For sources, see the end of the second installment (pg. 244).

The SCHOOL for LIBERTINES,

A STORY, FOUNDED ON FACTS.

If the heart hitherto satisfied and happy in the long-preserved ideas of rectitude and honour, rational enjoyment, and the sweets of domestic felicity, should now, strongly tempted by the fatal fascinations of vice, be meditating a departure from virtue, and this relation prove the means of preserving its owner from error and delusion, the wishes of the writer will be accomplished: or if those already engaged in pursuits that, however brilliant and alluring to the giddy votaries of false enjoyment, must eventually terminate in confusion, and the loss of every thing that ought to be held dear, become, from this story convinced of the necessity of an altered conduct, well repaid, indeed, will be the recorder of scenes, which, for the sake of society at large, he hopes will be found less and less frequent in the present age of true refinement and unaffected sensibility.

Mr. Alton, once amply possessed of the gifts of fortune, and surrounded with every earthly blessing, suddenly left his weeping lady, then pregnant, and an infant son, and fled from the pursuit of justice.

He had violated the laws of religion, honour and his country, by seducing from her duty the wife of his friend; a duel was the consequence, and the injured husband lost his life in the fatal rencounter.

Immediate flight was Mr. Alton’s only resource; therefore, regardless of every feeling but such as arose for his own safety, he precipitately left his native country, completely wretched, and loaded with all the horrors of guilt and dismay.

A short time after his arrival in Italy, his means of support failed; extravagance and dissipation had ruined his fortunes, and he must soon have fled from importunate creditors, had not this still more dreadful cause forced him from his wretched family.

As he had acquired the art of becoming fortunate at play, his talents that way were now brought forward, and an uncommon run of success soon enabled him to shine forth again in a foreign country with the same splendour he once displayed in his own.

Again engaged in frivolous pursuits of expence and pleasure, his light and worthless heart soon dismissed every trace of remorse for the distress and anguish he had occasioned in the family of his murdered friend, and the utter ruin brought on his deserted wife and children.

Possessing every art of genteel address, an elegant person, assisted with all the powers of soft persuasion, he soon (under the name of Freeman, not daring to use his real one) won upon the heart of a young lady of exalted birth, whom he privately married.

Her friends at first forbade them their presence, but the young and beautiful Italian being a much-loved and only child, they soon yielded to excuses and professions which he too well knew how to frame, and at length received them to favour and protection.

Many years passed on without a returning thought of former connections he had heard long since, by private means, that his first lady had fallen a victim to a broken heart, leaving the care of a son and daughter to her afflicted father, who had little remaining to support them, the necessities of the unprincipled and unfeeling Alton having almost drained his once ample fortune.

And here it is necessary to inform the reader, that the poor old gentleman did not long survive the loss of his child. But heaven raised up a friend to her offspring: this friend, who delighted in acts of mercy, adopted the two innocents, as his own, making over to them his estate and his name.

A young gentleman of the name of Easton, often visited at Mr. Freeman’s, whose house was always open to people of fashion; and though their years did not correspond, yet the former still carried an appearance of youth and gaiety, assisted by an uncommon share of health, and a heart feelingly alive to every call of pleasure.

Alike dissolute in manners and inclination, an intimacy soon commenced between them. The present Mrs. Freeman, who, before her marriage, experienced every indulgence and attention from parents who adored her, had too early an occasion to lament her misplaced love, and unhappy choice.

Never, but in the hours of inebriation, did she experience any thing like attention and kindness from the man who owed every thing to her. Then, indeed, he would utter rhapsodies of affection, alike destitute of sincerity as of reason.

And now, their only child (a beautiful young lady who had just attained her 13th year, the only companion of her pensive mother, to whom she was indeed a real comfort, dutiful affection and endearing sensibility having lightened many a painful day) was visited by a fever, which robbed her afflicted parent of her sole remaining blessing. This calamity deeply affected them both. The impression made on Mrs. Freeman brought on a decline, which proved fatal—bereft of every earthly happiness, she looked up to that heaven she had been long preparing for, and in a short time obtained dismission from a world, from which she had been weaned by trouble, and the unkind neglect of a husband she had loved but too well.

Mr. Freeman put on the outward “trappings and the suits of woe”—but wanted “that within,” which goes beyond every external appearance.

Pomp and parade, indeed, attended her remains to the silent tomb; but these were not accompanied with the husband’s tear. The monument was raised on which his sorrows were recorded, but, cold and senseless as the marble which received that record, his heart was a stranger to those feelings that dignify the husband, the father, and the man.

(To be concluded in our next.)

The following two articles are shown as printed, with occasional == (double line) for — (dash).

The HISTORY of Mrs. MORDAUNT.

[WRITTEN BY HERSELF.]

(Continued from our last.)

The first instant I could retire, I retreated to my chamber, my mind embarrassed with the cruelest sensations: grief and astonishment at his mean situation. I wished, yet durst not go to the garden; unconscious of art, I feared I might betray unguardedly the too fond sentiments of my soul. The next day my maid brought me a beautious bouquet; she said the gardener had culled it from the choicest of his flowers---a sigh heaved my bosom at this present---I dismist her---a paper was rolled round, a presentiment struck me it might contain something interesting==I hastily tore it from the flowers, and read the following lines:

“Will the loveliest of her sex pardon the presumption of an unfortunate man, the early victim of calamity?==will she deign to peruse a relation of those woes which have reduced him to the disgraceful station he now fills==an irresistible impulse prompts this request; if ’tis granted, write a line and drop it in the garden==in expectation of such a favour, I will keep in sight, and then by the first opportunity transmit my narrative to you.”

Tears gushed from me on perusing this note, heavens! what anguish rent my breast at my inability to succour him. Without the smallest hesitation, I complied with his request, and instantly wrote the note he desired. The next day, concealed in a basket of fruit which he sent me, I found the ardently desired paquet, containing the history of his life.

“Prompted by an inclination not to be supprest, I sit down to relate a tale full of woe to her, whose gentle heart will yield the soft tribute of sensibility.

“Early in life fortune loured on my parents, and their misfortunes are, I fear, entailed upon their wretched offspring. My father’s name was Harland, he was descended from a noble family, whose possessions tho’ large, could keep no pace with unbounded prodigality; the fortune was so dissipated, that but a residue remained sufficient to purchase him a commission. Courage glowed in his breast and he distinguished himself by many a gallant action in a tedious war which England undertook against France. At the expiration of it he married a woman, rich only in rectitude and beauty, and retired from a profession which had but ill rewarded his activity. For some time they struggled against adversity---the fell adversary at length overcame. Two children of whom I was the eldest, aggravated the horrors of their condition; he could scarcely support them, as his half-pay afforded but a few of even the necessaries of life. In this situation he was discovered by a friend, possessed of affluence, who was single; as he had always exprest an aversion to matrimony, he inherited pride enough however to wish his name might be continued. Actuated by this wish, he made a proposal to my parents which they gladly embraced---it was adopting me for his heir. I was then five years old, he shortly brought me to his estate for he had only made an occasional visit to the shire where my father resided; his understanding was rather weak, his chief foible a credulous susceptibility to flattery; he treated me however, with tenderness, and I was considered by every one as his future heir. At a proper age, he sent me to Oxford to complete my studies; I made a proficiency there that pleased him, and he declared I should be indulged in chusing a profession. Every vacation I spent with him. In one, ere I was an hour arrived, he mentioned with peculiar pleasure an acquisition his neighbourhood had lately received from a most agreeable family settling in it. Mr. and Mrs. Wilford with their two sons, he affirmed, I should like; but he was mistaken, a servility ran thro’ the family highly disgusting to a liberal mind; I found them all replete with flattery and meanness. A domestic who had ever evinced the strongest partiality for me, cautioned me against them; he said he was acquainted with their arts, and bid me beware, as they were almost continually with his master, wheedling and indulging his favourite foible. Unskilled in the treachery of man, I neglected this caution, I judged of them by myself, I imagined them all as free from guile. Fatal experience however, that school of wisdom, undeceived me. I thought also it was impossible any person could be so perfidious, as after promising protection, to withdraw it without cause. Mr. T—— convinced me such perfidy existed. By the next vacation my studies were completed, and I returned full of pleasing expectations, that my adopted father would now indulge me in chusing a profession, which of all others I admired—a military life, for like Douglas, I longed to follow to the field some warlike lord.

“Mr. T——’s reception surprized me, it was cold and reserved; whenever his eyes met mine, a guilty confusion covered his face. Base, worthless man! no wonder. Two days after my arrival, he sent for me to his library, for some moments he was silent, then in hesitating accents began a long preamble of his generosity to my father, in so long supporting me, and giving me an education suitable to the first man in the kingdom, of which he supposed I must be sensible; an assenting bow was my only reply: and he continued: his relations, he said, began with justice to murmer, at the intention he had conceived of bequeathing me his fortune, to whom no tie connected him, that he had discarded the idle idea of adopting me, and added, my education was such as to inspire me with hopes of a speedy establishment; to forward which, he would give two hundred pounds, and on every occasion I might depend upon his friendly interest. He stopt; amazement harrowed my soul, and indignation tied my tongue. But on repeating his words, and offering me the money, I dashed it from his hand, and in a phrenzy of fury rushed from the house. I guessed full well the authors of my misery, the vile Wilfords, who, in my absence, by the most servile arts, ingratiated themselves with Mr. T——. He abandoned me for their sons. Hours I continued walking about his demesne almost unconscious of my being; the insult I had received, the disappointment of all my hopes was too much for a naturally impetuous temper. When reason a little calmed my passion, I resolved immediately to repair to my parents. I had not seen them since my infancy, though my wishes to behold them were great. Mr. T—— always prevented my gratifying them, as they lived at an extreme distance from him. Nothing will intimidate a youthful mind when bent on executing a favourite project; on foot, therefore, without consideration, I began my journey; no pleasing thoughts soothed my breast or beguiled the tedious way. The third day I conjectured I must be pretty near their habitation; filial piety sprung in my breast and quickened my steps at the idea; a pleasing calm diffused itself over my soul in anticipating the rapture of the paternal embrace---a dusky hue was beginning to steal along the expanse, and sober evening had taken ‘her wonted station in the middle air.’

“A Church-yard lay on one side of the road, and the only separation between them was a slight broom hedge. I thought I heard the plaintive voice of woe. I looked and discerned a venerable man, whose figure must have moved even the sullen apathy of the stoic. He was seated on a new-made grave—his grey locks displayed his age, and he appeared bending beneath the pressure of misfortune—his eyes were now watering the grave, now cast up to heaven, with a settled look of despair. I could not pass him unnoticed—I entered this mournful receptacle of death—too much absorbed, he had not heeded me, till a sigh burst from my oppressed heart. Without starting, he raised his head, and cried, who seeks this dreary spot?—One, I replied, pierced by adversity, who is hastening to a parent’s bosom, where his wounds may receive the balm of consolation. Struck by your distress, I could not pass you, a secret impulse rose in my soul, I wished to hear your woes. Alas! young man, he answered, my woes are of the severest kind. I indulged hope, I listened to its idle prattle, I thought to have spent the remnant of my days in peace—but the shafts of affliction were let loose against me—they pierced this aged breast---it once had courage, resolution---I now can boast of none---grief has subdued it---yesterday’s sun beheld the darling of my age consigned to the earth---the worm will soon begin to feast upon the beautious cheek I have so often kist with all the idolizing warmth of a parent; but she is happy, an angel---his voice faultered---Nature demands those tears from me as her just tribute---the virtues of my child too—he could not proceed, a sob stifled his words---after an interval, he continued. I have a wife, she is dying, blest release from misery, yet frail fortitude would not enable me to see her depart. She raved for her child---I wept---she called for food---I shuddered---I had none---I crawled from the house to this grave---it has been watered with my tears. Unhappy man! ill-fated Harland————Harland! repeated I with emotion---Great God! pardon me, had you a son?---Yes, the hopes of his happiness mitigates my despair. A friend adopted him, and promised to shelter his youthful head from the misery I feel. Since the five first years of his life I have not beheld him. Now, cried I, catching him in my arms, you behold him ---blasted his ardent expectations, returned a beggar to you. For a moment he was silent, then raising his hands to heaven, exclaimed, thy will be done, Almighty Father! this is the final stroke. How fallacious are the promises of men. Well does the holy book of infinite wisdom advise---Put not your trust in princes or the children of men.

“Come, my child, my poor deceived son, let us hasten to your mother, perhaps she lives, you may receive her blessing. But why should I minutely dwell on this melancholy subject? No, amiable Miss Blandford, I will not pain your generously susceptible heart. In a fortnight I paid the last mournful tribute to both my parents. Half insensible of existence, I continued till a happy destiny conducted me to the spot where so providentially I assisted in saving you---again I was the instrument of preserving a life so infinitely precious. Oh, Miss Blandford! at your sight sensations unknown before rose in my breast! Pardon my presumption. My mind open to each soft impression---such a form, such sweetness, no wonder. The keenest distress reduced me to my present situation. I had no friends to whom I could apply for assistance. In my tranquil days I had taken pleasure in cultivating small spots of ground, and rearing

In this situation I mix not with the other domestics---that indeed I could not bear. Fortune in degrading my rank has left my spirit unsubdued. Pardon me, Madam, for having engrossed so much of your time. I could not resist the wish of acquainting you with the occurrences that have reduced me to this station. Farewell, most amiable of women, may smiling peace ever hover round you, prays

E. H.” 

(To be continued.)

ANECDOTES OF THE LATE EMPEROR OF GERMANY.

The Emperor being at supper at Paris, with Count de Vergennes, the French minister, and discoursing of French affairs, he advised the Count to announce a national bankruptcy, in order to clear France of all her debts: to this he was answered---“Should such an event take place, your Majesty’s own subjects in Brabant would lose more than eighty millions.” “Do not let that deter you (answered Joseph,) give me half that sum, and you shall have my assent.”

At the time of the affair with the Dutch concerning the Schelt, which terminated so shamefully for Joseph, talking with his head gardner, the gardner asked permission to write to Haarlem for a few slips of flowers, which he wanted. The Emperor started from his seat; his eyes flashing fire==“No, said he, you shall not write. Within six weeks I will fetch them myself from Haarlem, at the head of my army.” Within that time the affair was finished with disgrace. So positive was he of success, and so sure always to fail.

The next few pieces are shown as printed, with italic capital I used consistently.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

ORIGINAL OBSERVATION.

Though some giddy girls are silly enough to delight in panegyric, unrestrained compliments, yet all women of sense do heartily despise the wanton effusions of an indiscreet and excessive complaisance.---And whoever is much in the world will find, that most ladies are more apt to regard the man of plain sense and unaffected behaviour, who speak as they think, and appear just what they are, than the most specious, insinuating hypocrite, or the most noisy pretender.

E.

At the request of a Correspondent, we give the following LETTER a place:---It is extracted from a London periodical publication---and, notwithstanding the errors in the orthography and diction of it, the author had the pleasure of making a conquest.

My dear charmin Cratur,

If your brite eies have had the same efet upon others, they have been after havin upon me, you must already, like Samson, have slain your Tousands, though not with the same sort of weepor. For I had no sooner beheld you tother nite at Rennela, than your two little percers darted their poysen quite thro my hart, and killed me on the spot. So that I immediately determined to find you out, that I may he revenged of you. So havin done so, as sed before, I now write to tell you my situashon; and to begg that you woud have compashon on a lover that lies bleedin at your fete.

If you have not the hart of a she tygres, you will admit me to your presance, most adorable cratur, that I may have the plashure of dyin in your beloved site. And if you shall be after bein so kind as to relent of your crewelty, and rais your expirin lover, I will lay my fortun and my honers in the same place where I laid myself, and raise you in your turn to be Lady O’——l. For I vow by the great Shant Patrick, that I love you better than ever I loved any women except yourself.

And I further vow by the holy shrine of Shant Patrick aforesed, that I will not outliv the fatal anser you send me. But as you are as far above all your sex in buty, as the glorius sun is above the palfaced moon and the little twinklin stars, I dout not but you exced them as much in goodness. Therfore I will not dispare, but hope that you will send me word by your confidante, at what hower I shall have the plashure of waitin upon you, to receve from your own pretty mouth my destinny. Till when, I remane, most enchantin and angelic cratur,

Your’s whether livin or dyin,

Sir Rouke O’——l, Barrownite.

P.S. Pray let me kno when I shall call for an anser, as I do not chuse to send any boddy else but myself.

ANECDOTE.

When Peter the Great visited Paris, he was conducted to the Sorbonne, where they shewed him the famous mausoleum of Cardinal Richelieu. He asked whose statue it was, and they told him: the view of this grand object threw him into an enthusiastic rapture, which he always felt on the like occasion, so that he immediately ran to embrace the statue, saying, “Oh! that thou wert but still living; I would give thee one half my empire to govern the other.”

----

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Wednesday evening the 11th inst. by the Rev. Mr. Roberts, Mr. Peter Cutler, to Miss Esther Jacobs, both of this city.

Same evening, at Hempsted, by the Rev. Mr. Moore, Mr. Van Wyck, of Flushing, (L.I.) to Miss Thorne, daughter of Capt. Thorne, of that place.

On Thursday evening the 12th inst. Mr. John Roe, merchant, of this city, to Miss Susannah R. Stevens, of Perth-Amboy, (N.J.)

On Sunday the 15th inst. at East-Chester, by the Rev. Mr. Bartow, Capt. David Cargill, of this city, to Miss Mary Shute, daughter of Mr. Thomas Shute of that place.

----

ELEGIAC SONNET.

To the Editor,

The following STANZA’S were recently written by that celebrated Genius and Traveller Governor Henry Ellis, on seeing an infirm old Man treated by a young rabble with indecent mockery in the Street at Pisa in Italy—a country where every inanimate vestage of antiquity is viewed with so much veneration.

AN ELEGY.

[by the same.]

ODE TO REFLECTION.

NEW-YORK: Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. No. 115, Cherry-street—where Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 6s. per quarter) will be gratefully received—And at No. 33, Oliver-Street.

THE PIEDMONTESE SHARPER.

In the year 1695, a Piedmontese, who stiled himself Count Caraffa, came to Vienna, and privately waited on the prime minister, pretending he was sent by the duke of Savoy on a very important affair, which they two were to negotiate without the privity of the French court. At the same time he produced his credentials, in which the duke’s seal and signature were very exactly imitated. He met with a very favourable reception, and, without affecting any privacy, took upon him the title of envoy extraordinary from the court of Savoy. He had several conferences with the imperial council, and made so great a figure in the most distinguished assemblies, that once at a private concert at court, the captain of the guard, denying him admittance, he demanded satisfaction in his master’s name, and the officer was obliged to ask his pardon. His first care was to ingratiate himself with the jesuits, who at that time bore a great sway at court; and in order to this, he went to visit their church, which remained unfinished, they pretended from the low circumstances of the society, he asked them how much money would complete it. An estimate to the amount of two thousand louis-d’ors being laid before him, Caraffa assured them of his constant attachment to their order; that he had gladly embraced such a public opportunity of shewing his esteem for them, and that they might immediately proceed to finishing their church. In consequence of his promise, he sent that very day the two thousand louis-d’ors, at which sum the charge had been computed.

He was very sensible this was a part he could not act long without being detected; and that this piece of generosity might not be at his own expence, he invited a great number of ladies of the first rank to supper and a ball. Every one of the guests had promised to be there; but he complained to them all of the ill returns made to his civilities, adding, that he had been often disappointed, as the ladies made no scruple of breaking their word on such occasions, and, in a jocular way, insisted on a pledge from every lady for their appearance at the time appointed. One gave him a ring, another a pearl necklace, a third a pair of earings, a fourth a gold watch, and several such trinkets, to the amount of twelve thousand dollars. On the evening appointed not one of the guests were missing; but it may easily be conceived, what a damp it struck upon the whole assembly, when it was at last found that the gay Piedmontese was a sharper, and had disappeared. Nor had the jesuits any great reason to applaud themselves on the success of their dissimulation; for a few days before his departure, the pretended count, putting on an air of deep concern, placed himself in the way of the emperor’s confessor, who inquiring into the cause of his apparent melancholy, he intrusted him with the important secret, that he was short of money at a juncture when eight thousand louis-d’ors were immediately wanted for his master’s affairs, to be distributed at the imperial court. The jesuits, to whom he had given a recent instance of his liberality by so large a donation, immediately furnished him with the sum he wanted; and with this acquisition, and the ladies pledges, he thought he had carried his jests far enough, and very prudently withdrew from Vienna.

ALMANZOR, THE ARABIAN.

The great Almanzor, as he is called, to distinguish him from some other Arabian princes of his name, was king of Cordova, in Spain. He was no less famous for his wisdom than for his courage; he wrote a book of maxims, from which these that follow are taken.

“If hungry beggars are whipt through the streets, beggars in fine cloaths have a right to their proportion of notice, and should be sent to the gallies.

“Pride is as true a beggar, very often, as poverty can be, but a good deal more saucy.

“A prince who resolves to do no good, unless he can do every thing, teaches his people to see that they are slaves, and they have a right to do whatever they have a mind to.

“Power and liberty are like heat and moisture; when they are well mixed, every thing prospers; when they are single, they ever do mischief.

“I believe the least useful part of the people have the most credit with the prince. Men will conclude therefore, that to get every thing, it is necessary to be good for nothing.”

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 235.)

I had not yet recovered from my astonishment at the speech of the Duke, when Alumbrado asked me, after a short pause:

“Then you think it absurd to believe in the possibility of apparitions?”

“A belief that has no firm foundation is absurd.”

“You then think every apparition, however it be shaped—”

“Is delusion, the source of which arises either from external natural causes, or flows from our bewildered imagination, or from both at once.”

“One question more!” the Duke said, “What do you think of the occult wisdom which Hiermanfor is said to have learnt from the Bramins?”

“That it consists in a profound knowledge of physic and natural history.”

“And the supernatural power he is boasting of—?”

“Is nothing but a skilful application of that knowledge!”

The Duke remained silent for some time, and then resumed:

“You think it impossible for mortals to acquire a supernatural power?”

I smiled.

“It seems you deny also the possibility of miracles?” Alumbrado said with a dreadful look, which he however soon sweetened again.

“I am convinced of the possibility of miracles,” I replied, “because it is self-evident that God, who is the author of the laws of nature, can alter and suspend them; but this only the Creator can do; man, consequently, is not capable of working miracles.”

“But men can become instruments in the hand of God,” Alumbrado continued, “whereby Providence performs miracles!”

“Undoubtedly, but no wretches like the Irishman. The eternal source of truth and holiness can never employ, as an immediate instrument, an impostor who deals in lies and artifice.”

“Where will you find a mortal without fault?” the Duke said, “indeed you are too much prejudiced against the Irishman. He did not deceive me out of malice or selfishness, but only for the sake of a just and noble purpose.”

“Actions that are in themselves immoral, like imposition and lies, never can be rendered moral by the justness of their end, and an organ of the Godhead never can employ means of so culpable a nature. But, my friend, if you really are persuaded the furtherance of the revolution to have been a noble and just action, why has the Irishman been obliged to exert all his arts to prevail on you to assist in the execution of that undertaking?”

The Duke cast his eyes to the ground, and Alumbrado left us. Miguel seemed to be penetrated with shame and confusion, and continued for some time to keep his eyes rivetted to the ground without uttering a word.

I took him affectionately by the hand: “It was not my intention to tell you my opinion of your adventures with the Irishman in Alumbrado’s presence; you have forced me to do it, and I could not help telling my mind freely.”

“I thank you for it.”

“Your obstinacy and my frankness may prove fatal to me.”

“How so?”

“It will perhaps cost me my life and liberty.”

“I do not comprehend you.”

“I have declared myself against the belief in apparitions, and Alumbrado is perhaps at present on the road to the inquisition, in order to inform against me.”

“Have you not yet conquered your prejudices against him? Don’t be uneasy, and cease judging unjustly of a man against whom you have no reason of complaint, except a countenance you do not like.”

“You did not observe the fiend-like look he darted at me. O my friend, whatever may befall me, I will submit willingly to it, if I have succeeded in recalling you from your errors!”

“I thank you for your love, but I apprehend very much I am one of those unhappy men of whom you have been saying, that no arguments of reason can remove their delusion. I am sensible that my sensations has an immediate evidence, which overpowers every persuasion of the understanding---this I am sensible of, as often as I recall to my mind the apparition at the church-yard.”

“You view me with looks of pity,” the Duke continued, after a short pause, “I divine your thoughts. However, if you had seen what I have witnessed---”

“Then I should have been astonished at the artful delusion, and the dexterity of the Irishman.”

“And at the same time would not have been able to conceive, as well as myself, how it could have been performed in a natural manner.”

“I grant it; but I never conclude that any thing has been performed by supernatural means, because I cannot comprehend how it could have been effected in a natural manner. These was a time when you fancied the apparition in Amelia’s apartment to have been effected by supernatural means, and yet it was not so. Who would have the childish arrogance to fancy his intellectual faculties to be the scale of the powers of nature, and his knowledge the limit of human art? However, the apparition of the church-yard has some defects, which its author could not efface in spite of his dexterity, and which easily would have dispelled the delusion before the eyes of a cool observer. The Irishman could not give to the phantom the accent of Antonio’s voice, how skilfully soever he imitated his features. That the apparition did not move his eyes and lips, nor any limb, is also a suspicious circumstance, that proves the limits of the artificer’s skill. But what renders the reality of the apparition most suspicious is, undoubtedly, your friend’s ignorance of what his pretended spirit (consequently his proper self) told you at the church-yard; for if he had known any thing of it, he would not have concealed it from the Prince of Braganza, in whose arms he died, much less from you, in his farewell letter. Finally, if you consider what your tutor has told the Prince about his statue, which has been cut in wood during his imprisonment, you will find it very probable that the Irishman has made use of it in some manner or other for effecting that delusion.”

The Duke stared at me like a person suddenly roused from a profound sleep.—“Marquis!” he said, at length, “you have opened my eyes; but my unwont looks are unable to penetrate another fact I cannot expel from my memory.”

“Again, an apparition—?”

“Which, however, did not happen to me, but to my father.”

“You mean the apparition of Count San*?”

“The very same.”

“Your father has related to me all the particulars of it; I have reflected upon it, and imagine I am capable of explaining it in a natural manner. Your father received, two days before the ghost appeared to him, a letter, by which he was informed that the Count was dangerously ill, and that his life was despaired of on account of his advanced age. This intelligence affected him violently, and the idea of the impending dissolution of his dearest friend, prevailed in his mind from that moment. The melancholy of your father seemed to encrease hourly, reduced him in the day to the state of a dreaming person, and disturbed his rest at night. As often us he awoke in the second night, he fancied he heard somebody groan, yet the groaning person was undoubtedly nobody but himself, and the cause of his groans originated from the pressure of the blood against the breast. This pressure awakened him once more, early in the morning, with some violence; he fell again asleep a few minutes after, and it was very natural that the object of the dream that stole upon him should be no other but Count San*. Your father mistook that dream for a real apparition, and nothing is more pardonable than this self-deceit. The only circumstance that renders this incident remarkable, is, that the Count really expired in that very hour. However, I ask you whether it be so very strange, if our imagination, which deceives us so many thousand times by its delusions, should at length coincide once accidentally with the truth?”

“One rather ought to wonder,” the Duke replied, “that this is so rarely the case.”

“Here you have two instances of apparitions,” I resumed, “which agree in their being delusions, only with that difference, that one of them which happened at the church-yard originated from external causes, and the other from the imagination of your father. We are not always so fortunate as to be able to explain apparitions in so natural a manner; our incapacity and ignorance gives us, however, no right to think that they are supernatural.”

“You think then that the belief in apparitions and the influence of spirits originates merely from ignorance?”