The New-York Weekly Magazine;

“O, that a glove I to that hand were prest,

“On which reclin’d, that lovely cheek might rest!”

’Twas thus the youth his amorous wish preferr’d,

A glove—so cold a suit could ne’er be heard;

Ah, surely bosom friends were then unknown,

That teach the breast a mutual warmth to own.

THE RISING MOON.

Where yonder clouds adorn the eastern sky,

The slowly rising moon, with solemn pace,

Scans the fair face of heav’n in silent majesty,

And like a light emits her favouring grace.

High though her throne, the sparkling stars,

Proud of their leader, shine more bright;

(Devoid of clouds whose influence mars,)

While mortals share her useful light.

Slow in her train the moving planets all

Glide in their spheres, ambitious to pursue

Their faithful trav’ller as she scans the ball,

And with their lustre combat to outdo.

So man may shine with intellectual light,

And all his virtue to the world impart;

That distant fires his relicts may excite

To study God, and humanize the heart.

L. LE FEVRE.

Pine-Street, Aug. 30, 1798.

THE BATCHELOR’S WISH.

Free from bustle, care and strife,

Of this short various scene of life,

O, let me spend my days.

In rural sweetness with a friend,

To whom I may my mind unbend,

Not censure heed, or praise.

Though not extravagant, or near,

Yet through the well-spent checquer’d year,

I’d have enough to leave.

To drink a bottle with a friend,

Assist him in distress, not lend,

But rather freely give.

Riches bring care, I ask not wealth,

Let me enjoy but peace and health;

I envy not the great.

’Tis peace alone can make me bless’d.

The rich may take to east, or west,

I claim not wealth or state.

I too would chuse to sweeten life,

A tender, mild, good-natur’d wife,

Young, sensible, and fair.

One who would love but me alone;

Prefer my cottage to a throne,

And soothe my every care.

Thus happy with my wife and friend;

My days I carefully would spend,

By no sad thoughts oppress’d.

If heaven has bliss for me in store,

Grant me but this, I ask no more,

And I am truly bless’d.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

In all my Enna’s beauties blest,

Amidst profusion still to pine;

For though she gives me up her breast,

Its panting tenant is not mine.

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

AUTHENTICATED ETYMOLOGIES.

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

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

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

INTERESTING HISTORY OF
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

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

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

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

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

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

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

IMITATION.

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

CURIOUS HISTORICAL ANECDOTE.

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

ANECDOTE OF VOLTAIRE.

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

BEST MEANS OF ACQUIRING HAPPINESS.

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

MILITARY ANECDOTES.

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

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

SIMPLICITY.

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

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

MEANINGS OF THE WORD MAKE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETACHED THOUGHTS.

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

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

REMARKS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MISFORTUNE.

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

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

EXTRAORDINARY THIRST FOR FAME.

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

THE RISING MOON.

THE BATCHELOR’S WISH.