Soon after my arrival at M****d, I went to pay a visit to the minister. He received me very kindly, and discoursed above an hour with me, although he was so over charged with state-affairs that no stranger could get access to him. I was not less successful with the Secretary of State, in whose favour I ingratiated myself so much in the course of half an hour, that he professed himself extremely happy in having got acquainted with me. Both of them invited me to visit them frequently during my stay at M****d, an invitation which I took care to make the best use of.

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.)

* This is a mistake, for we know by the Duke’s own account, that he uttered this scream because he felt himself pulled down by an invisible hand when he was going to get up. The Irishman having known nothing if this circumstance, it is probable that the unknown cause of this pulling down, was no other than a foot of the Duke, with which he, in his stupor, kept his cloak down, when he was getting up, without knowing it.

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.

----

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.

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?”