The New-York Weekly Magazine;

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

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

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

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

* The Grandmother of the Duke of Brag**za had already attempted to enforce her claim to the throne; she was, however, obliged to yield to superior power. His father was hurt so much at the loss of the crown, that he had formed the design to seize the King of Sp**n when he stopped at his palace at Vi**ciosa, on his journey to Li*bon, and not to set him at liberty till he should have renounced to him the crown of Por***al. His friends represented to him how impossible it would be to accomplish this design; however, he could not be persuaded to desist from all farther attempts of getting possession of the sceptre of Port***al, and his people were frequently instigated by him to quarrel with the King’s Officers at Li*bon, on which occasion the populace evinced clearly how strong their attachment to the family of Bra***za was. But matters were never pushed any farther, the proper time when the crown of Por***al, should be restored to its lawful possessors being not yet arrived. The old Duke was so much grieved at his unsuccessful attempt, that at length his reason was disordered. He spoke constantly of war and arms, and ordered his family, on his death-bed, to bury him with Royal pomp, which was actually done, though in secret.

EULOGY ON BUFFON, the celebrated Naturalist.

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

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

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

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

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

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

THE ROSE—A REFLECTION.

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

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

GENEROSITY.

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

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

CURIOUS OBSERVATIONS.

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

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

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

INTERESTING HISTORY OF
THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FOLLY OF FREETHINKING:

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

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

MARRIED,

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

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

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

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

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

EVENING.—EXTEMPORE.

	Thermometor observed at	Prevailing winds.	OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER.
	6, A.M. 3, P.M.	6.	3.	6.	3.
Oct	deg.	100	deg.	100
23	52	50	70		s. w. do.	clear, light wind	do. lt. wd.
24	57		76		s. w. do.	clear, calm	do. high wd.
25	58		77		sw.	nw.	foggy light wind	clear do.
26	56		58	25	e.	se.	cloudy lt. wd.	do. do.
27	49	50	55		ne.	n.	clear do.	high wind light wd.
28	37		47		n.	sw.	clear lt. wd.	do. do.
29	44	50	58		sw.	w.	clear lht. wind	cloudy do.

The sun retires behind the western hills,

And lengthening shadows shew the parting day;

A hollow sound echoes from murm’ring rills,

Which fall from distant rocks and glide away.

Now sol’s faint beams scarce glisten o’er the glade,

All nature’s various beauties sink from sight;

The verdant vales are wrapt in gloomy shade,

And day retires before the mists of night.

Thus life’s vain pleasures short delight impart:

Those scenes, which once so brilliant did appear,

Return no more to chear the pensive heart,

And memory recalls them with a tear.

J. P.

New-York, Oct. 29, 1796.

TO MISS A—— H——.

Though F——s muse may grief assume,

And teach his plaintive soul to mourn;

No wreath I make for Anna’s tomb,

Nor weep upon her chilly urn.

’Tis not for me to mourn as dead,

The fair whom blooming I survey,

Nor with a turf to grace her head,

Nor change her limbs to mould’ring clay.

Let friendship’s artless voice inspire

My muse to sing in diff’rent strains:

While as a friend I here admire

Her more—than on the Etherial plains.

Far distant may the period be,

When Anna’s form shall lose its bloom;

And F——s frantic verse we see

Sadly inscribed upon her tomb.

ANNA.

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

Reader, if thou are good, and wise, and witty,

Drop on this sable hearse some tears of pity;

For know kind reader, that it is a duty

To the remains of innocence and beauty.

Epitaph on a Celebrated Coach-Maker.

Once in the gilded chariot high,

I sat in worldly state;

Now in the darksome tomb I lie,

The chariot built by fate.

Yet in this carriage form’d of dust

I hope one day to gain

The place where dwell the good and just;

And endless pleasures reign.

This is the chariot that must bring

The GREAT and SMALL at last,

Before their Judge and Heav’nly King:

When earthly joys are past.

ON A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

The solid joys of human kind,

Are those that flow from peace of mind;

For who the sweets of life can taste,

With vice and tim’rous guilt opprest?

’Tis virtue softens all our toils,

With peace our conscience crowns;

Gives pleasure when our fortune smiles,

And courage when it frowns;

Calms every trouble, makes the soul serene,

Smooths the contracted brow, and chears the heart within.

MATERNAL AFFECTION.

Now swiftly fled the shades of night,

Before the sun’s transparent light,

Fresh with the glitt’ring dews of morn,

More fragrant bloom’d the verdant thorn.

The tender Delia waking, smil’d,

And flew to clasp her lovely child;

Asleep the angel infant lay,

Fair as the glowing dawn of day.

A soothing lullaby she sung,

And o’er the cradle fondly hung:

What eye could view a fairer sight?—

How pure her innocent delight!

In happy wedlock early join’d,

A mother, with a virgin mind,

Just sev’nteen summers had she seen,

And tall and graceful was her mien.

She paus’d a while, and strove to trace

The father in her infant’s face;

‘How sweet,’ she cried, ‘a mothers bliss!

‘And sweet, oh sweet, my cherub’s kiss!

‘Sleep on! my babe, securely rest!

‘I feel thee mantling in my breast;

‘Sleep on, and with each hour improve—

‘My first—my only pledge of love!

‘How could I bear from thee to part,

‘Thou dearest treasure of my heart?

‘Yet, ah! I tremble when I know

‘What ills my babe must undergo!

‘What sickness, and what days of pain,

‘What chances too, must thou sustain?

‘How can I hope my child to save,

‘When thousands meet an early grave?

‘And must—ah must these busy fears

‘Still grow with thy encreasing years?

‘Must they my bosom still annoy,

‘And mingle with a mother’s joy?

‘Secure in the Almighty hand,

‘The offspring of his high command;

‘Will not his name become thy shield,

‘His terrors strong protection yield?

‘Unto the will of Heav’n resign’d,

‘Let doubt no more disturb my mid;

‘This precept soothes my troubles breast,

‘Whatever God ordains is best.

‘Sleep on—then sleep, my baby fair,

‘May Heav’n thy infant beauty spare.

‘Sleep on—sleep on, thy mother’s pride,

‘May Heav’n thy future being guide.’

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 HOPE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EULOGY ON BUFFON, the celebrated Naturalist.