For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 140.)

The monaulos, or single flute, called by the Egyptions photinx, was probably one of the most ancient instruments used either by them or any other nation. From various remains of ancient sculpture, it appears to have been shaped like a bull’s horn, and was at first, it may be supposed, no other than the horn itself.---Before the invention of flutes, as no other instruments except those of percussion were known, music must have been little more than metrical, when the art of refining and lengthening sounds was first discovered, the power of Music over mankind, from the agreeable surprize occasioned by soft and extended notes was probably irresistable. At a time when all the rest of the world was involved in savage ignorance, the Egyptians were possessed of musical instruments capable of much variety and expression.——Of this the astonishing remains of the city of Thebes, still subsisting, afford ample evidence. In a letter from Mr. Bruce, ingrossed in Dr. Burney’s history of Music, there is given a particular description of the Theban harp, an instrument of extensive compass, and exquisite elegance of form. It is accompanied with a drawing taken from the ruins of an ancient sepulchre at Thebes, supposed by Mr. Bruce, to be that of the father of Sesostris.

On the subject of this harp, Mr. Bruce makes the following striking observation. “It overturns all the accounts of the earliest state of ancient music, and instruments in Egypt, and is altogether in its form, ornaments, and compass, an incontestable proof, stronger than a thousand Greek quotations, that geometry, drawing, mechanics, and music, were at the greatest perfection when this harp was made; and that what we think in Egypt was the invention of arts, was only the beginning of the era of their restoration.”

Indeed, when the beauty and powers of this harp, along with the very great antiquity of the painting which represents it, are considered, such an opinion as that which Mr. Bruce hints at, does not seem to be devoid of probability.

It cannot be doubted, that during the reigns of the Ptolemies, who were voluptuous Princes, Music must have been much cultivated and encouraged. The father of Cleopatra, who was the last of that race of Kings, derived his title of Auletes, or flute player, from excessive attachment to the flute. Like Nero, he used to array himself in the dress of a Tibicien, and exhibited his performance in the public musical contests.

The Greeks are indebted to the Egyptians for their knowledge of music; Homer, the most ancient author unconnected with the sacred writers, has given us very striking descriptions of the efficacy of music. We are told Apollo invented the Lyre, and instructed Orpheus to play upon it. The Lyric and Dramatic poets were all after the time of Homer, proficients in music, and in all probability contributed much to the perfection of that art in Greece. We are well assured, that in the days of Philip, and his son Alexander the Great, Music had arrived to its highest degree of perfection. From Greece it made its way to Rome, and from Rome it spread abroad over all the countries of Europe.

A. O.

(To be continued.)

ON CONTENTMENT.

The world has been often, and properly enough, compared to a theatre, in which men step forth to public view, and act their several parts. These parts are allotted by the Governor of the Universe, who best knows the characters to which we are suited; and it is our greatest wisdom to acquiesce in them, and to endeavour to sustain them with propriety, whilst we are upon the stage of this life.---Happiness is distributed with a more impartial hand than we generally imagine. It consists not in the possession of riches and honours, in outward shew and splendor: it is something internal. It is seated in the mind, and if we seek it elsewhere, we shall seek it in vain. The contented peasant in his humble cot is happy with a sufficiency, whilst the greatest Lord in the Universe, in the midst of all his wealth and grandeur, is often a prey to anxiety and discontent. Does not the poor beggar, with all his apparent want, frequently enjoy more real happiness than the rich miser in the midst of his abundance? The latter is continually tormented with the fear of losing his superfluous treasures: eager of adding to his store, he even denies himself common necessaries, and leads a miserable life; whilst the former, unmindful of future wants, is heard to sing over his scanty meal. Contentment is a most valuable blessing. It is the sovereign medicine of afflictions. By bearing them with patience and resignation, we in a great measure lessen their weight, and are better prepared to withstand any future adverse stroke of fortune. But instead of alleviating, we only add to our troubles by repining. Often do we wantonly contrive to be our own tormentors, by looking with an envious ill-natured eye, upon the condition of others, or by contemplating only the dark side of our own. Often, too often, do we reject our own happiness, by neglecting every substantial blessing that is within our reach; and court misery, by creating imaginary wants to ourselves, and hunting after some fugitive enjoyment, which, like a shadow always flies from us in proportion to the swiftness with which it is pursued.

TASTE.

The force of custom, of fancy, and of casual associations is very great both upon the external and internal taste. An Eskimaux can regale himself with a draught of whale-oil, and a Canadian can feast upon a dog. A Kamtschatkadale lives upon putrid fish, and is sometimes reduced to eat the bark of trees. The taste of rum or green tea, is at first as nauseous as that of ipecacuanha to some persons, who may be brought by use to relish what they once found so disagreeable.

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 150.)

“Pulaski, I am ready to obey you: I swear to follow your fortunes, and to participate in your dangers. And think not that it is Lodoiska alone, who has exacted from me this oath: I love my country as much as I adore thy daughter; I swear by her, and before you, that the enemies of the republic have always been, and shall never cease to be mine: I swear that I will spill the very last drop of my blood, to chase those foreigners out of Poland, who reign there in the name of its king!”

“Embrace me, Lovzinski! I now recognise you; I adopt you for my son-in-law—My children, all our misfortunes are at an end!”

Pulaski desired me to unite my hand to Lodoiska’s, in token of our union; and we were embracing the brave palatine at the very moment that Titsikan re-entered.

“Good! good!” exclaims the chieftain: this is what I wished; I am fond of marriages. Father, I shall instantly order you to be unbound.

“By my sabre!” adds the Tartar, while his followers were cutting the cords with which the hands and feet of Pulaski were tied; “by my sabre! I shall do a noble action, but it will cost me a world of wealth! Two grandees of Poland! a beautiful maiden! They would have produced me a large ransom!”

“Titsikan, such a thought is not worthy of you!” says Pulaski, interrupting him.

“No! no!” rejoins the Tartar, “it is a mere reflection only---it is one of those ideas which a robber cannot prevent.---My brave and unfortunate friends, I demand nothing from you---nay, more, you shall not retire on foot; I have some charming horses, with which I intend to present you.---And, for this lady, if you please. I will give you a litter, on which I myself have been carried for these last ten or twelve days. This young man here had given me such a wound, that I could no longer sit on horseback.---The litter is indeed a bad one, clumsily constructed, by means of branches of trees; but I have nothing except that or a little covered waggon, to offer you: choose which ever of them you please.”

In the mean time, Dourlinski, who had not as yet uttered a single word, remained with his eyes fixed upon the ground, while an air of consternation was spread over his countenance.

“Unworthy friend!” says Pulaski to him, “how could you so cruelly abuse the confidence I reposed in you? Were you not afraid to expose yourself to my resentment? What demon blinded you?”

“Love!” replies Dourlinski, “an outrageous love! You, perhaps, do not comprehend to what excess the passions may hurry on a man, violent and jealous by nature. This frightful example, however, ought to teach you, that a daughter so charming as yours is a treasure which one ought not to entrust to any person.

“Pulaski, I have, indeed, merited your hatred; but I am still worthy of your pity. I have rendered myself exceedingly culpable; but you behold me cruelly punished. I lose, in one single day, my rank, my riches, my honour, my liberty! more than all this, I lose thy daughter!

“O, Lodoiska! lovely maiden, whom I have so much outraged, will you deign to forget my persecutions, your danger, and your grief? Will you deign to grant to me a generous pardon?

“Ah! if there are no crimes which a sincere repentance cannot expiate, Lodoiska, I am no longer criminal. I would I were able, at the price of all my blood, to redeem those tears which I have occasioned you to shed. Amidst the horrible state to which Dourlinski is about to be reduced, shall he not be permitted to carry with him the consoling recollection of having heard you tell him, that he is no longer odious to you?

“Too amiable, and until this present moment, too unfortunate maiden! however great my wrongs may have been in regard to you, I have it in my power to repair them all by means of a single word---advance---approach me---I have a secret which can only be entrusted to your private ear: it is exceedingly important that it should be revealed to you!”

Lodoiska, without the least distrust, now leaves my side, and advances towards him without suspicion.

At that very moment I beheld a poniard glittering in the hand of Dourlinski!

I precipitate myself upon him.---It was too late; for I could only parry the second thrust; and the lovely Lodoiska, wounded immediately above the left breast, had already fallen senseless at the feet of Titsikan!

Pulaski, furious at the horrid treason, drew his sabre quick as lightning, on purpose to avenge his daughter’s fate.

“No! no!” exclaims the Tartar, at the same time withholding his arm: “you are about to make this wretch suffer too gentle a death!”

“It is well,” says the infamous assassin, addressing himself to me, and at the same time contemplating his victim with a cruel joy. “Lovzinski you appeared but now eager to be united with Lodoiska; why do you not follow her? Go, my too happy rival, go and accompany your mistress to the tomb! Let them prepare my punishment; it will appear pleasant to me: I leave you to torments no less cruel, and infinitely longer than mine.”

Dourlinski was not allowed to utter another sentence, for the Tartars rushed in upon him, and threw him into the midst of the burning ruins.
* * * * * * * * * * *

What a night! how many different cares, how many opposite sentiments agitated my unhappy mind during its continuance! How many times did I experience the successive emotions of fear, hope, grief and joy! After so many dangers and inquietudes, Lodoiska was at length presented to me by her father, and I was intoxicated with the near hope of possessing her:---a barbarian had but now assassinated her in my pretence!

This was the most cruel and unfortunate moment of any during the whole course of my life!---But my happiness eclipsed, as it were, in a single instant, was not long in shining forth with all its former splendor.

Amidst the Tartars belonging to Titsikan, was one somewhat conversant in surgery. We sent for him; on his arrival he examines the wound, and assures us that it is but a slight one. The infamous Dourlinski, constrained by his chains, and blinded by his despair, had happily been prevented from giving any other than an ill-directed blow.

As soon as Titsikan was informed that the life of Lodoiska was not in any danger, he prepared to take leave of us.

“I leave you,” said he, “the five domestics who accompanied Pulaski; provisions for several days, arms, six excellent horses, two covered waggons, and the people belonging to Dourlinski in chains. Their base lord is no more! Adieu! the day is about to appear; do not leave this place until to-morrow; I shall then visit the other cantons. Adieu, brave Poles! tell to your countrymen that Titsikan is not so bad as he has been represented to them; and that he sometimes restores with one hand what he takes with another. Adieu!”

At these words he lifts his hand to his head, and having saluted us gracefully after the manner of his country, he gives the signal to depart: the Tartars mount their fleet coursers in an instant, pass along the drawbridge, and make for the neighbouring plain at a full gallop.

They had been gone scarcely two hours when several of the neighbouring nobility, supported by a detachment of militia, came on purpose to invest the castle of Dourlinski.

Pulaski himself went out to receive them: he related the particulars of all that had occurred; and some, gained over by his eloquence, promised to follow us to the palatinate of Lublin.

They asked for only two days to prepare every thing necessary for the expedition, and actually came and rejoined us at the appointed time, to the number of sixty.

Lodoiska having assured us that she was now able to undergo the fatigues of a journey, we placed her in a commodious carriage, which we had luckily been able to procure for this purpose.

After having restored Dourlinski’s people to liberty, we abandon the two covered waggons to them, in which Titsikan, acting with his usual generosity, had left part of his immense booty: this we divided among them in equal proportions.

We arrived, without meeting with any accident, at Polowisk, in the Palatinate of Lublin, this being the place which Pulaski had appointed for the general rendezvous.

The news of his return having gone abroad, a crowd of malecontents in the space of less than a month flocked to and increased our little army to such a degree, that we soon found it to amount to no less than 10,000 men.

Lodoiska entirely cured of her wound, and perfectly recovered from her fatigues, had regained her usual spirits, and appeared in possession of all her former beauty. Pulaski one day called me into his tent, and spoke as follows. “Three thousand Russians have appeared, as you well know, upon the heights above, and at no greater distance than half a league from us: take, in the course of the ensuing night, three thousand chosen men, and go and chase the enemy from the advantageous posts which they now occupy. Recollect that on the success of a first attempt depends almost always that of the campaign; recollect that you are about to avenge your country’s wrongs; recollect too, my friend, that to-morrow I shall learn thy victory, and that to-morrow also thou shalt espouse Lodoiska!”

(To be continued.)

THE FIERY ORDEAL;

A JUDICIAL ANECDOTE.

Towards the end of the Greek Empire at Constantinople, a general, who was an object of suspicion to his master, was urged to undergo the fiery proof of the Ordeal by an archbishop, a subtle courtier. The ceremony was this; three days before the trial the patient’s arm was inclosed in a bag, and secured by the royal signet; he was expected to bear a red hot ball of iron three times, from the altar to the rails of the sanctuary, without artifice and injury. The general eluded the experiment with pleasantry. ‘I am a soldier,’ said he, ‘and will boldly enter the lists with my accusers; but a layman, a sinner like myself, is not endowed with the gift of miracles. Your piety, holy prelate, may deserve the interposition of heaven, and from your hands I will receive the fiery globe, the test of my innocence.’ The archbishop stared, the emperor smiled, and the general was pardoned.

POWER.

Power is no good quality by itself; it is the Power of doing good, alone, that is desirable to the wise. All vice is selfishness, and the meanest is that which is most contractedly selfish.

Great minds can reconcile sublimity to good-humour; in weak ones, it is generally coupled with severity and moroseness.

Sublime qualities men admire; they love the gentler virtues. When Wisdom would engage a heart, she wooes in a smile. What the austere man advises with his tongue his frown forbids.

The vulgar-rich call the poor the vulgar: let us learn to call things by their proper names; the rude and ungentle are the vulgar, whether, in fortune, they be poor or rich.

The truly poor and worthless are those who have not sense to perceive the superiority of internal merit to all foreign or outward accomplishments.

ANECDOTE OF DR. GOLDSMITH.

Those in the least acquainted with the private character of the doctor, knew that economy and foresight were not amongst the catalogue of his virtues. In the suite of his pensioners (and he generally enlarged his list as he enlarged his finances) was the late unfortunate Jack Pilkington, of scribbling memory, who had served the doctor so many tricks, that he despaired of getting any more money from him, without coming out with a chef d’œuvre once for all. He accordingly called on the doctor one morning, and running about the room in a fit of joy, told him his fortune was made, “How so, Jack?” says the doctor. “Why,” says Jack, “the duchess of Marlborough, you must know, has long had a strange penchant for a pair of white mice; now, as I knew they were sometimes to be had in the East Indies, I commissioned a friend of mine, who was going out then, to get them for me, and he is this morning arrived with two of the most beautiful little animals in nature.” After Jack had finished this account with a transport of joy, he lengthened his visage by telling the doctor all was ruined, for without two guineas to buy a cage for the mice, he could not present them. The doctor unfortunately, as he said himself, had but half a guinea in the world, which he offered him. But Pilkington was not to be beat out of his scheme; he perceived the doctor’s watch hanging up in his room, and after premising on the indelicacy of the proposal, hinted, that if he could spare that watch for a week, he could raise a few guineas on it, which he would repay him with gratitude. The doctor would not be the means of spoiling a man’s fortune for such a trifle. He accordingly took down the watch, and gave it to him, which Jack immediately took to the pawn-brokers, raised what he could on it, and never once looked after the doctor, till he sent to borrow another half guinea from him on his death-bed; which the other, under such circumstances, very generously sent him.

----

FUGITIVE TRIFLES.

Every species of vice originates either from insensibility, from want of judgment, or from both. No maxim can be more true than that all vice is folly. For either by vice we bring misery more immediately on ourselves, or we involve others in misery; if any one bring evil on himself, it is surely folly; if his present pleasure be to make others miserable, were he to escape every other punishment, he must suffer for it by remorse, or it is a certain proof he is deprived of that sense or sympathy which is the opposite to dullness; in either of which cases, it is evident that all vice is folly.

Whatever pleasures are immediately derived from the sense, persons of fine internal feelings enjoy, besides their other pleasures; while such as place their chief happiness in the former, can have no true taste for the delicious sensations of the soul.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Thursday the 3d inst. at his Excellency John Jay’s, Esq. by the Rev. Dr. Rodgers, John Livingston, Esq. of the Manor of Livingston, to Mrs. Catharine Ridley, daughter of his Excellency William Livingston, Esquire, late Governor of New-Jersey.

On Saturday evening the 5th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. Peter Warner, of Boston, to Miss Elizabeth Amelia Fielding, of this city.

On Sunday evening the 6th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. Thomas Lloyd, to Mrs. Sarah Ellis, both of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Ireland, Mr. William Watson, of this city, to Miss Jemima Honeywell, daughter of Israel Honeywell, Esq. of West-Chester.

On Monday the 7th inst. by the Rev. Mr. Ogden, of Newark, Mr. John Stevenson, of this city, to Miss Hannah Kingsland, daughter of Mr. Joseph Kingsland, of Second River, New-Jersey.

On Tuesday evening the 8th inst. by the Rev. Dr. M‘Knight, Robert Lee, Esq. to Mrs. Caroline Betts, both of this city.

On Friday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Rattoone, Ebenezer Brown, Esq. of Philadelphia, to Miss Esther Ann Watson, sister to James Watson, jun. of this city.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

[The Editor is exceedingly thankful to Monimia for the three different views of Winter, which she has so beautifully contrasted.—The first is presented to the admirers of Poesy, the two latter shall follow in rotation.]

THE BELLE’S INVOCATION TO WINTER.

THE COMPLAINT.

ADDRESS TO A FAVOURITE CANARY BIRD.

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.

ON LAUGHING.

To form a true judgment of a person’s temper, begin with an observation on his laugh; for the people are never so unguarded as when they are pleased; and laughter being a visible symptom of some inward satisfaction, it is then, if ever, we may believe the face; but for method sake, it will be necessary to point out the several kinds of laughing, under the following heads:

The dimplers.—The smilers.—The laughers.—The grinners.---The horse-laughers.

The dimple is practised to give a grace to the features, and is frequently made a bait to entangle a gazing lover. This was called by the ancients, the chain-laugh.

The smile is for the most part confined to the fair sex, and their male retinue; it expresses our satisfaction in a silent sort of approbation, and does not disorder the features too much, and is therefore practised by lovers of the most delicate address.

The grin is generally made use of to display a beautiful set of teeth.

The horse-laugh is made use of with great success, in all kinds of disputation. The proficients in this kind, by a well-timed laugh, will baffle the most solid argument. This, upon all occasions, supplies the want of reason, and is received with great applause in coffee-house disputes; that side the laugh joins with, is generally observed to gain the better of his antagonist.

The prude has a wonderful esteem for the chain-laugh or dimple; she looks upon all other kinds of laughter as excessives of levity, and is never seen upon the most extravagant jests, to disorder her features with a smile; her lips are composed with a primness peculiar to her character; all her modesty seems collected into her face, and but very rarely takes the freedom to sink her cheek into a dimple. The effeminate fop, by the long exercise of his countenance at the glass, is in the same situation, and you may generally see him admire his own eloquence by a dimple.

The young widow is only a chain for a time; her smiles are confined by decorum, and she is obliged to make her face sympathise with her habit; she looks demure by art, and by the strictest rule of decency is never allowed to smile, till the first offer or advance to her is over.

The wag generally calls in the horse-laugh to his assistance.

There are another kind of grinners, which some people term sneerers. They always indulge their mirth at the expence of their friends, and all their ridicule consists in unseasonable ill-nature; but they should consider, that let them do what they will, they never can laugh away their own folly by sneering at other people’s.

The coquette has a great deal of the sneerer in her composition; but she must be allowed to be a proficient in laughter, and one who can run through all the exercise of the features: she subdues the formal lover with the dimple---accosts the fop with a smile—joins with the wit in a downright laugh:---to vary the air of her countenance, she frequently rallies with a grin---and when she hath ridiculed her lover quite out of his understanding, she, to complete his misfortunes, strikes him dumb with the horse-laugh.

At present the most fashionable is a mixture of the horse-laugh and the grin, so happily blended together, that the teeth are shown without the face being distorted.

EXTRAVAGANCE AND AVARICE.

Some rich men starve to-day for fear of starving to-morrow, (as a man leaps into the sea to avoid being drowned) and the indigent often consume in an hour what they may feel the want of a year: as if old people hoarded money because they cannot want it, and young men throw it away because it is necessary to their subsistence.

He is rich enough that needs neither flatter nor borrow, and truly rich that is satisfied: want lies in desire.

History tells us of illustrious villains, but there never was an illustrious miser in nature.

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 155.)

O! Why did he request me such a manner to make him a sacrifice which would have rendered me miserable! I wished then the first time in my life, that he had spoken to me in a menacing, domineering, or only in a harsh tone, then I should have had a pretext for resisting him, and enforcing my own will. But how could I have had the courage to contradict that tender solicitation, that entreating persuasion of a father. And yet, was I not necessitated to do something worse, to counteract my parent? I never felt more strongly than at that moment, that it was utterly impossible for me to renounce the possession of Amelia. Alas! never was a situation more unfortunate than mine, and never has a human heart been reduced to such a dreadful conflict with itself by two people so dear as my father and Amelia were to me.

I looked around with weeping eyes in search of a person to whom I could unbosom my straitened heart. I went to the Marquis of Ferei*a.*

I had not informed him of my return; he uttered a scream of joy when he saw me enter his apartment. However, his satisfaction at my return made room to sorrow, when I acquainted him with my deplorable situation. “Yes, my friend!” said he, after he had viewed me some minutes with looks of pity, “if it is in your power to subdue that passion, then let me implore you—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” I interrupted him, “it is impossible!”

“If that is the case, then only two ways are left to you to attain the consent of your father; one of which is tedious and rugged, but straight.”

“Name it!”

“You must endeavour to work upon the nerves of the paternal heart in such a manner, that his affection for you gets the better of his ambition.”

“And the second---”

“It is a bye-road which will lead you soon and safely to the mark---serpents are, however, lurking on that road, and tygers lying in ambush---”

“Don’t name it!”

“I will name it, in order to caution you against it---it is called Alumbrado. O my friend!” squeezing my hand affectionately, “go take the straightest road.”

“That I will, you have given me a very bad character of that Alumbrado.”

“And would not retract a syllable of what I have wrote.”

“Where is he, I have not yet seen him.”

“He is abroad.”

“I am curious to get acquainted with him.”

“Don’t come near him, lest he catch you in the same snare in which he has caught your father.”

“Fear nothing, I shall endeavour to deliver my father from that shameful captivity.”

“O! if you could do it! But be on your guard, lest he whom you are going to draw out of the pit, drag you after him into the abyss.”

I promised it, and he clasped me in his arms.

Previous to my departure from P——l, I had promised the Marquis to keep a journal, and to insert the most remarkable incidents, which I was to communicate to him after my return. He enquired now after that journal.

“It abounds with remarkable incidents,” I replied, “and you will learn strange things on perusing it: I have not mentioned a syllable of them in my letters to you, in order to surprise you. However, you must curb your curiosity till I shall have arranged my papers.”

The Marquis consented to my request.

My noble friend! you will forgive me that artifice. It was a mere pretext, in order to stay your curiosity till the revolution should have taken place; for I had promised the Irishman to observe the strictest silence till then. It was no mistrust that influenced me, but duty imposed upon me by the promise I had made; and the event proved that I acted wisely in doing so.

Four days after my first meeting with my friend, the Irishman stopped me one evening in going home. His eyes flashed like lightning, his features were distorted, his countenance was truly dreadful. “Have you,” said he, grinding his teeth, “betrayed the conspiracy to Vascon*ellos?” “No”, I replied. “Have you warned him of the impending danger in some other manner?” “No.” “Have you disclosed the secret to one of your friends?” “To no man living.” “Can you pledge your honour for the truth of your declaration?” “I can.”

These questions succeeded each other rapidly, and he left me with equal haste. I was almost petrified at this incident. My astonishment, however, soon gave place to a different sensation, for I concluded from the words, and the perturbation of the Irishman, nothing less than that the plot had been discovered. The intelligence which I gained afterwards seemed to confirm this conjecture. Vasconcel*os had left his castle suddenly and crossed the river Ta*o, a circumstance that justly had raised the suspicion of his having discovered the plot through one of his numberless spies, and instantly made preparations for seizing the conspirators. However, this apprehension was refuted that very night. Vasconcel*os had only been at a feast, and returned late at night in high spirits, and preceded by a band of musicians, not suspecting that he would be a dead man at that hour the following night. I myself did not imagine that the revolution would break out so soon, although I knew that event to be drawing near. The day following, (December 1, 1640) at eight o’clock in the morning, the conspirators repaired in small divisions from all parts of the town to the Ducal Palace, partly on horseback, and partly on foot, but most of them in coaches or chairs, in order to conceal their arms. The number of noblemen, most of whom were the chiefs of their families, amounted to fifty, and that of the citizens to two hundred. As soon as it had struck eight by the clock of the cathedral, Pinto Rib**ro, one of the Duke’s privy counsellors, gave the last signal for the attack by firing a pistol, and the conspirators marched to the different places of their destination.

Pinto Rib**ro repaired with his troop to the palace of Vascon*ellos, who was so little prepared for the unexpected attack, that he scarcely could get time to conceal himself in a chest. However, he was discovered, saluted with a pistol shot, stabbed with a number of poniards, and thrown out of the window amid the loud exclamation; “The tyrant is dead! long live liberty and King John, the new Sovereign of Port***l!”

The populace who were assembled under the windows of the palace, repeated these words with loud acclamations of joy. In order to protect the corpse against the fury of the mob, the society of charity pressed their way thro’ the crowd, and carried it away on a bier, which is only used at the burials of slaves.

Meanwhile another troop had penetrated into the palace of the Vice-Queen. The Archbishop of Bra*a, who was with her, and as a near relation of Vasconcel**s, had also been doomed to destruction, was saved with great difficulty from the fury of the conspirators by the intercession of Miguel d’Al*eida. The Vice-Queen turned to the conspirators when they rushed into her apartment, declaring that Vasconce*los had deserved their hatred, but that they would be treated as rebels if they should proceed a step farther. She however was told, that so many nobles had not assembled merely on account of a wretch who ought to have been executed by the public hangman, but in order to restore the crown to the Duke of Bra—za, who was the lawful owner of it. The Vice-Queen began to talk of the power which she had been entrusted with by the king of Spa*n. The reply was, that no one could be acknowledged as King but John, Duke of B——a. She now offered to run out of the apartment in order to implore the assistance of the people; however, some of the noblemen stopped her, telling her it would be dangerous to suffer her to appear before a people who had been oppressed many years, and were highly exasperated.---“And what could the people do to me?” she said with scornful looks. “Nothing else but throw your highness out of the window;” one of the noblemen replied. The Archbishop of Bra*a was so much exasperated at this speech, that he seized a sword in order to avenge the Vice-Queen. Almei*a however embraced and entreated him to retire, because he had had great difficulty to persuade the conspirators to spare his life. This discovery disarmed at once the zeal of the Prelate.

Meanwhile the chiefs of the Spani—ds had been seized, and the conspirators requested the Vice-Queen to send an order to the Commander of St. Ge* to surrender; for that castle, which commanded the whole town, was still in the possession of the Spani—ds. The Vice-Queen refused to comply with their request; yet when she was told that her refusal would be the signal for killing all the imprisoned Spani—ds, she drew up the desired order, expecting that no attention would be paid to it. However the commander of the castle, who did not dare to defend himself, executed her order literally, and thus the town was freed of all fear. It is almost incredible how quickly and easily the four troops of the confederates took the posts allotted to them, and gained their aim. But much more astonishing is the readiness and the quickness with which not only the whole kingdom, but also all foreign settlements followed the example of the capital. The revolution no sooner had begun than it was accomplished. It is the only one in its kind, and a similar one never will happen.---The execution of it proves with how much wisdom it has been designed and conducted.

It was, however, like a sudden clap of thunder to my father, and affected him with redoubled force, because it happened so unexpectedly. The slow rising of the tempest, the silent brewing on the political horizon had been concealed from him by his retirement from the world, and even the visible forerunners of it, which at last forced themselves upon his eyes, appeared to him to be nothing but the lightning arising from transient vapours. The sudden eruption of the tempest, and its consequences almost petrified him. His silent stupor soon gave room to the loudest manifestations of his dissatisfaction; and nothing but repeated persuasions to yield to stern necessity and superiority, could prevail upon him to remain quiet.

(To be continued.)