VOLUME II. (continued 9)

I perceived soon with astonishment and joy, that I was getting nearer the mark much sooner than I had expected first. Though I am of opinion that the visibly growing favour of these two courtiers was partly founded on personal attachment, yet the Irishman had not been mistaken when he told me, that the relation which existed between myself and Vascon*ellos would render the access to their confidence easier. Sum**ez, the Secretary of State, enjoyed the most intimate confidence of the Minister, and was related to Vascon*ellos. Therefore the friendship of the latter paved for me the road to Sum**ez, and the friendship of Sum**ez to Oliva*ez. The two secretaries of State were the chief administrators of the government; Sum**ez in the council of Sp**n, at Ma***d, and Vascon*ellos in the council of state at L*sbon, and consequently were the vice-tyrants of my native country, who jointly executed the designs of Oliv**ez, who in the name of the King of Sp**n was at the helm of despotism.

That the Irishman had very well calculated these concatenations, will appear by the subsequent plan which he founded upon them. I had wrote to Amelia, and Lady Delier, as soon as I had arrived at M****d, and now received an answer from both of them. Every line of the former breathed heavenly love and kindness; the tender and amiable sentiments of her soul, purified by the trials of misfortunes, were palpably displayed in her letter, as in an unspotted mirror. O! how many a time did I kiss, read, and re-peruse it, till at length, what a sweet delusion of my enraptured imagination! I fancied I saw the amiable writer before me, and heard from her lips the words which were written upon the paper.—

(To be continued.)

AUTHENTICATED ETYMOLOGIES.

The term hurricane, is supposed to take its rise from one Harry Kane, a turbulent Irishman who lived at Antigua, the name of which is now well known to be derived from an avaricious old female planter who once lived on the island, and was called by the sailors Aunt Eager.

A jolly West-Indian, whenever the neighbouring girls came to his plantations, insisted upon their sipping his choicest syrups, and reiterated the terms “My lasses;” thence the name of that syrup. Few words have aberrated from their primaries less than this.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

MARIA; OR, THE SEDUCTION.

A FRAGMENT.

**** I saw she was falling, and hastened to her assistance. I caught her in my arms, and led her into the house. By the application of salts she recovered---“He refused to listen to me!” she exclaimed, when her powers of utterance had returned, “and but for him I still might have been happy.” I asked who the person was she spoke of? “Ah!” replied she, “it was the wretch that seduced me from the paths of rectitude.”---When she had regained sufficient strength I requested her to relate to me her misfortunes, and she gratified me as follows---

MARIA’S NARRATIVE.

Under the specious pretext of love, Frederick has bereaved me of all the happiness and comfort of life. While I fondly dreamed of future bliss he became a visitor at our house. I knew not then that ’twas to see me alone he came, as he had not given me the least hint of it; but my parents imagined he was wooing me to become his bride.

It was some time before he paid any direct addresses to me. He then said that he had long been in love with me, but forbore to mention it sooner as he feared I would discard him; and ended with asking if he might be permitted to hope. I gave him no positive answer, until he enquired whether I had a partiality for any other. I told him I had not. His countenance brightened at this. He took my hand, and with all the fervor of love raised it to his lips. When he departed, he said, that was the happiest moment of his life.

After this his visits were more frequent. One evening I was left entirely alone, the family had gone to the theatre. Mrs. M——, a lady from England, made her first appearance on the New-York stage. A slight indisposition occasioned my not being of the party. Frederick, it seems, knew I was alone, and came in just after they had departed.

The next week had been appointed for our nuptials. He entered rather dejected. I enquired the reason of his melancholy. He said he was fearful I did not love him sincerely. I asked if I had ever given him reason for such a suspicion; and said that all beside him were indifferent to me. Here his countenance again assumed its wonted brightness. “Do you then indeed behold me with pleasure?” said he. “I know that on you alone depends my felicity---should you be cruel, Frederick would cease to exist.” He took my hand, and imprinted on it a profusion of kisses. To me he appeared sincere, and I viewed him as singled out by fate for my companion thro’ life.

“Ah! my Maria!” continued he, still holding my hand clasped in his, “did you but know the happiness your words have given me---It is indescribable.---Still manifest for me your love, and every hour of my life will study to deserve it. Should I ever prove myself unworthy your tender regard, I should abhor myself.” He continued protestations of his love---the minutes were swift—and ere the evening had elapsed he triumphed over my innocence and credulity---in fine, he left me miserable.

When my parents returned I beheld myself degraded below them, and unfit for their company. I sat in a musing posture. They attributed my want of spirits to the head-ach, which had occasioned my staying at home, and endeavoured to enliven me by giving an account of the entertainments, and the excellent performance of Mrs. M——. I paid no attention to what they said. To bed I went, but not to close my eyes: Sleep had fled me. In the morning I had a slight fever, and was at times delirious. In a few days I recovered sufficiently to learn that Frederick had set out for France the day after he rendered me so completely miserable. This occasioned a relapse, and I had approached the verge of the grave. My friends were weeping over me, expecting every moment to be my last. I wished not for life; I sought for death as the only means to conceal my shame. But it pleased Heaven to raise me, contrary to all expectation. In two weeks from the time I began to mend, I had strength sufficient to leave my room, I then found it too true that my deceiver had left home, and did not expect to return in two years.

I dreaded staying any longer where I expected the resentment of my father, when he should become acquainted with my disgrace. I left the house under cover of the night, unperceived. I took with me a small bundle of clothes, and some trifle in cash, which were my own. By working I hoped to subsist until Frederick’s return; for I still thought his voyage was of necessity, and unexpected. The money was soon gone, and almost every article I could possibly spare. I expected to starve. In this dilemma, I chanced to hear of a place where a young woman was wanted for the upper servant in the kitchen. I applied, and obtained it. The wages were liberal, and I had not the more laborious part; I endeavoured to give satisfaction to my employer, I lived in this manner until I was taken ill, when I gave birth to this child—I called him after his father.

My recovery was slow; and when I could walk I was unable to work as before; consequently I was forced to give up my place. Since then I have wholly subsisted on the charity of others.

This morning, by accident, I beheld the cause of my woes. I determined to speak with him although he was in company. When I first accosted him, he disregarded me. I told him I was in a poor state of health, and requested only a small boon. “Is that your child?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied, “and his name is Frederick.” He looked me in the face, for I perceived until then he did not know me—“I have nothing for you!” he exclaimed in an angry tone, and passed on with his companions. My head felt light, and I certainly should have dropped on the pavement, had not heaven sent you to my relief——

L. B.

October 17, 1796.

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 123.)

“Gentlemen,” said he, to the astonished Bacchanals, “my brother’s head is not very strong to-day: it is perhaps in consequence of his wound; let us not therefore either speak to or drink any more with him; for I am afraid of his health, and indeed you would oblige me exceedingly if you would assist me to carry him to his bed.”—“To his own bed?” says one of them: “that is impossible! But I will most willingly lend him my chamber.” They accordingly laid hold of me, and conveyed me into a garret, of which a bed, a table, and a chair, formed the sole movables. Having shut me up in this paltry apartment, they instantly left me. This was all that I wanted, for the moment that I was alone, I immediately sat down to write a long letter to Lodoiska.

I began by fully justifying myself from the crimes of which I had been accused by Pulaski: I then recounted every thing that had occurred since the first moment of our separation, until that when I had entered the castle of Dourlinski: I detailed the particulars of my conversation with the Baron: I concluded by assuring her of the most tender and the most respectful passion, and swore to her, that the moment she gave me the necessary information concerning her situation, I would expose myself to every danger, in order to finish her horrid captivity.

As soon as my letter was sealed, I delivered myself up to a variety of reflections, which threw me into a strange perplexity. Was it actually Lodoiska who had thrown those tiles into the garden? Would Pulaski have had the injustice to punish his daughter for an attachment which he himself had approved? Would he have had the inhumanity to plunge her into a frightful prison? And even if the hatred he had sworn to me had blinded him so much, how was it possible that Dourlinski would thus have condescended to have become the minister of his vengeance?

But, on the other hand, for these three last long months, on purpose to disguise myself, I had only worn tattered clothes: the fatigues of a tedious journey, and my chagrin, had altered me greatly; and who but a mistress could have been able to discover Lovzinski in the gardens of Dourlinski? Besides, had I not seen the name of Lodoiska traced upon the tile? Had not Dourlinski himself acknowledged that Lodoiska had been a prisoner with him? It is true, he had added that she had made her escape; but was not this incredible? And wherefore that hatred which Dourlinski had vowed against me, without knowing my person? What occasioned that look of inquietude, when it was told him, that the emissaries of Pulaski occupied a chamber that looked into his garden? And why above all that appearance of terror, when I announced to him the arrival of my pretended master?

All these circumstances were well calculated to throw me into the greatest agitation. I ruminated over this frightful and mysterious adventure, which it was impossible for me to explain. For two hours, I unceasingly put new questions to myself, to which I was exceedingly embarrassed to make any reply; when at length Boleslas came to see if I had recovered from my debauch. I had but little difficulty in convincing him that my inebriety was mere affectation; after which we went down together to the kitchen, where we spent the rest of the day. What a night! none in my whole life ever appeared so long, not even that which followed.

At length the attendants conducted us to our chamber, where they shut us up, as on the former occasion, without any light: it was yet two tedious hours until midnight. At the first stroke of the clock, we gently opened the shutters and the casement. I then prepared to jump into the garden; but my embarrassment was equal to my despair, when I found myself obstructed by means of iron bars. “Behold,” said I to Boleslas, “what the cursed confident of Dourlinski whispered in his ear! behold what his odious master approved, when he said, let it be done instantly! behold what they have been working at during the day! it was on this account that they prevented us from entering the chamber.”

“My lord, they have stood on the outside,” replies Boleslas; “for they have not perceived that the shutter has been forced.”

“Alas! whether they have perceived it or not,” exclaim I with violence, “what does it signify? This fatal grating destroys all my hopes: it insures the slavery of Lodoiska—it insures my death.”

“Yes, without doubt, it insures thy death!” repeats a person, at the same time opening the door; and immediately after, Dourlinski, preceded by several armed men, and followed by others carrying flambeaux, enter our prison sabre in hand. “Traitor!” exclaims he, while addressing himself to me with a look in which fury was visibly depicted, “I have heard all—I know who you are,—your servant has discovered your name. Tremble! Of all the enemies of Lovzinski, I am the most implacable!”

“Search them,” continues he, turning to his attendants: they accordingly rushed in upon me; and as I was without arms, I made an useless resistance. They accordingly robbed me of my papers, and of the letter I had just written to Lodoiska. Dourlinski exhibited a thousand signs of impatience while reading it, and was scarce able to contain himself.

“Lovzinski,” says he to me, endeavouring to smother his rage, “I already deserve all your hatred; I shall soon merit it still more: in the mean time, you must remain with your worthy confident in this chamber, to which you are so partial.”

After uttering these words, he left me; and having double-locked the door, he placed a centinel on the outside, and another in the garden, opposite to the window.

Figure to yourself the horrible situation into which Boleslas and myself were now plunged. My misfortunes were at their height; but those of Lodoiska affected me more than my own! How great must be her uneasiness! She expects Lovsinski, and Lovsinski abandons her! But no—Lodoiska knows me too well; she can never suspect me of such base perfidy. Lodoiska! she will judge of her lover by herself; she will think Lovsinski partakes her lot, since he does not succour her---Alas! the very certainty of my misfortunes will augment her own!

On the next day, they gave us provisions through the grating of our window; and by the quality of the viands which they furnished us with, Boleslas augured the most sinister events. Being, however less unhappy than myself, he supported his fate much more courageously. He offered me my share of the mean repast which he was about to make; I would not eat: he pressed me; but it was in vain! for existence was become an insupportable burden to me.

“Ah! live!” said he at length, shedding a torrent of tears: “live; and if not for Boleslas, let it be for Lodoiska!” These words made the most lively impression on my mind; they even re-animated my courage; and hope having once more re-entered my heart, I embraced my faithful servant. “O my friend!” exclaimed I at the same time with transport, “my true friend! I have been the occasion of thy ruin, and yet my misfortunes affect thee more than thine own! Yes, Boleslas! yes! I will live for Lodoiska; I will live for thee: if just Heaven shall restore me to my fortune and rank, you shall see that your master is not ungrateful!” We now embraced once more.

Ah! how much do misfortunes connect men together! how sweet it is, when one suffers, to hear another unfortunate address a word of consolation to him!

We had groaned in this prison for no less than twelve days, when several ruffians came to drag me forth on purpose to conduct me to Dourlinski. Boleslas wished to follow, but they repulsed him with violence: however they permitted me to speak to him for a single moment. I then drew from a private pocket a ring which I had worn for ten years, and said to Boleslas:---“This ring was given me by M. de P. when we were at college together at Warsaw: take it, my friend; and preserve it for my sake. If Dourlinski this day consummates his treason by my assassination, and if he should at length permit you to leave this castle, go, find your king, recall to his memory our ancient attachment, recount my misfortunes to him; he will recompense you, and succour Lodoiska. Adieu my friend!”

After this, I was conducted to the apartment of Dourlinski. As soon as the door opened, I perceived a lady in a chair, who had just fainted away. I approached her---it was Lodoiska! Heavens! how much did I find her altered!---but she was still handsome! “Barbarian!” exclaimed I, addressing myself to Dourlinski; and at the voice of her lover, Lodoiska recovered her senses.

“Ah, my dear Lovsinski,” says she, looking wistfully at me, “do you know what this infamous wretch has proposed? do you know at what price he has offered me your liberty?”

“Yes,” cries the furious chieftain, “yes, I am determined upon it: you see that he is in my power; and if in three days I do not obtain my wishes, he shall be no more!” I endeavoured to throw myself on my knees at the feet of Lodoiska; but my guards prevented me: “I behold you again, and all my ills are forgotten, Lodoiska---death has now no longer any thing terrifying in its aspect.”

“Wretch,” added I, looking sternly at Dourlinski, “know that Pulaski will avenge his daughter! know that the king will avenge his friend!”

“Let him be carried away!” was the only reply made by the ferocious palatine.

“Ah!” exclaims Lodoiska, “my love has been your ruin!” I was about to answer, but the attendants dragged me out, and re-conducted me to prison.

Boleslas received me with inexpressible transports of joy; he avowed to me that he thought me lost for ever, and I recounted to him how that my death was but deferred. The scene of which I had been a witness, confirmed all my suspicions; it was evident that Pulaski was ignorant of the unworthy treatment which his daughter experienced; it was also evident that Dourlinski, old, amorous, and jealous, was determined, at any rate, to satisfy his passions.

In the mean time, two of the days allowed by Dourlinski for the determination of Lodoiska, had already expired; we were now in the midst of the night which preceded the fatal third; I could not sleep, and I was walking hastily about my prison. All at once I heard the cry of “To arms! to arms!” The most frightful howlings prevailed on the outside, and a great commotion took place within the castle. The centinel placed at our window, left his post. Boleslas and I were able to distinguish the voice of Dourlinski, calling and encouraging his followers; and we soon distinctly heard the clashing of swords, the cries of the wounded, and the groans of the dying. The noise which at first was very great seemed at length to die away. It recommenced soon after; it redoubled; and at length we heard a shout of “Victory!”

To this frightful tumult, a still more frightful silence ensues. In a short time, a low crackling sound is heard to approach us; the air seems to hiss with violence; the night becomes less dark; the trees in the garden assume a red and warm tint; we fly to the window: the flames are devouring the castle of Dourlinski! they approach the chamber in which we were confined, from all sides; and, to overwhelm me with new horror, the most piercing shrieks are uttered from that tower in which I knew that Lodoiska was imprisoned!

The fire becoming every moment more violent, was about to communicate to the chamber in which we were shut up, and the flames already began to curl around the base of the tower in which Lodoiska was immured!

(To be continued.)

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

MILITARY ANECDOTE.

During the late war in America, when drafts were made from the militia to recruit the continental army, a Captain gave liberty to the men, who were drafted from his company, to make their objections, if they had any, against going into the service. Accordingly, one of them who had an impediment in his speech, came up to the captain and made his bow. “What is your objection?” said the captain. “I ca-a-ant go,”—answers the man, “because I st-st-stutter.” “Stutter,” says the captain, “you don’t go there to talk, but to fight.” “Ay, but they’ll p-p-put me upon g-g-guard, and a man may go ha-ha-half a mile before I can say wh-wh-who goes there?” “Oh that is no objection, for they will place another sentry with you, and he can challenge, if you can fire.” “Well, b-b-but I may be ta-ta-taken, and run through the g-g-guts, before I can cry qu-qu-quarter.” This last plea prevailed, and the captain, out of humanity (laughing heartily), dismissed him.

TO THE EDITOR.

Sir,

Being told that I am supposed, by many, to be the author of a piece signed “Theodore,” which appeared in your last, under the title of “The Rencounter;” I hereby inform them that I had no hand either directly or indirectly therein. Far be it from me to wish to expose the failings of any of my fellow creatures; and much more so of those for whom I entertain no small degree of esteem.

Walter Townsend.

October 25, 1796.

To the Editor.

Sir,

Having learned that the piece in last week’s Magazine, entitled “The Rencounter,” has given considerable offence to one of the parties, whom, through misinformation, I pictured as the aggressor; I sincerely beg his pardon, as I have since heard he was innocent---Therefore I now assure him that the charge I exhibited against him, is void of foundation, and was related to me with all the appearance of truth.

THEODORE.

Monday morning, Oct. 24, 1796.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Thursday the 13th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Rogers, Mr. A. M’Gregor, merchant, to Miss Janet Wilson, both of this city.

On Monday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. Edward Meeks, cabinet maker, to Miss Susannah Cooper, daughter of Mr. Cornelius Cooper, both of this city.

Same evening, Mr. John Munroe, of this city, merchant, to Miss Olivia Roe, daughter of the Rev. Azel Roe, of Woodbridge, New Jersey.

At Horse-Neck, on Sunday evening, the 16th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Lewis, Mr. Brezeliel Brown, to Miss Charlotte Marshall, both of that place.

On Saturday se’nnight, by the Rev. Mr. Woodhull, Mr. Gideon Hallett, to Miss Polly Pugsley, both of New-Town, (L.I.)

On Saturday evening, by the Rev. Mr. Abeel, Mr. John Tenbrook, Merchant, to Miss Alithea Sickles, daughter of Mr. John Sickles, all of this city.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 16th to the 22d inst.

Thermometor observed at Prevailing winds. OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

6, A.M. 3, P.M. 6.3. 6.3.

Oct. deg.100 deg.100

16 60 6250 s.do. cloudy high wd.rn. small do.

17 49 5675 nwdo. clear, high winddo. lht. wd.

18 4150 49 n.do. clear, light winddo. do.

19 4450 5575 sw.do. foggy calmcloudy lt. wd.

20 49 57 ne.do. cloudy light winddo. do.

21 50 5450 ne.se. cloudy light winddo. do.

22 54 57 e.se. cloudy lt wd. rn.cly. lt wd.

CONTENTED IN THE VALE.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO CLARA.

TO THE EDITOR.

If you think the inclosed Elegy, the production of a Boy, deserving a place in your Magazine, you are welcome to publish it. I believe few, if any, in this city have seen it.

MATILDA.

ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF MISS POLLY MARTIN, WHO DIED IN THE 18th YEAR OF HER AGE.

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, November 2, 1796. [No. 70.

AN ESSAY ON PATIENCE.

The man of a frantic heated imagination considers patience as flowing from a meanness of soul, a dastardly disposition, the last resource of cowards. But the man of real sagacity, who can view things through a dispassionate medium, discovers in it all the genuine marks of a noble mind. It is supported by hope, and is entirely unacquainted with every species of despair, the constant companion of the lowness of sentiment. Patience is so strong a barrier against every kind of disgrace, that all our ills lose the greatest part of their power by opposing this virtue to them; it combats all opponents, and every conflict is a victory. It honourably resists the greatest hardships of this world, and sweetens the bitters of adversity in such a manner, that we scarce perceive we are unfortunate. It is one of those virtues that constantly carries its own reward; for the very practice of it makes us sensible of its benefits. The Emperor M. Aurelius often said, that Cæsar acquired the empire by the sword, Augustus by inheritance, Caligula by the merits of his father, Nero by tyranny, Titus by having vanquished Judea, but for his part, though of low extraction, he had obtained it by patience.

Whatever crosses and misfortunes we meet with, and however heavy their burden, they cannot overwhelm us whilst we are not abandoned by patience: on the contrary, they become proportionally lightened as we resolutely exercise this virtue. As every thing in nature has its contrast, so patience is the opposite to despair; wherefore the Christians consider it as an heavenly grace, and the philosophers of antiquity pronounced it the last efforts of a firm and generous soul. It is very nearly allied to courage, which cannot shine without opponents; in like manner this virtue disappears as soon as misfortunes desert us. Patience is the most generous of all friends, never appearing in prosperity; but when our miseries attain a pitch that threatens all our future happiness, she never fails to offer her assistance to those really inclined to avail themselves of her kindness. Patience is the birthright of the wise, an inheritance precluded from fools, who are never the architects of their own good fortune, but frequently of their own misery.

The Spectator observes, that resolution in an assassin is, according to reason, quite as laudable as knowledge and wisdom exercised in the defence of an ill cause. Those men only are truly great who place their ambition rather in acquiring to themselves the conscience of worthy enterprises, than in the prospect of glory which attends it. These exalted spirits would rather be secretly the authors of events which are serviceable to mankind, than, without being such, to have the public fame of it. Where, therefore, an eminent merit is robbed by artifice or detraction, it does but encrease by such endeavours of its enemies; the impotent pains which are taken to sully it or disguise it among a croud, to the injury of an individual, will naturally produce the contrary effect; the fire will blaze out and burn up all the attempts to smother what they cannot extinguish. There is but one thing necessary to keep the possession of true glory, which is to hear the opposers of it with patience, and preserve the virtue by which it was acquired. When a person is thoroughly persuaded that he ought neither to admire, wish for, nor pursue any thing but what is exactly his duty; it is not in the power of seasons, persons, or accident, to diminish his value. He only is a great man who can neglect the applauses of the multitude, and enjoy himself independent of its favours. This is indeed an arduous task, but it should comfort a glorious spirit that it is the highest step to which human nature can arrive. Triumph, applause, acclamations, are dear to the mind of man; but it is still a more exquisite delight to say to yourself, you have done well, than to hear the whole human race pronounce glorious.

PRIDE.

It is the sullen pleasure of the proud man to insult and oppress those who have less power than himself. The man of a rational and manly spirit, could not give pain to the weak and the helpless without stabbing his own heart. The pride which God disapproves, cringes to titles and enormous wealth. Laudable spirit is most resolute and inflexible, in repelling any attack on his rights, when the invasion is made by formidable power.

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 131.)

The following passage in Lady Delier’s letter struck me particularly: “I neither have read Amelia’s letter, nor has she read mine; however, if she has been sincere, she will have wrote to you many fond things, as I can guess by her grief at your departure, and by the warmth with which she is animated when she speaks of you. I think that Amelia’s resolution not to marry again will be dropt, as soon as the murderer of her late Lord ceases to live, if not sooner. However, I would not have you think that Amelia ever has mentioned any thing to that purpose, or that I believe that a noble spotless soul like hers, could harbour sentiments of revenge; but I suppose only that the amiable enthusiast perhaps fancies that the ghost of her murdered Lord will not enjoy a perfect tranquility and happiness, before the perpetrator of that villainous deed has received the just reward of his atrocious crime. Endeavour, my Lord, to settle your affairs at Mad**d as soon as possible, in order to gladden our hearts by a speedy return.”

With regard to the latter point I wrote to Amelia: “My affairs make a rapid and successful progress, and I shall soon see your Ladyship again. See Amelia again! What happiness do these words imply! Heavens, how great would my felicity be if I constantly could fix my eyes on the loveliest of women! How superlatively happy should I be if I were Amelia’s brother, in order that I could be constantly about her, and speak to her: or her slave, that I could breathe under the same roof with her, follow her every where, and anticipate every wink and every wish of hers.”

I had been about three weeks at Mad**d when I visited the minister one evening, and found him in company with a person who, by his dress, appeared to be a man of rank. He seemed to be very old and infirm, but conceive my astonishment, when, on approaching nearer, I fancied I discerned the features of the Irishman, though every thing else was so entirely changed, that he appeared to be quite a different person; a wig covered his head, his dark eye-brows were changed into grey, his complection yellowish, his voice weak, and frequently interrupted by a hectic cough. The minister met me with the words: “My Lord Duke, I have the honour to present to your Grace the Marchese Ricieri, who lately is returned from a journey through your native country.” The Marchese rose with difficulty, as it appeared, from his seat, and after reciprocal civilities, and a short conversation, took his leave.

My looks followed him with astonishment to the anti-chamber, and I found it extremely difficult to conceal my emotions from the minister, who told me that the Marchese had brought bad news from Port***l, where the spirit of sedition was said to be very busy. Not knowing how far I durst disclose my thoughts on that head without blundering upon the design of the Irishman, I returned an indifferent answer, and endeavoured to turn the conversation to some other object. Fortunately company was announced, I staid an hour longer, and then took leave.

On my way to the hotel, somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and a well-known voice said, “I am glad to see your Grace well.” I turned round and the Irishman stood before me, dressed in black, and wrapt in a scarlet cloak. I was seized with astonishment. “I give you joy, my Lord;” said he in a friendly accent, “how do your affairs go on?” “Extremely well!” I replied, adding after some hesitation, “will you come with me to my hotel?” He accepted my invitation.

“Be so kind,” said he when we were arrived at my apartment, “to take care that we are not interrupted, nor over-heard!” This preamble made me expect to hear important matters, and I was not deceived. Having communicated to him how I had succeeded with Oliva*ez, and Suma*ez, he approved my diligence and discretion, adding, “it is now time to come nearer to the point. I am going to entrust you with two commissions, both of which are equally important.”

“Let me hear what I am to do!”

“First of all you must endeavour to prompt the minister to publish a royal edict, by which the Port****e nobility are ordered, under the penalty of losing their estates, to enter into the military service of Sp**n.”

“Good God, what do you mean by that?”

“Then,” he added, without noticing my exclamation, “you must advise the minister to seize the person of the Duke of Brag**za.”

I flared at the Irishman, “Then the revolution is to be given up!” said I, after a pause of anxious astonishment.

“Not at all, it rather is to be promoted by these means.”

“I cannot comprehend you;” I exclaimed, “you either are counteracting your own plan; or the revolution will be destroyed in the bud.”

“My good Duke, one must frequently appear to counteract a plan in order to carry it into execution with greater safety. I will explain myself more distinctly.” So saying, he pushed his chair closer to me, and continued in a lower accent; “Let us take a short view of the situation of your country. Not to mention the enormous loss of its possessions abroad, which it has suffered during the subjection to Sp**n, the interior state of the empire is deplorable beyond description. The King of Sp**n looks upon your country as a conquered province, and takes the greatest pains to exhaust it entirely, in order to keep it in inactivity with more ease; the royal revenues of Port***l are either distributed among the favourites of the King, or mortgaged; more than 300 gallies, and 2000 cannons have been carried to Sp**n; the nobility are injured by the most unjust demands; the clergy must see their benefices in the possession of foreigners; the people are beggared by enormous taxes—in short matters have almost been carried to the highest pitch. So much the better, for this is a sign that our undertaking is ripe for execution. Let us strain the strings a little more, and they must break.”

“And what then?” said I with ardour. “General commotion, and at the same time universal confusion will be the consequence; and it is very obvious that thus my country will not regain its liberty, but rather be plunged in a more oppressive state of slavery. If the people are not supported by the nobility, and both parties not united under one common head, the furious unbridled populace will rage till the Sp**sh goads shall have reduced them again to obedience.”

“You have divined my most secret thoughts,” the Irishman replied. I was as if dropt from the clouds. “Then I have entirely misconstrued your words,” I replied, “I am to endeavour to obtain an edict in virtue of which, the Port****ze nobility are to be bound to enter in the service of Sp**n, under the penalty of losing their estates; I am to advise the minister to seize the Duke of B——a! Did you not say so?”

“Exactly so!”

“However, if the P---e nobility should enter into the Sp***sh service, how are they to be active in the service of their country? If the Duke of Bra***za should be seized, how will it be possible that he should become the head of the conspirators?”

“Heaven forbid your ifs should be realized!”

“But why the preparations for it? Indeed I do not comprehend you.”

“You soon shall; only suffer me so go on. The people must be supported by the accession of the nobility and clergy, and all parties guided by a common leader; thus far you are perfectly right: and in order to effect that purpose every preparation has been made, and the general commotion will be effected in a harmonious and regular manner, if ever it can be effected. But, dearest Duke, you look upon what may happen as already existing. I was saying just now, that matters have almost been carried to the highest pitch! one moment of rashness may ruin the most prudent plan. It is true, that the people and the clergy are waiting anxiously for the signal of a revolution; however, the nobility are not sufficiently exasperated. Once already have they been ordered to enter into the service of Sp**n against the Cata**nians; however, they were satisfied to evince their displeasure silently, by obeying the edict reluctantly and negligently. If in this situation of affairs that edict should be renewed, and the transgressors punished by the seizure of their estates, their resentment, which is burning under the embers, will soon burst out into a blaze; then all the states of the empire will be equally provoked, and it will be seasonable for the Duke of Bra***za to give the signal for a general commotion.”

“But is not this very Duke to be seized and imprisoned?”

“Neither is he to be seized, nor are the Port****ze nobility to enter into the Sp**sh service, but both parties are to be provoked, by the severest oppression, in such a manner that their resentment may break out into open revolt.”

“His father would not have wanted such a violent incitement; the Duke has, however, inherited very little of the spirit of his parent*.”

“A rash resolution is not always the firmest, nor is a precipitate deed always the best. And besides, the undertaking of the Duke of Bra***za is of such a nature, that he risks nothing less than his own and his family’s welfare; it requires therefore a more mature consideration.”

“But if he should flinch back!”

“His retreat must be entirely cut off, and this is to be effected by the execution of the second commission which I have given you.”

(To be continued.)

EULOGY ON BUFFON, the celebrated Naturalist.

Le Compte de la Cepede, in his description of the Four Lamps suspended in the Temple of Genius, erected in the bosom of France, has given the following Eulogy of Buffon:

“It was no longer night: a star created by nature to illuminate the universe, shone with majesty. His course was marked by dignity; his motion by harmony, and his repose by serenity: every eye, even the weakest, was ready to contemplate it. From his car, resplendent over the universe, he spread his magnificence. As God enclosed in the ark all the works of creation, he collected, on the banks of the Seine, the animals, vegetables and minerals dispersed in the four quarters of the globe. Every form, every colour, all the riches and instincts of the world were offered to our eyes, and to our understandings. Every thing was revealed; every thing ennobled; every thing rendered interesting, brilliant or graceful. But a funeral groan was heard---Nature grieved in silence---with Buffon, the last lamp was extinguished.”

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 124.)

Some Historians affirm that music was first known in Egypt, and by comparing the accounts of Didorus Siculus, and of Plato, there is reason to suppose, that in very ancient times the study of music in Egypt, was confined to the Priesthood, who used it only on religious and solemn occasions; that, as well as sculpture, it was circumscribed by law: that it was esteemed sacred, and forbidden to be employed on light or common occasions; and that innovation in it was prohibited; but what the style or relative excellence of this very ancient music was, there are no traces by which we can form any accurate judgment. After the reigns of the Pharoahs, the Egyptians fell by turns under the dominion of the Ethiopians, the Persians, the Greeks, and the Romans. By such revolutions, the manners and amusements of the people, as well as their form of government, must have been changed. In the age of the Ptolemies, the musical games and contests instituted by these monarchs were of Greek origin, and the musicians who performed were chiefly Greeks. The most ancient monuments of human art and industry, at present extant at Rome, are the obelisks brought there from Egypt, two of which are said to have been erected by Sesostris at Heliopolis, about 400 years before the siege of Troy. These were by the order of Augustus brought to Rome after the conquest of Egypt. One of them called guglia rotta, or the broken pillar, which during the sacking of the City in 1527 was thrown down and broke, still lays in the Campus Martius. On it is seen the figure of a musical instrument of two strings and with a neck. It resembles much the calascione still used in the kingdom of Naples.

This curious relict of antiquity is mentioned, because it affords better evidence than, on the subject of ancient music, is usually to be met with, that the Egyptians at so very early a period of their history, had advanced to a considerable degree of excellence in the cultivation of the arts. By means of its neck, this instrument was capable, with only two strings, of producing a great number of notes.

These two strings if tuned fourths to each other, would furnish that series of sounds which the ancients call heptichord, which consist of a conjunct tetrachord as B. C. D. E; E. F. G. A; if tuned in fifths; they would produce an octave, or two disjunct tetrachords. The annals of no other nation than Egypt, for many ages after the period of the obelisk at Heliopolis, exhibit the vestige of any contrivance to shorten strings during performance by a neck or finger board. Father Montfaucon observes, that after examining 500 ancient lyres, harps, and citheras, he could discover no such thing.

A. O.

(To be continued.)

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE ROSE—A REFLECTION.

ADDRESSED TO MR. ——.

This morning it unfolded its beauties to the eastern sun; it exhaled its rich perfume; I beheld the beautiful flower with pleasure. A person past my window, and, no doubt, to please me, plucked it from the stalk. He gave it me; I placed it in my bosom. It faded—it died away—and when evening came it was no longer charming.

Vain man! in this flower thou mayest behold an emblem of thyself. Thou too in the morning of thy days wast amiable. But when thou hadst arrived at mature age, then thou wast severed from conscious innocence; then thou didst imbibe the vices of the age. As the flower lost its crimson hue, thou wast fast losing thy hold of virtue. And as the rose had entirely faded, so rectitude, integrity, innocence, and every amiable virtue became strangers to thy heart; and left thee, entirely, a man of the world.

L. B.

October 25. 1796.

GENEROSITY.

Generosity is the part of a soul raised above the vulgar. There is in it something of what we admire in heroes, and praise with a degree of rapture.

In paying his debts a man barely does his duty, and it is an action attended with no sort of glory. Should Lysippus satisfy his creditors, who would be at the pains of telling it to the world? Generosity is a virtue of a very different complexion. It is raised above duty, and, from its elevation, attracts the attention and the praises of us little mortals below.

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

CURIOUS OBSERVATIONS.

The word Pat, has a peculiarity hardly belonging to any other; read it which way you will, though it forms different words, yet they are exactly of the same import, for a Pat, or a Tap, it is well known, signify a gentle stroke.

The word murmur read backwards, repeatedly names a liquor that some people are remarkably fond of, viz. rum rum; and when this dear delightful beverage cannot be had, read it forwards, and it will shew you what they will be very apt to do, viz. murmur.

Again in the word glass---this is what some men love exceedingly, and if we use what is called the aphoerisis, or the taking away of a letter, it will then be what most men love, viz. a lass, but take away the l, and the remainder will shew what he is who loves neither a glass nor a lass, viz. an ass.

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 135.)

Lodoiska uttered the most dreadful groans, to which I answered by cries of fury. Boleslas rushed from one part of the prison to another, like a madman; he sent forth the most terrible howlings; he attempted to burst open the door with his hands and feet. As for myself, I remained at the window, and shook, amidst my transports of fury, those massive iron-bars which I was unable to bend.

All of a sudden, the domestics, who had lately mounted the battlements, descend with precipitation, and open the gates: we heard the voice of Dourlinski himself, begging for quarter. The victors instantly precipitate themselves amidst the flames; and being at length attracted by our cries, they force open the door of our prison with their hatchets.

By their dress and their arms, I know them to be Tartars: their chief arrives——it is Titsikan!

“Ah! ah!” exclaims he; “it is my brave friend!”

I instantly throw myself on his neck:—“Titsikan!——Lodoiska!——a lady!——the fairest of women!——in that tower!——about to be burnt alive!”

These were the incoherent expressions by which I made my feelings known.

The Tartar instantly gives the word of command to his followers——they fly to the tower---I fly along with them---Boleslas follows us. They burst open the doors; and near to an old pillar we discover a narrow, winding stair-case, filled with smoke.

The Tartars, affrighted at the danger, start back: I prepare to ascend.

“Alas! what are you about?” exclaims Boleslas.

“To live or die with Lodoiska!”

“And I will either live or die with my master!” was the reply of my generous servant.

I rush on---he follows me! At the risk of suffocation, we ascend about forty steps; by the light of the flames we discover Lodoiska in a corner of her prison; who feebly utters; “Who is it that approaches me?”

“It is Lovzinski! it is your lover!”

Joy instantly lends her new strength; she rises and flies into my arms: we carry her away; we descend a few steps; but volumes of smoke now fill all the stair-case, and we are forced to re-ascend with precipitation. At that very instant, too, a part of the tower gives way!---Boleslas utters a dreadful shriek, and Lodoiska falls into a swoon.

That which was on the point of destroying, saved us! The flames, formerly smothered, began to extend with greater rapidity; but the smoke was dissipated.---Laden with our precious burden, Boleslas and I descend in haste---I do not exaggerate; every step trembled under our feet! the walls were all on fire! At length we arrived at the gate of the tower; Titsikan, trembling for our safety, was expecting us there: “Brave men!”---exclaimed he, on seeing us appear again.——I place Lodoiska at his feet, and fall down lifeless by her side!

I remained nearly an hour in this situation. They tremble for my life; and Boleslas weeps aloud. I again recover my senses, on hearing the voice of Lodoiska, who, returning to herself, calls me her deliverer. The appearance of every thing was altered; the tower was entirely in ruins. The Tartars, however, had stopt the progress of the flames; they had destroyed one part of the castle, on purpose to save the remainder; in fine, we had been carried into a large saloon, where we were surrounded by Titsikan and some of his soldiers. Others of them were occupied in pillaging and in bringing away the gold, silver, jewels, plate, and all the precious effects which the flames had spared.

Near to us Dourlinski, loaded with fetters, and uttering repeated groans, beheld this heap of riches, of which, he was about to be despoiled. Rage, terror, despair, all the passions which can tear the heart of a villain suffering under punishment, were visibly depicted in his wild and wandering looks. He struck the earth with fury, dashed his clenched hands against his forehead, and, uttering the most horrible blasphemies, he reproached Heaven for its just vengeance.

In the mean time, my lovely mistress holds my hand clasped in hers. “Alas,” says she at length, with tears in her eyes, “alas! you have saved my life, and your own is still in danger! Nay, even if we escape death, slavery awaits us!”

“No, no, Lodoiska, be comforted, Titsikan is not my enemy; Titsikan will put a period to our misfortunes—”

“Undoubtedly, if I am able,” exclaims the Tartar, interrupting me: “you are in the right, brave man! (adds he) I see that you are not dead, and I am happy: you always say, and do good things; and you have there (turning to Boleslas), you have there a friend who seconds you admirably.”

On this I embrace Boleslas:—“yes, Titsikan, yes, I have a friend, who shall always be dear to me!—”

The Tartar again interrupts me: “What! were not you both confined in an apartment below ground, and was not this lady in a tower? What was the reason of that? I will lay any wager, continues he with a smile, that you have taken this female from that old wretch, (pointing to Dourlinski), and you are in the right; for he is a dotard, and she is beautiful! Come—inform me of every thing.”

I now discover my own name to Titsikan, that of Lodoiska’s father, and every particular that had occurred to me until that moment. It belongs to Lodoiska, I observe in conclusion, to make us acquainted with what she has been obliged to suffer from the infamous Dourlinski, ever since she has been in his castle!

“You know,” replies Lodoiska, “that my father me to leave Warsaw, on the day that the diet was opened. He first conducted me to the territories of the Palatine of ————, at only twenty leagues distance from the capital, to which he returned, on purpose to assist at the meeting of the states.

“On that very day when M. de P——— was proclaimed king, Pulaski took me from the castle of the palatine, and conducted me here, thinking that I should be better concealed. He charged Dourlinski to guard me with extraordinary strictness; and, above all things, to take especial care to prevent Lovzinski from discovering the place of my retreat. He then left me, as he informed me, on purpose to assemble and encourage the good citizens to defend his country, and to punish traitors. Alas! these important avocations have made him forget his daughter, for I have never seen him since.

“A few days after his departure, I began to perceive that the visits of Dourlinski had become more frequent than usual; in a short time, he hardly ever quitted the apartment assigned me for a prison. He deprived me, under some trifling pretext, of the only female attendant whom my father had left me; and to prevent any person (as he said) from knowing that I was in his castle, he himself brought me the food necessary for my subsistence, and passed whole days along with me. You cannot conceive, my dear Lovzinski, how much I suffered from the continual presence of a man who was odious to me, and whose infamous designs I was suspicious of: he even dared to explain himself to me one day: but I assured him that my hate should always be the price of his tenderness, and that his unworthy conduct had drawn upon him my sovereign contempt.

“He answered me coldly, that in time I should accustom myself to see him, and to suffer his assiduities; nay, he did not in the least alter his usual conduct, for he entered my chamber in the morning, and never retired until night. Separated from all I loved, I had not even the feeble consolation of being able to enjoy the sweet recollection of past happiness. A witness to my misfortunes, Dourlinski took pleasure in augmenting them.

“‘Pulaski,’ says he to me, ‘commands a body of Polish troops; Lovzinski betraying his country, which he does not love, and a woman concerning whom he is indifferent, serves in the Russian army, where he will be cut off during some bloody engagement: besides, if he survives, it is evident that nothing can ever reconcile your father to him.’

“A few days after, he came on purpose to announce to me, that Pulaski, during the night, had attacked the Russians in their camp; and that, amidst the confusion that ensued, my lover had fallen by the hand of my father. The cruel Palatine even made me read a narrative of this event, drawn up with every appearance of truth, in a kind of public gazette, which doubtless he had procured to be printed expressly for the purpose: besides, on perceiving the barbarous joy which he affected on this occasion, I thought the news but too true.

“Pitiless tyrant! cried I, you enjoy my tears and my despair; but cease to persecute me, or you will soon see that the daughter of Pulaski is herself able to avenge her own injuries!

“One evening that he had left me sooner than usual, after I retired to bed, I heard my door open very softly. By the light of a lamp, which I kept always burning, I beheld my tyrant advancing towards my bed. As there was no crime of which I did not believe him to be capable, I had foreseen this event; and I had even taken measures to render it unsuccessful. I accordingly armed myself with a long sharp knife, which I had the precaution to conceal beneath my pillow; I overwhelmed the wretch with the reproaches which he so justly merited; and I vowed, if he dared to advance, that I would poniard him with my own hand.

“He retired, with surprise and affright visibly delineated on his countenance: ‘I am tired,’ said he as he went out, ‘with experiencing nothing but scorn; and if I were not afraid of being overheard, you should soon perceive what a woman’s arm could effect against mine! But I know a way of vanquishing your pride! By and by you will think yourself but too happy in being able to purchase your pardon, by the most humiliating submissions.’

“He now withdrew. A few moments after, his confident entered with a pistol in his hand. I must, however, do him the justice to say, that he wept while he announced to me the orders of his lord.

“‘Dress yourself, Madam; you must instantly follow me!’—This was all that he was able to say to me.

“He then conducted me to that very tower, where, without you, I should this morning have perished: he shut me up in that horrible prison; it was there that I had languished for more than a month, without fire, without the light of heaven, and almost without clothes; with bread and water for my food; for my bed a few trusses of straw: this was the deplorable state to which the only daughter of a grandee of Poland was reduced!

“You shudder, brave stranger, and yet believe me, when I assure you, that I do not recount to you any more than a small part of my sufferings. One thing, however, rendered my misery less insupportable: I no longer beheld my tyrant. While he expected with tranquility that I should solicit my pardon, I passed whole days and nights in calling on the name of my father, and in bewailing my lover! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * O Lovzinski! with what astonishment was I seized; with what joy was my soul penetrated, on that day when I once more beheld you in the gardens of Dourlinski!” * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(To be continued.)

THE FOLLY OF FREETHINKING:

An Anecdote.

Among words which in their present acceptation are remote from their original and rigid meaning, none perhaps are more striking than Deism and Freethinking. The former, which in its strict import signifies nothing more than a belief in the existence of the Deity, in opposition to Atheism (and in this sense every christian is a Deist) is now universally understood of all persons who reject the christian revelation; and the word Freethinking, which should convey the idea of a man of liberal and ingenuous disposition, free from vulgar prejudice and unmanly bigotry, and investigating truth with virtuous view, and a deep veneration of the Supreme Being, is now commonly appropriated to those persons, who from a love of singularity, an affectation of superior understanding, or innate malignity of mind, would combat truths the most universally received and revered in all ages and in all countries, and would dissolve those sacred ties by which society is united, and destroy those hopes of immortality which God hath given as incentives to virtue, and the best security of our happiness here and hereafter.

The conduct of the Freethinker, whether actuated by such motives or not, is replete with extreme folly, to give it no harsher appellation. An anecdote of the late Mr. Mallet affords a remarkable instance of the truth of this observation, and cannot fail to convey some useful advice. This gentleman was a great Freethinker, and a very free speaker of his free thoughts. He made no scruple to disseminate his opinions wherever he could introduce them. At his own table, the lady of the house (who was a staunch advocate for her husband’s opinions) would often in the warmth of argument, say, ‘Sir, we Deists.’ The lecture upon the non credenda of the Freethinkers was repeated so often, and urged with so much earnestness, that the inferior domestics became soon as able disputants as the heads of the family. The fellow who waited at the table being thoroughly convinced, that for any of his misdeeds he should have no after account to make, was resolved to profit by the doctrine, and made off with many things of value, particularly the plate. Luckily he was so closely pursued, that he was brought back with his prey to his master’s house, who examined him before some select friends. At first, the man was sullen, and would answer no questions; but, being urged to give a reason for his infamous behaviour he resolutely said, ‘Sir, I had heard you so often talk of the impossibility of a future state, and that after death there was no reward for virtue, or punishment for vice, that I was tempted to commit the robbery.’ ‘Well; but you rascal,’ replied Mallet, ‘had you no fear of the gallows?’ ‘Sir,’ said the fellow, looking sternly at his master, ‘what is that to you, if I had a mind to venture that? You had removed my greatest terror; why should I fear the least?’

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Wednesday the 19th ult. by the Rev. Mr. Moore, of Hempstead, Mr. Isaac Hagner, to Miss Hannah Toffy, daughter of Mr. Daniel Toffy, both of Herricks, (L.I.)

On Saturday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. George Stewart, to Miss Nancy Brant, both of this city.

On Thursday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Milledoler, Mr. Casper Sembler, to Miss Hannah Smith, both of this city.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Sonnet by Anna, is received, and shall appear in our next.

Theodore’s remarks on Mr. Townsend’s note, we must be excused from publishing. Personal feuds can by no means be interesting to the public, and are ever totally inadmissible; we recommend to the parties, an amicable reconciliation which will assuredly be productive of more satisfaction than sullen revenge can ever afford.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 23d to the 29th ult.

Thermometor observed at Prevailing winds. OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.

6, A.M. 3, P.M. 6.3. 6.3.

Oct deg.100 deg.100

23 5250 70 s. w. do. clear, light winddo. lt. wd.

24 57 76 s. w. do. clear, calmdo. high wd.

25 58 77 sw.nw. foggy light windclear do.

26 56 5825 e.se. cloudy lt. wd.do. do.

27 4950 55 ne.n. clear do.high wind light wd.

28 37 47 n.sw. clear lt. wd.do. do.

29 4450 58 sw.w. clear lht. windcloudy do.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

EVENING.—EXTEMPORE.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

TO MISS A—— H——.

The above address was occasioned by the following Epitaph, written by a Clergyman, and presented to the young lady whose tomb it was to adorn.

Epitaph on a Celebrated Coach-Maker.

ON A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

MATERNAL AFFECTION.

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, November 9, 1796. [No. 71.

AN ESSAY ON HOPE.

There is, perhaps, no word in our language more generally understood than the term Hope. The idea represented by this word is so well known from its pleasing effects on the mind, and so indiscriminately experienced in one or other of its degrees, that any explanation of it seems to be unnecessary. All know that Hope signifies an expectation indulged with pleasure.

In all the works of Nature we can find no two objects exactly similar. The surprising diversity proceeds from a degree almost imperceptible, by a slow gradation, down to direct opposition in the minutest circumstances; so that in the amazing variety, we can find no object, whether of sense or imagination, which has not its direct reverse.

With respect to the sensations of the mind, I know none more directly contrasted than that expressed by the word Hope. Its reverse is Fear. And though Love and Hatred—Joy and Sorrow—Light and Darkness are not more opposed to each other than those two passions; yet it will appear a little remarkable, that they not only spring from the same source, but are really and identically the same in some of the original steps or gradations. The same passion or power of the mind varies its name in the different stages of its advancement. Every thing has its state of infancy. In their pristine state, Hope and Fear are both called Esteem. This may be termed the infant state of attachment to any object. Esteem soon advances to its second stage, in which it takes the name of Love. In a third gradation it is called Desire; Love ever produces the desire of enjoyment. Those are the original and common steps of Hope and fear; nor is there yet any sort of distinction either with respect to object or sensation: but here the difference begins.—They are no longer the same. The strong dissimilarity of different minds may render the subsequent stages of operation as different as contradiction itself. Mark the progression of Desire in two minds of different textures. Let us suppose the object the same. Let us suppose it Riches; or (if that will animate the idea) a person of a different sex. In the one mind Desire improves to Hope; in the other it degenerates to fear. In the one instance, Hope advances to a state of superior sensation, which we term Joy; in the other, fear sinks down the rugged declivity to that dreary region called despair.

Thus one man looks with pleasure and fortitude beyond his present difficulties; and though his hopes, in some instances, may be decidedly blasted, what then? he never anticipated the disappointment, nor will the happy turn of his mind permit him to indulge its vexations. His active passions soon find another object of exercise and pursuit. Very frequently he gains the summit of felicity in the enjoyment of his favourite object; and still he has the independent happiness arising from the constant exercise of Hope. A person of the above description is never heard to complain of this troublesome, woeful, sinful world; he has no such bad opinion of life in general, as promotes a desire of quitting it; or of going to another, to avoid the disappointments of this---the common source of all such wishes. No: he acts his part as a man; enjoys life as man was designed to do; contributes to the happiness of all around him, and secures his own.

Let us now take a slight view of the other side of the picture---the man of an opposite cast. We left him in despair of possession; he yields his cowardly heart a victim to the vulture; and, if his distress is not somewhat alleviated by transferring his attention to some other object, he either abridges his life with a pistol or halter, or drags along a miserable existence indeed. These are no exaggerated or imaginary ideas.---This is reason, truth, fact---Human Nature.

The above simple remarks may convince us, that the same passions are very different (in point of degree) in different persons. What predominates in one, is counteracted and overpowered in another; and men are happy or otherwise, as Hope or Fear happens to be the most powerful passion.

Those to whom the important charge of education is committed, may perhaps draw some useful inferences from the above observations. It is much in their power (if calculated for the serious business) to suppress, to a proper degree, any abstract passion of an unhappy tendency, whether in itself or its consequences.

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 139)

“How am I to understand this?”

“You think this measure would be too harsh and violent, however it is not a mere arbitrary artifice, but adapted to the situation in which the Duke of Bra***za is at present. The minister of Sp**n is not ignorant of the fermentations in Po****al, and suspecting the Duke to be the chief source of them, his principal attention is directed to him.—But what could Oliva*ez have attempted against him as yet? Open force would have been fruitless, and not only forwarded the general revolt, but also justified the actions of the Duke. He was therefore forced to have recourse to art. At first he conferred the government of Mi*an upon the Duke, in order to have an opportunity of getting him in his power; however that keen-sighted nobleman declined that honour, pretending not to have sufficient knowledge of the country to acquit himself honourably of a trust of so much importance. Soon after the minister found another opportunity of laying a new snare. The King of Sp**n having resolved to chastise the rebellious Catal*nians in person, the Duke was very civilly invited to accompany him in the field; but he begged to be excused, alledging that this would be attended with great expences, and that his finances were very low. However Oliva**z was not discouraged by this refusal, and has lately made a third attempt. A rumour having been spread all over the country, that a Fren*h fleet was approaching the coasts of Po****al, probably with a view to make a descent, Oliva**z conferred upon the Duke an almost unlimited power to make the requisite preparations against the impending invasion, and particularly to review all the ports, to fortify and to garrison them. Meanwhile the Sp**ish Admiral, Don Lopez Oz**co had received secret orders to carry his fleet to a port where the Duke should be, to invite him to review it, and when he should have seized him, to sail with his prisoner to Sp**n. This plan was however rendered abortive by a dreadful storm which dispersed the fleet, and forced the Admiral to desist from his design of visiting the Port****ze ports. No new attempt has been made since, and the minister is silently hatching other artifices. Yet this calm is, without comparison, more dreadful than all the attempts which have been made. I know that he has an emissary in Por***al, who watches secretly every step of the Duke,* whose liberty and life are in imminent danger. The ruin of the head of the conspiracy would be a mortal blow to the whole revolutionary society; even the imprisonment of the Duke would unnerve the hands of the conspirators. If, therefore, the revolution is to take place, the Duke must be secured against the secret machinations of the minister; I say the secret machinations, for if they should be carried on publicly, as it has been the case as yet, his snares may easily be evaded. For which reason it will be matter of great importance to persuade the minister to carry on his attempts in the usual way, and to effect this will be in your power. Nay, you yourself must frame and direct the designs upon the Duke.”

“I fear,” said I to the Irishman, “you expect more from my feeble exertions than I shall be able to perform.”

“Hear first my plan! You are to go, the day after tomorrow, to Oliva*ez, and to inform him that you have received intelligence of the commotions in Por***al—”

“Besides,” I interrupted him, “Oliva*ez has told me to-day that he has received an account of these commotions from a certain Marchese Ricieri, who is returned from his travels through Por***al.”

“So much the better!” he replied, without returning my inquisitive look, or changing his countenance at the name of Ricieri, “so much the better! then you have a prefacer to whose introduction you can link your discourse. Tell, therefore, the minister, that the letter which you have received from Por***al makes it very plain to you, why the Duke had declined all the invitations which the court had given him. Oliva*ez will request you to explain these words, and then you must reply, that you suspect the Duke of Brag**za to avoid the neighbourhood of the Court, because he is sensible he has deserved the resentment of the King by his disloyalty. At the same time you must add, that you are very sorry to be obliged to declare against so near a relation as the Duke; that, however, the voice of your conscience has more weight with you than that of consanguinity, and that your allegiance to the King of Sp**n and your country, which has been reduced to the greatest distress by the constant internal commotions, does not suffer you any longer to regard as a friend, the man who was the chief cause of all these troubles. Thus you will gain the confidence of the minister, and he will ask you what measures for seizing the Duke you think would be most proper and safe. Take hold of that opportunity to convince the minister that, and for what reason, violent measures of any kind, would produce the worst consequences. Approve of the means which the wisdom of his policy has already adopted as the safest, by which the Duke ought to be persecuted till no farther evasion should be left for him. Oliva*ez will desire you to give him your opinion more at large, and then you must address him to the following purpose:—‘I am of opinion that you ought to inform the Duke of the misfortune which has befallen the fleet, and to charge him, under the pretext that this had rendered the situation of the empire very perilous, with the commission to inspect all the strong places of the kingdom, and to fortify them where he shall think it requisite. At the same time you will do well to order all the commanders of the fortified towns to seize the Duke as secretly as possible. In order to prevent any evasions under the pretext of want of money, you must send him, at the same time, a sum sufficient for defraying the expences of his journey.”

“But suppose,” said I, “this proposal should be accepted, how could the Duke of Brag**za escape the snare?”

“Can we not apprize him of his danger? If he cannot find means to escape the snare by dint of art, he must have recourse to open force, and call to arms. Thus the revolution will begin, and our chief aim be attained.”

“One can predict,” the Irishman continued, “with some degree of certainty, that Oliva*ez will not reject that proposal, which is nothing but a continuation of his former plan, and of course, will flatter his conceit. As soon as you shall have carried this point, you must endeavour to effect the promulgation of the edict against the nobility; which will be no difficult task, if you pretend to have been informed by letters from Por***al, that the major part of the nobility is entirely devoted to the Duke, and will support him if a revolt should break out.—Hence you may draw the conclusion that the fermentation in Por***al will never cease, and the wisest measures against him, though ever so successful, will not have the desired effect, while the nobility shall not be employed somewhere else, and forced to submit to the edict by which they are ordered to enter into the service of Sp**n. I advise you, at the same time, to add, that the indulgence which has been shewn to those who have refused to obey the proclamation of the Court, will render the nobility more daring, and the Duke of Brag**za more dangerous. In short, you must exert every power of persuasion to incite the minister to renew and to enforce that edict.”

After a short pause the Irishman added:—“This advice would appear suspicious, if proposed by any other person but yourself. You have gained, already, his confidence to such a degree, that it will derive additional strength from your apparent zeal. And indeed every thing that can contribute to remove all traces of suspicion from you concurs in your person! The proposals which you are to make have not only the appearance of destroying the design of the Duke and the conspirators, but you have also been on your travels when they were fabricated, and of course, cannot be suspected of having the least share in them. While you have been here your time has been spent in amusements and diversions, how could you, therefore, be supposed to have been capable of paying any attention to deep laid intrigues of state? On the contrary, the minister is no stranger to your father’s fidelity to the King of Sp**n, and to the secret hatred which your family harbours against the Duke of Brag**za; how could, therefore, your proposal appear to him otherwise than natural and sincere? Your friendship for Velas*os alone would be sufficient to make him believe so.”

“I need not remind you,” added the Irishman, when he was going to leave me, “not to forget to interest the Secretary of State, Suma*ez, for your transactions.”

“But suppose,” I replied, “I should acquit myself of my charge to your satisfaction, how am I to conceal the matter from my father?”

The Irishman replied after a momentary consideration: “If the minister should approve your proposals, you must request him frankly not to mention any thing to the Marquis, pretending to intend to surprise him in an agreeable manner, by an oral account, when the whole affair shall be happily concluded.”

Before he took leave, he enjoined me to be circumspect, courageous, and active.

I cannot say whether it was owing to the execution of this advice, to the facility of the task, or to favourable accidents, that I carried my point without difficulty. The minister approved my plan; the Duke of B——a received the above mentioned order along with 40,000 ducats, and the edict concerning the nobility was renewed. However, the Duke of B——a again escaped the snare. He did, indeed, execute the orders of the Sp***sh court, travelled all over P****l, and observed every where how the people were devoted to him; the money he had received, and the power that was entrusted to him, enabled him to gain many friends, and he entered the fortified towns so well escorted, that none of the Sp***sh governors dared seize him.

The Irishman who gave me this information, provided me at the same time with instructions how to act if the minister should complain of the miscarriage of my plan, which soon happened. Oliva*ez acquainted me very peevishly, with the bad success of our undertaking. “We may yet carry our point,” I replied, after some reflection, with seeming unconcern. “If you wish to pursue your plan, you may easily lay a new snare for him, from which the Duke will not be able to extricate himself. You have the best opportunity of sending him an order to repair to Mad**d, and to make to his Majesty an oral report of the state of Port**l.”

The minister approved of this advice, and carried it into execution without delay. The Duke of B——a, who was well aware that the order from the Sp***sh court could not be declined any longer, sent his Chamberlain to Mad**d in order to hire a palace, to engage a number of servants, and to make every preparation for his pretended arrival, but nevertheless did not come. One time he pleaded ill health, at another time want of money; and at last, wished to know what rank he was to hold at Mad**d. However, I was so fortunate as to guide the minister in such a manner that every obstacle was removed at last, and the Duke received 6000 ducats for defraying the expences of his journey.

“Now,” said the Irishman to me, “the Duke will find it impossible to shift any longer, and either must repair to Mad**d, which he will take care not to do, or give the signal for the revolution. Your business, my Lord, is finished, and nothing further will be required of you than the strictest secrecy. When your country will be free, we shall meet again, and then you may expect to see all my promises accomplished.”

(To be continued.)

CURIOUS OBSERVATIONS ON MAKING LOVE.

From The Tatler.

I fell in the other evening with a party who were engaged in examining which was the handsomest style of addressing the Fair, and writing Letters of Gallantry.—Many were the opinions immediately declared on this subject: Some were for a certain softness; some for I know not what of delicacy; others for something inexpressibly tender: When it came to me, I said there was no rule in the world to be made for writing Letters, but that of being as near what you speak face to face as you can; which is so great a truth, that I am of opinion, writing has lost more Mistresses than any one mistake in the whole legend of Love. For when you write to a Lady for whom you have a solid and honourable Love, the great idea you have of her, joined to a quick sense of her absence, fills your mind with a sort of tenderness, that gives your language too much the air of complaint, which is seldom successful. For a man may flatter himself as he pleases, but he will find, that the women have more understanding in their own affairs than we have, and women of spirit are not to be won by mourners.—Therefore he that can keep handsomely within rules, and support the carriage of a companion to his mistress, is much more likely to prevail, than he who lets her see the whole relish of his life depends upon her. If possible therefore, divert your mistress, rather than sigh to her. The pleasant man she will desire for her own sake; but the languishing lover has nothing to hope for but her pity. To shew the difference I produced two Letters a Lady gave me, which had been writ to her by two gentlemen who made love to her, but were both killed the day after the date at the battle of Almanza. One of them was a mercurial gay-humoured man; the other a man of a serious but a great and gallant spirit. Poor Jack Careless! This is his letter: You see how it is folded: The air of it is so negligent, one might have read half of it by peeping into it, without breaking it open. He had no exactness.

MADAM,

‘It is a very pleasant circumstance I am in, that while I should be thinking of the good company we are to meet within a day or two, where we shall go to loggerheads, my thoughts are running upon a Fair Enemy in England. I was in hopes I had left you there; but you follow the camp, tho’ I have endeavoured to make some of our leaguer Ladies drive you out of the Field. All my comfort is, you are more troublesome to my Colonel than myself: I permit you to visit me only now and then; but he downright keeps you. I laugh at his honour as far as his gravity will allow me; But I know him to be a man of too much merit to succeed with a woman. Therefore defend your heart as well as you can, I shall come home this winter irresistibly dressed, and with quite a new foreign air. And so, I had like to say, I rest, but alas! I remain, Madam,

Your most Obedient, Most Humble Servant,

John Careless.

Now for Colonel Constant’s Epistle; you see it is folded and directed with the utmost care.

MADAM,

‘I do myself the honour to write to you this evening because I believe to-morrow will be a day of battle, and something forebodes in my breast that I shall fall in it. If it proves so, I hope you will hear I have done nothing below a man who had a love of his country, quickened by a passion for a woman of honour. If there be any thing noble in going to a certain death; if there be any merit, I meet it with pleasure, by promising myself a place in your esteem; if your applause, when I am no more, is preferable to the most glorious life without you; I say, Madam, if any of these considerations can have weight with you, you will give me a kind place in your memory, which I prefer to the glory of Cæsar. I hope, this will be read, as it is writ, with tears.’

The beloved Lady is a woman of a sensible mind; but she has confessed to me, that after all her true and solid value for Constant, she had much more concern for the loss of Careless. Those great and serious spirits have something equal to the adversities they meet with, and consequently lessen the objects of pity. Great accidents seem not cut out so much for men of familiar characters, which makes them more easily pitied, and soon after beloved. Add to this, that the sort of love which generally succeeds, is a stranger to awe and distance. I asked Romana, whether of the two she should have chosen had they survived? She said, She knew she ought to have taken Constant; but believed, she should have chosen Careless.

ARABIAN MAXIMS.

The monument which a wise man is ambitious to leave behind him, is not a numerous posterity, but the lasting honours of a virtuous fame.

In learning to know yourself, you learn to know God.

Do good; and your reward shall be, if not the plaudits of men, the approbation of God.

It is lost labour to endeavour to give understanding to him that has none; especially, if he thinks himself more sensible than you.

Nobility does not consist in magnificence of dress or eminence of rank. Art thou virtuous? Thou art sufficiently noble.

The life of man is a journal: good actions only should be written in it.

He who sows duplicity will reap calamity.

Whatever is not God, is nothing.