“I used for some time to visit every evening our favourite spot before the town, which always attracted me very much, partly by its natural charms, and partly by the undisturbed solitude one enjoys there. On the left side, a chain of hills, that form a beautiful group; on the right, a wood, inclosing the extensive plain, and in the middle the prospect of the distant blue mountains. You know what an enchanting effect that spot produces, particularly at sun-set; and thither I took a walk every evening. The way to that charming place is decorated with the ruins of an old chapel, which partly is surrounded with a half decayed wall. Approaching those ruins last evening, I saw Alumbrado step forth with hasty paces. ‘Stop!’ he exclaimed, ‘do you know that you will be a dead man if you proceed a step farther?’ Alumbrado’s unexpected appearance, his intelligence, and the seriousness of his countenance convulsed my nerves. ‘A dead man?’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes!’ said he, ‘did I not foretell you that the King would vent his resentment against you? If you go fifty steps farther, you will bleed under the hands of his banditti. You stare at me,’ he continued. ‘If you wish to be convinced of it, then follow me into the chapel, and let us change cloaths; I shall pursue this path, wrapt in your cloak, and the hired assassins will fall upon me, under the mistaken notion that I am the person whom they have been ordered by the King to assassinate. If you will ascend to the top of this turret, you may witness the whole scene.’ I shuddered with horror, and peremptorily refused to submit to it. ‘You need not to be under the least apprehension for my life,’ he replied. ‘All that I desire of you is to make no noise when you see me fall, but to go quietly home without mentioning to any one what you will have seen. We shall meet again at your house.’ All my objections availed nothing; we exchanged our dress, he saw me to the top of the turret, and left me. I pursued him with anxious looks and beating heart.

“Alumbrado had scarcely reached the skirts of the wood, when I heard the report of a pistol, and saw him drop down, upon which three ruffians darted forth from the bushes, gave him some stabs, and carried him into the wood. I staggered down the narrow staircase by which I had ascended the turret, and went home, thrilled with emotions that surpass all power of description. I sat up till after midnight, but no Alumbrado came; however, at six o’clock he entered my apartment. I cannot describe what I felt on seeing him. He was unhurt, but nevertheless I staggered back at the sight of him. ‘Alumbrado!’ said I, after a pause of dumb astonishment, ‘do I really see you alive after the scene my eyes have witnessed last night?’ ‘Pistols and daggers,’ he replied, ‘cannot hurt the man who is under the immediate protection of God. Come,’ added he, ‘let us go to your father.’

“I related to my parent the incident of the preceding night. He seemed to be petrified. The cruel villainy of the King, and the supernatural power of Alumbrado, appeared to have carried him beyond himself; the thanks which he wanted to offer to the latter for the preservation of my life, and curses against the King, hovered at the same time on his lips; but he could not speak.

“Let us take a walk in the garden,” Alumbrado said. We went; but I shall not repeat the conversation that took place. Yet I do not think that Alumbrado has added fuel to the fire. ‘The Duke of B——a,’ said he, ‘is King and accountable to no other tribunal but that of God. No mortal dare lift up his hand against him without the express command of God or his Vicegerent. I have received no such order, and I think you neither. All that you can do is to be on your guard against the King, and to mention to no one the villainous transaction of last night. Will you promise this? Your own safety requires it.’ We promised it.

“I could not help manifesting my astonishment at Alumbrado’s wonderful preservation. ‘Do you then think,’ said he, ‘that only those who are leagued with the spirit of darkness are proof against fire-arms and swords, and that the children of light do not enjoy that privilege? I will give you a proof of it; send for a gun and balls, here is powder.’ So saying, he produced the powder horn which I had missed some days. ‘You have,’ added he, ‘either lost it or it has been stolen, for I have found it in the hands of the banditti.’ ‘What are you going to do with balls and a gun?’ My father asked with marks of astonishment. ‘That you shall see instantly,’ Alumbrado replied, ‘if you only will send for both.’ I ordered Pietro to fetch my fowling piece and a couple of balls out of my apartment. He returned with them, and Alumbrado whispered in my ear to send him out of the room. Having dismissed the servant, Alumbrado begged me to charge the gun, but previously to examine carefully the powder and the balls. I did as he had desired me, and the gun being charged, Alumbrado said to the Marquis; ‘Now take the gun, my Lord, and fire it at me.’ My father was almost petrified at this request, and having gazed at him a good while, with looks of astonishment, exclaimed: ‘No! I never shall do any thing of that kind!’ ‘Then you too are destitute of faith?’ Alumbrado said, looking up to heaven. ‘O God, how degenerated even the faithful adorers of thy son!’ ‘I have declined it out of no other motive,’ the Marquis replied, ‘but because I will not tempt the omnipotence of God.’ ‘The motive of my request is not temptation, but the glory of God,’ Alumbrado replied. If I fall, then I am a daring provoker of the Almighty, and deserve my fate; but if I remain unhurt, you will have reason to conclude that the power of God has warded off the ball, and know in what light to view me.’ So saying, he uncovered his breast, retreated three steps, and desired my father to fire.

(To be continued.)

ANECDOTE.

A French nobleman one day visiting a late famous duke, a favourite little dog bit his lordship’s leg. “Fear nothing, my lord,” said the duke, “my dog never bites.” On which his lordship, knocking down the little animal with a violent blow of his cane, replied in the same tone of voice, “Fear nothing, my lord, I never beat dogs.”

THE PROVERBIALIST.

Home, is a place, either of happiness or misery. In my book of experimental wisdom, I find a number of most excellent remarks, which, if remembered, and reduced to practice, I am confident may be of service to families.

Every person has some failings: Perfection is not to be looked for in the present world. A great attention in husband and wife, to the failings of each other, has a direct tendency to destroy or embitter domestic enjoyments.

The ancients, sensible of this gave good advice, when they said that, “The husband should hot see, and the wife should be blind.” And it is evident, that many things which transpire in a family, had better not be seen—if seen, not remembered, if remembered, yet not spoken of. Again, to render families happy, there must be, “In the husband wisdom, in the wife gentleness.” These are virtues indeed, which, when they meet, cause families to shine with a peculiar lustre. Again, “Those husbands are in heaven whose wives do not chide.” Certainly then, if it is in the power of the wife to put her husband into heaven, since she must be with him, and with him participate in all its joys, she will forever remember this excellent proverb.

A consideration of the unhappy condition of those families, wherein scolding is the principle employment, I should suppose would stimulate every woman to attend to the above remarks. Only hear what the Spaniards say, “Smoke, raining into a house, and a scolding wife, make a man run out of doors.”---The ladies will pardon me, I trust, for introducing this proverb, since it evidently implies, that a scolding wife alone, without rain and smoke, does not render a house so intolerable, but that a man, at least if he has a common share of patience, may possibly live in it.

Again, that house is highly ornamented, and that family has many enjoyments, in which the wife is as attentive to her domestic concerns, as is the husband to his abroad. No person was ever made for idleness, accordingly, it is positively affirmed in my book of wisdom, that “That is the best gown, which goes up and down the house.” If there be any women, who are unable to penetrate into the depth of this proverb, or to comprehend its profound wisdom, I will endeavour to explain it. As there are but a few gentlemen, whose finances are adequate to the supporting of a woman who feels herself above a personal attention to her family concerns, so in general, husbands are well pleased to see their wives suitably active in the house. Husbands in general, love their wives; and it gives them pleasure to see them blooming in health; and they know that the idle drone is always sick, or full of complaints.

Further, sometimes ladies, by doing nothing except eating of the honey, reduce their husbands to poverty, and we read that, “When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window,” and I add, misery comes in at every corner. It is best then to “Carry an even yoke.”

Pough! why am I always so severely berating the women? Every body knows they do not deserve it: And I assure the ladies that I have an affection for them. I am fearful that I have not well considered what I am about. It is well if I do not bring an “Old house about my ears.” From this time forward, on consideration they will pardon me for what I have already said, I solemnly promise that I will be more cautious; and no more proverbs shall come out respecting them, unless they come by accident.

Perhaps I shall make this lecture rather long, but I wish to give some advice to heads of families respecting their children. We read, that “Children are certain cares, but uncertain comforts.” They would, however, oftener be comforts, if they had not, as the ancients say, “Too much of their mothers blessing.” Alas! well it only came out edgwise, therefore I have not broken my promise.

To prove that I had no evil intention, I will bring one proverb greatly in favour of the ladies; “She spins well who breeds her children well;” and as every woman knows that she breeds her children well, so it is proved beyond all doubt, that every woman is a good house wife.

To be serious; set your children good examples. Be more anxious to make them virtuous, than to leave them rich. The Spaniards say, that “The father’s virtue is the best inheritance a son can have;” and if so, surely to make the son himself virtuous is to make him rich indeed. Again, “Leave your son a good reputation, and an employment.” This is good advice, for children trained up without virtue, and without employment, are fit only for the gallows. Again, “It is a bad house which has not an old man in it.” The meaning is, that every man who has a family, should have the soberness, gravity, and virtues of the aged.

Govern your children well, for we read that “He who cockers his child provides for his enemy,” and such a father will soon find the truth of the Spaniards assertion, viz. “The first service a bad child does his father is to make him a fool, and the second is to make him mad.”

Give your children good instructions; fear not a little expence, for “Better unborn than untaught.” And again, “If the brain sows not corn it plants thistles.” And depend on it, that thistles are prickly things to parents, when found in the hands of their children. See that you put good books into their hands; they are apt to get bad ones, and we read, that “An ill book is the work of thieves.” Be careful of what you say, in presence of your children. They catch words, as easily as examples, and tell things abroad, which may make your hearts ache, and every one will believe that, “The child tells nothing but what is heard by the fire side.”

The following proverb I do not like, yet I am fearful it is applicable in some instances, “The son full and tatter’d, the daughter empty and fine.” The son should not be tatter’d, nor the daughter empty. Parental distinctions are odious, and a source of bitterness and of endless contentions in families.

For sources, see the end of the final installment (pg. 293).

THE FATAL MISTAKE;
Or, the HISTORY of MR. ELLIOT.

[WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.]

As various conjectures will, most probably, be formed on my retirement from the world by those ignorant of the cause, and the particularity of my life will most likely occasion illiberal and ill-natured observations, I write the history of my misfortunes, ignorant into whose hands it may fall. Let who will become possessed of this manuscript, may it warn them from excess of passion, and especially from that destructive fiend, jealousy.

Born to the enjoyment of a large estate, my birth promised every happiness affluence could bestow: at ten years old my parents both died of a malignant fever: left to the care of a worthy man, I was not sensible of their loss. Mr. Osburn (for that was the name of my guardian) felt for me, as he has often acknowledged, the fondness of parental love. No event worth relating happened till I arrived at the age of fourteen, when a young nobleman came to Winchester, where I was placed; he was the only son of the Earl of Somerset. Distinguished by his rank, but more so by his merit, his sweetness of disposition attracted the love of the whole school, and his generosity demanded their admiration. For some time I was indifferent to all his amiable qualifications, ’till an accident happened which was the foundation of the most affectionate friendship. My master was very severe; I had left school one evening in order to steal apples from a neighbouring orchard, and had just reached the intended scene of action, when I saw Lord Edward Marchmont running towards me. As soon as he came within hearing, he cried out, “My dear Elliot, the doctor has discovered your absence, and threatens, unless he finds you within bounds, to punish you with the utmost severity; if you make haste, we may get round a back way into the play ground, before he comes from hunting over the college, and escape the old dog’s vigilance.” As I knew the doctor’s disposition, I complied with my friend’s proposal, and accordingly we gained the play ground just as our master appeared. Lord Edward pulled a volume of Homer out of his pocket, on which we were both looking when the doctor came softly behind us. Upon seeing our employment he was agreeably surprised, and applauded us for our conduct in terms of the greatest encouragement. This good natured action so effectually engaged my gratitude, that I was miserable if separated from him. We grew so fond of each other, that the whole school took notice of it; our affection increased with our years, and when the time came to leave school, both Lord Edward and myself begged we might be at the same university. Lord Somerset and Mr. Osburn consenting, we were again happy in the society of each other.

When we had been at Oxford about two years, Lord Somerset paid the debt of nature, and as my friend was now possessed of the title and fortune of his ancestors, he left Oxford, and entreated me to do the same. As the university had lost all its pleasures when my friend departed, I wrote my determination to Mr. Osburn of following him; the good man would fain have persuaded me to stay longer, but I was not to be moved: I hastened to London, and according to promise flew to the house of my Edward, who introduced me with the most flattering character to Lady Somerset and his sister; the latter was the loveliest work of nature; joined to a form beautifully perfect, she had an engaging sensibility in her countenance that seldom accompanies beauty. That amiable Almena received me with the sweetest complacency, as the friend of her brother, whom she doated on: the mother of Lord Somerset likewise honoured me with the greatest marks of esteem, and for a length of time, I enjoyed every delight that perfect friendship could bestow, but, alas! I was soon fated to feel a reverse of fortune. My kind and indulgent guardian was taken suddenly ill; he sent for me, and I was obliged to leave Lord Somerset and his amiable family: the necessity of this absence discovered a secret I was willing to hide from myself: it was not the separation from my friend alone, that caused my grief, I found I loved his charming sister; the beautiful Almena haunted my imagination continually: my Edward’s penetration soon discovered the ill hid partiality, and one day taking me into his study, he addressed me as follows: “I am infinitely concerned at the cause of our separation, but I hope we shall soon meet again, by Mr. Osburn’s health being established; why do you appear so very wretched? Ah Frederick! you have not been ingenuous with me; why did you doubt my friendship? Have I ever given you cause to suspect my entire attachment to you? How then could you violate our regard by a doubtful concealment? Your secret had rested within this faithful breast had you desired it.” I would have spoke, but my feelings were too violent for expression. “Compose yourself,” continued he, “I will explain this painful silence; you love my sister; your eyes have fully exposed the feelings of your heart, and I am happy to think our friendship may be closely united by the tye of relations.” This unexpected eclaircissement elated me beyond idea; I eagerly embraced my amiable friend, and acknowledged the truth of his observations; “But, alas! Edward,” continued I, “shall I ever dare avow my love to your charming sister? What can the exalted Lady Almena Marchmont see in the poor Frederick Elliot? Will she not despise me for my presumption, and disdain a man who has nothing but a heart filled with her perfections to offer?” “And as great a share of merit,” interrupted my friend, “as ever fell to the lot of one mortal; fear not, Elliot, my sister has too much understanding to regard a man merely because he has a title, and in every other qualification you may pretend to a princess: Almena indeed has a mind capable of distinguishing your exalted virtues, and if I mistake not feels their full force.” “Flatter me not, my friend; I cannot dare not indulge the pleasing hope.” My noble Edward promised to do every good office in my absence, and I took leave of a family where my chief happiness was centered.

I reached the habitation of Mr. Osburn just time enough to take a last farewell; the violence of his disorder had left him very weak, and death made quick approaches to the excellent heart of this worthy man. I drew near his bed with the tenderest emotions, and taking his cold hand between mine; “My dearest sir, how painfully does this sight affect your Frederick! Ah that I could remove every pang far from you!” I could not restrain my tears: he faintly pressed my hand, and in a voice hardly articulate, he delivered himself as follows: “It pains me, my dear boy, to be obliged to part with you; but it is the decree of heaven, and I submit. I leave you, Frederick, in the possession of a large estate that was your father’s; to which I have added my own: I have no relations who stand in need of wealth, and to none can I give it whom I love like you. Remember it is virtue alone, that renders riches valuable. When you come to this solemn period, to which you must, may no bad action discompose your dying moments; you have an excellent heart and are in no danger of deviating from the narrow road of rectitude, but from the violence of your passions. Be careful to avoid every thing that may lead you into mistake and error. Farewel, my excellent boy; remember the last injunctions of a man who had a real affection for you.”

Articulation was stopped, and I could only express my sorrow by sighs and tears. The clergyman of the parish now came to Mr. Osburn, and I was obliged to leave him. He soon retired, and informed me that his friend was on the verge of eternity. When I entered Mr. Osburn’s chamber, I found him speechless; however by his motions he convinced me he was sensible. I embraced him in the greatest agony of grief; but, alas! he could not return it; he looked at me with expressive marks of affection, and gently breathed his last in my arms. I was for a few hours so totally absorbed in sorrow, that I hardly knew whether I myself existed; but youth and the appearance of my Edward, who, on hearing of my loss, flew to console me, had its usual influence, and I again recalled my thoughts from the grave of my guardian, to the world and society.

When I opened Mr. Osburn’s will, I found he had bequeathed to me the whole of his estate, which amounted to more than two thousand per annum, which joined to my paternal inheritance, made me possessed of eight thousand a year. My gratitude was infinitely excited by his generosity; and except a legacy of five hundred pounds to Mr. Harper, the clergyman I have mentioned, there was no other bequest. I paid the money immediately, and added a thousand pounds, as his family were large. Having settled my affairs, I left the abode of my late guardian, and accompanied Lord Somerset to town. The fair Almena and her amiable mother, received me with the utmost kindness, every thing in the power of these dear friends to dissipate my melancholy was exerted, and though I felt all the gratitude such a conduct excited yet could I not banish from my remembrance the good Mr. Osburn.

I was roused from my lethargy by Lady Almena’s having a declared lover. Lord Ashford was a nobleman of reputed worth, and I believe truly attached to my friend’s sister. Lady Somerset seemed to approve the proposed alliance; my Edward was silent, and Almena appeared unhappy. Thus were we situated when I was determined to lay aside every fearful apprehension, and declare my latent flame. I had soon after an opportunity of revealing the state of my heart to the fair cause of my anxiety. Lady Almena was one day writing in her brother’s study when I entered thinking he was there: she blushed and started; but seeing me about to retire, “Mr. Elliot,” said she, “my brother is from home, but as I have finished the note I was writing. I beg you will remain here ’till Lord Somerset comes back.” I again entered the room, and seated myself by her. She rung for a servant, to whom she delivered the note, and was going to retire, when I took her hand, and intreated her to hear me. She did not know in what manner to proceed. I threw myself at her feet, and in the most respectful terms, declared how much I loved her. She listened with polite attention, and casting her eyes upon the ground, appeared greatly agitated. I was all painful suspense. “Speak, lady Almena, continued I, pronounce my fate; perhaps you despise my too presumptuous passion; perhaps your heart is already engaged; the merits of Lord Ashford have met your approbation, and I am wretched.” “Sorry should I be,” replied the dear charmer, “if the sister of Lord Somerset could willingly make wretched the friend on whom an only brother doats: no, Mr. Elliot, I despise affectation as much as I do coquetry; be assured, sir, Lord Ashford is perfectly indifferent to my heart: ’tis true, my mother espouses his cause, and pleads for him powerfully: but the happiness of her daughter has ever been her chief delight, nor will she insist on a circumstance that would render her miserable.” “Ten thousand thanks, adorable Lady Almena, for this condescension! Pardon my bold aspiring heart: may I not hope my unwearied assiduities may at last make an impression on your gentle nature in my favour?” She told me, she did not, neither should she wish to throw me into despair, but begged leave to retire.

My friend soon after appeared, and seeing the joy that animated my countenance, congratulated me in the most affectionate manner. “Ah, Edward! exclaimed I, the dear Almena has not driven me to despair: she does not love Lord Ashford, and I may yet be happy.”—“And who ever thought she did? Prythee, Frederick, do not encourage that horrid passion, jealousy, but rather crush it in its birth; no mortal but yourself would have imagined my sister had the least regard for Lord Ashford. You may command my interest in your favour with my mother: she is partial to his lordship, on account of a tender regard she entertained for his mother; but the happiness of Almena is a matter of too great importance to be trifled with; and that no man but you could make her happy, I have long discovered.”

(To be continued.)

MISCELLANY.

In no way, can we so certainly captivate mankind, as by appeals to their senses.

Rich banquets, the singing of eunuchs, riding, dancing, pantomime, ballooning, have a thousand more attractions for the vulgar, than all the didactic lessons of reason and understanding; than all the wit and humour of Cervantes, Sterne, and Wolcott. Such a reproach, is familiar to old governments; we fondly anticipate, that our youthful establishments may, by the timely exertions of men of taste and science, for a long time escape it.

The increased fondness for theatric amusements, for frivolity, noise and show, demands the animadversions of the moralist, and of the friends of literary pursuits.

Under our forms of governments, we may have an opportunity to rival the celebrated schools of Greece. Republics are the peculiar soil of liberty, of genius, of talents; for in them, merit is not exclusively attributed to wealth and birth. How important then, to excite the generous emulation of talents. What mean more effectual, than to encourage literary enterprises, stamped with genius and industry.

Where there is so little leisure, but so much general ease and affluence; they, who can instruct and entertain the public, deserve, and will receive its generous patronage.

The cacoethes scribendi, is as strong as the love of money, and we need not apprehend, but America may produce her Poets, Critics, Historians, if an enlightened and liberal community will, sometimes, wet with Peruvian dew, the tender buds of genius, which poverty often attends, and neglect more frequently blasts.

Need I say, that Genius, like Charity, is timid, not obtrusive---hopeth all things, believeth all things,---That it utterly disclaims all consanguinity with that bronz’d dame, Impudence; but is tenderly knit with its fair counterpart, Modesty. It loves retirement and tranquility; seek it therefore in desarts and cottages, where it is too commonly left to bemoan its untoward fate, where it enjoys now and then, but a few rays of hope through the glimmering lattice or gale: go then quickly and place the pillow of ease and content under its desponding head, and save the child of Fear and Fancy from despair.

But I hesitate and doubt---some Vandal will here reply, that Ignorance is happiest; that Genius is a curse. For some moments I almost surrender my enthusiasm for Genius, and agree with the position, that it is so, that all who wish to be arrayed in scarlet and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day, who prefer brisk champagne to the Heliconian beverage, and a fat sirloin to a flimsy sonnet, will deprecate it with the Vandal, and strangle in the cradle every future Homer, Virgil, Livy, and Cæsar.

I will not deny that poets are querimonious: after allowing to excessive sensibility a due share of spleen, much is left to lament of real misfortune.

That they frequently enjoy posthumous fame, and justice done to merit, though late.

But yonder ghosts will testify, that when on earth, the flush of health never glowed in their pallid cheeks, the fire wasted in their eyes, and strength in their bodies, when the friendly tomb, received them from a frowning world.

Homer, by his immortal Iliad; Shakespeare, by his Lear, Macbeth, and Hamlet; have enriched, and in the phrase of the world, aggrandised thousands. We buy a bud of the one, and a fragment of the mulberry-tree of the other, and sit down satisfied, that We have amply discharged our duty and conscience.

----

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Sunday evening the 12th inst. at Goshen, by the Rev. Nathan Ker, the Rev. John Joline, Pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Florida, to Miss Maria Gale, of that place.

On Monday evening the 13th inst. at Princeton, by the Rev. Dr. S. Smith, Mr. George Kirk, of this city, to Miss Mary Norris, of that place.

On Sunday evening se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. Jonathan Dennis, to Miss Polly Ketchum, both of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Mr. Kuypers, Mr. John Pease, to Miss Elizabeth Hurtin, daughter of the late Mr. Joshua Hurtin, all of this city.

On Tuesday evening the 21st inst. by the Rev. Mr. Kuypers, Mr. Robert Saunders, of Baltimore, Printer, to Miss Elizabeth Bancker, of this city.

On Thursday evening the 23d inst. by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. David Ogden, Merchant, to Miss Sarah Glover, daughter of Mr. John G. Glover, all of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. James Flinn, to Miss Peggy Slidell, both of this city.

On Friday evening the 24th inst. by the Rev. Isaac Lewis, at Horse Neck, state of Connecticut, Mr. Warrin Delancey, of West-Chester, state of New-York, to Miss Sarah Rebecca Lawrence, of said place.

THE CHOICE.

ADDRESS TO PITY.

NEW-YORK: Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co. No. 115, Cherry-street.— Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Circulating Library of Mr. J. FELLOWS, No. 60, Wall-Street.

ARTFUL SENTIMENTAL-LOVER.

The man versed in the wiles of deceit puts on the mask of plausibility and virtue, and, by these means, disarms the object of his attention and apparent love of the usual administration of her prudence, lays her apprehensions asleep, and involves her in misery: misery the more inevitable, because unsuspected. For she who apprehends no danger, will not think it necessary to be always upon her guard; but will rather invite than avoid the ruin which comes under so specious and so fair a form.

One of these sentimental lovers will not scruple very seriously to assure a credulous girl, that her unparalelled merit entitles her to the adoration of the whole world; and that the universal homage of mankind is nothing more than the unavoidable tribute extorted by her charms.

But she should reflect, that he who endeavours to intoxicate her with adulation, intends one day most effectually to humble her. For artful man has always a secret design to pay himself in future for any present sacrifice. If he has address and conduct, and the object of his pursuit much vanity, and some sensibility, he seldom fails of success; for so powerful will be his ascendency over her mind, that she will soon adopt his notions and opinions.

The lover, deeply versed in all the obliquities of fraud, and skilled to wind himself into every avenue of the heart which indiscretion has left unguarded, soon discovers on which side it is most accessible. He avails himself of this weakness by addressing her in a language exactly consonant to her own ideas. He attacks her with her own weapons, and opposes, if a sentimental girl, rhapsody to sentiment. He professes so sovereign a contempt for the paltry concerns of money, that she thinks it her duty to reward him for so generous a renunciation. Every plea he artfully advances of his own unworthiness, is considered by her as a fresh demand, that her gratitude must answer. And she makes it a point of honour to sacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to regard.

These professions of humility are the common artifices of the vain, and these protestations of generosity the refuge of the rapacious.

EFFECTS OF HONOURABLE LOVE.

A man of delicacy oft betrays his passion by his too great anxiety to conceal it; especially if he has little hopes of success. True love, in all its stages, seeks concealment, and never expects success. It renders a man not only respectful, but timid, to the highest degree, in his behaviour to the woman he loves.

To conceal the awe he stands in of her, he may sometimes affect pleasantry, but it fits awkwardly on him; and he quickly relapses into seriousness, if not dullness. He magnifies all her real perfections in his imagination, and is either blind to her failings, or converts them into beauties. Like a person conscious of guilt, he is jealous that every eye observes him: and to avoid this he shuns all the little observances of common gallantry.

His heart and his character will be improved in every respect by his attachment. His manners will become more gentle, and his conversation more agreeable; but diffidence and embarrassment will always make him appear to disadvantage in the company of his mistress. If the fascination continues long, it will depress his spirit, and extinguish every vigorous and manly principle of his mind.

LOVE OF JUSTICE.

A sense of justice should be the foundation of all our social qualities. In our most early intercourse with the world, and even in our most youthful amusements, no unfairness should be found. That sacred rule of doing all things to others, according as we wish they would do unto us, should be engraven on our minds. For this end, we should impress ourselves with a deep sense of the original, and natural equality of men.

Whatever advantage of birth or fortune we possess, we ought never to display them with an ostentatious superiority. We should leave the subordinations of rank to regulate the intercourse of more advanced years. In youth it becomes us to act among our companions, as man with man. We should remember how unknown to us are the vicissitudes of the world; and how often they, on whom ignorant and contemptuous young men once looked down with scorn, have risen to be their superiors in future years.

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 275.)

“My father took up the piece, levelling it at him with a trembling and fearful hand. ‘I beg you will not spare me, and insist upon your aiming at my head or heart!’ The Marquis look his aim, but trembled so violently that he was obliged to lay down the gun. Alumbrado desired me to step nearer, and putting my hand to his bare breast, said: ‘Feel whether this heart beats so timmorously as that of your father.’ These words provoked the pride of the Marquis, he ordered me to step aside, levelled his piece and discharged it. A cloud of smoak concealed Alumbrado’s situation for a moment from our eyes. It is impossible to depict the sensations that rushed upon my heart, when I beheld him in his former situation, and heard him exclaim: ‘You have aimed well, my Lord, however, the ball has recoiled from my breast, there it lies on the floor.’ My father sunk on his knees and lifted his hands to heaven as if praying, and I gazed at Alumbrado with silent awe.

“‘Duke!’ said the latter, ‘charge the gun once more.’ The marquis started up, exclaiming: ‘For what purpose?’ ‘I want your son to repeat the deed.’ ‘No, there is no occasion for it;’ my father replied, ‘the omnipotence of the Eternal has been glorified sufficiently.’ ‘Just now,’ Alumbrado returned, ‘you have been of too little faith, and now you are too credulous? Is it impossible that you should have missed your aim? That the ball accidentally has hit another object and recoiled? But although you should be convinced that you have aimed well and hit me, is the Duke so too?’

“In short, I was obliged to charge the piece again, and Alumbrado exposed his uncovered bosom once more.

“I could rely on my gun, and was sure not to miss him, because he was standing only seven paces from me. I pointed at Alumbrado’s head, took my aim well, and fired; however, he stepped forth from the cloud of smoak like a being of a superior order; the ball lay on the floor, and Alumbrado had not received the least hurt.

“He now took a dagger out of his pocket, and plunged it twice in his breast, up to the hilt, extracting it without a wound being seen.

“O my friend, make haste to recant at the feet of this astonishing man the prejudices which you have uttered against him. Blush at your philosophy, whereby you have combated so frequently my propensity to supernatural events. I have always had a presentiment that this irresistible propensity would be gratified one time; yet I was a stranger to the road which led to the object of my most ardent wishes. Alumbrado has pointed it out to me and a new epocha of my life has commenced with that period. How little, and how disgusting and vain does now all the wisdom and all the tinsel splendor of the world appear to me, since I have been made acquainted with that higher good, which is concealed from, and inaccessible to the greatest part of human kind.”

“P.S. On reading my letter over, I find a few passages in it, which would determine me not to send it on account of the great watchfulness with which all letters are examined by order of the King, if I had not been assured that those which are directed to you are exempted from examination.” 

Having perused this letter of the Duke of Ca*ina, I did not know whether I should hasten first to him, to his father, or to Alumbrado. I ordered instantly my carriage to be got ready; but when I was going to step out of the house, my valet stopped me pale and panting for breath. ‘My Lord,’ he stammered, ‘Coming——I have’——‘Well, what is the matter?’——‘It is almost incredible,’ he resumed, ‘it is rumoured all over the town’. Here he stopped again. His consternation communicated itself to me, and I exclaimed in a trembling accent, ‘For heaven’s sake! what has happened?’ ‘It is reported that the Marquis of Villa R*al and his son---but don’t be terrified, my Lord!’ ‘What?’ I replied, ‘Are you,’ I could not proceed, my lips being sealed with terror, ‘It is rumoured that the Duke of Ca*ina and his father have been taken up on an accusation of having conspired against the life of the King.’

These words curdled the blood in my veins, and I was ready to drop to the ground; however, despair soon roused me from the stupor that had seized me. I got in my carriage in order to enquire personally into the truth of that dreadful intelligence. Coming in the street I observed a universal commotion, and received, but too soon, a confirmation of my valet’s intelligence; being informed, at the same time, that forty five persons more had been arrested along with the Duke and his father. The multitude were assembled before the royal palace, demanding with a furious clamour, that the traitors should be delivered up to them; the king however thanked them for their zeal, and ordered the constable to disperse the populace.

My astonishment, my agony and consternation, and an indisposition which had been brought on by the violent agitation of my mind, prevented me from recollecting that this was the very day on which I was to expect the friend, of whose intended visit I had been apprised by that letter from an unknown person. The succeeding day I happened to see that letter accidentally on my writing-desk, and the friend to whom I was to deliver it, not having made his appearance at the fixed hour, I made use of the liberty I had received to open it.

Conceive my astonishment when I saw the handwriting of the Duke of Ca*ina. “When you shall read these lines,” he wrote, “the great deed will be performed, and P——l reduced again under the S——sh dominion. Forgive me, for having this time deceived your confidence, and believe me, that nothing but your connection with the new King could have prevented me from communicating the matter to you before our design is carried into execution. For that reason only I have had recourse to art, and wrote this letter which will inform you of the whole transaction, but is to be opened only when it will be impossible to put a stop to our undertaking.

“Not only my father and myself, but also those two prelates whom I have mentioned in my letters, and a great number of noblemen agreed after several conversations to force the usurper to restore the crown of P——l to the King of S——n; yet this design appeared to be so dangerous, that neither the Marquis nor myself would engage in it before we had the consent of Alumbrado. We pressed him, therefore, one evening to grant us his permission and assistance. He hesitated a long while, and at length replied, ‘Well! I will oppose you no longer, but I declare solemnly that I will not afford you the least assistance in your design against the King before I shall be convinced that it is the will of God, which we can learn by no other means but prayer. The spirit of God inspires those that are praying to him with sincerity of heart, and the sentiments which prevail in our soul in that situation are the voice of God. Let us devote this night to prayer, address the Omniscient separately, and to-morrow morning communicate to each other what the Lord shall reveal to us. If you shall continue firm in your resolution after you have performed your devotion, then it is the will of the Eternal, and we will go to work.’

“I had, for a long time, entertained the wish of spending a night in a church, imagining that this would afford me a pleasure of a most singular nature. I resolved, therefore, to execute Alumbrado’s proposal, and, at the same time, to gratify this darling wish of my heart. With that view, I concealed myself one evening in the cathedral. The first idea which forced itself upon my mind, as soon as I was left alone in that sacred place, was that of the immediate presence of the Eternal, and this notion filled me with solemn awe.

“I went to the altar, throwing myself on my face upon the steps of it and adoring the omnipresent God with ardent fervour. I soared beyond the limits of materiality, transported by devotion, and my soul and every sense was hurried along by the torrent of holy enthusiasm. I prayed with filial submission for filial illumination and heavenly aid.

“The clock on the church steeple tolled eleven, when I recovered from my pious trance. The church was covered with awful darkness; the solitary lamps which were burning before the altar, and the images of the saints, produced on the opposite parts of the fabric large masses of light and shade, while they spread only a faint dusk over the other parts of the Gothic building. The presence of the Eternal, the melancholy stillness of night, the extensive circumference of the venerable edifice, made me sensible, with a kind of horror, of my solitary situation. The profound stillness that reigned around was interrupted only now and then by a momentaneous cracking by the clattering of the windows, the whistling of a gust of wind rustling through the softly resounding organ-pipes, and by the chiming of a bell.