“Proceeding further, I was struck with the hollow sound of my footsteps, which reminded me that the marble pavement covered the vault in which the bodies of the deceased fathers of the order were awaiting the morn of resurrection.

“I went through one of the aisles, and stopped in awful contemplation, now at an altar, now at the image of a saint, and now at a tomb. The antique, artless appearance of many images and statues contributed much to increase their awful effect. A chapel, where a whole length picture of Christ on the cross was suspended attracted my attention particularly, because the quickly repeated flirtation of the lamp which was placed before it had made me fancy that the picture was stirring. The singular distribution of light, darkness, and shade prevailing through the whole church, the sudden flaring and dying away of the lamps, produced the most different and surprising effects on the eye, and furnished the imagination with multivarious objects of occupation.

“At length, I entered a great hall, which led to the hindmost porch, and from thence to a church-yard, the iron gate of which was locked. The first look I directed at it made me start back, seized with surprise. I looked once more at it, and beheld again several white figures that appeared and vanished with a rustling noise. I cannot but confess that a chilly tremor seized my limbs and fixed me to the ground. A few minutes after, a monk carrying a lanthorn appeared in the back part of the burying place; and a short reflection unfolded to me the whole mystery. The noise which I had heard proceeded from his steps, and the figures were nothing else but white statues, which appeared and disappeared as he moved the lanthorn in walking. Probably he had been praying in the porch, and was now returning to his cell: I concealed myself in a pew, in order to avoid being seen by him. A weariness which proceeded from the chilly night air and a want of sleep, bade me, at length put a stop to my wanderings. I seated myself in a pew, where I abandoned myself to the wild freaks of my imagination.

“The dawn of day was already peeping through the stained windows, when I awoke from the fanciful dreams of my wondering mind, and the purple rays of the morning sun reflected with radient glory from the image of the holy Virgin, suspended against the wall opposite the window. I was absorbed in the contemplation of this sublime object for some time; however the trance in which this charming sight had thrown me, soon gave room to religious sensations of a more sublime nature; a pious confidence in the heavenly aid of Providence was kindling in my bosom, and I was going to prostrate myself before the blessed Virgin, when the church was thrown open.” 

(To be continued.)

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

[WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.]

(Continued from our last)

I expressed my obligations to his friendship in the warmest and most grateful terms, and we consulted how the matter should be broke to Lady Somerset; my friend undertook the task.

That very evening, as his sister was engaged out, and I had determined to be absent, I waited in a state of the most anxious expectation for the event of his embassy; and on seeing him enter my room at one o’clock in the morning, I had hardly resolution to inquire his success. “My friend, my brother,” exclaimed he, “I am authorised to call you so by the most amiable of mothers, Almena is your’s, win her, my dear Frederick, and be happy.”

Words were too faint to express my feelings; my Edward shared my emotions, and for a time we lost the remembrance of every thing but friendship. Now each adverse cloud appeared removed, and happiness permanent and delightful dawned on my morning joys. Lady Somerset informed lord Ashford, that her daughter’s heart was engaged: his disappointment betrayed him into the most violent rage, and he left the house threatening to be revenged.

Blessed as I was in Almena’s love, and in the friendship of her amiable brother, I disregarded his threats, and smiled at the apprehensions of my charmer: three weeks after this made me her happy husband; my friend gave away his lovely sister, and shared in our felicity. My wife was every thing that was excellent and good; her love for me was unbounded, and mine was to such a painful excess, that I could not bear a look cast at any other person. To this unhappy jealousy of temper all my subsequent misfortunes were owing.

For twelve months, we enjoyed the most perfect felicity, when Lady Somerset appeared to be declining in her health. Her physicians advised her to go to the south of France: my Almena was desirous of accompanying her beloved parent, but her situation rendered it improper and dangerous. Lord Somerset was determined to attend her, which greatly alleviated my wife’s uneasiness. As London did not agree with lady Almena, and as the season was far advanced, I proposed going to Trout-Hall, for the ensuing hot months: she consented chearfully, as her lying-in was not expected for a considerable time. The separation of my beloved from her mother and brother may be better imagined than described. We immediately went into the country, where I exerted the most unwearied assiduity to amuse and divert her thoughts from dwelling too much on the late melancholy parting. On a visit to a neighbouring family I was amazed to see lord Ashford. He addressed my wife as if nothing had passed between them, and me with the most polite freedom. Some few weeks after, I had been out a little way, and on my return, asked the servant if any body had been there during my absence? “Lord Ashford, Sir, has been an hour with my lady.” I hurried to my wife’s apartment, and opening the door gently, surprized her in tears. “How is this, my love? what has happened to make you uneasy?” “Nothing particular, replied she, I was thinking of my poor mother, you must pity the weakness of your wife, my Frederick.” “My Almena, my dearest love, answered I, clasping her to my bosom, I cannot bear your tears; talk not of weakness, you are all that is amiable and lovely.” She seemed soothed with these words and appeared more chearful; as she did not mention lord Ashford’s having been there, I did not choose to start the subject.

We passed a month in the most perfect tranquility, having heard in that time from my friend, who gave us a pleasing account of lady Somersets health. My Almena’s happiness was excessive at this information, and joy beamed on her lovely countenance; I frequently left her at her own desire, to partake of country amusements, though my inclination would have ever detained me with her; yet to make her easy I complied. She feared a too constant attendance on her would weaken my affection, and make me uneasy at so great a restraint.

One day, I had stayed longer than usual in hunting, and was hastening to meet my wife, when I perceived lord Ashford riding up the avenue: these visits and always in my absence greatly alarmed me. He would have avoided me, but I rode up to him, and after a slight civility, begged to know what had occasioned the honour of my seeing him there? He looked confounded, and making an evasive answer spurred his horse, and rode away with great precipitation. This conduct, so very enigmatical, enraged me infinitely; I was inclined to pursue him, and force him to confess what his business was, but a moment’s thought deterred me from such a conduct. I entered the house, torn by a thousand emotions, and went to my wife, who fled with open arms to receive me. I brutishly turned from her. “Lady Almena, has Lord Ashford been here?” I looked at her very sternly, she hesitated and blushed; “No, my dear; but wherefore this unkindness! Alas, Mr. Elliot, have I offended you?” She burst into tears. Oh, how I cursed my own horrid disposition! I strove to abate her grief by every method in my power: and had she at that moment informed me of her conjectures, what a weight of woe had been spared to my succeeding days! But my misery was not to be avoided. I applied to the servant, who had before informed me lord Ashford had been at my house, who confirmed my suspicions by telling me, my hated rival, as I then madly thought him, had been a considerable time with his lady. I was too much affected by this news to answer the servant; and leaving him in the greatest haste, I determined to return to my wife and tax her with her inconstancy; but the consideration of my Almena’s situation deterred me; as she was drawing near her time I reflected I might be her destroyer.

(To be concluded in our next.)

CURIOSITY.

Of the various passions that are natural to mankind, Curiosity seems to be one of the most active and powerful; which, unless it be engaged in laudable pursuits, and confined within the limits prescribed by Virtue, often becomes a disease pernicious and fatal to the mind, and exhibits human nature in a most pitiable point of view.

Nothing can be conceived more contemptible, and at the same time move dangerous, than a merely enquisitive person: “he is generally a blab,” says the poet; “and ought to be avoided, as we would the spy of an enemy.” Such a one may be compared to the Danaide’s tub, which was incapable of containing what it received: for, whatever comes under his inspection, or is mentioned in his hearing, he is sure to publish; and, when opportunity shall serve, will enlarge and illustrate.

This excessive prying and communicative disposition, has been observed to be particularly prevalent in those who are naturally indolent, and have no useful employment to divert their imagination. The mind, if it be not engaged in the pursuit of useful knowledge, must necessarily be active in the investigation of of trifles, and matters of small moment. Thus, for instance, the indolent man, who affects to be studious, as he is deterred from the attempt to acquire solid learning, by that care and assiduity which are the consequent attendants on laborious study; so he squanders that time, which might be employed to better purposes, in the search after trifles. He contents himself with the knowledge of things, that can contribute nothing to his learning; nor could his ignorance of them diminish aught from it.

But there is a kind of Curiosity, which produces more fatal effects; and which argues, that the disposition of those who are actuated by it, is not only indolent as to commendable enquiries, but that they are also envious and malicious, and enjoy great satisfaction in exposing to public censure the faults and failings of every one around them. We meet with beings of this description, in every place, without exception, who make it their business to pry into the affairs of others. It is a kind of trade with them, wherein one deals more largely than another; and he is esteemed the greatest who can dispose of most scandal. Such persons are finely described in the fable of the Lamiæ; who, we read, were blind at home, but when abroad were remarkably quick-sighted. In like manner, these Curiosi are fully blinded as to their own demerits; while not only the more open and flagrant faults of others, but even the smallest inadvertensy, or mistake, is subject to their strict enquiry and nicest examination. Being always more solicitous to enquire into the failings of their neighbours, than to notice and imitate their good qualities; and hurried on by the strong impulse of this restless passion, they spare no pains in searching to the very bottom of a thing that is but whispered, and enjoy no peace till it becomes public and universally known.

I well remember, when a worthy and respectable family first went to reside at a place that contained a numerous class of these idlers, what a stir it caused among them! Running about from one place to another, various suppositions, and exclamations of surprise, passed between them. “I wonder who this new-come family are!” says one; “and whether they are people of much property?” “No great deal, I should conceive,” replies another; “for they keep a very poor house, and are fashionable in no respect whatever.”—“Aye,” says a third, “I hear that they go to market, not with ready-money, but on trust.”—“I am informed,” says a frigid old maid, with a contemptuous sneer, “that Mr. ——, and his wife, live unhappily together, on account of a familiarity that subsists between him and the chambermaid.”—“Pray, can any one inform me,” says a formal old widow, “whether they observe any regularity in their family? What is their hour of dining? Do they keep late hours? And what is their time of rising?”---“O!” says one of the male gossips, “they are very particular, Madam, I can assure you in regard to those things, and do every thing by rule; and they are the most penurious and miserable wretches on earth, for they always keep the key of the cellar.” Thus, these triflers, to call them no worse, amuse themselves with groundless conjectures, and unjust censure, the absurdity of which needs no remark.

But, notwithstanding every transaction, that comes under their cognizance, is handed about with the worst construction it is capable of receiving, they by no means stop here. Not content with the information themselves are able to collect, they have their private emissaries to communicate intelligence, and give them notice of the domestic affairs of every family in the town, which become the subject of debate the next time they assemble; for they have their meetings, where the conversation never fails to be such as wounds the honour and reputation of some of their neighbours. If any one in company presumes to speak of another with praise and commendation, he is either attended to with careless indifference, or totally disregarded; and considered as one who wishes to violate the laws and rules of the society. On the contrary, should he call in question the chastity of some sage matron, or relate the misfortunes of some frail female; should he make the discord of families, or the animosities of friends, the topick of conversation; they are all attention, and listen to the scandalous report with the highest degree of satisfaction.

One grand incentive to Curiosity, is a fickle and unsteady temper, with a fondness for novelty. When, therefore, the mind in any of it’s sallies borders on frivolity, it ought immediately to be checked, and have its attention directed to some other object less unworthy the consideration of a rational creature. Thus, by bringing this passion under the government of Reason, at the first, we may prevent the unhappy consequences that envy and spleen might otherwise spur it on to effect.

In diseases of the body, by not attending to the first symptoms of a disorder, and stopping it in the beginning, it often happens, that it gains strength through delay; and, in process of time, bids defiance to the powers of medicine. Thus it is with diseases of the mind. Such, and so inveterate is the nature of vice, that unless it be eradicated on its first appearance, and destroyed in its infancy, the contagion soon extends it’s baneful influence over all the faculties of the mind, and enervates the whole intellectual system.

In order to the preservation of health, on the slightest attack of any corporal malady, it is expedient to have immediate recourse to those means which are considered the best adapted to impede it’s progress: and if, to remove infirmities of the body, so much precaution be necessary, surely the mind demands still greater attention. But how frequently do we find this nobler part of man, either very little regarded, or totally neglected! Too often are the innate virtues of the soul extinguished by the insinuations of Vice! its nobler powers enfeebled by the alluring wiles of that fascinating enchantress; and rendered useless, as to the end and design for which they were originally intended; or, what is worse, applied in promoting the advancement of her cause, to our own perpetual disgrace!

CURIOUS INCIDENT.

It was formerly usual for the Senators of Rome to enter the Senate-house, accompanied by their sons, who had taken the prætexta. When something of superior importance was discussed in the senate, and the farther consideration adjourned to the day following, it was resolved that no one should divulge the subject of their debates till it should be formally decreed. The mother of the young Papirus, who had accompanied his father to the Senate-house, enquired of her son what the senators had been doing. The youth replied, that he had been enjoined silence, and was not at liberty to say. The woman became more anxious to know: the secretness of the thing, and the silence of the youth did but inflame her curiosity; she, therefore, urged him with the more vehement earnestness. The young man, on the importunity of his mother, determined on a humorous and pleasant fallacy: he said it was discussed in the senate which would be most beneficial to the state, for one man to have two wives, or one woman to have two husbands. As soon as she heard this, she was much agitated; and, leaving her house in great trepidation, hastened to tell the other matrons what she had learned. The next day, a troop of matrons went to the Senate house; and, with tears and entreaties, implored that one woman might be suffered to have two husbands, rather than one man to have two wives. The senators, on entering the house, were astonished, and wondered what this intemperate proceeding of the women and their petition could mean. The young Papirus, advancing to the midst of the senate, explained the importunity of his mother, his answer, and the matter as it was. The senate, delighted with the honour and ingenuity of the youth, decreed that, from that time, no youth should be suffered to enter the senate with his father, this Papirus alone accepted. He was afterwards honourably distinguished by the cognomen of Prætextatus, on account of his discretion at such an age.

LIFE OF BONNA, THE SHEPERDESS.

Bonna was the daughter of a shepherd of the Valteline, a fruitful valley at the foot of the Alps, and the grand pass between Italy and Germany. As she was one day guarding her flocks, Peter Brunoro, an illustrious Parmesan general, lost his way near the spot where she attended her innocent companions. Brunoro politely accosted the rural maid, to enquire the road, but was so struck with her beauty, and so pleased with her courteous answer, that he dismounted and entered into conversation with the sheperdess. Bonna was no prude, and she had wit enough to distinguish a gentleman from a rustic; in short, her vivacity, and a certain air of modest assurance, admirably calculated to hit the taste of an officer, had such an effect upon him, that he fell in love with her, and carried her off. From this time, we are to consider her not as the Arcadian sheperdess, but as Brunoro’s mistress.

Finding that she had a bold, masculine spirit, he took great pleasure in dressing her in men’s cloaths; and he had the satisfaction to observe, that she was ambitious to gain a masculine address! Brunoro soon learned her to manage the fleetest courser, and as he was remarkably fond of hunting, she was always of his party, and acquitted herself to the astonishment of all the cavaliers.

A quarrel happening some time after between Francis Sforza, duke of Milan, and Alphonsus, king of Naples; Brunoro quitted the service of the king his master, and went over to the duke of Milan’s party: Bonna, his faithful mistress accompanied him, and signalized herself in the first campaign. The difference between the contending parties being accommodated by the interposition of mediators, Brunoro was received again into the service of Alphonsus, and Bonna was presented to the king as a young Amazon: her talents for war and politics became every day more and more conspicuous; and upon a rupture between the Venetian republic and the duke of Milan, she had the address to negociate at Venice, the command of the Venetian army, with an appointment of 20000 ducates per annum during the war for Brunoro. The general’s heart, at this striking piece of felial affection in his mistress, was now touched with a lively sense of honour for Bonna, he regretted he had ever took advantage of the assenting and unguarded Shepherdess, and, to repair past injuries, and in gratitude for such signal services, married his benefactress: After this event, she placed no bounds either to her conjugal affection, or her love of arms. She accompanied her husband wherever he went: and while the general was engaged upon some other service, she headed a detachment, and took the Castle of Pavanou, near Brescia, from the Milanese, by assault.

The senate of Venice honoured her with distinguished rewards, and placing an unlimited confidence in both husband and wife, sent them to the succour of Negropontus, attacked by the Turks. They defended this island so ably, that during the time that they commanded, the Turks desisted from all further attempts on the place. Bonna died on her return to Venice at a small town of Morea, leaving behind her two children, and an immortal reputation.

THE FLOWER-GIRL.

—“Pray, buy a nosegay of a poor orphan!” said a female voice, in a plaintive and melodious tone, as I was passing the corner of the Hay-market. I turned hastily, and beheld a girl of about fourteen; whose drapery, tho’ ragged, was clean, and whose form was such as a painter might have chosen for a youthful Venus. Her neck, without covering, was white as snow; and her features, though not regularly beautiful, were interesting, and set off by a transparent complexion: her eyes, dark and intelligent, were shaded by loose ringlets of a raven black, and poured their sweetly supplicating beams through the silken shade of very long lashes. On one arm hung a basket full of roses, and the other was stretched out towards me with one of the rose-buds. I put my hand into my pocket, and drew out some silver---“Take this, my pretty girl,” said I, putting it into her’s; “and may that God, who is the Father of the fatherless, be the preserver of your existence and your virtue!---Virtuous poverty is no crime.”

I was turning from her, when she suddenly caught my withdrawn hand; and, putting it to her lips, burst into a flood of tears. The action, and the look which accompanied it, touched my soul; it melted to the artless gratitude of this poor Flower-girl, and a drop of sympathy fell from my cheek. “Forgive me, Sir,” said she, recovering from her transport, while a sweet blush diffused itself over her lovely face: “my heart was full of what it could not express---nature impelled me to so free an action. You will pardon the effect it had on me, when I tell you, they were the first kind words I have heard since I lost all that was dear to me on earth——” A sob interrupted her discourse: she stopped, and wept silently; then, raising up her face from the hand on which she had laid it---“O Sir! I have no father! no mother! no relation! Alas! I have no friend in the world!” Choked with her emotions, she was silent for a moment before she could proceed---“My only friend is God! on him I rely; I submit to his will. I only pray that I may support with fortitude, the miseries I am born to experience! To him, kind Sir, this heart shall always pray for you. May that God for ever protect you!” added she, dropping a curtsey full of humility and native grace, as she retired. I returned her benediction, and went on——

“And can I thus leave this poor creature?” said I, as I walked pensively on. “Can I leave her forever, without emotion? What have I done for her, that can entitle me to her prayers? Preserved her a few days from death, but that is all! And shall I quit thee, fair flower, to see thee no more? to be blown down by the rude blast of adversity! to be cropped by some cruel spoiler! to droop thy lovely head beneath the blight of early sorrow!—No! thou hast been reared on some happier bank; thou hast been nurtured by the sweet tears of maternal affection; thou hast once blushed beneath the chearing sun of domestick content, and under it thou shalt bloom again!” I turned, as I spoke: my heart beat with its sweet purpose. I saw the beautiful Flower-girl before me. I approached---caught her hand---the words of triumphant virtue burst from my lips---

“Come, thou lovely, deserted girl! come, and add one more to the happy groupe who call me father! Their home shall be thine: thou shalt share their comforts: thou shalt be taught with them that virtue their father tries to practise!” She stopped me; her eyes flashed with a frantic joy: she flung herself on her knees before me, and burst into a flood of rapturous tears. I raised her in my arms---I hushed her eloquent gratitude, and led her to a home of happiness and piety. She loves my children; she loves their father; and the poor orphan of the Hay-market is now the wife of my son!

De Burghe.

----

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Wednesday evening the 1st inst. by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Mr. William W. Galatian, to the amiable Miss Catharine Brower, daughter of Mr. John Brower, all of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Mr. Peter Vorhiss to the amiable Mrs. Nancy Smith, widow of Joseph Smith, deceased, both of this city.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.

THE DEBTOR.

THE FADED ROSE.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
AN AMIABLE YOUNG LADY;

Whose virtues richly merited the eulogium here offered by a friend.

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.

GRATITUDE.

“If aught gives one virtuous man a superiority over another,
it is only by as much as he exceeds the other in Gratitude.”

Gratitude, though a single word, contains a volume of expressions: it is the brightest jewel in Virtue’s diadem. It comprehends every social duty, and every celestial virtue, that adorn mankind; it renders them objects of Almighty love, and worthy the admiration of their fellow-creatures. Divested of Gratitude, what are we? Nought but solitary reeds, blown by every breeze, and beat down by every shower, that God, in the plenitude of his mercy, sends to chear the rest of the world.

Gratitude may be said to consist of two orders—to God, and to man.

Gratitude to God is indisputably our first and chief duty. Can we for a moment contemplate the creation of the world, the coming, sufferings, crucifixion, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ, without acknowledging that Gratitude to God is our first and chief duty? God forbid! There are few, in this world’s sphere, but daily, nay even hourly, experience the goodness of the Almighty. How are we extricated from difficulties? How are we relieved, even when desponding misery rankles in the heart? And how do we enjoy our health, or happiness, but from the excess of that mercy which gently drops from Heaven? Can, then, our lives be better spent than in devoting them to those purposes esteemed worthy in God’s all-seeing eye, and expressive of our gratitude for the blessings we receive?

Of Gratitude to man, much has been, and much still remains to be said. It may be urged that, in our Gratitude to God, every kind of gratitude is contained. This may be granted; and, therefore, to Him should we give the glory. If we are really grateful, we shew it not only to Him, but to those whom he makes the instruments of his goodness.

From the earliest period, we find that centre of every virtue, Gratitude! honoured, revered, and even adored. How many have sacrificed their lives in gratitude for services received from others; and, dying, blessed the cause in which they died! Gratitude to man consists in a grateful remembrance of every favour, however trifling or essential. It is to be hoped that a man, plunged by misfortune into dire distress, confined within the narrow and dreary cell of a prison, surrounded by an infant family, some senseless of the misery they endure, sleeping on a bed of straw, a helpless babe in his arms, pining for it’s mother, who is gone, alas! in vain, to soothe the obdurate heart of a relentless creditor---it is to be hoped, I repeat, that human nature does not produce such a man, who, were he relieved from this horrid situation, by the benevolent hand of smiling Affluence, would ever cease to remember, without the softest emotions of extatic pleasure, the truly generous act: if he could, he should cease to live.

Other instances, equally forcible, might be brought forward; but man who ought not to forget the smallest obligation, or neglect the slightest opportunity of manifesting his gratitude. It matters not, whether our gratitude be called forth into action by pecuniary assistance in the hour of distress, solace in the hour of misfortune, or help in the moment of personal danger. He who relieves another in a pecuniary manner, he who sighs with him in his misfortunes, or he who saves the life of another, is equally entitled to our prayers, our praise, and our gratitude.

PLEASURES OF STUDY.

There is unspeakable pleasure attending the life of a voluntary student. The first time I read an excellent book, it is to me just as if I had gained a new friend. When I read over a book I have perused before, it resembles the meeting with an old one. We ought to lay hold of every incident in life for improvement, the trifling as well as the important. It is not one diamond alone which gives lustre to another; a common coarse stone is also employed for that purpose. Thus I ought to draw advantage from the insults and contempt I meet with from a worthless fellow.

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 283.)

I hastened to conceal myself in a corner, and slipped out of the church as soon as the sexton had entered it. In going home, I fancied I observed Hiermanfor at a distance, nay he seemed even to advance towards me; however, I fled from him with horror.

“About an hour after my return, I was joined by Alumbrado, who entered my apartment with awful solemnity. His countenance spoke more plainly than his lips. We went to the Marquis who seemed to have awaited our arrival with impatience, and bowed respectfully to Alumbrado.

“You have been watching last night,’ the latter said to us, ‘and dedicated it to devotion. Is your resolution still firm and unalterable?’

“Yes!’ we replied at the same time.

“A long pause ensued. At length Alumbrado began: ‘I too have dedicated the night to devotion, and join in your league.’ Taking us by the hand, ‘I have conversed with God, and received heavenly revelations, which I will communicate to you if you will promise eternal secrecy.’

“We promised it.

“Yes, my friends,’ he resumed, ‘God has chosen you to be ministers of his avenging justice. Your mission is honourable, but awful—awful, and at the same time, blissful. But I must remind you, that it does not befit the instruments of the Eternal to scan his holy degrees, nor to resist. Will you, therefore, promise to obey implicitly?’

“We will.’

“To obey also when the decrees of God shall come in contradiction with your opinions and feelings?’

“The decrees of the Eternal are impenetrable, but ever wise and ever just. We will obey!’

“Then you swear to obey blindly?’

“We swore, and now we learned from Alumbrado our mission, and the whole plan of the secret league. It would be superfluous to give you the particulars of it, because it will be executed, and consequently known to you when you shall read this letter.—Farewell, my friend, for whom I always shall retain a tender affection, although you should become my inveterate enemy. Farewell.”

This letter partly unfolded to me the mystery of the whole event; I could, however, best form a clear idea of the particulars of the conspiracy and the whole design when the culprits were tried. I shall confine myself to a brief sketch of that infernal plot.

Oli*arez the Minister of S——n, not having been able to put a stop to the secret preparations the Duke of B——za had been making for restoring the crown of Port—l to his family, and his three last artful attempts to that effect having miscarried, he sent Alumbrado whom he had already successfully employed on different occasions, to watch the secret motions of that nobleman, and to counteract them effectually. Alumbrado fixed his eyes on a man who was generally respected as well on account of his rank, his birth, and extraordinary merits, as of his great wealth; the Marquis of Villa Re*al, whose secret antipathy against the Duke of B——a, Oli*arez had pointed out to him. With the assistance of this man, he designed to lay the mine which was to blow up the great work of the Duke of B————a. He found the Marquis in a situation of mind that seemed to promise very little success in the prosecution of his political views.

The supposed apparition of Count San*, and the illness which had succeeded it, had changed him from a statesman to a pietistical hermit. However, an intriguing genius like Alumbrado was not discouraged by these unfavourable symptoms; he only changed his measures, and founded on religious fanaticism and superstition a plan, by which he expected to interest the Marquis for his designs. Yet he had, perhaps, imagined this task much easier than it really was, or the progresses the Marquis made were slower than he had expected, in short, the revolution broke out before he had attained his purpose. This unexpected blow did not depress Alumbrado’s spirit. He had, indeed, not been able to dispute the acquisition of the crown of P———l with the Duke of B——a; he formed however, the resolution to deprive him of it.

With this view he returned to S——n to consult with Oli*arez. The latter had really been induced by the dissimulation of the Duke of Cam*na, to believe him serious in his devices against the family of B————a, and this was sufficient to prompt him to agree with Alumbrado that one ought to endeavour to interest the Marquis and his son for the design against the new Sovereign.

That, and how this has been effected, was proved afterwards by the event.

Alumbrado had foreseen that the execution of so dangerous a design would require many co-operating powers, and therefore had taken care to procure in time the requisite assistants. One of his principal associates was the archbishop of Br*ga, Primate of P————l, an acquisition which cost Alumbrado very little trouble, the Prelate meeting him half way. The archbishop had witnessed the successful issue of the revolution with the greatest indignation, because he was entirely devoted to the S---sh court and the Vice Queen to whom he owed his preferment.

On the breaking out of the Revolution, he had already drawn the sword against one of the conspirators in order to avenge his benefactress; her confinement was therefore an additional motive to him for joining the conspirators, by whose assistance he hoped to avenge her wrongs and restore her to liberty. Alumbrado gained through him even the bishop of *arda, Grand Inquisitor of the Empire.

The insinuation that he would not enjoy long his important office under the new government, the King being inclined to abolish the Inquisition, was the chief motive of his having taken a part in the conspiracy.

Both prelates were very sensible how necessary it was that the Marquis and his son should join the conspirators if Alumbrado’s design should succeed, and therefore supported him in his endeavours to ensnare these noblemen, although they dissembled to have not the least connection with that vile deceiver.

Meanwhile the latter endeavoured secretly to encrease the number of the conspirators through the interest of these two prelates, and they succeeded in gaining over to their party Count Arm*mar a cousin to the Primate, a great number of other Port**ese noblemen and the Jews. It has already been mentioned in the letters of the Duke, that the new King rejected their petition of being suffered to live and to trade in the kingdom as external Christians, uncontrolled by the Inquisition. The Primate made them a voluntary offer of that privilege; nay, he even promised secretly, in the name of the King of S---n, that they should have a public synagogue, if they would co-operate in the execution of the plot, which they consented to without hesitation.

The design itself was, indeed, horrid enough. On the 6th of August, 1641, the Jews were to cause a conflagration in the night, not only in the royal palace, but also in different parts of the town, in order to divert the attention of the people. Then the conspirators were to penetrate into the palace under the pretext of extinguishing the fire, and to stab the King; the Queen, however, and the two young Princes, were to be seized by the Duke of Ca*ina, in order to obtain through them the possession of the castle. The Primate with his train was, meanwhile, to parade through the streets, in order to frighten the refractory multitude with the Inquisition, and when the whole plan should have been happily executed, the Marquis of Villa R*al was to be invested with the dignity of Vicegerent.

This was the plan of an undertaking that could be attempted only by fool-hardy and deluded men. Alumbrado, who knew best how hazardous and adventurous it was, was well aware, that, even if their design should be executed in the most successful manner, the capital only would be gained, and every thing lost again if they were not supported by an external power. He found it therefore necessary that a S---sh fleet should be ready to surprise the port as soon as the fire should break out, and a small army of S- - -rds waiting on the frontiers, in order to penetrate in the country on the first intelligence of the successful execution of the undertaking. Oliv*rez was to afford this assistance, and consequently, intelligence must be sent him and every thing preconcerted, which was extremely difficult, the new Sovereign, having issued the strictest orders not to suffer any suspicious letter to pass the frontiers.

Ba*za, of whom I have already made mention in a former page, had, on account of his extensive trade, received an exclusive privilege of carrying on an unmolested correspondence with S---n.

Alumbrado found means to insinuate himself with his important man in such a manner, that he undertook the dangerous task of forwarding the letter which contained that intelligence. However---

The Irishman was returned from his journey. Some expressions which he accidentally overheard and several unusual movements his eagle eye espied, excited his suspicion, in spite of the secrecy of the conspirators and the great precaution they observed in carrying on their plot. He found it, nevertheless, very difficult to come upon the right tack. Although he had succeeded in his attempt of getting admittance to Ba*za’s house in the disguise of a foreign merchant, and gained the confidence of that man by means of some very great money transactions, yet he could not trace out the least thing concerning the secret plot which he suspected to be carrying on, Ba*za being always on his guard, notwithstanding the repeated invectives the Irishman uttered against the new government in order to allure him to take the bait. But when Ba*za received the aforesaid letter in order to send it to S---n, he betrayed so much anxiety that it could not escape the keen-sighted looks of the Irishman. The latter employed every art to dispose the merchant to direct that letter to the Marquis of Aja*onti, a commander of a Spanish fortress on the frontier, and acted his part with so much dexterity, that Ba*za adopted his advice without entertaining the least suspicion, thinking that the letter would certainly be delivered to the Minister when it once had reached the Sp—sh territory.

The Irishman could not indeed, divine the important contents of the letter, and the uneasiness which the merchant betrayed concerning its safe delivery, could also have originated from the great importance of the mercantile papers it might have contained. It was, therefore, a mere act of prudence that he sent instantly a message to his friend Ajam*nti, requesting him to examine that letter carefully if it should come to his hands.

The Marquis receiving the letter opened the first cover, and seeing it directed to the Sp—sh Minister of State, and sealed with the great seal of the Primate of P-----l, his suspicion having been roused by the previous notice he had received from the Irishman, he opened it without hesitation, and thus discovered the imminent danger threatening the life of the King of P——l.

Being a near relation to the Queen and sincerely attached to the King, he sent the letter without delay to his royal kinsman. The King was seized with astonishment and horror when he learned what a dreadful plot was carrying on against himself and the kingdom.

He convoked instantly the Privy Council, and concerted with them the necessary means which were to be taken in order to award the impending blow.

(To be continued.)

REMARK.

There is no virtue, perhaps, that with respect to the advantages arising from it to others, may not be so well supplied by a vice as generosity. Vanity almost alone will often perform all its functions.