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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RUNNERS REMARKABLE FOR SWIFTNESS.

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

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

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

A FRAGMENT.

“Child of a day—the being of an hour,

He hurries swiftly through life’s troublous scene

Treads the same path which thousands trod before,

Then dies, and is as though he ne’er had been.”

Mrs. Faugeres.

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

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

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

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

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

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

REMARK.

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

MARRIED,

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

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

May blessings, without ceasing,

Upon their heads descend;

And pleasures, ne’er decreasing,

With love and friendship blend.

Soon a fair train surrounding,

May they enraptur’d see;

In antic races bounding,

Or prattling on the knee.

And when, with heads declining,

And silver’d o’er with age,

Their latest breath resigning,

They quit this mortal stage;

May the angelic legions

Their happy souls convey

High to the blissful regions

Of everlasting day.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

From the 25th ult. to the 1st inst.

Days of the Month.	Thermometer observed at 8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M.						Prevailing winds.			OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.
	deg.	100	deg.	100	deg.	100	8.	1.	6.	8.	1.	6.
Sept. 25	57	25	73		72		w.	sw.	w.	clear,	do.	do.
26	54		65	50	62	75	nw.	do.	do.	clear,	do.	do.
27	56	50	67		63		se.	s.	do.	rain,	do.	do.
28	58	50	64		50		ne.	sw.	do.	great rain	cloudy	do.
29	57	25	65	25	61	25	nw.	do.	do.	clear,	do.	do.
30	53		63	50	60		n.	do.	nw.	cloudy,	do.
*Oct. 1	46		54				n.	do.		cloudy	do.

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

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

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

For Sept. 1796.

					deg.	100
Mean temperature		of the thermometer		at 8 A.M.	63	2
Do.	do.	of the	do.	at 1 P.M.	71	12
Do.	do.	of the	do.	at 6 P.M.	67	65
Do.		of the whole month			66	92
Greatest monthly range between the 14th & 23d					33	0
Do.	do. in 24 hours		between the 22d & 23d		23	75
Warmest day the				14th.	83	0
The coldest do. the				23d	50	0

9	Days it has rained in this Month, and a considerable quantity has fallen.
	One day it thundered, and lightned the 14th, and it is presumed there was as great a quantity, as ever was experienced within eight hours.
17	days it was clear, at	8, 1 & 6 o’clock,
5	days it was cloudy at	8, 1 & 6 o’clock.
3	do. the wind was high, at	ditto,
18	do. the wind was light at	do.
20	Days the wind was to the westward of North and South.
10	Do. the wind was to the Eastward of do. do.

MILITARY FAME.

O thou that sigh’st to join the scenes of war,

And gain the glories of the martial train;

Reflect what woes surround the trophied car,

What crimson tints the wish’d-for circlet stain.

If tender sympathy be not unknown,

If heaven-born mercy in thy bosom glow,

Reject the impurpl’d wreath, the laurel crown

Can flourish only in the scenes of woe.

Wert thou the noblest bravest son of Mars,

Did fear precede thee, conquest still attend;

All the long glories of successive wars

On fickle Fortune’s favouring smile depend.

Ev’n godlike Paoli’s confest her sway,

By her they flourish and by her they fade;

The adverse fortune of one hapless day

Condemns thee to oblivion’s dreary shade.

Such is a brittle bubble blown in air,

Such the bright lustre of the morning skies;

So some tall tree may vernal honours bear,

And bloomy verdure charm the wondering eyes:

But, ah! how fleeting the illusive glare

When the clouds gather, and the storms arise!

MATILDA.

New-York.

REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD.

All hail ye peaceful scenes, in whose still plain

Sweet solitude and melancholy dwell;

Where uncontrolled awe doth pensive reign,

And rev’rence muses in each silent cell.

With mem’ry’s retrospective eye I view

These ghastly figures—(loathsome to the eyes)

These are the skulls of those I lately knew,

The once adored, beautiful, and wise!

The statesman and the clown here peaceful lie,

The slave for liberty don’t here dispute:

With death’s decree Neptune and Mars comply,

And patriotic eloquence lies mute!

When Sol the East with blushes does adorn;

The rose expands her leaves to every ray:

Tho’ thus compos’d of beauty in the morn,

At eve she bows her head and doth decay.

So lies the maid who once with beauty blest,

And at whose feet youths supplicating lay,

While beauty reign’d she was by them carest:

But none pays tribute to her breathless clay.

Each silent tomb methinks lets fall a tear,

While ev’ry grave in plaintive accents say;

“In pride of youth like you we did appear,

“But you like us, must moulder and decay.”

“Ye sons of dissipation, new pursue

“The paths of rectitude—for short’s the span,

“Remember while these monuments you view,

“The chiefest study of mankind is man.”

ON MY BEARD.—a sonnet.

The orb of day seven times, this fatal morn,

Has sped his course thro’ each revolving sign,

Since first in evil hour, reluctant torn,

The down of youth forsook these cheeks of mine.

Ah! fashion! had I view’d thy sneers with scorn,

Unravag’d still the sacred growth would shine:

The majesty of manhood, still unshorn,

Shou’d sweep my breast luxuriant as the vine.

Now, woe is me! a dupe to impious zeal,

Unequal war with Nature do I wage;

While, as each sun returns, the ruthless steel,

To waste her produce, plies its whetted rage.

Like Grecia’s godlike sages dare I feel,

My shaggy chin shou’d mock this silly age.

THE DOCTORS’ DUEL.

Two Doctors fought, and thrice from each

A deadly ball was sent,

Though keenly aim’d, the bullets’ force

In air impassive spent.

Ye sons of Mars forbear to smile,

Since every man must know;

’Tis not by pistol, sword, or gun,

A Doctor kills his foe.

For had they been on death intent,

How surely might they kill,

Or by a gentle cooling draught,

Or mild Saturnian Pill.

THE EXTENT OF LIFE’S VARIETY.

Just this little, and no more,

Is in ev’ry mortal’s pow’r,

Each to say, I tasted breath,

But the cup was fraught with death;

I have sigh’d, have laugh’d, have wept,

Wak’d to think, and thinking slept;

Slept my wearied limbs to rest,

Wak’d with labour in my breast;

Met with sorrows, happ’ly o’er,

Mix’d in pleasures now no more;

Hop’d and fear’d, with equal sense,

Dup’d by many a slight pretence:

Soon shall my soul her veil throw by,

My body with its kindred lie;

Of this I’m certain, but the rest

Is lock’d within a higher breast.

EPIGRAM.

Why merciless thwack Peter’s coat?

My friend you surely jest!

I’d rather beat the Losel’s back,

And let his vestment rest.

The Castigator look’d and smil’d;

Said he, “You’ve wrong premis’d;

“For ’tis the habits of the man

“That make the man despis’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.

HYMNS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DISCONTENT.

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

INTERESTING HISTORY OF
THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI.

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

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

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

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

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

Could I any longer doubt the extent of my misery? I instantly called for Boleslas, one of the most faithful of my domestics: I ordered him to place trusty spies about the palace of Pulaski, who should bring an account of every thing that passed there; and commanded that if the count returned to the capital before me, he should follow him wherever he went. Having given these instructions, and not yet despairing of still finding the family at one of their seats in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, I myself set out in pursuit of my mistress.

I accordingly searched through all the domains of Pulaski, and asked concerning Lodoiska of all the passengers whom I met, but without success. After having spent eight days in fruitless enquiry, I resolved to return to Warsaw, and I was not a little astonished, on my arrival, to find a Russian army encamped on the banks of the Vistula, almost under the very walls of that city.

It was night when I entered the capital: the palaces of the grandees were all illuminated, an immense multitude filled the streets; I heard the songs of joy; I beheld wine flowing in rivulets in the public squares: every thing announced to me that Poland had a king.

Boleslas, who expected me with impatience, informed me that Pulaski had returned alone on the second day after my departure; and that he had not stirred from his own palace but to repair to the diet, where, in spite of his efforts, the ascendancy of Russia became every day more manifest. “During the last assembly held this very morning,” adds he, “M. de P—— united almost all the suffrages in his favour, and was about to be declared king, when Pulaski pronounced the fatal Veto: at that instant twenty sabres were brandished in the air. The fierce palatine of ————, whom the count had insulted in the former assembly, was the first to rush forwards, and gave him a terrible wound on the head. Zaremba, and some others, flew to the defence of their friend; but all their efforts would have been unable to have saved him, if M. de P———— had not ranged himself on their side, exclaiming at the same time, that he would sacrifice, with his own hand, the first person who dared to approach him. On this the assailants retired. In the mean time Pulaski, fainting with the loss of blood, was carried off the field in a state of insensibility. Zaremba departed also, swearing to avenge his friend. Having thus become master of the deliberations, the numerous partisans of M. de P————, instantly proclaimed him sovereign.

“Pulaski, who had been carried to his palace, was soon restored to life; and the surgeons who attended him, declared that his wounds, although dangerous, were not mortal. In that state, although languishing under the most cruel torments, contrary to the advice of all his friends, he ordered himself to be lifted into his carriage, and before noon he left Warsaw, accompanied by Mazeppa and a few male-contents.”

It was scarcely possible to have announced worse news to me. My friend was upon the throne, but my reconciliation with Pulaski appeared henceforth impossible, and in all appearance Lodoiska was lost for ever. I knew her father so well as to be under apprehensions lest he should proceed to extremities with his daughter. I was affrighted at the present, I durst not look forwards towards the future; and my heart was so devoured with chagrin, that I did not go out, even to felicitate the new king.

One of my people, whom Boleslas dispatched after Pulaski, returned at the end of the fourth day: he had followed him fifteen leagues from the capital; when, about that distance, Zaremba, who perceived a stranger at a little distance from the carriage, began to conceive suspicions. As they proceeded, four of his followers, who had concealed themselves behind the ruins of an old house, surprised my courier, and conducted him to Pulaski. He, with a pistol in his hand, forced him to acknowledge to whom he belonged. “I shall send you back to Lovzinski,” said the fierce republican, “on purpose to announce from me, that he shall not escape my just vengeance.” At these words they blindfolded my servant, who could not tell where they had carried him. At the end of four-and-twenty hours they resumed, and tying a handkerchief once more about his eyes they put him into a carriage, which having stopped at length, after a journey of several hours, he was ordered to descend. Scarce had he put his foot upon the ground but his guards departed at a full gallop; on which he removed the bandage, and found himself precisely on the same spot as that on which he had been first arrested.

This intelligence filled me with uneasiness; the menaces of Pulaski terrified me, much less on my own account than on Lodoiska’s, who remained in his power: in the midst of his fury he might sacrifice her life! I resolved therefore to expose myself to every species of danger, on purpose to discover the retreat of the father, and the prison of his only child.

On the succeeding day, after informing my sisters of my design, I left the capital: Boleslas alone accompanied me, and I passed for his brother. We wandered over all Poland, and I then perceived that the fears of Pulaski were but too well justified by the event. Under pretence of obliging the inhabitants to take the oath of fidelity to the new King, the Russians, scattered about in the provinces, desolated the country, and committed a multitude of exactions in the cities.

After having spent three months in vain enquiries, despairing of being able to find Lodoiska, touched with the most lively grief for the fate of my country, and weeping at one and the same time for her misfortunes and my own, I was about to return to Warsaw, to inform the new king of the excesses committed by those foreigners in his states, when an adventure that at first seemed to be very inauspicious, forced me to a very different resolution.

The Turks having declared war against Russia, the Tartars of Budziac and the Crimea made frequent incursions into Volhynia, where I then was. Four of those robbers attacked us one afternoon, as we were leaving a wood near Ostropol. I had imprudently neglected to load my pistols; but I made use of my sabre with so much address and good luck, that in a short time, two of them fell covered with wounds. Boleslas encountered the third: the fourth attacked me with great fury; he gave me a slight cut upon the leg, but received a terrible stroke in return, that dismounted him from his horse, and felled him to the ground. Boleslas at the same moment perceived himself disencumbered from his enemy, who, at the noise made by his comrade’s fall, took to flight. He whom I had just vanquished, then addressed me in very bad Polish, and said: “a brave man like you ought to be generous. I beg my life of you; instead of putting me to death, succour me, relieve me, bind up my wounds, and assist me to arise.”

He demanded quarter with an air so noble, that I did not hesitate for a moment. I accordingly descend from my horse, and Boleslas and myself having helped him to arise, we dressed his wounds. “You behave well!” says the Tartar to me; “you behave well!” As he spoke we beheld a cloud of dust, and in a moment after more than three hundred Tartars rushed upon us at full speed. “Be not afraid, dread nothing,” says he whom I had spared; “I am chief of this troop.” Accordingly, by means of a sign, he stops his followers, who were on the point of massacring us; and speaking to them in their own language, which I was unable to comprehend, they instantly open their ranks on purpose to permit us to pass.

“Brave man,” exclaims their captain, addressing himself to me once more, “had I not reason to say that you behaved well? You left me my life, and I now save yours; it is sometimes right to spare an enemy, and even a robber! Hear me, my friend: in attacking you, I followed my profession, and you did your duty in conquering me. I pardon you, you have already pardoned me; let us therefore embrace.”—He then adds: “The day is wasting, and I would not advise you to travel in these cantons during the present night. My people are about to repair each to his respective post, and I cannot answer for their discretion. You perceive a castle on a rising ground, towards the right: it belongs to a certain Pole of the name of Dourlinski, for whom we have a high esteem, because he is very rich. Go, demand an asylum from him; tell him that you have wounded Titsikan, and that Titsikan pursues you. He is acquainted with my name: I have already made him pass many an uneasy night. As to the rest, you may rely on it, that while you remain with him, his castle shall be sacred; but be careful not to come forth on any account before the end of three days, and not to remain there longer than eight.---Adieu!”

It was with unfeigned pleasure that we took leave of Titsikan and his companions. The advice of the Tartar was a command: I therefore said to Boleslas; “Let us immediately make for the castle that he has now pointed out to us; I am well acquainted with this same Dourlinski by name, Pulaski has sometimes spoken to me concerning him: he perhaps is not ignorant of the place to which the Count has retired; and it is not impossible but that with a little address we may be able to draw the secret from him. I shall say at all events that we are sent by Pulaski, and this recommendation will be of more service to us than that of Titsikan: in the mean time, Boleslas, do not forget that I am your brother, and be sure not to discover me.”

REMARK.

There are people, whose conversation or presence always excites languor in others: these are men who, by the void in their minds, communicate weariness; or who are fatiguing by a superabundance of uninteresting conversation; thus want and superfluity are sources of languor.

THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION;
OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CAIA.

RUNNERS REMARKABLE FOR SWIFTNESS.

A FRAGMENT.

REMARK.

MARRIED,

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

MILITARY FAME.

REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD.

ON MY BEARD.—a sonnet.

THE DOCTORS’ DUEL.

THE EXTENT OF LIFE’S VARIETY.

EPIGRAM.