Chapter L: Le Fevre (4)

“Gentlemen,” said he, to the astonished Bacchanals, “my brother’s head is not very strong to-day: it is perhaps in consequence of his wound; let us not therefore either speak to or drink any more with him; for I am afraid of his health, and indeed you would oblige me exceedingly if you would assist me to carry him to his bed.”--“To his own bed?” says one of them: “that is impossible! But I will most willingly lend him my chamber.” They accordingly laid hold of me, and conveyed me into a garret, of which a bed, a table, and a chair, formed the sole movables. Having shut me up in this paltry apartment, they instantly left me. This was all that I wanted, for the moment that I was alone, I immediately sat down to write a long letter to Lodoiska.

I began by fully justifying myself from the crimes of which I had been accused by Pulaski: I then recounted every thing that had occurred since the first moment of our separation, until that when I had entered the castle of Dourlinski: I detailed the particulars of my conversation with the Baron: I concluded by assuring her of the most tender and the most respectful passion, and swore to her, that the moment she gave me the necessary information concerning her situation, I would expose myself to every danger, in order to finish her horrid captivity.

As soon as my letter was sealed, I delivered myself up to a variety of reflections, which threw me into a strange perplexity. Was it actually Lodoiska who had thrown those tiles into the garden? Would Pulaski have had the injustice to punish his daughter for an attachment which he himself had approved? Would he have had the inhumanity to plunge her into a frightful prison? And even if the hatred he had sworn to me had blinded him so much, how was it possible that Dourlinski would thus have condescended to have become the minister of his vengeance?

But, on the other hand, for these three last long months, on purpose to disguise myself, I had only worn tattered clothes: the fatigues of a tedious journey, and my chagrin, had altered me greatly; and who but a mistress could have been able to discover Lovzinski in the gardens of Dourlinski? Besides, had I not seen the name of Lodoiska traced upon the tile? Had not Dourlinski himself acknowledged that Lodoiska had been a prisoner with him? It is true, he had added that she had made her escape; but was not this incredible? And wherefore that hatred which Dourlinski had vowed against me, without knowing my person? What occasioned that look of inquietude, when it was told him, that the emissaries of Pulaski occupied a chamber that looked into his garden? And why above all that appearance of terror, when I announced to him the arrival of my pretended master?

All these circumstances were well calculated to throw me into the greatest agitation. I ruminated over this frightful and mysterious adventure, which it was impossible for me to explain. For two hours, I unceasingly put new questions to myself, to which I was exceedingly embarrassed to make any reply; when at length Boleslas came to see if I had recovered from my debauch. I had but little difficulty in convincing him that my inebriety was mere affectation; after which we went down together to the kitchen, where we spent the rest of the day. What a night! none in my whole life ever appeared so long, not even that which followed.

At length the attendants conducted us to our chamber, where they shut us up, as on the former occasion, without any light: it was yet two tedious hours until midnight. At the first stroke of the clock, we gently opened the shutters and the casement. I then prepared to jump into the garden; but my embarrassment was equal to my despair, when I found myself obstructed by means of iron bars. “Behold,” said I to Boleslas, “what the cursed confident of Dourlinski whispered in his ear! behold what his odious master approved, when he said, _let it be done instantly!_ behold what they have been working at during the day! it was on this account that they prevented us from entering the chamber.”

“My lord, they have stood on the outside,” replies Boleslas; “for they have not perceived that the shutter has been forced.”

“Alas! whether they have perceived it or not,” exclaim I with violence, “what does it signify? This fatal grating destroys all my hopes: it insures the slavery of Lodoiska--it insures my death.”

“Yes, without doubt, it insures thy death!” repeats a person, at the same time opening the door; and immediately after, Dourlinski, preceded by several armed men, and followed by others carrying flambeaux, enter our prison _sabre in hand_. “Traitor!” exclaims he, while addressing himself to me with a look in which fury was visibly depicted, “I have heard all--I know who you are,--your servant has discovered your name. Tremble! Of all the enemies of Lovzinski, I am the most implacable!”

“Search them,” continues he, turning to his attendants: they accordingly rushed in upon me; and as I was without arms, I made an useless resistance. They accordingly robbed me of my papers, and of the letter I had just written to Lodoiska. Dourlinski exhibited a thousand signs of impatience while reading it, and was scarce able to contain himself.

“Lovzinski,” says he to me, endeavouring to smother his rage, “I already deserve all your hatred; I shall soon merit it still more: in the mean time, you must remain with your worthy confident in this chamber, to which you are so partial.”

After uttering these words, he left me; and having double-locked the door, he placed a centinel on the outside, and another in the garden, opposite to the window.

Figure to yourself the horrible situation into which Boleslas and myself were now plunged. My misfortunes were at their height; but those of Lodoiska affected me more than my own! How great must be her uneasiness! She expects Lovsinski, and Lovsinski abandons her! But no--Lodoiska knows me too well; she can never suspect me of such base perfidy. Lodoiska! she will judge of her lover by herself; she will think Lovsinski partakes her lot, since he does not succour her---Alas! the very certainty of my misfortunes will augment her own!

On the next day, they gave us provisions through the grating of our window; and by the quality of the viands which they furnished us with, Boleslas augured the most sinister events. Being, however less unhappy than myself, he supported his fate much more courageously. He offered me my share of the mean repast which he was about to make; I would not eat: he pressed me; but it was in vain! for existence was become an insupportable burden to me.

“Ah! live!” said he at length, shedding a torrent of tears: “live; and if not for Boleslas, let it be for Lodoiska!” These words made the most lively impression on my mind; they even re-animated my courage; and hope having once more re-entered my heart, I embraced my faithful servant. “O my friend!” exclaimed I at the same time with transport, “my true friend! I have been the occasion of thy ruin, and yet my misfortunes affect thee more than thine own! Yes, Boleslas! yes! I will live for Lodoiska; I will live for thee: if just Heaven shall restore me to my fortune and rank, you shall see that your master is not ungrateful!” We now embraced once more.

Ah! how much do misfortunes connect men together! how sweet it is, when one suffers, to hear another unfortunate address a word of consolation to him!

We had groaned in this prison for no less than twelve days, when several ruffians came to drag me forth on purpose to conduct me to Dourlinski. Boleslas wished to follow, but they repulsed him with violence: however they permitted me to speak to him for a single moment. I then drew from a private pocket a ring which I had worn for ten years, and said to Boleslas:---“This ring was given me by M. de P. when we were at college together at Warsaw: take it, my friend; and preserve it for my sake. If Dourlinski this day consummates his treason by my assassination, and if he should at length permit you to leave this castle, go, find your king, recall to his memory our ancient attachment, recount my misfortunes to him; he will recompense you, and succour Lodoiska. Adieu my friend!”

After this, I was conducted to the apartment of Dourlinski. As soon as the door opened, I perceived a lady in a chair, who had just fainted away. I approached her---it was Lodoiska! Heavens! how much did I find her altered!---but she was still handsome! “Barbarian!” exclaimed I, addressing myself to Dourlinski; and at the voice of her lover, Lodoiska recovered her senses.

“Ah, my dear Lovsinski,” says she, looking wistfully at me, “do you know what this infamous wretch has proposed? do you know at what price he has offered me your liberty?”

“Yes,” cries the furious chieftain, “yes, I am determined upon it: you see that he is in my power; and if in three days I do not obtain my wishes, he shall be no more!” I endeavoured to throw myself on my knees at the feet of Lodoiska; but my guards prevented me: “I behold you again, and all my ills are forgotten, Lodoiska---death has now no longer any thing terrifying in its aspect.”

“Wretch,” added I, looking sternly at Dourlinski, “know that Pulaski will avenge his daughter! know that the king will avenge his friend!”

“Let him be carried away!” was the only reply made by the ferocious palatine.

“Ah!” exclaims Lodoiska, “my love has been your ruin!” I was about to answer, but the attendants dragged me out, and re-conducted me to prison.

Boleslas received me with inexpressible transports of joy; he avowed to me that he thought me lost for ever, and I recounted to him how that my death was but deferred. The scene of which I had been a witness, confirmed all my suspicions; it was evident that Pulaski was ignorant of the unworthy treatment which his daughter experienced; it was also evident that Dourlinski, old, amorous, and jealous, was determined, at any rate, to satisfy his passions.

In the mean time, two of the days allowed by Dourlinski for the determination of Lodoiska, had already expired; we were now in the midst of the night which preceded the fatal third; I could not sleep, and I was walking hastily about my prison. All at once I heard the cry of “To arms! to arms!” The most frightful howlings prevailed on the outside, and a great commotion took place within the castle. The centinel placed at our window, left his post. Boleslas and I were able to distinguish the voice of Dourlinski, calling and encouraging his followers; and we soon distinctly heard the clashing of swords, the cries of the wounded, and the groans of the dying. The noise which at first was very great seemed at length to die away. It recommenced soon after; it redoubled; and at length we heard a shout of “Victory!”

To this frightful tumult, a still more frightful silence ensues. In a short time, a low crackling sound is heard to approach us; the air seems to hiss with violence; the night becomes less dark; the trees in the garden assume a red and warm tint; we fly to the window: the flames are devouring the castle of Dourlinski! they approach the chamber in which we were confined, from all sides; and, to overwhelm me with new horror, the most piercing shrieks are uttered from that tower in which I knew that Lodoiska was imprisoned!

The fire becoming every moment more violent, was about to communicate to the chamber in which we were shut up, and the flames already began to curl around the base of the tower in which Lodoiska was immured!

(_To be continued._)

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MILITARY ANECDOTE.

During the late war in America, when drafts were made from the militia to recruit the continental army, a Captain gave liberty to the men, who were drafted from his company, to make their objections, if they had any, against going into the service. Accordingly, one of them who had an impediment in his speech, came up to the captain and made his bow. “What is your objection?” said the captain. “I ca-a-ant go,”--answers the man, “because I st-st-stutter.” “Stutter,” says the captain, “you don’t go there to talk, but to fight.” “Ay, but they’ll p-p-put me upon g-g-guard, and a man may go ha-ha-half a mile before I can say wh-wh-who goes there?” “Oh that is no objection, for they will place another sentry with you, and he can challenge, if you can fire.” “Well, b-b-but I may be ta-ta-taken, and run through the g-g-guts, before I can cry qu-qu-quarter.” This last plea prevailed, and the captain, out of humanity (_laughing heartily_), dismissed him.

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TO THE EDITOR.

SIR,

Being told that I am supposed, by many, to be the author of a piece signed “Theodore,” which appeared in your last, under the title of “THE RENCOUNTER;” I hereby inform them that I had no hand either directly or indirectly therein. Far be it from me to wish to expose the failings of _any_ of my fellow creatures; and much more so of those for whom I entertain no small degree of esteem.

WALTER TOWNSEND.

_October 25, 1796._

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+To the Editor.+

SIR,

Having learned that the piece in last week’s Magazine, entitled “THE RENCOUNTER,” has given considerable offence to one of the parties, whom, through misinformation, I pictured as the aggressor; I sincerely beg his pardon, as I have since heard he was innocent---Therefore I now assure him that the charge I exhibited against him, is void of foundation, and was related to me with all the appearance of truth.

THEODORE.

Monday morning, Oct. 24, 1796.

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_NEW-YORK._

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MARRIED,

On Thursday the 13th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Rogers, Mr. A. M’GREGOR, merchant, to Miss JANET WILSON, both of this city.

On Monday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. EDWARD MEEKS, cabinet maker, to Miss SUSANNAH COOPER, daughter of Mr. Cornelius Cooper, both of this city.

Same evening, Mr. JOHN MUNROE, of this city, merchant, to Miss OLIVIA ROE, daughter of the Rev. Azel Roe, of Woodbridge, New Jersey.

At Horse-Neck, on Sunday evening, the 16th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Lewis, Mr. BREZELIEL BROWN, to Miss CHARLOTTE MARSHALL, both of that place.

On Saturday se’nnight, by the Rev. Mr. Woodhull, Mr. GIDEON HALLETT, to Miss POLLY PUGSLEY, both of New-Town, (L.I.)

On Saturday evening, by the Rev. Mr. Abeel, Mr. JOHN TENBROOK, Merchant, to Miss ALITHEA SICKLES, daughter of Mr. John Sickles, all of this city.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 16th to the 22d 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. 16 60 62 50 s. do. cloudy high wd. rn. small do.
17 49 56 75 nw do. clear, high wind do. lht. wd.
18 41 50 49 n. do. clear, light wind do. do.
19 44 50 55 75 sw. do. foggy calm cloudy lt. wd.
20 49 57 ne. do. cloudy light wind do. do.
21 50 54 50 ne. se. cloudy light wind do. do.
22 54 57 e. se. cloudy lt wd. rn. cly. lt wd.

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CONTENTED IN THE VALE.

While envy and ambition fire,
The wealthy and the proud,
I to my humble cot retire,
To shun the selfish croud.

Secure, I envy not a king,
While o’er my nut brown ale,
I merrily and jocund sing,
Contented in the vale.

Let senators and statesmen great
Together disagree,
While I remain in humble state
Both unconcerned and free.

No duns to interrupt my joy,
Nor troubles to assail,
I’d live retir’d from care and noise,
Contented in the vale.

The stately oak that proudly held
Dominion o’er the plains,
Is by the furious tempest fell’d,
The humble reed remains.

Then may I envy not the hill,
Nor at my fortune rail,
But unconstrain’d continue still,
Contented in the vale.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

TO CLARA.

’Twas near the cool Aonian fount reclin’d,
Courting dull melancholy’s devious shade;
While misery and grief usurp’d my mind,
And dark despair my every thought pourtray’d.
The neighbouring dells responsive to each moan,
Vibrate each sigh and echo’d groan for groan:
Wrapt in affliction, stranger to repose,
In solitude’s dark cell wept o’er my woes;
’Till lovely Clara’s heaven-born lyre
With melting softness and Apollo’s fire
Expell’d the ebon shades of darken’d night,
And heavenly glories burst upon my sight:
When she strikes the trembling strings,
When through tepid air it rings,
When it vibrates through the gale,
When it does our ears assail,
When, borne upon the ambient breeze along,
Entranc’d we listen to the magic song;
Forget our cares and lull our griefs to sleep,
While fancy learns of sacred truth to weep:
Serene amid the angry storm,
She checks the frenzied passion’s scope;
And radiant as an angel form,
Smiles on the death carv’d urn of hope:
As when Favonius joins the solar blaze,
And each fair fabric of the frost decays.

And shall we then again be friendship’s guests,
Again with Clara’s smiles shall I be blest;
Again together hail each raptur’d scene,
Where happiness’ bright rays shall on us beam;
Again wipe the big drop from misery’s eye,
And shed the soften’d tear of sympathy.
Like the bright Ledean stars together roam,
And Clara and her Emma be but one;
And when bright Cynthia’s lucid light
Breaks through the opaque clouds of night,
And throws a fulgent radiance round,
At death’s cold tomb will we be found:
And o’er our relative’s sad bier,
Together shed the sacred tear:
Through night’s dark vista thus pour out our soul,
While sorrow’s magic power our minds controul;
And when the sun’s returning light
Drives each humid cloud away,
We together will unite,
And bless them with the new-born day:
And with soft cadence through the solemn glade,
Perform a requiem to their lifeless shade.

Yes, lovely maid, thy Emma’s heart
Friendship’s soft sympathy ’ll impart;
Will catch the tear’s effulgent glow,
Repress the bosom’s swelling flow.
In dark oblivion’s grave her woes confine,
And bow fore’er at friendship’s hallow’d shrine:
For her she’ll seek the flow’ret’s bloom,
The woodbine’s delicate perfume;
The jasmine breathing sweets divine,
And the rubic eglantine.
Then quickly fly, swift as old winged time,
And round her temples the fair wreathe entwine.
And didst thou think thy Emma could refuse
The gift sent by thy heavenly muse;
So valued--with so kind a view,
To thy poor friend--alas! not due;
Who if to thy soft soothing lay
The trembling wire she did essay;
To strike--perchance one casual note,
Upon the liquid air to float:
Inspir’d by thy sweet muse supreme,
Of happiness might dart a gleam.
To thy mellifluous harp the sounds belong,
For thou alone attun’d the friendly song:
As the pale moon that does illume the night
From heaven’s bright radiant orb receives her light,

EMMA.

NEW-YORK Oct. 17, 1796.

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TO THE EDITOR.

If you think the inclosed ELEGY, the production of a _Boy_, deserving a place in your Magazine, you are welcome to publish it. I believe few, if any, in this city have seen it.

MATILDA.

* * * * *

ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF MISS POLLY MARTIN,
WHO DIED IN THE 18th YEAR OF HER AGE.

Forgive a youth, although the effort’s vain,
Who dares to raise the sympathetic lay;
Though lost with Shenstone in th’ elegiac strain,
And loose unstrung reclines the lyre of Gray.

Yet when fair virtue animates the line,
Say, shall the muse withhold her wonted fire;
When cherubs drooping o’er the urn recline,
Shall she unwilling strike the golden lyre.

Here lies the maid who late the village charm’d
From whose remains the virgin lily springs,
Emblem of her who envy’s pow’r disarm’d,
While round her turf the mournful robin sings.

Chaunt your sweet vespers through the ambient air,
Ye wild companions of the tufted grove;
Sing how your Polly once was heavenly fair,
Form’d of compassion, tenderness and love.

Yet what avails the muse’s plaintive song,
Can she to life these loved remains restore,
These mouldering relics to the earth belong,
The young, the lovely Polly is no more.

Her placid eye, bright as the orient day,
Too finely wrought for such a world as this,
Was clos’d by saints, who bore her form away,
Serenely gliding through the realms of bliss.

By fancy form’d I view her from above,
Bending from clouds her parents to implore,
Breathing rich fragrance of seraphic love,
And soft pronouncing, “mourn for me no more.

“Look on religion’s wide-extended page,
“Where faith triumphant shews th’ uplifted cross;
“Let hope of future bliss thy grief assuage,
“Think Polly lives, no more deplore thy loss.”

SALEM, July 10, 1794,

Washington County, State of N.Y.

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, November 2, 1796.+ [+No. 70.+

AN ESSAY ON PATIENCE.

The man of a frantic heated imagination considers patience as flowing from a meanness of soul, a dastardly disposition, the last resource of cowards. But the man of real sagacity, who can view things through a dispassionate medium, discovers in it all the genuine marks of a noble mind. It is supported by hope, and is entirely unacquainted with every species of despair, the constant companion of the lowness of sentiment. Patience is so strong a barrier against every kind of disgrace, that all our ills lose the greatest part of their power by opposing this virtue to them; it combats all opponents, and every conflict is a victory. It honourably resists the greatest hardships of this world, and sweetens the bitters of adversity in such a manner, that we scarce perceive we are unfortunate. It is one of those virtues that constantly carries its own reward; for the very practice of it makes us sensible of its benefits. The Emperor M. Aurelius often said, that Cæsar acquired the empire by the sword, Augustus by inheritance, Caligula by the merits of his father, Nero by tyranny, Titus by having vanquished Judea, but for his part, though of low extraction, he had obtained it by patience.

Whatever crosses and misfortunes we meet with, and however heavy their burden, they cannot overwhelm us whilst we are not abandoned by patience: on the contrary, they become proportionally lightened as we resolutely exercise this virtue. As every thing in nature has its contrast, so patience is the opposite to despair; wherefore the Christians consider it as an heavenly grace, and the philosophers of antiquity pronounced it the last efforts of a firm and generous soul. It is very nearly allied to courage, which cannot shine without opponents; in like manner this virtue disappears as soon as misfortunes desert us. Patience is the most generous of all friends, never appearing in prosperity; but when our miseries attain a pitch that threatens all our future happiness, she never fails to offer her assistance to those really inclined to avail themselves of her kindness. Patience is the birthright of the wise, an inheritance precluded from fools, who are never the architects of their own good fortune, but frequently of their own misery.

The _Spectator_ observes, that resolution in an assassin is, according to reason, quite as laudable as knowledge and wisdom exercised in the defence of an ill cause. Those men only are truly great who place their ambition rather in acquiring to themselves the conscience of worthy enterprises, than in the prospect of glory which attends it. These exalted spirits would rather be secretly the authors of events which are serviceable to mankind, than, without being such, to have the public fame of it. Where, therefore, an eminent merit is robbed by artifice or detraction, it does but encrease by such endeavours of its enemies; the impotent pains which are taken to sully it or disguise it among a croud, to the injury of an individual, will naturally produce the contrary effect; the fire will blaze out and burn up all the attempts to smother what they cannot extinguish. There is but one thing necessary to keep the possession of true glory, which is to hear the opposers of it with patience, and preserve the virtue by which it was acquired. When a person is thoroughly persuaded that he ought neither to admire, wish for, nor pursue any thing but what is exactly his duty; it is not in the power of seasons, persons, or accident, to diminish his value. He only is a great man who can neglect the applauses of the multitude, and enjoy himself independent of its favours. This is indeed an arduous task, but it should comfort a glorious spirit that it is the highest step to which human nature can arrive. Triumph, applause, acclamations, are dear to the mind of man; but it is still a more exquisite delight to say to yourself, you have done well, than to hear the whole human race pronounce glorious.

* * * * *

PRIDE.

It is the sullen pleasure of the proud man to insult and oppress those who have less power than himself. The man of a rational and manly spirit, could not give pain to the weak and the helpless without stabbing his own heart. The pride which God disapproves, cringes to titles and enormous wealth. Laudable spirit is most resolute and inflexible, in repelling any attack on his rights, when the invasion is made by formidable power.

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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 131.)

The following passage in Lady Delier’s letter struck me particularly: “I neither have read Amelia’s letter, nor has she read mine; however, if she has been sincere, she will have wrote to you many fond things, as I can guess by her grief at your departure, and by the warmth with which she is animated when she speaks of you. I think that Amelia’s resolution not to marry again will be dropt, as soon as the murderer of her late Lord ceases to live, if not sooner. However, I would not have you think that Amelia ever has mentioned any thing to that purpose, or that I believe that a noble spotless soul like hers, could harbour sentiments of revenge; but I suppose only that the amiable enthusiast perhaps fancies that the ghost of her murdered Lord will not enjoy a perfect tranquility and happiness, before the perpetrator of that villainous deed has received the just reward of his atrocious crime. Endeavour, my Lord, to settle your affairs at Mad**d as soon as possible, in order to gladden our hearts by a speedy return.”

With regard to the latter point I wrote to Amelia: “My affairs make a rapid and successful progress, and I shall soon see your Ladyship again. See Amelia again! What happiness do these words imply! Heavens, how great would my felicity be if I constantly could fix my eyes on the loveliest of women! How superlatively happy should I be if I were Amelia’s brother, in order that I could be constantly about her, and speak to her: or her slave, that I could breathe under the same roof with her, follow her every where, and anticipate every wink and every wish of hers.”

I had been about three weeks at Mad**d when I visited the minister one evening, and found him in company with a person who, by his dress, appeared to be a man of rank. He seemed to be very old and infirm, but conceive my astonishment, when, on approaching nearer, I fancied I discerned the features of the Irishman, though every thing else was so entirely changed, that he appeared to be quite a different person; a wig covered his head, his dark eye-brows were changed into grey, his complection yellowish, his voice weak, and frequently interrupted by a hectic cough. The minister met me with the words: “My Lord Duke, I have the honour to present to your Grace the Marchese Ricieri, who lately is returned from a journey through your native country.” The Marchese rose with difficulty, as it appeared, from his seat, and after reciprocal civilities, and a short conversation, took his leave.

My looks followed him with astonishment to the anti-chamber, and I found it extremely difficult to conceal my emotions from the minister, who told me that the Marchese had brought bad news from Port***l, where the spirit of sedition was said to be very busy. Not knowing how far I durst disclose my thoughts on that head without blundering upon the design of the Irishman, I returned an indifferent answer, and endeavoured to turn the conversation to some other object. Fortunately company was announced, I staid an hour longer, and then took leave.

On my way to the hotel, somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and a well-known voice said, “I am glad to see your Grace well.” I turned round and the Irishman stood before me, dressed in black, and wrapt in a scarlet cloak. I was seized with astonishment. “I give you joy, my Lord;” said he in a friendly accent, “how do your affairs go on?” “Extremely well!” I replied, adding after some hesitation, “will you come with me to my hotel?” He accepted my invitation.

“Be so kind,” said he when we were arrived at my apartment, “to take care that we are not interrupted, nor over-heard!” This preamble made me expect to hear important matters, and I was not deceived. Having communicated to him how I had succeeded with Oliva*ez, and Suma*ez, he approved my diligence and discretion, adding, “it is now time to come nearer to the point. I am going to entrust you with two commissions, both of which are equally important.”

“Let me hear what I am to do!”

“First of all you must endeavour to prompt the minister to publish a royal edict, by which the Port****e nobility are ordered, under the penalty of losing their estates, to enter into the military service of Sp**n.”

“Good God, what do you mean by that?”

“Then,” he added, without noticing my exclamation, “you must advise the minister to seize the person of the Duke of Brag**za.”

I flared at the Irishman, “Then the revolution is to be given up!” said I, after a pause of anxious astonishment.

“Not at all, it rather is to be promoted by these means.”

“I cannot comprehend you;” I exclaimed, “you either are counteracting your own plan; or the revolution will be destroyed in the bud.”

“My good Duke, one must frequently _appear_ to counteract a plan in order to carry it into execution with greater safety. I will explain myself more distinctly.” So saying, he pushed his chair closer to me, and continued in a lower accent; “Let us take a short view of the situation of your country. Not to mention the enormous loss of its possessions abroad, which it has suffered during the subjection to Sp**n, the interior state of the empire is deplorable beyond description. The King of Sp**n looks upon your country as a conquered province, and takes the greatest pains to exhaust it entirely, in order to keep it in inactivity with more ease; the royal revenues of Port***l are either distributed among the favourites of the King, or mortgaged; more than 300 gallies, and 2000 cannons have been carried to Sp**n; the nobility are injured by the most unjust demands; the clergy must see their benefices in the possession of foreigners; the people are beggared by enormous taxes--in short matters have almost been carried to the highest pitch. So much the better, for this is a sign that our undertaking is ripe for execution. Let us strain the strings a little more, and they must break.”

“And what then?” said I with ardour. “General commotion, and at the same time universal confusion will be the consequence; and it is very obvious that thus my country will not regain its liberty, but rather be plunged in a more oppressive state of slavery. If the people are not supported by the nobility, and both parties not united under one common head, the furious unbridled populace will rage till the Sp**sh goads shall have reduced them again to obedience.”

“You have divined my most secret thoughts,” the Irishman replied. I was as if dropt from the clouds. “Then I have entirely misconstrued your words,” I replied, “I am to endeavour to obtain an edict in virtue of which, the Port****ze nobility are to be bound to enter in the service of Sp**n, under the penalty of losing their estates; I am to advise the minister to seize the Duke of B----a! Did you not say so?”

“Exactly so!”

“However, if the P---e nobility should enter into the Sp***sh service, how are they to be active in the service of _their country?_ If the Duke of Bra***za should be seized, how will it be possible that he should become the head of the conspirators?”

“Heaven forbid your _ifs_ should be realized!”

“But why the preparations for it? Indeed I do not comprehend you.”

“You soon shall; only suffer me so go on. The people must be supported by the accession of the nobility and clergy, and all parties guided by a common leader; thus far you are perfectly right: and in order to effect that purpose every preparation has been made, and the general commotion will be effected in a harmonious and regular manner, if _ever it can_ be effected. But, dearest Duke, you look upon what _may_ happen as already existing. I was saying just now, that matters have _almost_ been carried to the highest pitch! one moment of rashness may ruin the most prudent plan. It is true, that the people and the clergy are waiting anxiously for the signal of a revolution; however, the nobility are not sufficiently exasperated. Once already have they been ordered to enter into the service of Sp**n against the Cata**nians; however, they were satisfied to evince their displeasure silently, by obeying the edict reluctantly and negligently. If in this situation of affairs that edict should be renewed, and the transgressors punished by the seizure of their estates, their resentment, which is burning under the embers, will soon burst out into a blaze; then all the states of the empire will be equally provoked, and it will be seasonable for the Duke of Bra***za to give the signal for a general commotion.”

“But is not this very Duke to be seized and imprisoned?”

“Neither is he to be seized, nor are the Port****ze nobility to enter into the Sp**sh service, but both parties are to be provoked, by the severest oppression, in such a manner that their resentment may break out into open revolt.”

“His father would not have wanted such a violent incitement; the Duke has, however, inherited very little of the spirit of his parent*.”

“A rash resolution is not always the firmest, nor is a precipitate deed always the best. And besides, the undertaking of the Duke of Bra***za is of such a nature, that he risks nothing less than his own and his family’s welfare; it requires therefore a more mature consideration.”

“But if he should flinch back!”

“His retreat must be entirely cut off, and this is to be effected by the execution of the second commission which I have given you.”

[* The Grandmother of the Duke of Brag**za had already attempted to
enforce her claim to the throne; she was, however, obliged to yield
to superior power. His father was hurt so much at the loss of the
crown, that he had formed the design to seize the King of Sp**n when
he stopped at his palace at Vi**ciosa, on his journey to Li*bon, and
not to set him at liberty till he should have renounced to him the
crown of Por***al. His friends represented to him how impossible it
would be to accomplish this design; however, he could not be
persuaded to desist from all farther attempts of getting possession
of the sceptre of Port***al, and his people were frequently
instigated by him to quarrel with the King’s Officers at Li*bon, on
which occasion the populace evinced clearly how strong their
attachment to the family of Bra***za was. But matters were never
pushed any farther, the proper time when the crown of Por***al,
should be restored to its lawful possessors being not yet arrived.
The old Duke was so much grieved at his unsuccessful attempt, that
at length his reason was disordered. He spoke constantly of war and
arms, and ordered his family, on his death-bed, to bury him with
Royal pomp, which was actually done, though in secret.]

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

_EULOGY ON BUFFON, the celebrated Naturalist._

Le Compte de la Cepede, in his description of the Four Lamps suspended in the Temple of Genius, erected in the bosom of France, has given the following Eulogy of Buffon:

“It was no longer night: a star created by nature to illuminate the universe, shone with majesty. His course was marked by dignity; his motion by harmony, and his repose by serenity: every eye, even the weakest, was ready to contemplate it. From his car, resplendent over the universe, he spread his magnificence. As God enclosed in the ark all the works of creation, he collected, on the banks of the Seine, the animals, vegetables and minerals dispersed in the four quarters of the globe. Every form, every colour, all the riches and instincts of the world were offered to our eyes, and to our understandings. Every thing was revealed; every thing ennobled; every thing rendered interesting, brilliant or graceful. But a funeral groan was heard---Nature grieved in silence---with Buffon, the last lamp was extinguished.”

* * * * *
* * * *

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

* * *

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 124.)

Some Historians affirm that music was first known in Egypt, and by comparing the accounts of Didorus Siculus, and of Plato, there is reason to suppose, that in very ancient times the study of music in Egypt, was confined to the Priesthood, who used it only on religious and solemn occasions; that, as well as sculpture, it was circumscribed by law: that it was esteemed sacred, and forbidden to be employed on light or common occasions; and that innovation in it was prohibited; but what the style or relative excellence of this very ancient music was, there are no traces by which we can form any accurate judgment. After the reigns of the Pharoahs, the Egyptians fell by turns under the dominion of the Ethiopians, the Persians, the Greeks, and the Romans. By such revolutions, the manners and amusements of the people, as well as their form of government, must have been changed. In the age of the Ptolemies, the musical games and contests instituted by these monarchs were of Greek origin, and the musicians who performed were chiefly Greeks. The most ancient monuments of human art and industry, at present extant at Rome, are the obelisks brought there from Egypt, two of which are said to have been erected by Sesostris at Heliopolis, about 400 years before the siege of Troy. These were by the order of Augustus brought to Rome after the conquest of Egypt. One of them called _guglia rotta_, or the broken pillar, which during the sacking of the City in 1527 was thrown down and broke, still lays in the Campus Martius. On it is seen the figure of a musical instrument of two strings and with a neck. It resembles much the calascione still used in the kingdom of Naples.

This curious relict of antiquity is mentioned, because it affords better evidence than, on the subject of ancient music, is usually to be met with, that the Egyptians at so very early a period of their history, had advanced to a considerable degree of excellence in the cultivation of the arts. By means of its neck, this instrument was capable, with only two strings, of producing a great number of notes.

These two strings if tuned fourths to each other, would furnish that series of sounds which the ancients call _heptichord_, which consist of a conjunct tetrachord as B. C. D. E; E. F. G. A; if tuned in fifths; they would produce an octave, or two disjunct tetrachords. The annals of no other nation than Egypt, for many ages after the period of the obelisk at Heliopolis, exhibit the vestige of any contrivance to shorten strings during performance by a neck or finger board. Father Montfaucon observes, that after examining 500 ancient lyres, harps, and citheras, he could discover no such thing.

A. O.

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *
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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

* * *

THE ROSE--A REFLECTION.

* * *

Addressed to Mr. ----.

This morning it unfolded its beauties to the eastern sun; it exhaled its rich perfume; I beheld the beautiful flower with pleasure. A person past my window, and, no doubt, to please me, plucked it from the stalk. He gave it me; I placed it in my bosom. It faded--it died away--and when evening came it was no longer charming.

Vain man! in this flower thou mayest behold an emblem of thyself. Thou too in the morning of thy days wast amiable. But when thou hadst arrived at mature age, then thou wast severed from conscious innocence; then thou didst imbibe the vices of the age. As the flower lost its crimson hue, thou wast fast losing thy hold of virtue. And as the rose had entirely faded, so rectitude, integrity, innocence, and every amiable virtue became strangers to thy heart; and left thee, entirely, a man of the world.

L. B.

_October 25. 1796._

* * * * *

GENEROSITY.

Generosity is the part of a soul raised above the vulgar. There is in it something of what we admire in heroes, and praise with a degree of rapture.

In paying his debts a man barely does his duty, and it is an action attended with no sort of glory. Should _Lysippus_ satisfy his creditors, who would be at the pains of telling it to the world? Generosity is a virtue of a very different complexion. It is raised above duty, and, from its elevation, attracts the attention and the praises of us little mortals below.

* * * * *

CURIOUS OBSERVATIONS.

The word _Pat_, has a peculiarity hardly belonging to any other; read it which way you will, though it forms different words, yet they are exactly of the same import, for a _Pat_, or a _Tap_, it is well known, signify a gentle stroke.

The word _murmur_ read backwards, repeatedly names a liquor that some people are remarkably fond of, viz. _rum rum_; and when this dear delightful beverage cannot be had, read it forwards, and it will shew you what they will be very apt to do, viz. _murmur_.

Again in the word _glass_---this is what some men love exceedingly, and if we use what is called the _aphoerisis_, or the taking away of a letter, it will then be what most men love, viz. a _lass_, but take away the _l_, and the remainder will shew what he is who loves neither a _glass_ nor a _lass_, viz. an _ass_.

* * * * *
* * * *

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 135.)

Lodoiska uttered the most dreadful groans, to which I answered by cries of fury. Boleslas rushed from one part of the prison to another, like a madman; he sent forth the most terrible howlings; he attempted to burst open the door with his hands and feet. As for myself, I remained at the window, and shook, amidst my transports of fury, those massive iron-bars which I was unable to bend.

All of a sudden, the domestics, who had lately mounted the battlements, descend with precipitation, and open the gates: we heard the voice of Dourlinski himself, begging for quarter. The victors instantly precipitate themselves amidst the flames; and being at length attracted by our cries, they force open the door of our prison with their hatchets.

By their dress and their arms, I know them to be Tartars: their chief arrives----it is Titsikan!

“Ah! ah!” exclaims he; “it is my brave friend!”

I instantly throw myself on his neck:--“Titsikan!----Lodoiska!----a lady!----the fairest of women!----in that tower!----about to be burnt alive!”

These were the incoherent expressions by which I made my feelings known.

The Tartar instantly gives the word of command to his followers----they fly to the tower---I fly along with them---Boleslas follows us. They burst open the doors; and near to an old pillar we discover a narrow, winding stair-case, filled with smoke.

The Tartars, affrighted at the danger, start back: I prepare to ascend.

“Alas! what are you about?” exclaims Boleslas.

“To live or die with Lodoiska!”

“And I will either live or die with my master!” was the reply of my generous servant.

I rush on---he follows me! At the risk of suffocation, we ascend about forty steps; by the light of the flames we discover Lodoiska in a corner of her prison; who feebly utters; “Who is it that approaches me?”

“It is Lovzinski! it is your lover!”

Joy instantly lends her new strength; she rises and flies into my arms: we carry her away; we descend a few steps; but volumes of smoke now fill all the stair-case, and we are forced to re-ascend with precipitation. At that very instant, too, a part of the tower gives way!---Boleslas utters a dreadful shriek, and Lodoiska falls into a swoon.

That which was on the point of destroying, saved us! The flames, formerly smothered, began to extend with greater rapidity; but the smoke was dissipated.---Laden with our precious burden, Boleslas and I descend in haste---I do not exaggerate; every step trembled under our feet! the walls were all on fire! At length we arrived at the gate of the tower; Titsikan, trembling for our safety, was expecting us there: “Brave men!”---exclaimed he, on seeing us appear again.----I place Lodoiska at his feet, and fall down lifeless by her side!

I remained nearly an hour in this situation. They tremble for my life; and Boleslas weeps aloud. I again recover my senses, on hearing the voice of Lodoiska, who, returning to herself, calls me her deliverer. The appearance of every thing was altered; the tower was entirely in ruins. The Tartars, however, had stopt the progress of the flames; they had destroyed one part of the castle, on purpose to save the remainder; in fine, we had been carried into a large saloon, where we were surrounded by Titsikan and some of his soldiers. Others of them were occupied in pillaging and in bringing away the gold, silver, jewels, plate, and all the precious effects which the flames had spared.

Near to us Dourlinski, loaded with fetters, and uttering repeated groans, beheld this heap of riches, of which, he was about to be despoiled. Rage, terror, despair, all the passions which can tear the heart of a villain suffering under punishment, were visibly depicted in his wild and wandering looks. He struck the earth with fury, dashed his clenched hands against his forehead, and, uttering the most horrible blasphemies, he reproached Heaven for its just vengeance.

In the mean time, my lovely mistress holds my hand clasped in hers. “Alas,” says she at length, with tears in her eyes, “alas! you have saved my life, and your own is still in danger! Nay, even if we escape death, slavery awaits us!”

“No, no, Lodoiska, be comforted, Titsikan is not my enemy; Titsikan will put a period to our misfortunes--”

“Undoubtedly, if I am able,” exclaims the Tartar, interrupting me: “you are in the right, brave man! (adds he) I see that you are not dead, and I am happy: you always say, and do good things; and you have there (turning to Boleslas), you have there a friend who seconds you admirably.”

On this I embrace Boleslas:--“yes, Titsikan, yes, I have a friend, who shall always be dear to me!--”

The Tartar again interrupts me: “What! were not you both confined in an apartment below ground, and was not this lady in a tower? What was the reason of that? I will lay any wager, continues he with a smile, that you have taken this female from that old wretch, (pointing to Dourlinski), and you are in the right; for he is a dotard, and she is beautiful! Come--inform me of every thing.”

I now discover my own name to Titsikan, that of Lodoiska’s father, and every particular that had occurred to me until that moment. It belongs to Lodoiska, I observe in conclusion, to make us acquainted with what she has been obliged to suffer from the infamous Dourlinski, ever since she has been in his castle!

“You know,” replies Lodoiska, “that my father me to leave Warsaw, on the day that the diet was opened. He first conducted me to the territories of the Palatine of --------, at only twenty leagues distance from the capital, to which he returned, on purpose to assist at the meeting of the states.

“On that very day when M. de P------ was proclaimed king, Pulaski took me from the castle of the palatine, and conducted me here, thinking that I should be better concealed. He charged Dourlinski to guard me with extraordinary strictness; and, above all things, to take especial care to prevent Lovzinski from discovering the place of my retreat. He then left me, as he informed me, on purpose to assemble and encourage the good citizens to defend his country, and to punish traitors. Alas! these important avocations have made him forget his daughter, for I have never seen him since.

“A few days after his departure, I began to perceive that the visits of Dourlinski had become more frequent than usual; in a short time, he hardly ever quitted the apartment assigned me for a prison. He deprived me, under some trifling pretext, of the only female attendant whom my father had left me; and to prevent any person (as he said) from knowing that I was in his castle, he himself brought me the food necessary for my subsistence, and passed whole days along with me. You cannot conceive, my dear Lovzinski, how much I suffered from the continual presence of a man who was odious to me, and whose infamous designs I was suspicious of: he even dared to explain himself to me one day: but I assured him that my hate should always be the price of his tenderness, and that his unworthy conduct had drawn upon him my sovereign contempt.

“He answered me coldly, that in time I should accustom myself to see him, and to suffer his assiduities; nay, he did not in the least alter his usual conduct, for he entered my chamber in the morning, and never retired until night. Separated from all I loved, I had not even the feeble consolation of being able to enjoy the sweet recollection of past happiness. A witness to my misfortunes, Dourlinski took pleasure in augmenting them.

“‘Pulaski,’ says he to me, ‘commands a body of Polish troops; Lovzinski betraying his country, which he does not love, and a woman concerning whom he is indifferent, serves in the Russian army, where he will be cut off during some bloody engagement: besides, if he survives, it is evident that nothing can ever reconcile your father to him.’

“A few days after, he came on purpose to announce to me, that Pulaski, during the night, had attacked the Russians in their camp; and that, amidst the confusion that ensued, my lover had fallen by the hand of my father. The cruel Palatine even made me read a narrative of this event, drawn up with every appearance of truth, in a kind of public gazette, which doubtless he had procured to be printed expressly for the purpose: besides, on perceiving the barbarous joy which he affected on this occasion, I thought the news but too true.