Chapter L: Le Fevre (5)

“Pitiless tyrant! cried I, you enjoy my tears and my despair; but cease to persecute me, or you will soon see that the daughter of Pulaski is herself able to avenge her own injuries!

“One evening that he had left me sooner than usual, after I retired to bed, I heard my door open very softly. By the light of a lamp, which I kept always burning, I beheld my tyrant advancing towards my bed. As there was no crime of which I did not believe him to be capable, I had foreseen this event; and I had even taken measures to render it unsuccessful. I accordingly armed myself with a long sharp knife, which I had the precaution to conceal beneath my pillow; I overwhelmed the wretch with the reproaches which he so justly merited; and I vowed, if he dared to advance, that I would poniard him with my own hand.

“He retired, with surprise and affright visibly delineated on his countenance: ‘I am tired,’ said he as he went out, ‘with experiencing nothing but scorn; and if I were not afraid of being overheard, you should soon perceive what a woman’s arm could effect against mine! But I know a way of vanquishing your pride! By and by you will think yourself but too happy in being able to purchase your pardon, by the most humiliating submissions.’

“He now withdrew. A few moments after, his confident entered with a pistol in his hand. I must, however, do him the justice to say, that he wept while he announced to me the orders of his lord.

“‘Dress yourself, Madam; you must instantly follow me!’--This was all that he was able to say to me.

“He then conducted me to that very tower, where, without you, I should this morning have perished: he shut me up in that horrible prison; it was there that I had languished for more than a month, without fire, without the light of heaven, and almost without clothes; with bread and water for my food; for my bed a few trusses of straw: this was the deplorable state to which the only daughter of a grandee of Poland was reduced!

“You shudder, brave stranger, and yet believe me, when I assure you, that I do not recount to you any more than a small part of my sufferings. One thing, however, rendered my misery less insupportable: I no longer beheld my tyrant. While he expected with tranquility that I should solicit my pardon, I passed whole days and nights in calling on the name of my father, and in bewailing my lover! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * O Lovzinski! with what astonishment was I seized; with what joy was my soul penetrated, on that day when I once more beheld you in the gardens of Dourlinski!” * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(_To be continued._)

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THE FOLLY OF FREETHINKING:

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+An Anecdote.+

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Among words which in their present acceptation are remote from their original and rigid meaning, none perhaps are more striking than Deism and Freethinking. The former, which in its strict import signifies nothing more than a belief in the existence of the Deity, in opposition to Atheism (and in this sense every christian is a Deist) is now universally understood of all persons who reject the christian revelation; and the word Freethinking, which should convey the idea of a man of liberal and ingenuous disposition, free from vulgar prejudice and unmanly bigotry, and investigating truth with virtuous view, and a deep veneration of the Supreme Being, is now commonly appropriated to those persons, who from a love of singularity, an affectation of superior understanding, or innate malignity of mind, would combat truths the most universally received and revered in all ages and in all countries, and would dissolve those sacred ties by which society is united, and destroy those hopes of immortality which God hath given as incentives to virtue, and the best security of our happiness here and hereafter.

The conduct of the Freethinker, whether actuated by such motives or not, is replete with extreme folly, to give it no harsher appellation. An anecdote of the late Mr. Mallet affords a remarkable instance of the truth of this observation, and cannot fail to convey some useful advice. This gentleman was a great Freethinker, and a very free speaker of his free thoughts. He made no scruple to disseminate his opinions wherever he could introduce them. At his own table, the lady of the house (who was a staunch advocate for her husband’s opinions) would often in the warmth of argument, say, ‘Sir, we Deists.’ The lecture upon the non credenda of the Freethinkers was repeated so often, and urged with so much earnestness, that the inferior domestics became soon as able disputants as the heads of the family. The fellow who waited at the table being thoroughly convinced, that for any of his misdeeds he should have no after account to make, was resolved to profit by the doctrine, and made off with many things of value, particularly the plate. Luckily he was so closely pursued, that he was brought back with his prey to his master’s house, who examined him before some select friends. At first, the man was sullen, and would answer no questions; but, being urged to give a reason for his infamous behaviour he resolutely said, ‘Sir, I had heard you so often talk of the impossibility of a future state, and that after death there was no reward for virtue, or punishment for vice, that I was tempted to commit the robbery.’ ‘Well; but you rascal,’ replied Mallet, ‘had you no fear of the gallows?’ ‘Sir,’ said the fellow, looking sternly at his master, ‘what is that to you, if I had a mind to venture that? You had removed my greatest terror; why should I fear the least?’

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_NEW-YORK._

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MARRIED,

On Wednesday the 19th ult. by the Rev. Mr. Moore, of Hempstead, Mr. ISAAC HAGNER, to Miss HANNAH TOFFY, daughter of Mr. Daniel Toffy, both of Herricks, (L.I.)

On Saturday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. GEORGE STEWART, to Miss NANCY BRANT, both of this city.

On Thursday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Milledoler, Mr. CASPER SEMBLER, to Miss HANNAH SMITH, both of this city.

* * * * *

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The SONNET by ANNA, is received, and shall appear in our next.

THEODORE’s remarks on Mr. Townsend’s note, we must be excused from publishing. Personal feuds can by no means be interesting to the public, and are ever totally inadmissible; we recommend to the parties, an amicable reconciliation which will assuredly be productive of more satisfaction than sullen revenge can ever afford.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 23d to the 29th ult._

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

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.
100 100
Oct 23 52 50 70 s. w. do. clear, light wind do. lt. wd.
24 57 76 s. w. do. clear, calm do. high wd.
25 58 77 sw. nw. foggy light wind clear do.
26 56 58 25 e. se. cloudy lt. wd. do. do.
27 49 50 55 ne. n. clear do. high wind light wd.
28 37 47 n. sw. clear lt. wd. do. do.
29 44 50 58 sw. w. clear lht. wind cloudy do.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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EVENING.--EXTEMPORE.

The sun retires behind the western hills,
And lengthening shadows shew the parting day;
A hollow sound echoes from murm’ring rills,
Which fall from distant rocks and glide away.

Now sol’s faint beams scarce glisten o’er the glade,
All nature’s various beauties sink from sight;
The verdant vales are wrapt in gloomy shade,
And day retires before the mists of night.

Thus life’s vain pleasures short delight impart:
Those scenes, which once so brilliant did appear,
Return no more to chear the pensive heart,
And memory recalls them with a tear.

J. P.

NEW-YORK Oct. 29, 1796.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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TO MISS A---- H----.

Though F----s muse may grief assume,
And teach his plaintive soul to mourn;
No wreath I make for Anna’s tomb,
Nor weep upon her chilly urn.

’Tis not for me to mourn as dead,
The fair whom blooming I survey,
Nor with a turf to grace her head,
Nor change her limbs to mould’ring clay.

Let friendship’s artless voice inspire
My muse to sing in diff’rent strains:
While as a friend I here admire
Her more--than on the Etherial plains.

Far distant may the period be,
When Anna’s form shall lose its bloom;
And F----s frantic verse we see
Sadly inscribed upon her tomb.

ANNA.

The above address was occasioned by the following Epitaph, written by a Clergyman, and presented to the young lady whose tomb it was to adorn.

Reader, if thou are _good_, and _wise_, and _witty_,
Drop on this sable hearse some tears of pity;
For know kind reader, that it is a duty
To the remains of innocence and beauty.

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+Epitaph on a Celebrated Coach-Maker.+

Once in the gilded chariot high,
I sat in worldly state;
Now in the darksome tomb I lie,
The _chariot_ built by fate.

Yet in this _carriage_ form’d of dust
I hope one day to gain
The place where dwell the good and just;
And endless pleasures reign.

This is the _chariot_ that must bring
The GREAT and SMALL at last,
Before their JUDGE and Heav’nly KING:
When earthly joys are past.

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ON A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

The solid joys of human kind,
Are those that flow from peace of mind;
For who the sweets of life can taste,
With vice and tim’rous guilt opprest?
’Tis virtue softens all our toils,
With peace our conscience crowns;
Gives pleasure when our fortune smiles,
And courage when it frowns;
Calms every trouble, makes the soul serene,
Smooths the contracted brow, and chears the heart within.

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MATERNAL AFFECTION.

Now swiftly fled the shades of night,
Before the sun’s transparent light,
Fresh with the glitt’ring dews of morn,
More fragrant bloom’d the verdant thorn.

The tender DELIA waking, smil’d,
And flew to clasp her lovely child;
Asleep the angel infant lay,
Fair as the glowing dawn of day.

A soothing lullaby she sung,
And o’er the cradle fondly hung:
What eye could view a fairer sight?--
How pure her innocent delight!

In happy wedlock early join’d,
A mother, with a virgin mind,
Just sev’nteen summers had she seen,
And tall and graceful was her mien.

She paus’d a while, and strove to trace
The father in her infant’s face;
‘How sweet,’ she cried, ‘a mothers bliss!
‘And sweet, oh sweet, my cherub’s kiss!

‘Sleep on! my babe, securely rest!
‘I feel thee mantling in my breast;
‘Sleep on, and with each hour improve--
‘My first--my only pledge of love!

‘How could I bear from thee to part,
‘Thou dearest treasure of my heart?
‘Yet, ah! I tremble when I know
‘What ills my babe must undergo!

‘What sickness, and what days of pain,
‘What chances too, must thou sustain?
‘How can I hope my child to save,
‘When thousands meet an early grave?

‘And must--ah must these busy fears
‘Still grow with thy encreasing years?
‘Must they my bosom still annoy,
‘And mingle with a mother’s joy?

‘Secure in the Almighty hand,
‘The offspring of his high command;
‘Will not his name become thy shield,
‘His terrors strong protection yield?

‘Unto the will of Heav’n resign’d,
‘Let doubt no more disturb my mid;
‘This precept soothes my troubles breast,
‘Whatever God ordains is best.

‘Sleep on--then sleep, my baby fair,
‘May Heav’n thy infant beauty spare.
‘Sleep on--sleep on, thy mother’s pride,
‘May Heav’n thy future being guide.’

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 9, 1796.+ [+No. 71.+

AN ESSAY ON HOPE.

There is, perhaps, no word in our language more generally understood than the term HOPE. The idea represented by this word is so well known from its pleasing effects on the mind, and so indiscriminately experienced in one or other of its degrees, that any explanation of it seems to be unnecessary. All know that Hope signifies an expectation indulged with pleasure.

In all the works of Nature we can find no two objects exactly similar. The surprising diversity proceeds from a degree almost imperceptible, by a slow gradation, down to direct opposition in the minutest circumstances; so that in the amazing variety, we can find no object, whether of sense or imagination, which has not its direct reverse.

With respect to the sensations of the mind, I know none more directly contrasted than that expressed by the word Hope. Its reverse is Fear. And though Love and Hatred--Joy and Sorrow--Light and Darkness are not more opposed to each other than those two passions; yet it will appear a little remarkable, that they not only spring from the same source, but are _really_ and _identically_ the same in some of the original steps or gradations. The same passion or power of the mind varies its name in the different stages of its advancement. Every thing has its state of infancy. In their pristine state, Hope and Fear are both called Esteem. This may be termed the _infant state_ of attachment to any object. Esteem soon advances to its second stage, in which it takes the name of Love. In a third gradation it is called Desire; Love ever produces the desire of enjoyment. Those are the original and _common_ steps of Hope and fear; nor is there yet any sort of distinction either with respect to _object_ or _sensation_: but here the difference begins.--They are no longer the same. The strong dissimilarity of different minds may render the subsequent stages of operation as different as contradiction itself. Mark the progression of Desire in two minds of different textures. Let us suppose the object the same. Let us suppose it Riches; or (if that will animate the idea) a person of a different sex. In the one mind Desire improves to Hope; in the other it degenerates to fear. In the one instance, Hope advances to a state of superior sensation, which we term Joy; in the other, fear sinks down the rugged declivity to that dreary region called despair.

Thus one man looks with pleasure and fortitude beyond his present difficulties; and though his hopes, in some instances, may be decidedly blasted, what then? he never anticipated the disappointment, nor will the happy turn of his mind permit him to indulge its vexations. His active passions soon find another object of exercise and pursuit. Very frequently he gains the summit of felicity in the enjoyment of his favourite object; and still he has the _independent_ happiness arising from the constant exercise of Hope. A person of the above description is never heard to complain of this _troublesome, woeful, sinful world_; he has no such bad opinion of life in general, as promotes a desire of quitting it; or of going to another, to avoid the disappointments of this---the common source of all such wishes. No: he acts his part as a man; enjoys life as man was designed to do; contributes to the happiness of all around him, and secures his own.

Let us now take a slight view of the other side of the picture---the man of an opposite cast. We left him in despair of possession; he yields his cowardly heart a victim to the vulture; and, if his distress is not somewhat alleviated by transferring his attention to some other object, he either abridges his life with a pistol or halter, or drags along a miserable existence indeed. These are no exaggerated or imaginary ideas.---This is reason, truth, fact---Human Nature.

The above simple remarks may convince us, that the same passions are very different (in point of degree) in different persons. What predominates in one, is counteracted and overpowered in another; and men are happy or otherwise, as Hope or Fear happens to be the most powerful passion.

Those to whom the important charge of education is committed, may perhaps draw some useful inferences from the above observations. It is much in their power (if calculated for the serious business) to suppress, to a proper degree, any abstract passion of an unhappy tendency, whether in itself or its consequences.

* * * * *
* * * *

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 139)

“How am I to understand this?”

“You think this measure would be too harsh and violent, however it is not a mere arbitrary artifice, but adapted to the situation in which the Duke of Bra***za is at present. The minister of Sp**n is not ignorant of the fermentations in Po****al, and suspecting the Duke to be the chief source of them, his principal attention is directed to him.--But what could Oliva*ez have attempted against him as yet? Open force would have been fruitless, and not only forwarded the general revolt, but also justified the actions of the Duke. He was therefore forced to have recourse to art. At first he conferred the government of Mi*an upon the Duke, in order to have an opportunity of getting him in his power; however that keen-sighted nobleman declined that honour, pretending not to have sufficient knowledge of the country to acquit himself honourably of a trust of so much importance. Soon after the minister found another opportunity of laying a new snare. The King of Sp**n having resolved to chastise the rebellious Catal*nians in person, the Duke was very civilly invited to accompany him in the field; but he begged to be excused, alledging that this would be attended with great expences, and that his finances were very low. However Oliva**z was not discouraged by this refusal, and has lately made a third attempt. A rumour having been spread all over the country, that a Fren*h fleet was approaching the coasts of Po****al, probably with a view to make a descent, Oliva**z conferred upon the Duke an almost unlimited power to make the requisite preparations against the impending invasion, and particularly to review all the ports, to fortify and to garrison them. Meanwhile the Sp**ish Admiral, Don Lopez Oz**co had received secret orders to carry his fleet to a port where the Duke should be, to invite him to review it, and when he should have seized him, to sail with his prisoner to Sp**n. This plan was however rendered abortive by a dreadful storm which dispersed the fleet, and forced the Admiral to desist from his design of visiting the Port****ze ports. No new attempt has been made since, and the minister is silently hatching other artifices. Yet this calm is, without comparison, more dreadful than all the attempts which have been made. I know that he has an emissary in Por***al, who watches secretly every step of the Duke,* whose liberty and life are in imminent danger. The ruin of the head of the conspiracy would be a mortal blow to the whole revolutionary society; even the imprisonment of the Duke would unnerve the hands of the conspirators. If, therefore, the revolution is to take place, the Duke must be secured against the secret machinations of the minister; I say the _secret_ machinations, for if they should be carried on publicly, as it has been the case as yet, his snares may easily be evaded. For which reason it will be matter of great importance to persuade the minister to carry on his attempts in the usual way, and to effect this will be in your power. Nay, you yourself must frame and direct the designs upon the Duke.”

[* This emissary will soon be introduced to the reader.]

“I fear,” said I to the Irishman, “you expect more from my feeble exertions than I shall be able to perform.”

“Hear first my plan! You are to go, the day after tomorrow, to Oliva*ez, and to inform him that you have received intelligence of the commotions in Por***al--”

“Besides,” I interrupted him, “Oliva*ez has told me to-day that he has received an account of these commotions from a certain Marchese Ricieri, who is returned from his travels through Por***al.”

“So much the better!” he replied, without returning my inquisitive look, or changing his countenance at the name of Ricieri, “so much the better! then you have a prefacer to whose introduction you can link your discourse. Tell, therefore, the minister, that the letter which you have received from Por***al makes it very plain to you, why the Duke had declined all the invitations which the court had given him. Oliva*ez will request you to explain these words, and then you must reply, that you suspect the Duke of Brag**za to avoid the neighbourhood of the Court, because he is sensible he has deserved the resentment of the King by his disloyalty. At the same time you must add, that you are very sorry to be obliged to declare against so near a relation as the Duke; that, however, the voice of your conscience has more weight with you than that of consanguinity, and that your allegiance to the King of Sp**n and your country, which has been reduced to the greatest distress by the constant internal commotions, does not suffer you any longer to regard as a friend, the man who was the chief cause of all these troubles. Thus you will gain the confidence of the minister, and he will ask you what measures for seizing the Duke you think would be most proper and safe. Take hold of that opportunity to convince the minister that, and for what reason, violent measures of any kind, would produce the worst consequences. Approve of the means which the wisdom of his policy has already adopted as the safest, by which the Duke ought to be persecuted till no farther evasion should be left for him. Oliva*ez will desire you to give him your opinion more at large, and then you must address him to the following purpose:--‘I am of opinion that you ought to inform the Duke of the misfortune which has befallen the fleet, and to charge him, under the pretext that this had rendered the situation of the empire very perilous, with the commission to inspect all the strong places of the kingdom, and to fortify them where he shall think it requisite. At the same time you will do well to order all the commanders of the fortified towns to seize the Duke as secretly as possible. In order to prevent any evasions under the pretext of want of money, you must send him, at the same time, a sum sufficient for defraying the expences of his journey.”

“But suppose,” said I, “this proposal should be accepted, how could the Duke of Brag**za escape the snare?”

“Can we not apprize him of his danger? If he cannot find means to escape the snare by dint of art, he must have recourse to open force, and call to arms. Thus the revolution will begin, and our chief aim be attained.”

“One can predict,” the Irishman continued, “with some degree of certainty, that Oliva*ez will not reject that proposal, which is nothing but a continuation of his former plan, and of course, will flatter his conceit. As soon as you shall have carried this point, you must endeavour to effect the promulgation of the edict against the nobility; which will be no difficult task, if you pretend to have been informed by letters from Por***al, that the major part of the nobility is entirely devoted to the Duke, and will support him if a revolt should break out.--Hence you may draw the conclusion that the fermentation in Por***al will never cease, and the wisest measures against him, though ever so successful, will not have the desired effect, while the nobility shall not be employed somewhere else, and forced to submit to the edict by which they are ordered to enter into the service of Sp**n. I advise you, at the same time, to add, that the indulgence which has been shewn to those who have refused to obey the proclamation of the Court, will render the nobility more daring, and the Duke of Brag**za more dangerous. In short, you must exert every power of persuasion to incite the minister to renew and to enforce that edict.”

After a short pause the Irishman added:--“This advice would appear suspicious, if proposed by any other person but yourself. You have gained, already, his confidence to such a degree, that it will derive additional strength from your apparent zeal. And indeed every thing that can contribute to remove all traces of suspicion from you concurs in your person! The proposals which you are to make have not only the appearance of destroying the design of the Duke and the conspirators, but you have also been on your travels when they were fabricated, and of course, cannot be suspected of having the least share in them. While you have been here your time has been spent in amusements and diversions, how could you, therefore, be supposed to have been capable of paying any attention to deep laid intrigues of state? On the contrary, the minister is no stranger to your father’s fidelity to the King of Sp**n, and to the secret hatred which your family harbours against the Duke of Brag**za; how could, therefore, your proposal appear to him otherwise than natural and sincere? Your friendship for Velas*os alone would be sufficient to make him believe so.”

“I need not remind you,” added the Irishman, when he was going to leave me, “not to forget to interest the Secretary of State, Suma*ez, for your transactions.”

“But suppose,” I replied, “I should acquit myself of my charge to your satisfaction, how am I to conceal the matter from my father?”

The Irishman replied after a momentary consideration: “If the minister should approve your proposals, you must request him frankly not to mention any thing to the Marquis, pretending to intend to surprise him in an agreeable manner, by an oral account, when the whole affair shall be happily concluded.”

Before he took leave, he enjoined me to be circumspect, courageous, and active.

I cannot say whether it was owing to the execution of this advice, to the facility of the task, or to favourable accidents, that I carried my point without difficulty. The minister approved my plan; the Duke of B----a received the above mentioned order along with 40,000 ducats, and the edict concerning the nobility was renewed. However, the Duke of B----a again escaped the snare. He did, indeed, execute the orders of the Sp***sh court, travelled all over P****l, and observed every where how the people were devoted to him; the money he had received, and the power that was entrusted to him, enabled him to gain many friends, and he entered the fortified towns so well escorted, that none of the Sp***sh governors dared seize him.

The Irishman who gave me this information, provided me at the same time with instructions how to act if the minister should complain of the miscarriage of my plan, which soon happened. Oliva*ez acquainted me very peevishly, with the bad success of our undertaking. “We may yet carry our point,” I replied, after some reflection, with seeming unconcern. “If you wish to pursue your plan, you may easily lay a new snare for him, from which the Duke will not be able to extricate himself. You have the best opportunity of sending him an order to repair to Mad**d, and to make to his Majesty an oral report of the state of Port**l.”

The minister approved of this advice, and carried it into execution without delay. The Duke of B----a, who was well aware that the order from the Sp***sh court could not be declined any longer, sent his Chamberlain to Mad**d in order to hire a palace, to engage a number of servants, and to make every preparation for his pretended arrival, but nevertheless did not come. One time he pleaded ill health, at another time want of money; and at last, wished to know what rank he was to hold at Mad**d. However, I was so fortunate as to guide the minister in such a manner that every obstacle was removed at last, and the Duke received 6000 ducats for defraying the expences of his journey.

“Now,” said the Irishman to me, “the Duke will find it impossible to shift any longer, and either must repair to Mad**d, which he will take care not to do, or give the signal for the revolution. Your business, my Lord, is finished, and nothing further will be required of you than the strictest secrecy. When your country will be free, we shall meet again, and then you may expect to see all my promises accomplished.”

(_To be continued._)

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* * * *

CURIOUS OBSERVATIONS ON MAKING LOVE.

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+From The Tatler.+

I fell in the other evening with a party who were engaged in examining which was the handsomest style of addressing the Fair, and writing Letters of Gallantry.--Many were the opinions immediately declared on this subject: Some were for a certain softness; some for I know not what of delicacy; others for something inexpressibly tender: When it came to me, I said there was no rule in the world to be made for writing Letters, but that of being as near what you speak face to face as you can; which is so great a truth, that I am of opinion, writing has lost more Mistresses than any one mistake in the whole legend of Love. For when you write to a Lady for whom you have a solid and honourable Love, the great idea you have of her, joined to a quick sense of her absence, fills your mind with a sort of tenderness, that gives your language too much the air of complaint, which is seldom successful. For a man may flatter himself as he pleases, but he will find, that the women have more understanding in their own affairs than we have, and women of spirit are not to be won by mourners.--Therefore he that can keep handsomely within rules, and support the carriage of a companion to his mistress, is much more likely to prevail, than he who lets her see the whole relish of his life depends upon her. If possible therefore, divert your mistress, rather than sigh to her. The pleasant man she will desire for her own sake; but the languishing lover has nothing to hope for but her pity. To shew the difference I produced two Letters a Lady gave me, which had been writ to her by two gentlemen who made love to her, but were both killed the day after the date at the battle of _Almanza_. One of them was a mercurial gay-humoured man; the other a man of a serious but a great and gallant spirit. Poor _Jack Careless!_ This is his letter: You see how it is folded: The air of it is so negligent, one might have read half of it by peeping into it, without breaking it open. He had no exactness.

_MADAM_,

‘It is a very pleasant circumstance I am in, that while I should be thinking of the good company we are to meet within a day or two, where we shall go to loggerheads, my thoughts are running upon a Fair Enemy in _England_. I was in hopes I had left you there; but you follow the camp, tho’ I have endeavoured to make some of our leaguer Ladies drive you out of the Field. All my comfort is, you are more troublesome to my Colonel than myself: I permit you to visit me only now and then; but he downright keeps you. I laugh at his honour as far as his gravity will allow me; But I know him to be a man of too much merit to succeed with a woman. Therefore defend your heart as well as you can, I shall come home this winter irresistibly dressed, and with quite a new foreign air. And so, I had like to say, I rest, but alas! I remain, _Madam_,

_Your most Obedient, Most Humble Servant_,

JOHN CARELESS.

Now for Colonel _Constant’s_ Epistle; you see it is folded and directed with the utmost care.

_MADAM_,

‘I do myself the honour to write to you this evening because I believe to-morrow will be a day of battle, and something forebodes in my breast that I shall fall in it. If it proves so, I hope you will hear I have done nothing below a man who had a love of his country, quickened by a passion for a woman of honour. If there be any thing noble in going to a certain death; if there be any merit, I meet it with pleasure, by promising myself a place in your esteem; if your applause, when I am no more, is preferable to the most glorious life without you; I say, Madam, if any of these considerations can have weight with you, you will give me a kind place in your memory, which I prefer to the glory of _Cæsar_. I hope, this will be read, as it is writ, with tears.’

The beloved Lady is a woman of a sensible mind; but she has confessed to me, that after all her true and solid value for _Constant_, she had much more concern for the loss of _Careless_. Those great and serious spirits have something equal to the adversities they meet with, and consequently lessen the objects of pity. Great accidents seem not cut out so much for men of familiar characters, which makes them more easily pitied, and soon after beloved. Add to this, that the sort of love which generally succeeds, is a stranger to awe and distance. I asked _Romana_, whether of the two she should have chosen had they survived? She said, She knew she ought to have taken _Constant_; but believed, she should have chosen _Careless_.

* * *

ARABIAN MAXIMS.

The monument which a wise man is ambitious to leave behind him, is not a numerous posterity, but the lasting honours of a virtuous fame.

In learning to know yourself, you learn to know God.

Do good; and your reward shall be, if not the plaudits of men, the approbation of God.

It is lost labour to endeavour to give understanding to him that has none; especially, if he thinks himself more sensible than you.

Nobility does not consist in magnificence of dress or eminence of rank. Art thou virtuous? Thou art sufficiently noble.

The life of man is a journal: good actions only should be written in it.

He who sows duplicity will reap calamity.

Whatever is not God, is nothing.

There are three things of which we cannot be certain but in three circumstances; courage can be conspicuous only in the combat; wisdom, when you are offended; and friendship, in adversity.

* * * * *
* * * *

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 142.)

Titsikan was listening to the story of our misfortunes, with which he appeared to be deeply affected, when one of his centinels approached, and sounded an alarm. He immediately left us in great haste, on purpose to run to the drawbridge. We heard a great tumult, and began already to presage some inauspicious event.

While we remained plunged in consternation,---“Lovzinski, Lodoiska, cowardly and perfidious pair!” exclaims Dourlinski, unable to contain his joy---“you have hoped to be able to elude my vengeance, and escape my chastisement. Tremble! you are once more about to fall into my hands. At the noise of my captivity and misfortunes, the neighbouring nobility are undoubtedly assembled, and have now come to succour me.”

“---They can only revenge you, villain!” cries Boleslas, interrupting him in the midst of his threats, and seizing, at the same time, an iron bar, with which he prepared to knock him down; I, however, instantly interposed and prevented him from executing this act of justice.

Titsikan returned in a few minutes: “It is only a false alarm,” said he to us; “it is nothing more than a small detachment which I dispatched yesterday, on purpose to scour the country---they had orders to rejoin me here; and they have brought me some prisoners: every thing is quiet, and the neighbourhood does not appear to be in the least commotion.”

While Titsikan yet spoke to me, a number of unfortunates, whose luckless fate had delivered them into the hands of the enemy, were dragged before him. We first beheld five, who, being unbound, walked by the side of their conquerors, with a downcast and melancholy aspect. The Tartars told us, that one of their companions had been overcome with great difficulty, and that was the reason why he was bound hand and foot!

The sixth now appeared: “O Heavens! it is my father!” exclaims Lodoiska, running at the same time towards him.---I, too, threw myself at the feet of Pulaski. “Are you Pulaski?” says the Tartar chieftain, “’tis well; the event is lucky! Believe me, my friend, it is not more than a quarter of an hour since I first heard of you. I know however, that you are proud and hot-headed, but no matter! I esteem you; you possess both courage and abilities; your daughter is beautiful, and does not want for understanding; Lovzinski is brave---braver than myself, as I have already experienced. Attend to what I am about to say----”

Pulaski, motionless with astonishment, scarcely heard the sound of the Tartar’s voice; and struck, at the same time, with the strange spectacle that offered itself to his view, he began to conceive the most horrible suspicions.

He repulsed my caresses with the most significant disgust: “Wretch!” exclaims he at length, “you have betrayed your country, a woman who loved you, a man who prided himself in calling you his son-in-law; it was only wanting to fill up the measure of your crimes, that you should league with robbers!”

“With robbers!” cries Titsikan---“with robbers indeed, if it so please you to call us: but you yourself must acknowledge that description of people to be good for something; for without me, perhaps, your daughter, by to-morrow’s sun, would no longer have been a maiden! Be not alarmed,” said he, addressing himself to me: “but I know that he is proud, and I therefore am not angry.”

We had by this time placed Pulaski in a chair; his daughter and myself bathed his manacles with our tears; but he still continued to frown at and to overwhelm me with reproaches.

“What can you wish for?” cries the Tartar, once more addressing his captive: “I tell you that Lovzinski is a brave man, whom I intend to see married; and as for your Dourlinski, he is a rogue, whom I am about to order to be hanged.

“I repeat to you once more, that you alone are more _hot-headed_ than us three put together. But hear me, and let us finish this business, for it is necessary that I should depart. You belong to me by the most incontestible right, that of the sword. But if you promise me, upon your honour, that you will be sincerely reconciled to Lovzinski, and give your daughter to him for a wife, I will restore you to your liberty.”

“He who can brave death,” replies the haughty Pulaski, “can support slavery. My daughter shall never be the wife of a traitor.”

“Do you love better that she should be a Tartar’s mistress?---If you do not promise to give her, within the space of eight days, to this brave man, I myself shall espouse her this very night! When I am weary of you and of her, I will sell you to the Turks. Your daughter is handsome enough to find admittance into the _haram_ of a bashaw: and you yourself may perhaps superintend the kitchen of some janissary.”

“My life is in your hands; do with it whatsoever you please. If Pulaski falls beneath the sword of a Tartar, he will be lamented, and even his enemies will agree that he merits a more glorious destiny: but if he were to consent: No! no! I rather choose---I prefer death!”

“I do not desire your death! I wish only that Lovzinski should espouse Lodoiska. What!---Shall my prisoner give the law to me? By my sabre!---this dog of a Christian---but I am in the wrong---he is furious, and is assuredly deprived of his reason.”

I now beheld the Tartar’s eyes sparkle with fury, and therefore recalled to his memory the promise he had made me, that he would not give way to his passion.

“Undoubtedly! but this man wearies out the patience of a favourite of our prophet! I am but a robber!---Yet Pulaski, I repeat it to you again, that it is my command that Lovzinski espouse your daughter. By my sabre, he has fairly gained her; but for him she had been burnt last night.”

“But for him!”

“Yes! Behold those ruins; there stood a tower in that place; it was on fire, and no person dared to ascend it: he, however, mounted the stair-case, attended by Boleslas---and they saved your daughter!”

“Was my daughter in that tower?”

“Yes! that hoary villain had confined her there; that hoary villain, who attempted to violate her!---Some of you must relate the whole to him; but make haste, as it is necessary that he should decide instantly; I have business elsewhere, for I do not intend that your militia* shall surprise me here: it is otherwise in the plains; there I should laugh at them.”

[* The troops stationed on purpose to watch over the safety of the
frontiers of Podolia and Volhnia, and preserve them from the
incursions of the Tartars, are called Quartuaires.]

While Titsikan ordered the rich booty which he had taken, to be stowed in little covered waggons, Lodoiska informed her father of the crimes of Dourlinski, and mingled the recital of our affection so artfully with the history of her misfortunes, that nature and gratitude at one and the same time began to besiege the heart of Pulaski.

Affected in the most lively manner with the misfortunes of his daughter, and sensible of the important services which I had rendered her, he embraces Lodoiska, and at length beholding me without resentment, he seemed to wait impatiently for an opportunity to be reconciled to me.

“O Pulaski!” I exclaim, “you whom Heaven hath left me, on purpose to console me for the loss of the best of fathers; you for whom I have an equal friendship and veneration; why hast thou condemned thy children unheard? Why hast thou supposed a man who adores thy daughter, guilty of the most horrible treason?

“When my vows were offered up in favour of that prince who now fills the throne, I swear to you, Pulaski, by her whom I love so tenderly, that I looked upon his elevation to be an event highly auspicious to the happiness, the safety, and the prosperity of my country.

“The misfortunes which my youth did not foresee, thy experience had anticipated: but because I have been wanting in prudence, ought you to accuse me of perfidy? Ought you to have reproached me for loving my friend? Can you now look upon it as a crime, that I still give him my esteem? For the three last months, I have beheld the misfortunes of my country in the same point of view as yourself: like you, I have mourned over them; but I am sure that the king is still ignorant of their extent, and I shall go to Warsaw on purpose to inform him of all that I have seen.”

Pulaski here interrupts me:---“It is not there that you ought to repair: you tell me that M. de P*** is not informed of the wrongs done to his native country, and I believe you: but whether he is acquainted with, or whether he is entirely ignorant of them, is now but of little consequence. Insolent foreigners, cantoned throughout our provinces, strive to maintain themselves in the republic, even against the king, whom they have caused to be elected. It is no longer in the power of an impotent or a mal-content king, to chase the Russians from my country!

“Let us trust only to ourselves, Lovzinski; and let us either avenge our country, or die in her defence. I have assembled 4000 noble Poles in the palatinate of Lublin, who wait but for the return of their general, to march against the Russians: follow me to my camp----on this condition I am your friend, and my daughter shall be your wife!”

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

CONJUGAL AFFECTION.

Lady Fanshaw, whose husband was Clerk of the Council to Charles the First and Second, and translator of the Pastor Fido, relates the following extraordinary circumstance in some MSS memoirs of herself, addressed to her son. The transaction took place during a voyage that Lady Fanshaw made from Galway to Malaga, in the spring of the year 1649.

“We pursued our voyage with prosperous winds.--When we had just passed the Straits, we saw coming towards us, with full sails, a Turkish galley well manned, and we believed we should be carried away slaves; for the captain had so laden his ship with goods for Spain, that his guns were useless, though the ship carried 60 guns. He called for brandy, and after he had well drunken and all his men, which were near 200, he called for arms, and cleared the deck as well as he could, resolving to fight rather than lose his ship, which was worth 30,000l. This was sad for us passengers, but my husband bid us be sure to keep in the cabin, and not appear, which would make the Turks think we were a man of war, but if they saw women, they would take us for merchants and detain us. He went upon deck, and took a gun, a bandelier, and sword, expecting the arrival of the Turkish man of war. The beast of a Captain had locked me up in the cabin---I knocked and called to no purpose, until the cabin-boy came and opened the door. I, all in tears, desired him to be so good as to give me his thrum cap and his tarred coat, which he did, and I gave him half a crown, and putting them on, and flinging away my night-clothes, I crept up softly, and stood upon the deck by my husband’s side, as free from sickness and fear as, I confess, of discretion, but it was the effect of that passion which I could never master. By this time the two vessels were engaged in parley, and so well satisfied with speech and sight of each other’s force, that the Turks men tacked about, and we continued our course. But when your father saw it convenient to retreat, looking upon me, he blessed himself, and snatched me up in his arms, saying, “Good God, that love can make this change!” and though he seemingly chid me, he would laugh at it as often as he remembered that voyage.”

* * * * *
* * * *

_ANECDOTE_
OF MRS. D’ARBLAY (LATE MISS BURNEY),

The much admired Authoress of EVELINA, CECILIA, and a work of still
greater merit, entitled CAMILLA; OR, A PICTURE OF YOUTH: the latter
has but just appeared in London, is now in the press, and will
shortly be published by the EDITOR.

Miss Burney, who has lately married M. D’Arblay, a French Emigrant, is daughter to the late Dr. Burney, so well known in the annals of music. At an early age she was passionately fond of reading novels, which drew on her the censure of her father, who looked on those then extant, as but ill calculated to afford any solid improvement or rational amusement. Soon after, Miss Burney, without the knowledge of her parent, wrote the much admired history of Evelina---, which was immediately published in London, without disclosing the name of the author, as she dreaded incurring her father’s displeasure.

Dr. Burney, soon after the publication of Evelina, having accidentally entered a bookseller’s shop, was presented with this work, and strongly recommended to purchase it; his general dislike to novels, prevented his compliance, till strongly urged by the bookseller to give it even a cursory review: but no sooner had he perused a few pages, than he made his bargain, and having gone through the whole performance, he called his daughter, and recommended it to her as the only production of the kind that merited her attention; observing, that “the other books she so much read, were entirely beneath her notice, but that he was now happy in being able to present her with a novel, possessed of such intrinsic merit, as to render it well worthy her most attentive perusal.”

How great was Miss Burney’s surprize, on being presented with the work of her own pen, produced during many a stolen hour snatched from pleasures or from sleep! yet how flattering and how grateful to her sensible mind must the eulogium of so excellent a judge have proved!

Encouraged by his approbation, she disclosed the secret to the joy of a doating parent, who felt proud at having a daughter possessed of a genius capable of producing a piece which he deemed inimitable. Evelina went through four editions in the course of the first year, and Cecilia met with the most unbounded applause. The Queen, hearing so much in favour of our heroine, gave her the appointment of reader to her Majesty, with a large salary annexed, but interdicted her from publishing any thing, as derogatory to the dignity of her station.

Her marriage with Mr. D’Arblay, a gentleman suited to so amiable a partner, occasioned the loss of her place at court. This circumstance may be considered as a very considerable advantage to the republic of letters.

As the sun after a long concealment behind the darkening cloud, breaks forth with redoubled lustre, to the joy and exhilaration of mankind---so does this amiable writer appear to the votaries of taste and literature, holding in her hand the interesting history of Camilla---depicting in the most striking and variegated colours the feelings and propensities of the youthful mind, whether actuated by the celestial principles inspired by heaven, or stimulated by the bias of evil examples or vicious inclinations. Nor does she here omit the opportunity of displaying virtue in the most fascinating garb, while vice is depicted in the most forbidding and hateful dress. The sentiments she here inculcates, are of the most noble, refined and exalted nature---such as if generally diffused, would contribute to instil in the heart of man, the divine attributes of his maker, and render him as happy as would be consistent with the frailty of his probationary state. In fine, we may pronounce Camilla a _chef d’œuvre_, worthy the perusal of all who are desirous of rational entertainment, or anxious to have the feelings of the heart awakened to impressions of the most delightful and charming nature.

* * * * *

_NEW-YORK._

* * *

MARRIED,

On Wednesday last, by the Right Rev. Bishop Provost, Capt. ALEXANDER DON, to the amiable Miss MARIA BERRIMEN, both of this city.

That union sure, completely blest must prove,
Founded on Virtue just esteem and love.
Happy, thrice happy, may you be thro’ life,
He the best husband, you the kindest wife.

On Saturday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Pilmore, Mr. WILLIAM SHATZEL, to Miss ELSIE HALL, both of this city.

* * * * *

LINES FROM THE REV. MR. BISHOP TO HIS WIFE,
WITH A PRESENT OF A PENKNIFE