven o’clock being the time when I had promised to meet him at the place of rendezvous at a considerable distance.

To take leave!—without knowing whether I should ever see her again, for I was to depart the next morn with the dawn of day. This idea overpowered me so much, that I promised Amelia and myself to visit her once more to-morrow before my departure. Our separation was, nevertheless, so afflicting, the parting on both sides so difficult, and the last adieu pronounced with quivering lips.—Alas! a secret presentiment seemed to whisper in my ear that we should meet no more. How many times did I attempt to go and stopped again—how many times did I go and return again to assure Amelia that I should certainly see her once more!—Her emotions seemed, indeed, to be less vehement than mine, however, I could not be deceived, and observing the secret workings of her soul, perceived the pearly tear that started from her eye, and the violent heaving of her bosom.

Lady Delier did not long remain an idle spectator, exhorting us to dedicate the present moment to joy, and to yield to our grief to-morrow, tearing the Countess from my arms, and wishing me a good night.

I stopped once more on the terrace, saw the two ladies retiring to a grove, of beech-trees, and Amelia turned twice, beckoning to me. My tears flowed fluently, my arms were expanded for her, the darkness of the night concealed her from my wishful looks. I rushed mechanically into the street, and arrived at the place of rendezvous without knowing how. It was lonely spot covered with trees. The Irishman soon joined me.

“My time is short,” he said, “and I have to tell you a great deal; let us sit down.” So saying he led me to a stone bench beneath a spreading oak, and we seated ourselves.

He seemed to observe my being violently agitated, and kept a long and solemn silence to give me time to recover.—“I wish, my dear Duke!”—he at length began, “that you may not expect more from this interview than I am allowed to give. I must confine myself merely to the theoretical part of that occult science to which I have promised to initiate you after the time of probation shall be finished. However, it is here as it is with all other sciences; the pupil of sense guesses by the theory, what he may expect from the practical part of the science—as a painter beholds in a sketch the picture which is to be drawn, or as an architect sees in the plan drawn on the paper the building which is to be constructed; be therefore satisfied with what I dare impart to you for the present.”

“I do not desire you to disclose to me, more than I am able to bear at present.”

The Irishman paused again, and then began thus:

“If our powers of perception were confined only to our senses, the visible world would then encompass all our ideas, sentiments, wishes and hopes. No idea of spirits, of God and of immortality would raise us above the sphere of materiality. In order to produce and to conceive these ideas, a supersensible faculty is required. This faculty which, if closely examined, bears not the least resemblance to the rest of our intellectual powers, is called reason. The idea of the whole sensible world offers nothing to us that is not corporeal, finite, and perishable. However the territory of reason opens to us a prospect to a world without bounds, and of an everlasting duration; displays to us a kingdom of spirits which is governed by one Infinite Spirit after wise and sacred laws. An unknown world of which we had not the most distant notion, of which sensation gives us not the least hint, and for which our senses have no perception nor scale, opens to our view when our reason begins to unfold itself. You see, therefore what faculty of the soul must be our guide in our present investigation, if we wish to penetrate, by means of it, to the kingdom of spirits.”

“Reason!”

“Certainly! there is no other choice left; and therefore let us learn to value and to use this light that illuminates the darkness in which every object disappears from the eyes of mere sensitive men, or at most appears very obscure to them. That man whose reason is overdarkened, or discomposed by sensuality, either will deny the existence of spirits and our relation to them, or attribute to them the contradictory shape which his disordered imagination has hatched out, like the blind-born, who denies the existence of colours as ridiculous and absurd, or if he believes the unanimous testimony of those that see, imagines colours to bear some resemblance to sounds. Unbelief and superstition afford us numberless instances of people of that description. Only the more impartial have always maintained that one ought not to judge precipitately of these objects, and only the wisest of mankind have been able to form a just judgment of them.”

“O Hiermanfor! introduce me to the circle of the latter. I have already in the different periods of my life adhered to all the other parties. In the days of my earlier youth I believed in apparitions, like the most ignorant of the lowest class. In a more advanced period of life I fancied I was convinced of the impossibility of apparitions, and ever since I got acquainted with you, I have been wavering between unbelief and superstition. It was but lately that I resolved to postpone my judgment on these subjects, till I should be better convinced, and this conviction I expect of you.”

(To be continued.)

RUNNERS REMARKABLE FOR SWIFTNESS.

Philippides being sent on a message from the Athenians to the republic of Sparta, to gain their assistance against their enemies the Persians, ran within the compass of two days an hundred and fifty Roman miles and an half.

Under the emperor Leo, the same that succeeded Marcian, there was a Greek named Indacus, a man of extraordinary courage, and of wonderful nimbleness of foot. He was to be seen at parting, but vanished in the twinkling of an eye; he rather seemed to fly than run over mountains and dangerous precipices, and would run farther in a day than any post could ride, though he staid not a minute to change his horse, and having performed his journey, would return back the next day, though there was no occasion for making so much haste, merely because he took delight in running, and never complained of being weary.

In Peru they have Casquis, or foot posts, to carry letters or messages from place to place, who have houses about a league and an half asunder, they running each man to the next, will run fifty leagues in a day and a night.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

A FRAGMENT.

—“But just launched on time’s wide ocean!” exclaims the expiring Edward, “and, Oh! must the farewell be now? Must I now take a long, a last adieu of all I hold dear in life? ’Tis true! He that lays the king on a level with the beggar now calls on me. My glass is almost run; the sands fall fast; the last one now trembles to be gone; tis near the bottom!—it drops! ’tis gone!”——“And there fled thy spirit too,” sobbed out Matilda.

How despotic does Death wield his sceptre! but with what impartiality! It matters not; “the flower just opening into bloom,” or the hoary head that has long been ripening for the grave: He strikes indiscriminately; the young and the aged are alike exposed.

The silken bands of matrimony had but just fastened Edward to Matilda. No tender pledge of their mutual loves had yet blest them. Happiness seemed within their grasp. But, how transient are our pleasures! how fleeting are our joys!—Business had called Edward to the metropolis: On his return he was taken sick. A skilful physician was procured, who gave it as his opinion that his patient had caught the malignant distemper which so greatly prevailed in the capital. But it might give way to medecine, and it was liberally administered for that purpose. Unavailing were the efforts of the doctor to revive the almost expiring lamp of life. In a few days Edward laid down his mortal life, and his spirit took its flight to happier regions.

His amiable partner, to shew the love she bore him, had a marble slab, plain and neat, placed over his grave, on which is this inscription:

Near to this place Reposeth EDWARD BLACKRIDGE. A pattern of unfeigned Love: Who was robbed of existence, While yet in his Prime.

And at intervals Matilda steals to this spot, and bathes the stone with her tears.

L. B.

New-York, Oct. 1, 1796.

REMARK.

The tears which we strive to hide are the most affecting. The violence we thus do ourselves shows both courage and sensibility.—In like manner, laughter is never more strong than when we endeavour to suppress it. Every opposition strengthens desire: the wave which meets with obstacles, foams, becomes impetuous, or rises into the air.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Wednesday evening last by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Doctor William Doll of Colchester, to Miss Sophia Christina Bauman, daughter of Col. Sebastian Bauman of this city.

At Norwalk, on Monday evening the 26th ult. by the Rev. Mr. Ogilvie, Mr. James Jarvis of this city, to Miss Betsey Mott of that place.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 25th ult. to the 1st 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. 25 5725 73 72 w.sw.w. clear,do.do.

26 54 6550 6275 nw.do.do. clear,do.do.

27 5650 67 63 se.s.do. rain,do.do.

28 5850 64 50 ne.sw.do. great raincloudydo.

29 5725 6525 6125 nw.do.do. clear,do.do.

30 53 6350 60 n.do.nw. cloudy,do.

*Oct. 1 46 54 n.do. cloudydo.

* This observation has been made at 6 A.M. or about Sun-rise, and 3 P.M. on the supposition, that those hours will better shew the state of our climate, as it is generally supposed, that at or nearly Sun-rise, it is the coldest, and at 3 P.M. the warmest time of the day.

This change in the periods of observation, will be continued in future.

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

For Sept. 1796.

deg. 100

Mean temperature of the thermometer at 8 A.M. 63 2

Do. do. of the do. at 1 P.M. 71 12

Do. do. of the do. at 6 P.M. 67 65

Do. of the whole month 66 92

Greatest monthly range between the 14th & 23d 33 0

Do. do. in 24 hours between the 22d & 23d 23 75

Warmest day the 14th. 83 0

The coldest do. the 23d 50 0

9 Days it has rained in this Month, and a considerable quantity has fallen.

One day it thundered, and lightned the 14th, and it is presumed there was as great a quantity, as ever was experienced within eight hours.

17 days it was clear, at 8, 1 & 6 o’clock,

5 days it was cloudy at 8, 1 & 6 o’clock.

3 do. the wind was high, at ditto,

18 do. the wind was light at do.

20 Days the wind was to the westward of North and South.

10 Do. the wind was to the Eastward of do. do.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

MILITARY FAME.

REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD.

ON MY BEARD.—a sonnet.

THE DOCTORS’ DUEL.

THE EXTENT OF LIFE’S VARIETY.

EPIGRAM.

ON SEEING THE SERVANT OF A SCOUNDREL BEAT HIS MASTER’S COAT.

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, October 12, 1796. [No. 67.

HYMNS

Of the native Peruvians, used at the solemn worship of the Sun, which they adore as chief of their Gods. Extracted from the Incas, by Marmontel, a beautiful work, combining all the elegancies of language, the embellishments of fancy, and the charms of historical narration. It it intended for publication in 2 vols. by the Editor.

CHORUS OF THE INCAS.

Soul of the universe! thou which from the heights of Heaven ceases not to pour forth, in one great stream of light, the principles of warmth, of life, and of fertility; O Sun! receive the vows of thy children, and of a happy people who adore thee!

PONTIFF ALONE.

O King! whose lofty throne blazes with immortal splendor, with what awful majesty dost thou reign in the vast empire of the sky! When thou appearest in thy glory, and shakest the sparkling diadem that adorns thy head, thou art the delight of the earth! thou art the pride of Heaven! Whither are they fled, those fires which so late bespangled the veil of night? Could they abide the majesty of thy presence? Did it not please thee to retire, and give them liberty to come forth and shew themselves, they would remain swallowed up for ever in the abyss of thy effulgence. Their place would be no where to be found.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

O delight of the world! Happy the wives who reign in thy celestial court! How beautiful art thou at thy awaking! How magnificent the ceremonies of thy rising! What charms are scattered by thy presence! The fair companions of thy slumbers undraw the purple curtains of the pavilion where thou reposest, and thy first looks dispel the vast obscurity of night. Oh, with what joy must nature have been transported at receiving thy first visit! Surely she remembers it: nor ever does she greet thy return without experiencing those tender yearnings which a fond daughter feels at the return of her long absent father.

THE PONTIFF ALONE.

Soul of the universe! but for thee, the vast ocean were but a motionless and frozen lump: the earth a barren heap of sand and mud; the atmosphere a gloomy void. Thou cherishedst the elements with thy vivifying and genial warmth; the air became fluid and insinuating, the waters moist and yielding, the earth animated and fruitful. Every thing took life; every thing wore the face of beauty. The elements, those universal parents which till then had lain fast locked in the chill arms of rest, now moved into alliance. The fire slid into the bosom of the waters: the waters parting into vapour, flew aloft, and spread themselves through the air: from the air, the earth received into her womb the precious rudiments of fertility: then began she to bring forth the unceasing fruits of that ever-renewing love, first kindled by thy rays.

CHORUS OF INCAS.

Soul of the universe! O Sun! art thou alone the Author of all the good thou bringest us? Or art thou but the minister of a First Cause; an intelligence superior to thee? If it be thy own will that guides thee, receive the effusions of our gratitude: if thou dost but accomplish the will of a Supreme Invisible Being, cause our vows to come unto him; how should it but please him to be adored in thee, his brightest image?

THE PEOPLE.

Soul of the universe! Father of Manco! Father of our kings! O Sun! protect thy people, and make thy children prosper!

++++++++++++++++

DISCONTENT.

Dionysus Senior, though he was the richest and most potent tyrant in his time, yet was exceedingly afflicted and discontented in his mind, because he could not make better verses than the poet Philoxenus, and dispute more learnedly than Plato the philosopher; therefore in great wrath and vexation, he threw one into a dungeon, and drove the other into banishment.

INTERESTING HISTORY OF THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI.

With a relation of the most remarkable occurrences in the life of the celebrated Count Pulaski, well known as the champion of American Liberty, and who bravely fell in its defence before Savannah, 1779.

Interspersed with Anecdotes of the late unfortunate King of Poland, so recently dethroned.

(Continued from page 107.)

I returned home in a state of desperation. The odious names which Pulaski had lavished on me, returned unceasingly to my reflection. The interests of Poland, and those of M. de P——, appeared to be so intimately connected together, that I did not perceive in what manner I could betray my fellow-citizens by serving my friend; in the mean time I was obliged either to abandon or renounce Lodoiska for ever. What was I to resolve? what part should I take? I passed the whole night in a state of the most cruel uncertainty; and when the day appeared, I went towards Pulaski’s house, without yet having come to any determination.

The only domestic who remained there informed me, that his lord had departed at the beginning of the night, with his daughter, after having first dismissed all his people. Think of my despair on hearing this news. I asked to what part Pulaski had retired. But my question was in vain, he informed me that he was certainly ignorant of the place of his destination.

“All that I can tell you,” says he, “is that you had scarce gone away yesterday evening, when we heard a great noise in the apartment of his daughter. Still terrified at the scene which had taken place between you, I approached the door, and listened. Lodoiska wept: her furious father overwhelmed her with injuries, bestowed his malediction upon her, and I myself heard him exclaim: ‘To love a traitor, is to be one! Ungrateful wretch! I shall conduct you to a place of safety, where you shall henceforth be at a distance from seduction.’”