Chapter L: Le Fevre (3)

They had already informed Boleslas that we could not again be admitted into the apartment where we had spent the preceding night, until the time should arrive when we were to retire to rest. I soon, however, bethought myself of a stratagem which succeeded to admiration.

The servants were drinking with my pretended brother, and politely invited me to help them to empty a few flasks.

I swallowed, with a good grace, several glasses of bad wine in succession: in a few minutes my legs seemed to totter, my tongue faltered: I related a hundred pleasant and improbable tales to the joyous company; in a word, I acted the _drunken man_ so well, that Boleslas himself became a dupe to my scheme, and actually trembled lest, in a moment when I seemed disposed to communicate every thing, my secret should escape.

(_To be continued._)

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 108.)

The sacred scriptures afford almost the only materials from which any knowledge of the Hebrew music can be drawn. In the rapid sketch, therefore of ancient music which I mean to exhibit, very few observations are all that can properly be given to that department of the subject.

Moses was educated by Pharoah’s daughter in all the literature and elegant arts cultivated in Egypt. It is probable, therefore, that the taste and style of Egyptian music would be infused in some degree into that of the Hebrews. Music appears to have been interwoven thro’ the whole tissue of religious ceremony in Palestine. The priesthood seem to have been musicians hereditarily and by office. The prophets appear to have accompanied their inspired effusions with music; and every prophet like the present Improvisatori of Italy, seems to have been accompanied by a musical instrument.

Music, vocal and instrumental, constituted a great part of the funeral ceremonies of the Jews. The pomp and expence used on those occasions advanced by degrees to an excessive extent. The number of flute-players in the procession amounted sometimes to several hundreds, and the attendance of the guests continued frequently for thirty days.

The Hebrew language abounds with consonants, and has so few vowels, that in the original alphabet they had no characters, it must, therefore, have been harsh and unfavourable to music. Their instruments of music were chiefly those of percussion, so that the music must have been coarse and noisy: The vast numbers of performers too, whom it was the taste of the Hebrews to collect together, could not with such language and instruments produce any thing but clamour and jargon. According to Josephus, there were 200,000 musicians at the dedication of the temple of Solomon.

The history of King David furnishes us with very striking proofs of his attachment to music. Saul being troubled in his mind, and melancholy, was advised to apply to music as a remedy for his disorder: “David took his harp, and played tunes of sweet melody, and Saul was comforted.”

The Psalms of David, which glow with ardour of genius, of an elevation of the most becoming sentiments, were, it is more than probable, set to the most sublime and expressive music, such was the attachment of the Hebrews to this art, and such was the proficiency they made in it; and when they were in captivity in Babylon, they regretted the loss of those songs which they had sung with rapture in the temple of Jerusalem. Such are the circumstances from which only an idea of the Hebrew music can be formed, for the Jews neither ancient nor modern have ever had any characters peculiar to music; and the melodies used in their religious ceremonies have at all times been entirely traditional.

A. O.

(_To be continued._)

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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THE RENCOUNTER.

“Shame! Where is thy blush?”

How degrading to human nature! Worse than the brute is he who endeavours to draw another into a contest!

An instance occurred a few days since of a _battle_ between two persons, who (as I withhold their real names) I shall distinguish by the titles of Willet and Martin. Willet had long been a visitor at the house of the other, for what purpose I know not; but be it what it may, his intentions, no doubt, were honourable. Martin has an amiable sister, and report says, the heart of Willet has been smitten by her charms; and when time permitted, and she consented, he intended to have made her his bride.

His visits, it seems, were not very pleasing to the brother of the young lady, who took an opportunity of loading him with a series of epithets consisting of “_mean, low_,” &c. &c. To these Willet scarcely deigned a reply. When Martin found the object of his malice removed by his vile insinuations, he challenged him to _fight_. He was forced to comply, though much against his inclination, and both quitting the house, he found himself instantly attacked in the open street, where a scene ensued that would have made the unprincipled savage, were he present, blush with indignation.

In short, the challenger was worsted; he was not a match for his antagonist, though he had the better of him in years. His mother and sister saw the conflict from a window, and endeavoured to restore him to reason, but without effect; he was quite transported with excess of passion.

Martin was the aggressor, and his punishment was just. When he became sensible that he had suffered sufficiently, he was conveyed home, without enjoying the pleasure of beholding that bright luminary, the sun, the cuffs he had received having entirely closed up the organs of sight; to all appearance, a few more would have made him an inhabitant of the world of spirits; but by a lucky turn of the wheel of fortune, they were restrained.

THEODORE.

NEW-YORK Oct. 12, 1796.

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FRAGMENTS OF EPICHARMUS.

Moral Maxims.

Be sober in thought; be slow in belief; these are the sinews of wisdom.

It is the part of a wise man to foresee what is to be done, so shall he not repent of what is done.

Throw not away thine anger upon trifles--Reason and not rage should govern.

AN ANTITHESIS.

It demands the strength of a lion to subdue the weakness of love.

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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 119.)

“The human soul, of course, is already, in this life, connected with the members of the invisible world, and this connection is lasting and essential, while that with the body is accidental and transient. However a union of substances, that is, of active natures, cannot be supposed to exist without a reciprocal influence; consequently the human soul must have an effective influence upon the spirits to whom she is linked, and the members of the spiritual world must act reciprocally on our soul. But why are we not equally sensible of these reciprocal influences and communications, as of those which subsist between our soul and body? The cause of this is very obvious. The human spirit can have a clear idea only of the objects of the material world, because of its corporeal organ; it is, therefore, not even capable of a clear immediate contemplation of its own self, much less of its immaterial relations to other spirits: the difference which exists between those ideas which arise in our soul by means of its immateriality, and its communion with spiritual beings, and the ideas which it receives by the medium of the body, or abstracted from material objects, is so essential, that the ideas of the former kind cannot come in connection with those of the latter; for which reason we have either no notion at all of them, or, at most, a very obscure one; however, we become plainly conscious of them as soon as the union of the soul and its corporeal organ ceases.”

“This, Hiermanfor, seems, in some measure to be the case when we are sleeping, and the sensitive organs are resting from their occupations. Should therefore those philosophers of antiquity, who have believed that in our dreams we are capable of being influenced by superior beings, and of receiving supernatural inspirations, be mistaken?”

“There is, certainly, some truth in this remark. I must, however, observe, that we do not possess that capacity when dreaming, but when we are fast asleep. It is commonly thought that we have only obscure notions in the latter state, and this opinion arises from our not recollecting them when we awake; however, on what ground can we conclude therefrom that they have not been clear while we were sleeping? Such ideas, perhaps, may be clearer and more extensive, than even the most perspicuous when we are awake, because the activity of our soul is neither modified nor confined by any thing whatever, the sensitive organs being intirely at rest. However this very rest of our sensitive organs, is the cause which prevents the re-production of these ideas when we are awake, our sleeping body having no share in them, and, consequently, being destitute of its concomitant notion of them; they, of course, remain insulated in our soul, having no connection at all with those ideas which arise within ourselves before and after we are fast asleep, and in which our body takes a greater or a smaller share. This is not the case with our dreams; for when we are dreaming, the faculties of the soul do not act so pure and uncontrouled as when we are fast asleep. Dreaming is an intermediate state between waking and sleeping. We have then already, in some measure, clear ideas, and interweave the actions of our soul with the impressions of our exterior senses, whereby a strange, and sometimes ridiculous mixture is engendered, which we partly recollect when we awake.”

“You have, as yet, proved only the probability of clear notions during our being fast asleep; could you not also prove their reality?”

“Certainly! however these arguments do not belong to the theoretical part of our philosophy. Yet I must beg of you to recollect, en passant, the actions of some noctambulos, who sometimes, during the profoundest sleep, shew more understanding than at any other time, but cannot recollect those actions when awake?”

“This is true!” I exclaimed, “this throws an astonishing light upon this matter.”

“Yet not only while asleep,” the Irishman continued, “but also when awake, many people can be capable of having a clear notion of their connection with the spiritual world, and the influence of spirits upon them. Yet the essential difference which exists between the notions of _spirits_ and those of _men_ is a great impediment, which, however, is not at all insurmountable. It is true than man cannot have an _immediate_ notion of those spiritual ideas, because of the co-operation of his corporeal organs; however they can, in virtue of the law of the association of ideas, produce in the human mind those images which are related to them and consequently procreate analogical representations of our senses, which, although they be not the spiritual actions themselves, yet are their symbols.”

“I perceive what you are aiming at.”

“Examples will render the matter more intelligible to you. Experience teaches that our superior intellectual notions, which are near a-kin to the spiritual ideas, commonly assume a bodily garb, in order to render themselves perspicuous. Thence the poet transforms wisdom into the Goddess Minerva, the stings of conscience into furies, and personifies virtues and vices; the mathematician describes time by a line, and is there any philosopher who always forms an idea even of the Godhead, without intermixing human qualities? In that manner ideas, which have been imparted to us by spiritual influence, may dress themselves in the symbols of that _language_ which is common to us, and the presence of a spirit which we perceive, assume the image of a _human shape_--witness the late apparition of your tutor.----Thus the theory of all supernatural inspirations and visions is ascertained; consequently the apparitions of spirits have that in common with our dreams, that they represent to us effects which are produced within ourselves, as if happening _without ourselves_; however, at the same time, they differ from them with respect to their being really founded upon an effect from _without_, a spiritual influence. However this influence cannot reveal itself to our consciousness immediately, but only by means of associated images of our fancy, which attain the vivacity of objects really perceived. You see, therefore, what an essential difference there is between the phantoms of our dreams, and the apparitions of spirits. But here is the boundary of theory. The criterion whereby apparitions of spirits, in every particular case, can be distinguished with certainty, from vain phantoms, and supernatural inspirations from natural ideas, and the means of effecting apparitions, and of obtaining assistance and instructions from spiritual beings; these and several more things belong to the practical part of the occult philosophy.

“Here, my Lord, I must conclude for the present, and drop the curtain. Stress of time obliges me to abbreviate my discourse on a subject which would not be exhausted in many days; however I may safely leave to your own understanding the finishing and enlargement of this sketch. Suffice it that I have enabled you to comprehend the apparition of your friend, and to see that reason does not pronounce judgment against subjects of this nature, but rather is the only mean which affords us light and certainty with respect to them. The theory which I have given you may, at the same time, serve you to judge whether it will be worth your trouble to be initiated in the mysteries of the practical part of this philosophy. However, I must tell you, that no mortal who has not sanctified himself by bridling his sensitive nature, and purifying his spiritual faculties, can be admitted to that sanctuary. Are you resolved to do this?”

“I am, put me to the test!”

“Then depart with the first dawn of day for Ma**id, without taking leave of the Countess.”

The Irishman could not have chosen a severer trial, nor demanded a greater sacrifice. The combat which I had to fight with my heart, before I could come to a resolution, was short but dreadful.---I promised the Irishman to execute his will.

“Well!” said he, “then hear what measures you are to take. As soon as you shall be arrived at Ma**id, you must, without delay, wait upon the Prime Minister, Oliv**ez, and the Secretary of State Suma*ez, but take care not to discover your political views to either of them; pretend that you intend to stay some time at Ma**id merely for the sake of amusement. Repeat your visits till you have gained their confidence. Your winning demeanor, my Lord, and your intimate connection with Vascon*ellos will render this conquest easy.---Farewell, at Ma**id we shall meet again!”

We parted. The Irishman returned once more. “Your manner of life while at Ma**id,” said he, “will require great expences, and you must be well provided with money. I have taken care that you shall be well supplied with that needful article. You will find in your apartment a sum which you may dispose of at pleasure.” So saying, he left me suddenly.

On coming home, I found on my table two bags with money, each of them containing a thousand ducats. Pietro told me they had been brought by a servant of the Irish Captain.

No one will doubt that I was now entirely devoted to the Irishman. By his discourse at the burying place he had _persuaded_, and by his liberality _convinced_ me, that I could not do better than to let myself be guided entirely by him; and as I at first had been determined to this by the conquering superiority of his soul, so I was now confirmed in it by the applause of my reason. Nay, if the Irishman should now have offered to break off all connection with me, I should have courted his friendship, so much had I been charmed by the profound wisdom of his discourse. Not the least vestige of mistrust against his secret power was left in my soul, and the very regard for philosophy which but lately had prejudiced me against him, was now one of the strongest bonds that chained me to him. How agreeably was I surprised to find in _Reason_ herself, whom I formerly had thought to be the principal adversary of the belief in miracles, the most convincing arguments for the same, and to have been conquered with the same weapons which I had been fighting with against the Irishman, without having the least reason to reproach him with having had recourse to any stratagem whatever. The frankness and strength of argument which distinguished every step of his philosophical instruction, were to me the most unexceptionable security for the justness of the result. If he had delivered his arguments in a flowery and mysterious language, supported by the charms of declamation, then I should certainly have suspected them; however he had made use of the cool, simple and clear language of reason, divested of all sophistical artifices; started from principles which are generally received, drew no conclusions to which he was not entitled by his premises, combatted errors and prejudices upon which he could have founded surreptious conclusions; nay, it appeared as if he, unmindful of what he was to prove, had left it entirely to the course of his impartial inquiry whither it would lead him, and I beheld myself, with astonishment, on the conclusion of it, at the mark from which the road we had taken threatened to lead us astray.

I cannot describe the wonderful bold ideas which the instructions I had received produced in my mind, nor the awfully agreeable sensations which those ideas were accompanied with. The rising sun surprised me in that indescribable state of mind, and reminded me by his rays, that it was time to set off.

(_To be continued._)

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ARABIAN MAXIMS.

The car of Hope is always escorted by Want.

Consider the man that flatters you as an enemy.

If there were none but wise men in the world it would soon be desert.

Would you censure others? Examine your own conduct first.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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METAMORPHOSIS OF CHARACTERS.

How much is man the creature of incidents!----The solitary student becomes a Hypochondriac, a Misanthropist; the world seems to him a prison, and its inhabitants a parcel of rogues and vagabonds; he no longer views mankind with complacency, with a fellow feeling for their infirmities and pity for their misfortunes, but considers them with the severity of a Censor.----But let him emerge from his closet, let him enter into the concerns of life and undergo the salutary agitation of gentle exercise, while he beholds his neighbours industriously and chearfully employed, and he becomes quite another man. If we now penetrate his mind we find him no longer disturbed by imaginary evils, or vexed with supposed injuries. He begins to view mankind as his brethren, and fellow travellers; and feels a disposition to assist the weary, and to recall the wanderer to the right path, with a friendly commiseration for his errors. Scrupulosus was once a crabbed, morose _sceptic_; he would believe nothing but what had undergone the ordeal of his own reason, nor trust any man farther than he could see him.--Necessity drove him into the busy world, and a concurrence of events, placed him in the matrimonial state.--He now finds fewer difficulties, than formerly, to encounter; and perceives that his self-sufficiency, and conceit had involved many things in an impenetrable mist.--Connections multiply, and a smiling progeny surrounds him.---Scrupulosus, is no longer a cavilling sceptic---he is a christian.

What a change is this! what a metamorphosis of characters! Neither is it the fiction of imagination, but the delineation of what daily occurs in real life.---The traveller is quite a different being from the sedentary man, because he is active, and constantly excited by a variety of objects.

Our ideas of the Almighty, are not less influenced by the circumstances which surround us. Behold the torpid monk, seeking the favour of a God of vengeance, by the rigours of an austere life. On the other hand, see the chearful friend of man, addressing the father of his fellow-creatures, with a heart full of love and gratitude, and a lively hope of his favour and protection. Such, then, is the penalty imposed on immoderate study, and thus the solitary pursuit of knowledge, when excessive, will entirely frustrate our expectations, and destroy the health of both body and mind.

VIATOR.

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MORAL MAXIMS.

Mankind are more indebted to industry than ingenuity: the gods set up their favours at a price, and industry is the purchaser.

A man without merit may live without envy; but who would wish to escape on these terms?

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MARRIED,

On Thursday evening last by the Rev. Bishop Provost, Captain JOHN SANDERS, of Exeter, (England) to the amiable Miss CATHERINE LIVINGSTON, of this city.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 9th to the 15th inst._

_Thermometor observed at 6, A.M. 3, P.M._
_Prevailing winds._
_OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.
100 100
Oct. 9 43 55 ne. s. clear, light wind do. do.
10 37 50 51 ne. do. clear, lht. wd. cloudy do.
11 48 55 75 ne. se. cloudy lt. wd. do. do.
12 46 58 n. se. clear lt. wd. do. do.
13 55 66 ne. se. foggy light wind calm do.
14 55 70 75 w. s. cloudy light wind clear calm
15 53 61 50 n s. foggy calm clear light wind

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

LA FAYETTE----A SONG.
By William Bradford, Esq.
Late Attorney General of the United States.

As beside his cheerful fire,
’Midst his happy family,
Sat a venerable sire,
Tears were starting in his eye;
Selfish blessings were forgot
Whilst he thought on Fayette’s lot,
Once so happy on our plains,
Now in poverty and chains.

Fayette (cried he) honoured name,
Dear to these far distant shores:
Fayette, fired by Freedom’s flame,
Bled to make that freedom ours;
What, alas! for thee remains,
What, but poverty and chains!

Soldiers, in the field of death,
Was not Fayette foremost there?
Cold and shivering on the heath,
Did you not his bounty share?
What for this your friend remains,
What, but poverty and chains!

Born to honours, ease, and wealth,
See him sacrifice them all,
Sacrificing even health,
At his country’s glorious call.
What reward for this remains,
What, but poverty and chains!

Hapless Fayette! ’midst thy error,
How my soul thy worth reveres;
Son of Freedom, tyrant’s terror,
Hero of both hemispheres.
What, alas! for thee remains,
What, but poverty and chains!

Thus with laurels on his brow,
Belisarius begged for bread;
Thus, from Carthage forced to go,
Hannibal an exile fled:
Fayette thus, at once sustains,
Exile, poverty, and chains!

Courage, child of Washington,
Though thy fate disastrous seems,
We have seen the setting sun
Rise and shine with brighter beams;
Thy country soon shall break thy chain,
And take thee to her arms again.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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When the Author of the following Elegy finds it is committed to
print, he will not, I am persuaded, be offended, after I remind
him of the conversation we had some time since:--And also when he
reflects on the injury he does the Public, by keeping any of his
productions from their view.

ELEGY
Addressed to the Calliopean Society,
on the Death of Doctor Joseph Youle.

Within these walls let awful stillness reign:
_Sorrow_, thy louder extacies restrain:
Each sound that on the solemn scene would break
Be hush’d----let Silence more emphatic speak.
Ev’n thou, upon thy pensive lyre reclin’d,
(Dark cypress with thy drooping laurel twin’d,)
Our guardian Muse! let not a trembling note
Through the still air in plaintive sweetness float;
Save when Affliction’s deep collected sigh
Low breathing in symphonious melody,
With faint vibrations agitates the chords,
While Friendship’s mourning voice our lot records.

On the cold couch of death our brother sleeps;--
Chill o’er his grave the gale of midnight sweeps.

Oh, Death! if ’tis thy glory to destroy
The fairest opening bud of human joy;
If ’tis thy boast severely to display
And wide diffuse the terrors of thy sway,
High o’er this grave thy proudest trophy rear,
And tell with exultation _who lies here_.

Ye whom _Philanthropy_ benignant guides,
Ye in whose hearts fair _Piety_ presides,
Children of genius, friends of _Science_, come,
With silent step approach the hallow’d tomb.----
_He was your brother_----generous was his mind,
Warm with benevolence to all mankind.
Gently to raise affliction’s drooping head,
To comfort sickness on the lonely bed,
To lead the ignorant in virtue’s way,
On the dark mind to pour instruction’s ray,
The paths of science to extend and smooth,
And wide diffuse the genial light of truth;
These were his objects, these his noble pride;
For these he labour’d, and for these he died.

And ye whose virtuous efforts here combine
To cultivate those faculties divine,
_Friendship_ and _Science_ breathe a deeper sigh--
He was _your_ brother by a dearer tie:
With you he trod the same delightful road;
For you his heart with love peculiar glow’d.
Can you forget how many social hours
Derived new joys from his instructive pow’rs?
Can you upon these scenes look back unmoved,
Scenes, where, so oft, delighted and improv’d,
Attention fondly on his accents dwelt,
And every breast the warmth of friendship felt;
While Fancy, led by Hope, the theme pursu’d,
And future prospects more delightful view’d?
Fancy! where now are thy illusive dreams?
Where, Hope! thy visions bright with golden gleams?
Friendship, thy prospects?--Fame, thy laureate wreath?
All past----all faded in the shades of Death.

’Tis past--the sigh is breath’d, the tear is shed,
The last sad tribute to a brother dead.--
_Our loss_ demands--receives the mournful strain:
Let sounds of triumph celebrate _his gain_.
the _Spirit_, starting from its bonds of clay,
Traces with Angel guides the lucid way;
Exalted notes from harps celestial rise,
And _kindred spirits_ hail him to the skies.
_There_, Earth’s embarrassments no more controul
The great exertions of the active soul:--
By weak humanity no more confin’d,
Enlarg’d, enlarging still, his opening mind;
With strength encreasing through creation soars,
Infinite space, eternal times explores;
More nearly contemplates the great _First Cause_,
More clearly comprehends his sacred laws;
With _Newton_ darts among the Worlds of light,
Systems on systems blazing on his sight;
With Franklin, mitigates the whirlwind’s force,
Averts the lightning’s flash, and turns the thunder’s course;
Or joins with extacy the holy throng
Who to Jehovah’s throne exalt the song,
Shout the loud victory o’er the bounds of earth,
And joyful celebrate their heavenly birth.

Is this a subject for the plaints of woe?
Can friendship _here_ the tear of grief bestow?
No----elevated by the glorious theme,
We hope, ere long, to die---to rise, like him,
To join with transport his celestial flight,
Again to meet him in those realms of light
Where widow’d friendship ceases to deplore,
Affection feels the parting pang no more,
Hush’d is the sigh of grief--the groan of pain,
And Virtue dwells with Joy in everlasting reign.

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_A +Lady+ having received a Bouquet from a +Boy+,
sent him the following Verses._

Next your dear image in my breast,
Your fancied flowers I fondly plac’d,
But mourn my adverse fate,
Who by compulsive atoms hurl’d,
Was forc’d so soon into this world,
Where you arrived too late.

_The ANSWER, by a Friend of the BOY._

Permit me, dear madam, to tell you you’ve err’d
In this hardy censure on Fate,
Which though my arrival is somewhat deferr’d,
By no means has sent me too late.
Here Providence wisely has acted its part,
Well knowing, or I’m much mistaken,
That Woman, however she may have the start,
Would willingly be overtaken.

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EPITAPH ON MR. W---- N----

Poor N---- beneath this stone
A quiet nap is taking,
His wife requests you may not moan,
For fear of his awaking.

NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._

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_UTILE DULCI._

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, October 26, 1796.+ [+No. 69.+

A SENTIMENTAL FRAGMENT.

It was low ebb when our vessel made the offing of Dublin bay, and it being then night, we lay at anchor till morning. The moon shone remarkably bright, and reflected in silver shades upon the sea, which waved with a gentle heaving---a murmur---it was nature sighing with a love-creating respiration.

For some leagues on each side the harbour’s mouth it was encircled with a fleet of herring boats, and I not being inclined to sleep, accompanied the captain in the yawl, to visit them.

The drawing of the herring nets, is, perhaps, the most pleasing and beautiful sight the human mind can conceive: the fish, as they are hawled up the vessel’s side, sparkle like diamonds.

I could not but express my surprize to the captain at the quantity taken; and by him was informed, that these sculls approached the coast by millions and tens of millions, extending many miles, and swimming several fathoms deep over one another. They make their way through the sea, as men do on earth, each individual striving to be uppermost, and with this stronger circumstance of similarity, that the fish which gets uppermost is always in most danger.

“I shall eat half a dozen of these herrings,” said the captain, as he took about a dozen out of a net without leave or notice, to the boatman, who made no objection. “I shall eat half a dozen of these herrings,” said he, “when I return to my vessel.”---“What, captain, must six lives be sacrificed to satisfy your appetite at one meal?”

For half a moment I was converted by this reflection to the religion of the Indian Bramins, who refuse all animal food; but the captain who was a philosopher, as suddenly induced me to apostatize from my new opinion.

A number of large porpoises or sea hogs, were sporting round.---“Why not eat them?” said the captain, pointing to the porpoises; “those creatures feed upon herrings, and innumerable great fish feed upon them; and it is the same to the herring, whether he is eaten by a porpoise or by a man.”

“Very true,” said I, “there are sea monsters, who live upon their fellow-creatures as well as land monsters, who devour each other.”

“It is impossible to understand those affairs, or the reason of them,” observed the captain; “I have got a microscope on board, and I’ll prove to you that innumerable animals perish at every suction of your breath. The great difference between voracious fish, voracious quadrupeds, voracious birds, and voracious man, is this: the first three classes eat to satisfy hunger only, and devour without preparation; but the cruelty which man inflicts upon those creatures Providence has empowered him to use for his sustenance, may be considered as a species of ingratitude, which of all crimes merits the severest punishment.”

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+Wisdom and Virtue.+

Wisdom or virtue is nothing more than the disposition to attain and enjoy the greatest happiness, with the knowledge how to attain and to bestow it.

Wisdom has ever some benevolent end in her purposes and actions; on the contrary, folly either mistakes evil for good, or, when she assumes the nature of vice, entertains a malevolent intention.

The advantages and defects of nature mould be considered as common to society: the weak have a claim to the assistance of the strong; the strong derive a pleasure from assisting the weak; and the wise are so far happy as the well disposed partake of their wisdom.

There is no one virtue that includes not, in a general sense, all other virtues. Wisdom cannot subsist without justice, temperance, and fortitude, for wisdom is the sum of all these. It is impossible to be just without temperance, or temperate without fortitude, and so alternately of the rest.

* * * * *

MORAL MAXIMS.

A man without merit may live without envy; but who would wish to escape on these terms?

Live so as to hold yourself prepared either for a long life or a short one.

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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 126.)

I made, without delay, the requisite preparations, and in a quarter of an hour, stepped in my carriage. I looked once more back to the spot where Amelia resided, and drove through the city-gate.

At the first stage I wrote to her that an unforeseen important accident had forced me to set out on my journey so early in the morning that it would have been unbecoming to pay her the promised farewell visit; I vowed to return on pinions of love, as soon as my business at M****d should be settled. I painted with lively colours all the pains of separation, and all the tenderness of an afflicted heart, in order to convince Amelia, that I had been forced by stern necessity to depart without seeing her once more. Alas! the farther the rolling carriage removed me from the dear object of my love, the more I grew sensible of the greatness of the sacrifice which I had made to the Irishman. I examined my letters and papers in order to divert my gloomy thoughts, and found one more copy of a letter from the Irishman which I had not yet decyphered. The following is the result of my endeavours to unfold its contents:

“MY LORD,

“My designs on Miguel had very near been ruined by the loss of his life, and in some measure I myself have been the cause of his having been hurried to the brink of destruction. But who could have foreseen such an event! With the leave of your Excellency, I shall relate the incident at large.

“I had sent one part of my servants to follow Miguel on his journey. I myself staid behind in order to make an attempt of restoring the health of the Countess, for whose life the ignorance of her physicians had made me tremble. The success I met with surprised my most sanguine expectation. Some drops of an electuary which I poured into the mouth of the Countess produced so sudden an effect, that, in a few hours, the most unequivocal signs of returning health were perceived. As soon as I had been informed of this desirable change, I followed Miguel with the rest of my people; having previously ordered the valet of the Countess to write three days after to the Duke, that the Countess was dead--and in a few days later, that I had recalled her to life. At the same time I requested him to desire his dismission from Amelia, and to follow me, because I wanted his assistance in the execution of my designs. The view I had in commanding him to inform the Duke of Amelia’s pretended death, was to convince myself by the manner in which he should receive that intelligence, whether his love to the Countess had been only a transient attachment, or whether his passion for her was of a more serious nature, and what degree it had attained. I need not explain to your Excellency, how necessary this knowledge was to me. The second commission had no other aim, than to pour balsam in Miguel’s wound, and at the same time, to make me appear to him a miracle-working being, and his and Amelia’s friend; whereby I expected to gain his confidence.

“I pursued my road with so much speed, that I overtook Miguel before he had finished one half of his journey, and joined my people, who preceded me. As soon as the Duke had arrived at the place of his destination, and we along with him, I quartered my people in different places in such a manner, that he was surrounded by them from all sides. I took a convenient house in the suburbs for myself, in order to escape his looks with greater safety.

“On the third day after our arrival, Miguel received the letter by which he was informed of the Countess’s death. The effects which this intelligence produced upon him must have been a kind of frenzy. One of my people who watched all his steps, informed me late in the evening, he had seen Miguel rushing out of his house with every mark of despair in his countenance, and running with such a velocity that he and his comrade hardly had been able so follow him. He added, that Miguel after two hours roaming about, had stopped not far from hence, at the banks of a river, where he was walking up and down, absorbed in profound reverie.

“Soon after a second messenger told me, Miguel had plunged into the river, but one of his comrades who had watched him narrowly, and leaped after him, had saved him, and was going to carry him to my house. A few minutes after, Miguel was brought by some of my people. He resembled a corpse, the palpitation of his pulse was scarcely perceptible, and he was entirely bereft of his recollection. I ordered him instantly to be carried to a spacious empty vault, and while some of my men endeavoured to restore him to the use of his senses, I was making preparations to chastise him severely when he should have recovered from his stupor.

“As soon as my servants perceived that he was recovering, I ordered him to be carried into the middle of the vault, and placed myself in deep disguise opposite him at a considerable distance, making a signal to those who were present to retire to an adjoining apartment, and to take the candles with them. No sooner was every thing in order, than I perceived by a deep groan of Miguel, that he had recovered his recollection. His state of mind when awaking, must have been very strange. His recollection told him, that he had plunged into the river, in a place where he saw nobody present, and now he awoke in a dry, empty, and spacious dark room: he must have fancied he awoke in another world; and this idea seems to have thrilled him with its acutest pungency, for he uttered a loud scream which made the vault resound.* This was the signal for which my people had been waiting in the adjoining chamber. They kindled a pole which was fixed near an aperture in the wall, and enveloped with flax, and wetted with spirit of wine, which spread a faint light through the spacious vault. The astonishment which Miguel was seized with, when looking all around and seeing nothing but a man wrapt in a scarlet cloak, surpasses all powers of description. His anxiety encreased when he saw me staring at him without replying a word to his questions, and heard one of my people exclaim, in a doleful accent, woe! woe! woe! When I at last stepped forth and made myself known to him, he prostrated himself, as if in the presence of a superior being. I read him a severe lecture on his rash deed, and at the same time endeavoured to rouse his ambition for the service of his country, in which I succeeded. A soft music began at once in the adjoining chamber, on a signal which I made to my people. The melodious strains of a harp and a flute were accompanied by the sweet notes of an harmonious voice, which announced to the astonished Miguel that Amelia was alive. His rapture bordered on frenzy. I ordered him to be silent, blind-folded him and delivered him to the care of a servant, whom I secretly ordered to conduct him to his hotel, and to return no answer to his questions. My deputy acquitted himself extremely well of his trust. He led him silently to his hotel, and when Miguel turned round the corner of the house, unfastened the bandage which blind-folded his eyes, and concealed himself in a house, the door of which was open. Miguel must have been strangely situated, when after a few steps the bandage dropped from his eyes and nobody was seen around him. Very fortunately the night was far advanced, and the whole affair remained concealed.

[* This is a mistake, for we know by the Duke’s own account, that
he uttered this scream because he felt himself pulled down by an
invisible hand when he was going to get up. The Irishman having
known nothing if this circumstance, it is probable that the unknown
cause of this pulling down, was no other than a foot of the Duke,
with which he, in his stupor, kept his cloak down, when he was
getting up, without knowing it.]

“Thus happily ended an adventure which had begun in a manner so inauspicious.

“However, Paleski has committed a foolish trick, which I cannot forgive him. He desired his dismission from the Countess, which being refused by his Lady, who imagined him to be a faithful servant, he left her _clandestinely_. He shall smart for this inconsiderate action.

“I am with the greatest respect,

“&c. &c. &c.”

As far as this letter informed me that no superior power had had a share in the above mentioned adventure, it contained nothing that was new to me, for the Irishman himself had not concealed from me, that all the wonderful adventures which had happened to me before Paleski’s confession had been the effect of illusion; however, it was important to me to learn _how_, and by what artifices I had been deceived. I cannot but confess that this natural explanation of the whole affair excited my astonishment at the Irishman, not less than those adventures had surprised me at the time when I believed him to be a supernatural being, and that I ardently wished to have cleared up several other events of that epocha which I could not unriddle.

Soon after my arrival at M****d, I went to pay a visit to the minister. He received me very kindly, and discoursed above an hour with me, although he was so over charged with state-affairs that no stranger could get access to him. I was not less successful with the Secretary of State, in whose favour I ingratiated myself so much in the course of half an hour, that he professed himself extremely happy in having got acquainted with me. Both of them invited me to visit them frequently during my stay at M****d, an invitation which I took care to make the best use of.

I perceived soon with astonishment and joy, that I was getting nearer the mark much sooner than I had expected first. Though I am of opinion that the visibly growing favour of these two courtiers was partly founded on personal attachment, yet the Irishman had not been mistaken when he told me, that the relation which existed between myself and Vascon*ellos would render the access to their confidence easier. Sum**ez, the Secretary of State, enjoyed the most intimate confidence of the Minister, and was related to Vascon*ellos. Therefore the friendship of the latter paved for me the road to Sum**ez, and the friendship of Sum**ez to Oliva*ez. The two secretaries of State were the chief administrators of the government; Sum**ez in the council of Sp**n, at Ma***d, and Vascon*ellos in the council of state at L*sbon, and consequently were the vice-tyrants of my native country, who jointly executed the designs of Oliv**ez, who in the name of the King of Sp**n was at the helm of despotism.

That the Irishman had very well calculated these concatenations, will appear by the subsequent plan which he founded upon them. I had wrote to Amelia, and Lady Delier, as soon as I had arrived at M****d, and now received an answer from both of them. Every line of the former breathed heavenly love and kindness; the tender and amiable sentiments of her soul, purified by the trials of misfortunes, were palpably displayed in her letter, as in an unspotted mirror. O! how many a time did I kiss, read, and re-peruse it, till at length, what a sweet delusion of my enraptured imagination! I fancied I saw the amiable writer before me, and heard from her lips the words which were written upon the paper.--

(_To be continued._)

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AUTHENTICATED ETYMOLOGIES.

The term _hurricane_, is supposed to take its rise from one _Harry Kane_, a turbulent Irishman who lived at _Antigua_, the name of which is now well known to be derived from an avaricious old female planter who once lived on the island, and was called by the sailors _Aunt Eager_.

A jolly West-Indian, whenever the neighbouring girls came to his plantations, insisted upon their sipping his choicest syrups, and reiterated the terms “_My lasses_;” thence the name of that syrup. Few words have aberrated from their primaries less than this.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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MARIA; OR, THE SEDUCTION.

+A Fragment.+

“How curst the monster, who with specious guile,
“Employs _Seduction’s_ soul-degrading arts,
“To drench in tears the cheek that once could smile,
“To blast the joy that innocence imparts!”

**** I saw she was falling, and hastened to her assistance. I caught her in my arms, and led her into the house. By the application of salts she recovered---“He refused to listen to me!” she exclaimed, when her powers of utterance had returned, “and but for him I still might have been happy.” I asked who the person was she spoke of? “Ah!” replied she, “it was the wretch that seduced me from the paths of rectitude.”---When she had regained sufficient strength I requested her to relate to me her misfortunes, and she gratified me as follows---

MARIA’S NARRATIVE.

Under the specious pretext of love, Frederick has bereaved me of all the happiness and comfort of life. While I fondly dreamed of future bliss he became a visitor at our house. I knew not then that ’twas to see me alone he came, as he had not given me the least hint of it; but my parents imagined he was wooing me to become his bride.

It was some time before he paid any direct addresses to me. He then said that he had long been in love with me, but forbore to mention it sooner as he feared I would discard him; and ended with asking if he might be permitted to hope. I gave him no positive answer, until he enquired whether I had a partiality for any other. I told him I had not. His countenance brightened at this. He took my hand, and with all the fervor of love raised it to his lips. When he departed, he said, that was the happiest moment of his life.

After this his visits were more frequent. One evening I was left entirely alone, the family had gone to the theatre. Mrs. M----, a lady from England, made her first appearance on the New-York stage. A slight indisposition occasioned my not being of the party. Frederick, it seems, knew I was alone, and came in just after they had departed.

The next week had been appointed for our nuptials. He entered rather dejected. I enquired the reason of his melancholy. He said he was fearful I did not love him sincerely. I asked if I had ever given him reason for such a suspicion; and said that all beside him were indifferent to me. Here his countenance again assumed its wonted brightness. “Do you then indeed behold me with pleasure?” said he. “I know that on you alone depends my felicity---should you be cruel, Frederick would cease to exist.” He took my hand, and imprinted on it a profusion of kisses. To me he appeared sincere, and I viewed him as singled out by fate for my companion thro’ life.

“Ah! my Maria!” continued he, still holding my hand clasped in his, “did you but know the happiness your words have given me---It is indescribable.---Still manifest for me your love, and every hour of my life will study to deserve it. Should I ever prove myself unworthy your tender regard, I should abhor myself.” He continued protestations of his love---the minutes were swift--and ere the evening had elapsed he triumphed over my innocence and credulity---in fine, he left me miserable.

When my parents returned I beheld myself degraded below them, and unfit for their company. I sat in a musing posture. They attributed my want of spirits to the head-ach, which had occasioned my staying at home, and endeavoured to enliven me by giving an account of the entertainments, and the excellent performance of Mrs. M----. I paid no attention to what they said. To bed I went, but not to close my eyes: Sleep had fled me. In the morning I had a slight fever, and was at times delirious. In a few days I recovered sufficiently to learn that Frederick had set out for France the day after he rendered me so completely miserable. This occasioned a relapse, and I had approached the verge of the grave. My friends were weeping over me, expecting every moment to be my last. I wished not for life; I sought for death as the only means to conceal my shame. But it pleased Heaven to raise me, contrary to all expectation. In two weeks from the time I began to mend, I had strength sufficient to leave my room, I then found it too true that my deceiver had left home, and did not expect to return in two years.

I dreaded staying any longer where I expected the resentment of my father, when he should become acquainted with my disgrace. I left the house under cover of the night, unperceived. I took with me a small bundle of clothes, and some trifle in cash, which were my own. By working I hoped to subsist until Frederick’s return; for I still thought his voyage was of necessity, and unexpected. The money was soon gone, and almost every article I could possibly spare. I expected to starve. In this dilemma, I chanced to hear of a place where a young woman was wanted for the upper servant in the kitchen. I applied, and obtained it. The wages were liberal, and I had not the more laborious part; I endeavoured to give satisfaction to my employer, I lived in this manner until I was taken ill, when I gave birth to this child--I called him after his father.

My recovery was slow; and when I could walk I was unable to work as before; consequently I was forced to give up my place. Since then I have wholly subsisted on the charity of others.

This morning, by accident, I beheld the cause of my woes. I determined to speak with him although he was in company. When I first accosted him, he disregarded me. I told him I was in a poor state of health, and requested only a small boon. “Is that your child?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied, “and his name is Frederick.” He looked me in the face, for I perceived until then he did not know me--“I have nothing for you!” he exclaimed in an angry tone, and passed on with his companions. My head felt light, and I certainly should have dropped on the pavement, had not heaven sent you to my relief----

L. B.

_October 17, 1796._

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* * * *

Interesting History Of
_THE BARON DE LOVZINSKI._

With a relation of the most remarkable occurrences in the life
of the celebrated COUNT PULASKI, well known as the champion of
American Liberty, and who bravely fell in its defence before
Savannah, 1779.

_Interspersed with Anecdotes of the late unfortunate KING of POLAND,
so recently dethroned._

(Continued from page 123.)