COMPASSION---AN ANECDOTE.

A respectable character, after having long figured away in the gay world at Paris, was at length compelled to live in an obscure retreat in that city, the victim of severe and unforeseen misfortunes. He was so indigent, that he subsisted only on an allowance from the parish. Every week a quantity of bread was sent to him sufficient for his support, and yet at length he demanded more. On this the curate sent for him. He went: “Do you live alone?” said the curate; “With whom, sir,” answered the unfortunate man, “is it possible I should live? I am wretched; you see that I am, since I thus solicit charity, and am abandoned by all the world.” “But, sir,” continued the curate, “if you live alone, why do you ask for more bread than is sufficient for yourself?” The other was quite disconcerted, and at last, with great reluctance, confessed that he had a dog. The curate did not drop the subject. He desired him to observe, that he was only the distributor of the bread that belonged to the poor, and that it was absolutely necessary that he should dispose of his dog. “Ah, sir,” exclaimed the poor man, weeping; “and if I should lose my dog, who is there then to love me?” The good pastor melting into tears, took his purse, and giving it to him, “take this, sir,” said he; “this is mine---this I can give.”

REMARK.

The wisdom of Solomon has produced few things more just, than that ‘we should not judge of a man’s merit by his great qualities, but by the use he makes of them.’

EXTRAORDINARY INSTANCES OF GRATITUDE.

From ‘Watkins’ Travels into Swisserland, Italy, Sicily,’ &c.

Lorenzo Musata, a native of Catania, in Sicily, was, in the year 1774, taken in a Maltese ship by an Algerine corsair. When the prize was carried into port, he was sold to a Turkish officer, who treated him with all the severity that the unfeeling disposition of a barbarian, rendered intolerable by bigotry, could inflict. It happened fortunately for the Sicilian, that his master’s son Fezulah, (about ten years old) became extremely fond of him; and, by numberless little offices of kindness, alleviated his slavery. Lorenzo, in consequence, became as much attached to the boy, as the boy was to him; so that they were seldom separate from each other. One day, as Fezulah (being then sixteen) was bathing in the sea, the current carried him off; and he certainly would have perished, had not Lorenzo plunged in, and saved him, at the hazard of his life. His affection was now heightened by gratitude, and he frequently interceded with his father for his deliverer’s emancipation, but in vain. Lorenzo often sighed for his country, and Fezulah determined that he should return there. With this resolution, he one night conveyed him on board an English merchant-ship that lay off Algiers; and having embraced him with tears, retired with all that exquisite glow of pleasure and self-approbation, which virtue feels in acting with gratitude and generosity. The Sicilian returned to his country, where he found that a relation had bequeathed him a small tenement; upon which he settled, and enjoyed the sweets of competency and repose, rendered infinitely more grateful, than they otherwise would have been, by the remembrance of his past slavery. At length growing tired of a sedentary life, he accompanied his kinsman, a master of a vessel, to Genoa. On landing in the D’arsena, he heard a voice cry out—‘Oh, my friend, my Lorenzo,’ and instantly found himself in the arms of Fezulah. He was at first lost in surprize and joy; but how rapid was the transition to grief, when he perceived by his chains that Fezulah was a slave!—He had been taken by a Genoese galley on his voyage to Aleppo. You have already seen that the ruling passions of Lorenzo’s breast were generosity and gratitude; and to these he now determined to sacrifice every other consideration. Having divided his purse with his former companion, he took his leave, telling him he should be again at Genoa within two months. And so he was. He returned to Sicily; sold his little tenement, though to great disadvantage, and with the money ransomed his friend, whom he sent back to his country. Fezulah has lately visited Lorenzo at Catania, where they now are, and has not only re-purchased for him his estate, but considerably enriched him.

These actions might by some, who have more prudence than philanthropy, be deemed enthusiastic; I must however, consider them as genuine virtue, and am only sorry I cannot be an associate in the friendship of Fezulah and Lorenzo.

ANECDOTE of the Celebrated JOHN de WITT.

This illustrious pensionary of Holland, when he was one day asked how he could get through with ease the immense load of business, that would oppress most other men; replied, by doing one thing at a time. Another of his maxims, in the conduct of life, and of still more value than all his political ones, was to be careful of his health, but careless of his life. This great man well knew the importance of health to the mental as well as to the corporeal functions, and at the same time was convinced that in certain situations, where the duty to one’s country, to one’s relations, to one’s friends, and to one’s self, demands it, that a sacrifice of those is justly and honourably made, and that not to make it is “propter vitam vivendi perdere causam.” The manner of life of this great man, was so simple, that though his name appeared by the side of that of emperors and of kings in many public acts, that he used to walk from his own house to that of the States at the Hague, attended only by a single servant, and that one man and one maid-servant composed his whole domestic establishment.

ON IMAGINATION.

The imagination is a quality of the soul, not only a brilliant but an happy one, for it is more frequently the cause of our happiness, than of our misery; it presents us with more pleasures than vexations, with more hopes than fears. Men of dull and heavy dispositions, who are not affected by any thing, vegetate and pass their lives in a kind of tranquility, but without pleasure or delight; like animals which see, feel, and taste nothing, but that which is under their eyes, paws, or teeth; but the imagination, which is proper to man, transports us beyond ourselves, and makes us taste future and the most distant pleasures. Let us not be told, that it makes us also foresee evils, pains, and accidents, which will perhaps never arrive: it is seldom that imagination carries us to these panic fears, unless it be deranged by physical causes. The sick man sees dark phantoms, and has melancholy ideas; the man in health has no dreams but such as are agreeable; and as we are more frequently in a good, than a bad state of health, our natural state is to desire, to hope, and to enjoy. It is true, that the imagination, which gives us some agreeable moments, exposes us, when once we are undeceived, to others which are painful. There is no person who does not wish to preserve his life, his health, and his property; but the imagination represents to us our life, as a thing which ought to be very long; our health established and unchangeable; and our fortune inexhaustible: when the two latter of these illusions cease before the former, we are much to be pitied.

This article previously appeared on pg. 84 (No. 63).

REMARK.

A man who pretends to know every thing, never knows any thing. A man of general information, as he is called, has, in reality, never any upon a particular subject.

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 158.)

I began my march about ten o’clock.---At midnight we surprised our enemies in their camp. Never was a defeat more complete: we killed seven hundred men; we took nine hundred prisoners; we seized all their cannon, the military chest, and the ammunition.

At break of day Pulaski marched out to join me with the remainder of the troops: he brought Lodoiska along with him: we were married in Pulaski’s tent. All the camp resounded with songs of gladness: valour and beauty were celebrated in joyous epithalamiums: it seemed to be the festival of Venus and Mars; and it might be truly said, that every soldier appeared to be impressed with the same sentiments as myself, and that they all partook of my happiness.

After I had given up the first days of so dear an union entirely to love, I began to think of recompensing the heroic fidelity of Boleslas. My father-in-law presented him with one of his castles, situate at some leagues from the capital; and Lodoiska and myself added to this princely donation a considerable sum in ready money, on purpose to enable him to lead an independent and tranquil life.

He first refused to leave us; but we commanded him to go and take possession of his castle, and live peaceably in that honourable retreat which his services had so amply merited. On the day of his departure I took him aside:---“You must go in my name,” said I, “and wait upon our monarch at Warsaw: inform him that I am united in the bonds of Hymen to the daughter of Pulaski: state to him that I am armed on purpose to chase out of his kingdom those foreigners who are ravaging it; and tell him, in particular, that Lovzinski, a foe to the Russians, is not the enemy of his King.”

The recital of our operations during eight succeeding years of bloody war would be uninteresting.---Sometimes vanquished; much oftener victorious; equally great in the midst of a defeat, as formidable after a victory, and always superior to events, Pulaski attracted and fixed the attention of all Europe, whom he astonished by his long and vigorous resistance. Obliged to abandon one province, he made incursions into, and performed new prodigies of valour in another: and it was thus that, in marching successively throughout all the palatinates, he signalized in each of them, by some glorious exploit, that eternal hatred which he had sworn against the enemies of Poland.

Wife of a warrior, daughter of a hero, accustomed to the tumult of a camp, Lodoiska accompanied us every where. Of five children which she had borne me, an only daughter alone remained to us, about eighteen months old. One day, after a most obstinate engagement, the victorious Russians precipitated themselves towards my tent, on purpose to plunder it. Pulaski and myself, followed by some nobles, flew to the defence of Lodoiska, whom we saved with difficulty: my daughter, however, had been carried off.

This lovely child, by a sage precaution which her mother had wisely made use of in those times of intestine commotion, had the arms of our family impressed, by means of a chemical preparation, under her left breast: but my search after my daughter has hitherto been ineffectual. Alas! Dorliska, my dear Dorliska, either exists in slavery, or exists no more!

This loss affected me with the most lively sorrow. Pulaski, however, appeared almost insensible to my misfortunes; either because his mind was occupied at this moment with the great project which he soon after communicated to me, or because the miseries of his country alone could affect his stoic heart. He, as usual, re-assembles the remains of his army, takes possession of an advantageous post, employs several days in fortifying, and maintains himself in it for three whole months, against all the efforts of the Russians.

It, however, became at length necessary that he should abandon this situation, as provisions were beginning to be scarce.---Pulaski, on this occasion, came to my tent; and, having ordered every one to retire, when we alone remained, he addressed me as follows:

“Lovzinski, I have just reason for complaining of your conduct. Formerly you supported, along with me, the burden of command, and I was enabled to divide with my son-in-law a part of my laborious avocations: but, for these two last months, you do nothing but weep; you sigh like a woman! You have abandoned me in a critical moment, when your assistance was become the most necessary! You see how I am attacked on all sides; I fear not for myself; I am not unhappy for my own life: but if we perish, the state has no longer any defenders.

“Awake, Lovzinski! hew nobly you once participated in my cares! Do not now remain the useless witness of them. We are indeed bathed in Russian blood: our fellow citizens are avenged; but they are not saved: nay, even in a short time we may be able no longer to defend them.”

“You astonish me, Pulaski! Whence these sinister auguries?”

“I am not alarmed without reason. Consider our present position: I am forced to awaken in every heart the love of its country; I have found no where but degenerate men born for slavery, or weak ones, who, although penetrated with a sense of their own misfortunes, have bounded all their views to barren complaints.

“Some true citizens are, indeed, ranged under my standards; but eight long and bloody campaigns have lessened their number, and almost extinguished them. I become enfeebled by my very victories:—our enemies appear more numerous after their defeats.”

“I repeat to you, Pulaski, once more, that you astonish me! In circumstances no less disastrous, no less unhappy, than the present, I have beheld you sustain yourself by your courage. . . . . . .”

“Do you think that it now abandons me? True valour does not consist in being blind to danger, but in braving it after it has been foreseen. Our enemies prepare for my defeat; however, if you choose, Lovzinski, the very day which they point out for their triumph shall perhaps be that destined to record their ruin, and achieve the safety of our fellow-citizens!”

“If I choose! Can you doubt my sentiments? Speak! what would you have done?”

“To strike the boldest stroke that I ever meditated! Forty chosen men are assembled at Czenstachow along with Kaluvski, whose bravery is well known; they want a chief, able, firm, intrepid---It is you whom I have chosen.”

“Pulaski, I am ready.”

“I will not dissemble to you the danger of the enterprize; the event is doubtful, and, if you do not succeed, your ruin is inevitable.”

“I tell you that I am ready, therefore explain yourself.”

“You are not ignorant, that scarce four thousand men now fight under my command: with these undoubtedly I have still an opportunity of tormenting our enemies; but with such feeble means, I dare not hope to be ever able to force them to leave our provinces. All the nobility would flock beneath our banners, if the King were in my camp.”

“What do you say? Can you hope that the King would ever consent to repair hither?”

“No: but he must be forced to do so.”

“Forced!”

“Yes! I know that an ancient friendship connects you with M. de P——: but since you have supported, along with Pulaski, the cause of liberty, you know also that you ought to sacrifice every thing to the good of your country; that an interest so sacred————”

“I know my duty, and I am ready to fulfil it; but what is it that you now propose to me? The King never leaves Warsaw.”

“True; and it is, therefore, at Warsaw that you must go and find him: it is from the heart of the capital that he must be forced.”

“What preparations have you made for so great an enterprise?”

“You behold yon Russian army, three times as strong as mine, and which has been encamped three months in sight of us: its General, tranquil at present within his entrenchments, impatiently waits until, forced by famine, I shall surrender myself at discretion.

“Behind my camp are marshes which he thinks impracticable: the moment that it is night, we shall traverse them. I have disposed of every thing in such a manner that the enemy will be deceived, and not perceive my retreat until it is too late. I hope therefore to be able to steal more than an hour’s march upon them, and, if fortune seconds me, perhaps a whole day. I shall advance straight forward to Warsaw by the great road that leads to the capital, notwithstanding the efforts of the little Russian bands who hover continually in its neighbourhood. I shall either encounter and conquer these separately, or, if, they form a junction on purpose to stop my progress, I shall at least be able to occupy their attention in such a manner that they will not be able to impede your operations.

“In the mean time, Lovzinski, you will have preceded me. Your forty followers disguised, and armed only with sabres, poniards and pistols concealed under their clothes, shall have arrived at Warsaw by different roads. You must wait there until the King has left his palace; you are then to carry him off, and to bring him to my camp. The enterprise is bold---rash, if you please so to term it: the march to Warsaw is difficult; the stay in it dangerous; the return from it extremely perilous. If you are vanquished, if you are taken prisoner, you will perish, Lovzinski, but you will perish a martyr to liberty! and Pulaski, jealous of so glorious an end, sighing at being obliged to survive you, shall send Russians, thousands of Russians, to accompany you to the tomb!

“But on the contrary, if an all-powerful Deity; if a God, the protector of Poland, has inspired me with this hardy project, to terminate her evils; if thy good fortune shall procure a success equal to thy courage, what a glorious prosperity will be achieved by means of this noble daring!

“M. de P*** will not see in my camp, other than citizen-soldiers, the foes of foreigners, but still faithful to their king: under my patriotic tents, he will respire, as it were, the air of liberty, and the love of his country: the enemies of the state shall become his; our brave nobility, ashamed of their indolence, will readily combat under the royal banners, for the common cause; the Russians shall either be cut in pieces, or be obliged to pass the frontiers---my friend, in thee thy country shall behold her saviour!” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Pulaski kept his word. That very night he accomplished his retreat, with equal skill and success, by traversing the marshes in profound silence. “My friend,” said my father-in-law to me, as soon as we were out of the reach of the enemy, “it is now time that you should leave us. I know well that my daughter has more courage than another woman; but she is a tender wife, and an unfortunate mother. Her tears will affect you, and you will lose in her embraces that strength of mind, that dignity of soul, which now becomes more necessary to you than ever: I advise you, therefore, to be gone, without bidding her farewell.”

(To be continued.)

HUMANITY.

As pain is what we are all naturally averse to, our own sensibility of it should teach us to commiserate it in others, not wantonly or unmeritedly to inflict it. But the absurd barbarity of our prejudices and customs often leads us to transgress this rule.—When we are under apprehension that we ourselves shall be the sufferers of pain, we naturally shrink back at the very idea of it: we can then abominate it, we detest it with horror; we plead hard for mercy; and we feel that we can feel. But when man is out of the question, humanity sleeps, and the heart grows callous.

INSTANCE OF BENEVOLENCE.

A gentleman, being at Marseilles, hired a boat with an intention of sailing for pleasure; he entered into conversation with the two young men who owned the vessel, and learned, that they were not watermen by trade, but silversmiths; and that when they could be spared from their usual business, they employed themselves in that way to increase their earnings. On expressing his surprise at their conduct, and imputing it to an avaricious disposition; “Oh! sir,” said the young men, “if you knew our reasons, you would ascribe it to a better motive. Our father, anxious to assist his family, scraped together all he was worth; purchased a vessel for the purpose of trading to the coast of Barbary, but was unfortunately taken by a pirate, carried to Tripoli, and sold for a slave. He writes word, that he is luckily fallen into the hands of a master who treats him with great humanity; but that the sum which is demanded for his ransom is so exorbitant, that it will be impossible for him ever to raise it; he adds, that we must therefore relinquish all hope of ever seeing him, and be contented, that he has as many comforts as his situation will admit. With the hopes of restoring to his family a beloved father, we are striving by every honest means in our power, to collect the sum necessary for his ransom, and we are not ashamed to employ ourselves in the occupation of watermen.” The gentleman was struck with this account, and on his departure, made them a handsome present.

Some months afterwards the young men being at work in their shop, were greatly surprised at the sudden arrival of their father, who threw himself into their arms; exclaiming, at the same time that he was fearful they had taken some unjust method to raise the money for his ransom, for it was too great a sum for them to have gained by their ordinary occupation. They professed their ignorance of the whole affair, and could only suspect they owed their father’s release to that stranger, to whose generosity they had been before so much obliged.

After Montesquieu’s death, an account of this affair was found among his papers, and the sum actually remitted to Tripoli for the old man’s ransom. It is a pleasure to hear of such an act of benevolence performed even by a person totally unknown to us; but the pleasure is infinitely increased, when it proves the union of virtue and talents in an author so renowned as Montesquieu. 

RETROSPECTION.

Happy is it for those who have committed material errors, if they have the inclination and opportunity of seriously reflecting and repenting; but still more happy are those who can (as far as human frailty will permit) look back with satisfaction on their past life, and thus avoid the misery of bitter reflections, which is an almost insupportable addition to the natural calamities of this world. A lady once said to a pious friend, “I should like to die your death, but I should not like to live your life;” meaning, that it was too dull and insipid for her.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Wednesday evening the 2d inst. by the. Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. Cephas Ross, to Miss Mary Bowman, both of this city.

On Saturday se’nnight, at Greenwich, by the Rev. Mr. Woodhull, Mr. Nehemiah Denton, of Brooklyn, (L.I.) to Miss Eliza Bertis, daughter of Mr. Peter Bertis of that place.

Same evening, by the Rev. Mr. Strebeck, Mr. Michael Shatzel, of this city, to Miss Barbara Wood, of Harvestraw.

On Tuesday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Coles, Mr. James Mitchell, of Dosoris, to Miss Rhoda Hall, daughter of Darius Hall, Esq. of Oak-Neck, Oyster Bay, (L.I.)

On Wednesday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Phœbus, Mr. Thomas Seaman, to Miss Elizabeth Lowrey, both of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Jacob Hochstrasser, Esq. of Albany, to Miss Eliza T. Miller, of this city.

On Thursday evening, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, George Simpson, Esq. to Miss Mary Penn, both late of England, now of this City.

SONNET TO MARIA.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE POOR MAN’S ADDRESS TO WINTER.

ODE TO BACCHUS.

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.

THE GOOD HUSBAND.

The good husband is one, who, wedded not by interest but by choice, is constant as well from inclination as from principle; he treats his wife with delicacy as a woman, with tenderness as a friend: he attributes her follies to her weakness, her imprudence to her inadvertency; he passes them over therefore with good nature, and pardons them with indulgence: all his care and industry are employed for her welfare; all his strength and powers are exerted for her support and protection; he is more anxious to preserve his own character and reputation, because her’s is blended with it: lastly, the good husband is pious and religious, that he may animate her faith by his practice, and enforce the precepts of Christianity by his own example: that as they join to promote each other’s happiness in this world, they may unite together in one eternal joy and felicity in that which is to come.

THE GOOD WIFE.

The good wife is one, who, ever mindful of the solemn contract which she has entered into, is strictly and conscientiously virtuous, constant, and faithful to her husband; chaste, pure, and unblemished in every thought, word, and deed; she is humble and modest, from reason and conviction; submissive from choice, and obedient from inclination; what she acquires by love and tenderness, she preserves by prudence and discretion; she makes it her business to serve, and her pleasure to oblige her husband; as conscious that every thing which promotes his happiness, must in the end contribute to her own: her tenderness relieves his cares, her affection softens his distress, her good humour and complacency lessen and subdue his affliction; she openeth her mouth, as Solomon says, “with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness; she looketh well to the ways of her husband, and eateth not the bread of idleness: her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.” Lastly, as a good and pious Christian, she looks up with an eye of gratitude to the great dispenser and disposer of all things, to the husband of the widow, and father of the fatherless, intreating his divine favour and assistance in this and every other moral and religious duty; well satisfied, that if she duly and punctually discharges her several offices and relations in this life, she shall be blessed and rewarded for it in another.

ANECDOTE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

After Sir Philip Sidney was wounded near the walls of Zetphen, the horse he rode upon being rather furiously choleric than bravely proud, forced him to forsake the field, but not his back, as the noblest and fittest bier to carry a martial commander to his grave. In this sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army, where his uncle, Robert, earl of Leicester, the general, was, and being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him. But, as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had been wounded at the same time, ghastly casting up his eyes at the bottle: sir Philip perceiving this, took it from his head, before drinking, and delivered it to the poor man, with these words: “Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.”

This generous behaviour of the gallant knight ought not to pass without a penegyric. All his deeds of bravery, his politeness, his learning, his courtly accomplishments, do not reflect so much honour upon him, as this one disinterested and truly heroic action. It discovered so tender and benevolent a nature: a mind so fortified against pain; a heart so overflowing with generous sentiments to relieve, in opposition to the violent call of his own necessities, a poor man languishing in the same distress, before himself, that none can read it without the highest admiration. Bravery is often constitutional: fame may be the motive to seats of arms; a statesman and a courtier may act from interest; but a sacrifice so generous as this, can be made by none but those who are good as well as great; who are noble minded, and gloriously compassionate, like Sidney.

SELF-LOVE.

Nothing is so capable of diminishing self-love as the observation, that we disapprove at one time what we approve at another.

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 163.)

His resentment against the new King remained however rankling in his heart; he did homage to the Sovereign with visible satisfaction, and, as I suspect, not without secret reservation, while I swore to him the oath of allegiance, in hopes that I should soon renew it to the lawful King, who was still concealed. My country now was delivered from the Span—sh yoke, but my heart remained in the thraldom of love. The fetters which it was chained with were, indeed, nothing but garlands, but nevertheless stronger than bonds of adamant; how was it therefore to be expected, that I should have been inclined and capable to obey my father, who wanted me to break them? This bondage was so sweet to me, and my sharing it with an adored woman, rendered it dearer to me than the most unbounded liberty; it was my sole and most ardent wish to tie the bonds by which we were united still faster. But alas! my father desired me not to mention a syllable of a union with Amelia, and without his sanction I durst not expect her consent! The Marquis of Ferei*a exhausted in vain all his eloquence in order to melt the flinty heart of my inexorable parent. In that wretched situation I sent several times for Alumbrado’s assistance, yet I always shrunk back at the idea of owing any obligation to that man. His first visit confirmed the remarks of the Marquis, and all the civilities he lavished upon me, served only to strengthen my antipathy against him. My soul was as gloomy as my exterior situation. The view of my heaven was overdarkened by clouds which grew darker and darker. Only one star was glimmering through the blackness of that dismal night; one single star to which I could direct my weeping eyes. I was confident that the Irishman could be no stranger to my comfortless situation, and would aid me by his power, imagining that he now had the best opportunity of rewarding my reliance in him, and would undoubtedly conduct me over insurmountable obstacles to the promised land of happiness. Meanwhile the time when my father expected my declaration for the Princess of L*** was approaching with gigantic strides, and the Irishman did not appear. Anxiety struggled with my hope. I enquired every where for my protector, but I enquired in vain, and my anxiety increased to black despair.

* * * * *
* * * *

CONTINUATION

By the Marquis of Ferei*a.

Here a great deal is wanting in the memoirs of the Duke of Cami*a, which I cannot leave unsupplied, otherwise an important part of his history will be lost, and the rest remain obscure. To fill up this empty space, will be the last duty of friendship I shall be able to perform for that unhappy man. I shall, therefore, continue his mournful tale, till I can connect again the thread of my narration to the remaining papers of the Duke.

The grief assailing the heart of my unhappy friend soon depicted itself so strongly in his countenance, that I began to tremble for his health. Alas! my apprehension was but too soon realized, his sufferings being increased, by an information he received from the brother of the new King, to a degree which entirely overcame his enfeebled spirits.

“My dearest friend,” the Prince wrote to him, “I have not discontinued, since your departure, the inquiries after your tutor, which I began when you were here. However, I should undoubtedly have continued them with the greatest prudence and activity, without coming any nearer to the mark, if the very man whom I had been endeavouring to find out had not spared me that fruitless talk.

“Yes, my friend, your tutor has personally surprised me in a most pleasing manner. But, O! my friend, moderate your joy when reading these lines. The meeting with that dear man was like airy vision, which appears and vanishes again after a few moments. Your tutor came, and went to those realms from whence no mortal can return.

“Five days are now elapsed, since he astonished me, one morning, by his unexpected visit. I soon observed with surprise, that he returned the manifestations of my joy with much restraint, while his inquisitive looks were doubtfully directed at me. His relation soon unfolded this mystery.

“Will you believe it, my friend, that in that very night, when we expected him in vain with so much impatience and anxiety, he had been taken up secretly, carried off, and imprisoned? He was on his way to my house, when he met a carriage which he mistook for mine. In this opinion he was confirmed, when the coachman stopt the horses, and a servant in my livery opened the coach door for him. Two unknown gentlemen, who were sitting in the carriage, begged him to get in, pretending to have been sent by me to fetch him. He joined them without hesitation, and when the coachman drove out of the town gate, instead of taking the road to my house, he was told that one more guest was to be fetched. This pretended guest made his appearance in the suburbs, and as soon as he had got in the carriage, pointed a dagger at the heart of your tutor, while his two associates seized and tied his hands. All this was effected before Count Galvez could gain time for resistance, which would have been equally dangerous and fruitless. He was told that if he would submit silently to his fate, no injury should be offered him, but that he would be stabbed without mercy if he should cry for assistance; at the same time he was blind-folded, and after about half an hour’s ride the carriage stopped, when your tutor was taken out of it, and conducted over several flights of steps, through long passages, in a room where he was shut up, and left alone.