Chapter L: Le Fevre (22)

Of Amine, the beautiful and virtuous daughter of the Vizier Omar, they were both enamoured; and both sought her affections, though unknown to each other: but the talisman of Fortune was in the hand of Ali; and, by consent of the vizier, the cadi drew up the contract of union between them. Orasmin attended the celebration of his friends nuptials; but, while he prayed aloud that Alla might shower down innumerable blessings on his head, he cursed him in his heart, and from that moment meditated his destruction. But his resentment he veiled under the garb of extreme solicitude; and while on his lips dwelt the mellifluous accents of disinterested profession, the deadly gall of hatred rankled in his soul. Lo! to the eye, how beautiful appears the serpent of the desart; yet in his mouth is inserted a barbed sting, and under his tongue is collected the dark beverage of death!

Orasmin now stedfast in his hate, waited with the utmost anxiety for a favourable moment to effect his monstrous purposes on his rival, as the tawny lion of Africa watches an opportunity to spring on his prey: but the hopes of the envious were vain; the conduct of Ali put Scandal to shame, and bade defiance to the machinations of Malice.

The pure bliss which the new-married couple enjoyed was in the fullness of time heightened extremely by the birth of a son: but it is written in the ample book of Nature, “That the fairest blossom shall be blighted, and the green leaf shall not last forever;” and, in the unutterable volume of Destiny, that--“The aspect of human happiness is deceitful as the complexion of the sky; and that the exquisite season of enjoyment flees away on the light pinions of impatience.” The son of Amine was stolen from his nurse; and the house of Ali, from being the mansion of supreme felicity, became on a sudden, the dwelling of anguish, and the haunt of despair.

An hundred moons had revolved, and Ali and Amine heard not of their first-born; neither did the all-wise Alla think fit to supply his place by another. At length, Ali was dispatched on an expedition against the enemies of the faithful; and Orasmin had the mortification to serve under him, as second in command. He resolved to thwart him all he could insidiously: and, by a well-concerted stratagem, and most consummate address, made so grand diversion in favour of the foe, that the Musselmen were not only defeated; but, apparently to the whole army, through the imbecility of the commander in chief, who narrowly escaped being made a prisoner.

The sagacious Ali, however, though he little suspected the treachery of Orasmin, knew well where the blame lay; yet rather than his friend should suffer, nobly chose to keep silence, and himself bear the whole weight of the Sultan’s displeasure.

The perfidious Orasmin, internally rejoicing at the effect of his art, with the greatest pleasure received the news, that the generous Ali was banished his sovereigns presence, and had retired to hide his shame far from the royal city. Time, however, and the interest of Omar, once more restored Ali to Mustapha’s favour; he was intrusted, in a full divan, with an embassy to the Christian states; and returned, after having concluded his mission in the most honourable manner. But it should seem that the Genii of Prosperity had resigned his destiny to the Spirits of Malediction; the sublime satisfaction he received from the approving smiles of his royal master, were blasted by the intelligence that Amine, the wife of his bosom, was no more! At his departure, she had retired to a house which he possessed by the sea-shore; and it was her custom every evening to ramble among the rocks, as if to look for his return; from one of these excursions she never returned; and her attendants concluded that she must have been drowned.

Ali was distracted at the information, and flew from society to bury his grief in sympathising solitude. In the mean time, partly through sorrowing for his daughter, and partly through the dilapidations of time, the venerable Omar resigned his seat of mortality; and Orasmin, by mere intrigue, obtained the post of temporary Vizier; as Mustapha had proclaimed, that no one should be confirmed in it, but he who should perform an action worthy of such a reward.

Orasmin, however, through the most refined artifice, had almost induced the Sultan to perpetuate his claim to the viziership; when Nadar Ismoul, with a formidable army, approached, with all the insolence of a rebel, within two days march of the royal capital. The voice of rebellion pierced the recesses of grief; and Ali, rouzed from his desponding lethargy by the imminent danger of his country, hastened to court, and throwing himself at the Sultan’s feet, entreated leave to march against Nadar, and retrieve his former dishonour. Muley readily complied; and Ali took the field with a less, but a much better disciplined army than that of Nadar: victory strode before him; the deluded forces of the traitor threw down their arms, but it was the will of Alla that their leader should escape.

The acclamations of thousands proclaimed the honourable return of Ali; and Orasmin, making a virtue of necessity, was the first to declare him worthy of the viziership. He at first hesitated to accept it, for the memory of Amine had estranged his heart from society; but, reflecting that man was not made for himself, and that he who slights the power of doing good is an enemy to human nature, he received it at the hands of his gracious sovereign with the most zelous and heartfelt professions of gratitude. The torments of Orasmin increased daily; and, though he overserved the most marked attention to his rival outwardly, the dark projects of revenge continually absorbed his mind. An orphan, who from earliest infancy had been under his protection, loved, and was beloved by his daughter: he had long noticed it, but concealed that knowledge. One day, when the lovers were enjoying, as they thought, the blisses of security, he surprized them, and with a stern frown bade Ibrahim follow him. They entered a private apartment; when Orasmin, seating himself, thus addressed the youth, who stood trembling before him--“Ibrahim, when the Angel of Death deprived thee of thy parents, and the Angel of Adversity destroyed the fortunes of thine house, thou was insensible to thy loss. Thy father had been my most intimate friend, and I took thee under my protection. I have been to thee as a father, and thou hast been profuse in professions of gratitude; but it is by deeds alone that we can judge of the sincerity of the heart, and Orasmin now finds it necessary to put thy gratitude to trial.” Then, giving him a letter, bade him read it; which the terrified Ibrahim immediately opening, found to contain these words--

“Ali Mahomet, to his esteemed friend, Nadar Ismoul, greeting, health and happiness. To the tyrant Mustapha, despair and death! The plan of thy defeat was well managed; the credulous Muley is completely deceived, and has made me vizier: he little dreams, that he has put himself into the power of his most implacable enemy. I dispatch this by a trusty messenger; by whom, from time to time, I shall communicate to thee what steps thou art to take. At present, keep still where thou art; and I hope soon to call thee from thy hiding-place, to share with me the empire of the usurping Othmans. Thine in all the ardour of sincerity.

“ALI MAHOMET.”

“Among the talents thou possessest,” continued Orasmin, “thou hast that of imitating, beyond the possibility of detection, the most difficult hand-writing; transcribe then, that letter in the characters of Ali our vizier, specimens of which I shall give thee; and if thou succeedest to my wish the hand of my daughter Almeria, whom thou lovest, shall be thine.” The agitation of surprize which possessed the youthful Ibrahim, left him not words to reply: he stammered a few incoherent words; when Orasmin, drawing his scymitar cried--“I am not to be trifled! to the task this moment; or, by the head of Mahomet, thou shalt follow the shade of thy father! But, I again repeat it, if thou pleasest me, Almeria shall be thine to-morrow.”

(To be continued.)

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IRONICAL INSTRUCTION TO LOUNGERS.

Such gentlemen as carry small canes, in modish language termed _canees_, ought to put them in a horizontal position under their right arm taking especial care that the ferule end, which must be carried behind them, be sufficiently dirty. This, with a jirk in the gait, and a frequent whisk, as if to look about them, will prevent that crowd of busy people, who infest the public streets, from pressing too close.

If a short man carry an umbrella, let him lift it no higher, than the eyes of the overgrown monsters, among the passengers of the street. By this expedient, he will prevent their coming so near, as to splash him; at least, if they do, it will be at the hazard of loss of sight.

Such gentlemen, as write their letters in a coffee-house, should endeavour to procure two or three of the newspapers of the day, to put under their paper. This will prevent the table soiling their letter, or their ruffle; as to the impatience of those who wait for news, that is not the business of a gentleman to inquire about.

If a Coffee-room be crowded, endeavour to fix yourself at the corner of a table, in such a manner, that you prevent any one passing you to get seated on any other part of the bench; or, if that cannot conveniently be done, put one, or both of your legs, at full length upon the seat, lean back, whistle, or pick your teeth. This will show your consequence.

If you walk the streets, always wear boots and spurs, especially in the summer months, when the ways are clean. I say _spurs_, because it is three to one, but they catch the apron or petticoat of some woman, who is passing you; if she be young and handsome, you may make a low bow, and ask her pardon, in a _degagee_ way, which may give birth to an agreeable connexion. Observe the same rule, when you go to the play-house; besides, if your boots be sufficiently dirty, you prevent people incommoding you, by crowding a box seat.

Whenever you call a hackney coach, order the driver to stop his horses, as near as possible to the foot-way. This will naturally occasion a number of people to stop, and give you an opportunity, of showing your person or a new coat, made in the _ton_.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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HOPE.

Hope may be considered as a _mental stimulus_: It is to the mind what the blood it to the body: If the circulation of the latter is arrested, the powers of life collapse; if Hope deserts us, despair commences her gloomy reign, and blackens every prospect. Few are free from the intrusions of this unwelcome visitor when assaulted by the calamities of life, when the gay visions of imagination vanish from their sight, and when the anguish of remorse preys upon the soul. Since each earthly dependance must fail, how miserable is he whose only objects of Hope are confined to the present world, and how often must his heart flag for want of this necessary stimulus. Hence appears the glorious advantage of that man, whose Hope, grounded on a faith in divine Revelation, extends through eternity. This is the prerogative of the Christian, and from hence he draws a never-failing supply in whatever state he is destin’d to appear.

VIATOR.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

SLAVERY.

Gloomy night had began her reign, and dread silence prevailed in and about the habitations that were situated on the banks of the Niger*; and nought was there to interrupt the gloom, save man, _savage-civilized_ man; who, conscious that the deed he perpetrates is unfit for the sun to be witness of, makes choice of this solemn hour, when the sad victims to his avarice are fast locked in the arms of sleep and innocence, to accomplish his nefarious designs.

[* A great River in Africa.]

On such an hour as hath my pen pourtrayed, forth rushed from a bark that bore proud Albion’s flag, several, who had long been the acknowledged possessors of what are called “_hearts of oak_”--(perhaps the title never suited more exactly). The base commander had taken the advantage of unguarded innocence, and to accumulate wealth, purloined his fellow man. The “Free Briton” was converted into a Slave ship, and became a prison for Afric’s ill-fated sons.

Near to the shore the vessel lay, until its _honourable_ master had seen stowed in its hold, far from Aurora’s soul-reviving beams, sufficient of those beings that were formed in the exact image of his Creator, to complete his cargo, spread his canvass to the gentle breeze. The ship, as if partaking in some degree of the spirit of its commander, proudly mounted the white top’d billows, and exulting in the numbers she was conducting to their destined port to partake of the bitter draught of slavery, flew before the wind.

Hitherto the winds had been propitious, and nought had intervened to disturb the pleasure of the crew. Half the distance had the vessel measured; and so certain were they of soon beholding the Island of Barbadoes, that they could have sworn they would have reached it ere a week had finished. But righteous Heaven, who, alas! is the only protector of inoffending mortals, grieved to see a portion of its creatures thus abused, sent to the eyes of the eager crew, a ship, that bore engines (not of torture, although navigated by infidels) of war. On her stern majestically waved Britannia’s flag. Lured by the bait, the eager crew hastened to greet their brethren. Already was the Captain situated in a place conspicuous, in order to deliver the accustomed salutation; when oh! a death-blow was given to all their expectations---they beheld an Algerine corsair. Too late to retreat they were soon taken possession of, and themselves made prisoners.

L. B.

March 17, 1797.

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NEW-YORK.

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MARRIED,

At Cherry-hill, by the Rev. Nicholas Van Vranken, Captain SOLOMON VAN RENSSELAER, to Miss HARRIOT VAN RENSSELAER, second daughter of Philip Van Rensselaer, Esq.

On Saturday evening the 18th ult. by the Rev. Mr. Abeel, Captain JOSEPH MARSCHALK, to Miss MARY YOULE, both of this city.

On Friday evening the 24th ult. by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. JOHN DEVAY, of Albany, to Miss MARY WARREN, late of England.

On Tuesday evening the 28th ult. by the Rev. Dr. M‘Knight, Mr. THOMAS S. TOWNSEND, Merchant, to Miss PEGGY NOSTRAND, both of this city.

A few weeks since, at Boston, GRENVILLE TEMPLE, Esq. son of Sir John Temple, Bart. to Mrs. RUSSELL, widow of the late Thomas Russell, Esq. of that city.

On Wednesday the 1st inst. by the Rev. Dr. Pilmore, Mr. ROBERT GIBBONS, to Miss HANNAH HIGGINS, of Elizabeth-Town.

On Thursday evening the 2d inst. by the Rev. Mr. Abeel, Mr. JOHN HOLLOWAY, to Miss CATHARINE STANTON, both of this city.

On Thursday evening sen’ight, by the Rev. Mr. Holmes, Mr. JOHN COATS, to Miss WILHELMINA PATTERSON, both of this city.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 12th to the 18th inst._

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

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.
100 100
March 12 28 36 s. do. cloudy, lt. wd. clear, calm
13 36 43 cloudy, calm, do. do.
14 45 62 s. do. foggy, lt wd. do. do.
15 36 44 ne. do. rain, lt wd. do. do.
16 33 36 e. ne. rain, lt wd. do. do.
17 38 48 e. do. rain, lt wd. very thick fog.
18 48 68 sw. w. clr. lt wd. thunder shower.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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A REBUS.

The Greek, without whose aid fate pre-ordain’d,
That Troy had stood, nor Illion’s turretts flam’d:
An island which Apollo’s birth does claim,
A judge of Pandemonia’s dark domain!
A crescent emblem of the ceasing storm,
The country where fam’d Liberty was born.
The man who brought great natures works to light,
A semi orb, that does illume the night:
A Nymph who rides upon the ambient air,
Whose voice responds to joy, or fell dispair.
What Despots do oppose to Reason’s Laws.
The mount where Beauty’s Queen gain’d her fam’d cause:
The time when natures wrapt in soft repose,
A cave where Reasons beatific smile ne’er flow’s:
A Sage who was translated to the skies;
A principle, Columbia’s sons much prize.
What fills the frighted mariner with dismay,
A bird that does prefer dun night to day;
A city where bright truth and honour shine,
Whose laws are rear’d on sentiments divine:
An Aeronaut of courage, skill and fame,
A Town that mistress of the world did reign.
A Bard who sung the various arts of Love,
A path through which the planets yearly move:
An act that mutual pleasure does impart,
What animates and warms each feeling heart.

The initials if rightly combin’d will declare,
The name of a Trio of beautiful Lasses;
Than Pallas and Juno, or Venus more fair,
Or the Helicon maids, or the Nymphs of Parnassus.

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ON SEEING A LADY AT AN OPPOSITE WINDOW.

Whilst on forbidden fruit I gaze,
And look my heart away;
Behold my star of Venus blaze,
And smile upon the day.

Fair as the purple blushing hours,
That paint the morning’s eye;
Or cheek of ev’ning after show’rs,
That fresh the western sky.

I send a sigh with ev’ry glance,
Or drop a softer tear;
Hard fate! no further to advance,
And yet to be so near.

So Moses from fair Pysga’s height,
The land of promise ey’d:
Surveyed the region of delight,
He saw, came down, and di’d.

Then oh! my Fair, descend to bless,
And soothe those sorrows in my breast!
My heart’s desponding into grief,
Thy healing balm can give relief!

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[[For sources, see the end of the final (3rd) installment.]]

AN ADDRESS TO THE VOTARIES OF POESY.

+By James De-La-Cour.+

Oh! come my friends, who like with me to rove,
The flow’ry mountain, and the laurel grove;
Where god Apollo guards the limpid fount,
And the glad muses climb the vocal mount;
You whom the voice invites to taste their charms,
Whom verse transports, and tuneful fancy warms;
Before you press the syrens to your heart,
Attend a while the precepts I impart.

First let your judgment for your fancy chuse,
Of all the nine, the most unblemish’d muse;
Soft yet sublime, in love yet strictly cloy,
Prone to be grave, yet not averse to joy;
Where taste and candour, wit and manners meet,
Bold without bombast, daring but discreet;
Correct with spirit, musical with sense,
Not apt to give, nor slow to take offence;
First to commend when others thoughts are shown,
But always last delighted with her own.

When this is done, let nature be your guide,
Rise in the spring, or in the river glide;
In every line consult her as you run,
And let her Naids roll the river on:
Unless to please our nice corrupted sense,
Art be call’d in, and join’d with vast expence;
Then rivers wander thro’ the vale no more,
But boil in pipes, or spout thro’ figur’d ore;
The neighb’ring brooks their empty channels mourn,
That now enrich some artificial urn.

Thus ever suit your numbers to your theme,
And tune their cadence to the falling stream;
Or shou’d the falling stream incline to love,
Let the words slide, and like its murmers move:
Poor were the praise to paint the purling rill,
To make it music is the muses skill;
Without her voice the spring runs silent by,
Dumb are the waters, and the verse’s dry;
While chill’d with ice the cool waves creep along,
And all the fountain freezes in the song.

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ANACREONTIC.

Found in an old Drawer in the Repositories of a Person deceased.

O God of Sleep! since we must be
Oblig’d to give some hours to thee;
Invade me not whilst the full bowl
Glows on my cheek, and warms my soul.
Be that the only time to rest,
When I no wine, no joys can taste:
Short, very short, then, be thy reign,
For I’m in haste to live again.

But oh! if melting in my arms,
The nymph belov’d, with all her charms,
In some sweet dream should then surprise,
And grant what waking she denies;
Gentle slumber! prithee stay,
Slowly, slowly bring the day.
Let no rude noise my bliss destroy,
For sweet delusion’s real joy.

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

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_UTILE DULCI._

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, March 29, 1797.+ [+No. 91.+

TRUE GENUINE SENTIMENT.

True genuine sentiment may be so connected with the virtue of action, as to bestow on it its brightest lustre, and its most captivating graces. And enthusiasm under these circumstances is so far from being disagreeable, that a portion is indispensibly necessary in an engaging woman; but it must be of the heart, not of the senses.--It must grow up with the feeling mind, and be cherished by a virtuous education, not compounded of irregular passions and artificially refined by books of unnatural fiction, and improbable adventure.

But this dangerous merit cannot be too rigidly watched, as it is very apt to lead those who possess it into inconveniencies from which less interesting characters are happily exempt.

Strong sensibility may carry a very amiable temper into the most alarming extremes.---The taste of those so actuated are passions. They love and hate with all their hearts, and scarcely suffer themselves to feel a reasonable preference, before it strengthens into a violent attachment.

When an innocent girl of this open, trusting, tender heart, happens to meet with one of her own sex and age, whose address and manners are engaging, she is instantly seized with an ardent desire to commence a friendship with her. She feels the most lively impatience at the restraint of company and the decorums of ceremony.--She longs to be alone with her--longs to assure her of the warmth of her tenderness, and generally ascribes to the fair stranger all the good qualities she feels in her own heart, or rather all those which she has met with in her reading, dispersed in a variety of heroines.--She is persuaded that her new friend unites them all in herself, because the carries in her prepossessing countenance the promise of them all.

If hints of her defects are given, she mistakes the voice of discretion. At first she listens to them with a generous impatience, and afterwards with a cold and silent disdain, and despises them as the effect of prejudice, misrepresentation, or ignorance.

Yet this trusting confidence, this honest indiscretion, is, at this early period of life, as amiable as it is natural; and will, if wisely cultivated, produce at its proper season, fruits infinitely more valuable than all the guarded circumspection of premature, and therefore artificial prudence. Nay, if the younger part of the sex are sometimes deceived in the choice of a friend, they enjoy even then an higher degree of satisfaction than if they never trusted--For to be always clad in the burthensome armour of suspicion is more painful and inconvenient, than to run the hazard of suffering, now and then, a transient injury.

These observations chiefly respect the inexperienced; for it is a certainty that women are capable of as faithful and as durable friendship as any of the other sex. They can enter not only into all the enthusiastic tenderness, but into all the solid fidelity of attachment.

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RIDICULE.

The fatal fondness for indulging a spirit of ridicule, and the injurious and irreparable consequences which sometimes attend the too severe reply, can never be condemned with more asperity than it deserves. Not to offend is the first step towards pleasing. To give pain is as much an offence against humanity as against good-breeding; and surely it is as well to abstain from an action because it is sinful, as because it is impolite.

A man of sense and breeding will sometimes join in the laugh, which has been raised at his expence by an ill natured repartee; but if it was very cutting, and one of those shocking sorts of truths, which, as they scarcely can be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered in public, he does not laugh because he wishes to conceal how much he is hurt; and will remember it, as a treat of malice, when the whole company should have forgotten it as a stroke of ridicule.

Even women are so far from being privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or cruel things, that it is this very circumstance which renders them intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief to him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which shot it was a fair one.

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THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION;
_OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A._
Unfolding Many Curious Unknown Historical Facts.

_Translated from the German of Tschink._

(Continued from page 299.)

It gave me great pleasure to have found out a mean through which I could influence you and the Marquis at once, and guide both of you to one mark. I feared, however, the Marquis of F-------- would discover my artifices, and for that reason recommended him to the King by a third person, for the transaction of affairs which removed him far enough from us.

Duke. Infernal villainy! execrable wretch!----But no, your deeds contradict your profession. No, Alumbrado, human art cannot produce miracles like yours. Did not nature herself obey you?

Alumbrado. Your imagination only obeyed me. The idea of the miraculous had been instilled in your mind already, and I had nothing else to do but to strengthen it, in order to get possession of the confidence which Hiermanfor had enjoyed. I thought it, however, prudent to use a different method. He founded his supernatural power on the occult sciences, and I on religious mysteries.

I did not find it more difficult to lead you from the delusions of speculative philosophy, to those of implicit faith, than to give you proofs of my miraculous power. A little dexterity, a little success on my part, and a judicious accommodation to circumstances, delivered you and the Marquis into my power. I gained my purpose, and this was the only miracle in the whole affair.

Duke. However, the effects which you produced, are still so very mysterious to me.--

Alumbrado. And yet every thing was done in a very natural manner.

Duke. How could you know the accident that happened at the Inn at *li*, in the very moment when it took place.

Alumbrado. Because I had preconcerted it with some of my emissaries at *li*. You now will comprehend how I could know the day and the hour, and how that incident could agree so exactly with my prediction.

Duke. What end did you mean to gain by that deception?

Alumbrado. The throwing down of the picture by an invisible hand, was to give you a hint that a higher power had decreed the dethronement of the King.

Duke. However, the appeasing of the tempestuous sea could be no delusion, nor an accident. Through what extraordinary means did you effect it?

Alumbrado. Mere precaution enabled me to effect it. Experience had taught me that oil possesses the extraordinary quality of restoring the equilibrium of the water, if violently agitated, and of smoothing the swelling waves. For that reason I have been used never to make a voyage without carrying some casks of oil with me; and I had taken the same precaution when I went on board of the vessel in which you had taken your passage. Having left you, I ordered my people to beat off the hoops of the casks and throw them overboard. The oil instantly spread over the surface of the water and calmed the agitated waves.*

[* Pliny long ago knew that extraordinary quality of the oil, and
in our times it has been confirmed by the experiments of the
immortal Franklin. Mr. Osorezkowsky, the celebrated Russian
academician, experienced the same on his physical voyage, and our
modern seamen in general are no strangers to that effect of the oil,
and frequently make use of it in dangerous surges.]

Duke. [After a pause] It was your intention to persuade me to return to Lis*n, and you have gained your aim by that expedient; but what would you have done if no tempest had afforded you an opportunity of deceiving me by a pretended miracle?

Alumbrado. I should have watched another opportunity, and devised other artifices; for it was with that view that I accompanied you on your voyage without your knowledge.

Duke. By what means did you preserve your life, under the hands of the royal banditti?

Alumbrado. The whole scene you beheld from the top of the turret was pre-concerted by me. The fellows who attacked me, neither had been sent by the King, nor were they banditti, but had been previously instructed by me how to act; their pistols were charged only with powder, and their poniards did not wound me. This will explain to you the whole miracle.

Duke. Not sent by the King, did you say. He then had no design against my life?

Alumbrado. No, the King never had the least idea of such a deed.

Duke. Villainous! villainous! to deceive me thus!--And with what view did you devise that horrid fraud?

Alumbrado. I wanted to inflame your father’s mind with resentment against the King. Nay, I will tell you more. It was my work that the King treated you with so much coldness, and neglected to raise your family: for I had represented you and your father to him, by one of my agents, as persons who beheld his new dignity with envious eyes. Through these mutual exasperations, I gained the advantage of increasing your personal antipathy against the King, and of turning it, at length, into hatred that had all the appearance of just resentment.

Duke. Ah! I now begin to penetrate the whole atrocity of your artful wiles. Then it was you who has excited the King against me and my family, and formed the plots against his life?

Alumbrado. What would it avail me to deny the charge?

Duke. And yet it seemed as if you had not been concerned in the conspiracy. The design against the King had already been determined, and still you withheld your consent and assistance.

Alumbrado. And not without reason. I would not expose myself. The grand Inquisitor and the Primate took care to gain you to our purpose without your suspecting it, while I was directing the plot behind the curtain; I should have destroyed my own work if I had stepped forth too soon. My seeming backwardness spurred you on, and screened me from suspicion. However, after I had performed the last fictitious miracle, I thought myself sufficiently secured against all suspicion, and calculated that it would be reasonable to command you in the name of God to take an active part in the conspiracy.

Duke. After the last fictitious miracle? Do you mean that incident by which you showed yourself proof against ball and dagger?

Alumbrado. I do. The miracle will appear very natural to you when I tell you that I had filled the powder-horn, which I had conveyed secretly from your apartment, with a powder of my own invention, which could not carry the ball farther than five steps. Having placed myself seven steps distant from the gun, I was far enough out of harm’s way. I requested to be fired at twice, in order to empty the powder-horn of its contents, a precaution that prevented you from discovering, afterwards, the real nature of the powder. The dagger with which I stabbed myself, had also been previously made for that purpose, and could do me no harm. The blade of it, which was not much pointed, snapped back into the hollow handle on the smallest resistance, which made you believe that it had penetrated my breast. A spring which forced it again into its former situation, rendered it entirely impossible for you to discover the fraud.

Duke. What views had you in making me believe that you was invulnerable?

Alumbrado. Was it not to be expected that you would repose the utmost reliance on the assistance of a man who should appear to you proof against balls and daggers?

However, I have, as yet, explained to you only the particular views I had in performing fictitious miracles, and now will tell you that every one of them tended to effect a general end, which was nothing less than to persuade you and the Marquis to believe that God was working and speaking through me. Our plot was so hazardous, the circumstances so unfavourable, and success so improbable, that we had reason to apprehend you would shrink back from your resolution, when you should have pondered more maturely the danger which it was attended with. For this reason I thought it most prudent to appear to you to be an organ of the godhead, because it was to be expected that you would fear no danger whatever, if you should be persuaded that our design was the work of God, and supported by his omnipotent power; for with God nothing is impossible. In order to corroborate you in that belief, I advised you to have recourse to prayer.----

Duke. Daring wretch! how could you run that risk?

Alumbrado. Why not? you had already taken your resolution before you implored God to signify his will to you. The execution of our plan had been, some time since, the principle idea that prevailed in your mind, and forced itself upon you on every occasion, and, of course, in your prayers too; it was, therefore, very natural that in the latter case, you should mistake for a decree of God, what, in reality, was nothing else but the voice of your provoked passions. I entertained not the least apprehension that devotion would produce more pious sentiments in your mind, because the sophistry of your passions, and the two prelates had already persuaded you that our design was just; I rather expected that the fervour of your prayer, particularly at night, would increase the fermentation of your blood, and animate you with additional courage to execute our plan.

Duke. Infernal spirit! but no! thou art worse than Satan! for he respects the temples and altars, but thou hast laid thy snares even in those sacred places. Prayers and faith, these sacred treasures of man become in thy hand tools of seduction; and thou dost not tremble at the idea of being accountable to the all-seeing Judge for thy villainous deeds?--What wouldst thou have done, daring wretch! if a ray of divine illumination had dispelled my errors?

Alumbrado. I was not afraid of that. You could expect no such illumination from above, because your own reason would have pointed out to you the illegality of your design, if you had consulted your own good sense rather than your passions. God does not work miracles while we can be instructed by natural means.

Duke. But suppose he had, for how canst thou prescribe limits to the wisdom of God, suppose he had, nevertheless, condescended to open mine eyes through his holy spirit?

Alumbrado. (carelessly.) I then should have had recourse to a natural expedient--which I intended to adopt in case of emergency. You will recollect that you missed a sheet of your treatise on the Manicheean system; it was I who purloined it. If you had shrunk back from your engagement, I would have threatened you with all the terrors of the Inquisition; the sheet was written by you and the grand Inquisitor my friend; consequently now as other choice was left you, than either to make good your engagement or to experience all the horrors of that tribunal.

Duke, shuddering with horror. Lead me back to my dungeon, lest the aspect of this monster should poison me intirely.

The day after the trial, the son of the gaoler brought me a letter, which, to my utter astonishment, was from the Duke, and contained the following lines*: * * * * * * * * * * *

(To be continued.)

[* This letter is the same which is prefixed to the beginning of
these Memoirs.]

* * * * *
* * * *

A PENEGYRIC UPON IMPUDENCE.

Orators and men of wit have frequently amused themselves with maintaining paradoxes. Thus, Erasmus has written a penegyric upon _folly_: Montaigne has said fine things upon _ignorance_, which he somewhere calls “the softest pillow a man can lay his head upon:” and Cardan, in his Encomium Neronis, has, I suppose, defended every vice and every folly. It is astonishing to me, that no one has yet done justice to _impudence_; which has so many advantages, and for which so much may be said. Did it never strike you, what simple, naked, uncompounded _impudence_ will do? what strange and astonishing effects it will produce? Aye, and without birth, without property, without principle, without even artifice and address, without indeed any single quality, but “the front of three-fold brass.”

Object not folly, vice, or villainy however black: these are puny things: from a visage truly bronzed and seared, from features muscularly fixed and hardened, issues forth a broad overpowering glare, by which all these are as totally hid, as the spots of the sun by the lustre of his beams. Were this not so, how is it, that impudence shall make impressions to advantage; shall procure admission to the highest personages, _and no questions asked_; shall suffice (in short) to make a man’s fortune, where no modest merit could even render itself visible? I ask no more to insure success, than that there be but enough of it: without success a man is ruined and undone there being no mean. Should one ravage half the globe, and destroy a million of his fellow-creatures, yet, if at length he arrive at empire, as Cæsar did, he shall be admired while living as an hero, and adored perhaps almost as a god when dead: though, were the very same person, like Cataline, to fail in the attempt, he would be hanged as a scoundrel robber, and his name devoted to infamy or oblivion.

But to proceed. Pray, what do you think the elder Pliny suggests, when he affirms it to be “the prerogative of the Art of Healing, that any man, who professes himself a physician, is instantly received as such?” He certainly suggests, that such sort of professors in his days, like itinerant and advertising phisicians, had a more than ordinary portion of that bold, self-important and confident look and manner, which, with a very little heightening, may justly be called impudence. And what but this could enable a little paltry physician, of no name or character, to gain so mighty an ascendency over such a spirit, as that of Lewis XI. of France? Read the account in Philip de Comines; and then blame me, if you can, for thinking so highly of this accomplishment.--True it is, Lewis was afraid of death even to horror, and so as not to bare the sound of the word; and I grant, that on this same fear the empire of physic, is in a great measure founded.

Pope Gregory VII. who governed the church from 1073 to 1085, is celebrated for having carried ecclesiastical dominion to the height: for he was the first who maintained and established, that popes, by excommunication, may depose kings from their states, and loose subjects from their allegiance. And how did he effect this? Not by genius or eloquence; not by a knowledge of canon law, and the constitutions of the holy see; no, nor by the arts of policy and grimaces of his religion (with all which others had been endowed as well as he) but by a most insolent, daring, usurping spirit. He seized the papal chair by force, as it were threw the church into confusion to gratify his ambition; made kings his slaves, and bishops his creatures; and established in his own person a tyranny over things both spiritual and temporal.---But my admiration of impudence transports me too far: I will say no more upon it.

[[Source:

Possible sources include: _Sylva: or, The wood: being a collection
of anecdotes, dissertations, characters, apophthegms, original
letters, bons mots, and other little things_, 1786, “by a society
of the learned”.]]

* * * * *

+To the Editors of the Weekly Magazine.+

_Gentlemen_,

I have observed in your Magazine, a number of very striking and just Etymologies---I am induced therefore, to present you with the following; hoping, from its authenticity, it will be thought worthy of a place.

The term that was formerly used to express the union of two fond souls was, “Marriage and given in Marriage;” but in course of time, the encitements to this union were changed: instead of Love, Money was the stimulus; of course, a new term must be invented to express it:---So that instead of saying, on such a day a Marriage took place between such a Lady and such a Gentleman---It was said, there’s a Matter-of-Money: and hence, by a slight alteration, the modern phrase of MATRIMONY.

L.

* * * * *

ANECDOTES.

A country Blacksmith coming into a farmer’s yard with a hammer in his hand, was suddenly surprised by a severe bite from a snarling dog, which so irritated him, that he immediately retaliated upon his enemy with his heavy weapon, with the sharp end of which, he killed him on the spot. “You might,” said the person that owned the animal, “have struck him with the other end of the hammer.” “That I would,” answered the other, “If he had only bit me with the other end of his teeth.”

An ingenious politician, meeting with a gentleman of his acquaintance, immediately began to harrangue upon his favourite theme, and positively affirmed, that, “after the late events in France, the actual government of that country will not be acknowledged by any power in Europe, _except America_.”

The author of an old book called the Theatre of the World, supposes, that if a person who died of love were to be opened and anatomized, we should find all his entrails gone, his heart burnt up, his liver smoaked and dried, and all the dependencies of the brain spoiled: and he believes, that the poor soul (as he calls the lover) was scorched, and, as it were roasted upon a fire, with the vehement, ardent, and excessive heat that it endured, since first the fury of love surprised him.

* * * * *
* * * *

ALI AND ORASMIN;
Or, the Effects of Envy.

(Concluded from our last.)

Flattered by the hopes of possessing Almeria, but more through fear at the threats of Orasmin, Ibrahim sat down, without a thought of the consequences which might ensue to imitate the treasonous scroll. The monster who compelled him to the action, was delighted with his performance: and calling for sherbet, he drank, telling Ibrahim to pledge him; then, bidding him good night with a sarcastical smile, and securing the door when he went, left him in a most painful reverie.

Repairing to the walls of the seraglio, he entered by a private passage, through which the Emperor always passed when wont to survey the royal city in disguise; and which, by having been vizier, he was well acquainted with: and having, while in office, procured false keys to the various doors, he easily found admission to the secret audience-chamber, where none but the vizier can enter, on pain of death, without permission of the Sultan; and there leaving the letter, he returned to his house, exulting in the hope that Mustapha would discover it, when he retired there alone, as was his custom every night, to inspect such dispatches as the vizier in the day prepared for his approbation: trusting the success of his plan on the extreme credulity and impetuosity of that monarch, which hurried him into actions that provided him the most severe repentance for his moments of reflection.

The event justified his most sanguine expectations; and, before the first watch of the night was passed, a hasty messenger summoned him to a secret audience in the palace. The sultan presented him with the letter; he read it, and appeared petrified with astonishment; compared the writing with some of Ali’s he had purposely brought with him, to satisfy himself of it’s identity; then, bemoaning the defalcation of his friend, in accents of the most artfully counterfeited grief, and after an apparent struggle between duty and friendship--“Glory,” said he, “to God and his prophet! Long life to the Commander of the Faithful! and destruction to his enemies! The profound duty every Mussulman owes to the vicegerent of Alla, obliges me to dispense with the scruples of an ill-placed friendship; and declare, that the conduct of Ali has long appeared to me as involved in the veil of mystery; the plausible manner in which he has ever demeaned himself, I have discovered, beyond a doubt, has been only a bait for popularity; too ardent a love for which is a certain criterion of unwarrantable ambition.

“I once had the mortification to witness the shameful defeat of the Ottoman arms, under his command: I had then many reasons to suspect treachery; but the implicit confidence I, with the empire at large, put in him, made me discredit my own senses; and it was the same infatuation which induced me to be the foremost in declaring him the most eligible for the viziership, when returned from meeting the rebel Ismoul.

“Yet, when I reflect, in sober reason, on the nature of that action, and behold the insurgents, though greatly superior in force, throwing down their arms almost without the shadow of resistence, and their leader suffered to escape, it impresses me as a strong confirmation of the authenticity of his treason.” “Thou art right, Orasmin!” interrupted the enraged Mustapha: “convey him instantly to a dungeon; and to-morrow’s sun shall behold inflicted on him the reward of his treachery!”--“Will it please the gracious emblem of Alla,” replied Orasmin, “to listen a moment longer, without anger, to his slave; while he offers, as Alla himself can witness, the counsel only dictated by that unshaken attachment ever evinced by his house to the renowned family of the Othmans!”--“Speak on, and fear not,” returned Mustapha. Orasmin proceeded--“Thou knowest well, O glory of thy race! that Ali is the idol of the deluded multitude; and, should they behold him going forth to execution, what desperate steps may not their blind attachment induce them to take for his preservation? And a commotion once begun, as we know not how far the treason has spread, may encourage hundreds of accomplices in the guilt to come forward; and, led by Nadar who doubtless is at hand, induce the populace to join the compact of treason, release Ali, and shake perhaps even the foundation of the Ottoman throne? Let policy, then, bid Justice strike this night; so, the root of the confederacy being cut away, the branches shall necessarily wither; and when to-morrow’s sun shall expose the traitor’s head, branded with his crime, to the trembling people, thy subjects shall be more firmly fixed in their obedience--taught by the awful lesson, that the most exalted enemies of Mustapha are the fated victims of destruction!” He ceased.

“By Mahomet, I swear,” rejoins the Sultan, “thy reasons are just! See him instantly dispatched! Be this,” presenting his ring, “thy warrant. Begone!”

Orasmin wanted not urging: he seized Ali; but appeared not before him, till he beheld him extended on the floor of a loathsome dungeon, secured by the pondrous manacles of injustice. On entering, having ordered the guard to withdraw--“Mahomet!” said he, “is it my noble friend Ali I am commissioned to guard? Can any wretch have accused thee of a crime meriting such dishonour! thou, whose name scandal had not even dared to prophane? Alas! my friend! where will Oppression finish his career!”---“I know not, my dear Orasmin!” replied the injured Ali, half raising himself, “my crime, nor mine accuser: innocence, however, is my support; and, while thou art my gaoler, I shall find pleasure even in a prison!”---“Generous, noble Ali,” rejoind the brute, “what is it I do not feel for thee! Yet it were unkind to keep thee in suspence. Know, then, that the abandoned wretch, who was the occasion of the foul disgrace thou endurest, is no other than thy dear, thy beloved friend, Orasmin!”---“Orasmin! Orasmin!” with an accent of doubting horror, inquired the victim. “Yes!” returned the fiend, “thy Orasmin!” Ali sunk down senseless. On his recovering, Orasmin continued, “From the hour that early youth submitted me to the scourgings of a pedagogue, thou hast been my rival, and the name of Orasmin has shrunk before that of All. Thinkest thou, that I could have a spirit, and bear it? No! the childish weaknesses of friendship I soon got rid of; and, from the moment thou deprived me of all hope of possessing the sorceress Amine, I determined on a revenge--not a common revenge, that was always at hand--I waited, with all the patience of deliberate malignance, for a revenge worthy my hatred, and I have obtained it! I have accused thee of treason; and, behold, this ring is my warrant for thy private murder! Murder! I say; for--O it delights my soul to pronounce it--thou art innocent!”

“And must I die innocent?” exclaimed the devoted Ali. “Yet thy will, O Alla! be done. What more have I to wish for on earth? I have lost my friend, my wife, and my child!”--“Friend,” interrupted Orasmin, “thou never hadst! Thy wife and child----But, hold! I came to torment, not to satisfy thee!”--“Oh! Orasmin, what a conflict hast thou raised in my bosom! My wife and child! knowest thou any thing of them?” Orasmin smiled contemptuously. “Speak, only say if thou knowest aught of them!”---“I will say nothing,” replied he; “uncertainty will increase thy pangs. Prepare for death!---Slaves!” The door of the dungeon burst open, and presented to their view Mustapha, Ibrahim, and Amine! “Secure that fiend!” cried the Sultan; and instantly Orasmin was loaded with chains. Ali and Amine were lying senseless in each other’s arms; Orasmin assumed a desperate sullenness; the Sultan and Ibrahim surveyed the whole in silence. “Alla! Alla! Alla!” repeated the reviving Ali; “thou art merciful! thou art merciful!”

“My dear lord,” interrupted Amine, “dreary have been the hours since we parted! O hear my justification! While walking by the seaside, a band of men, masked, beset me; and, forcing me on a horse, carried me, blind-folded, I knew not where; for when suffered to remove the bandage, I was alone, in a mean, gloomy apartment, the door of which was secured. There have I remained, in vain lamenting my fate; ignorant of my oppressor; and seeing no one, except a slave, who put my food through a lattice daily, but never spoke; till this night I heard the voice of Orasmin in a tone of threatening.

“I listened; and discovered, that he was compelling that generous youth, Ibrahim, to write a treasonous letter in characters like yours. When I found Orasmin was gone, I entreated the youth to liberate me: instantly he opened a door into my apartment, so artfully contrived, that I had never before observed it. I told him who I was, and begged him again to deliver me. He was shocked; confirmed what I had over-heard, and promised to protect me.

“He discovered, with indignation, that he himself was also a prisoner. After a long deliberation, and many fruitless attempts to force the door, at the peril of our lives, we escaped by a window into the garden. Here we had fresh difficulties to encounter, and the fourth watch passed before we were quite at liberty.

“We soon learned that you was imprisoned. Flying to the palace, our gracious Sultan admitted us to an audience, when we convinced him of the villainy of thy false friend.” “And, behold me,” interrupted the Sultan, “ready to do thee justice, Ali; and inflict on that wretch the punishment which he had prepared for thee! for, by Alla’s self I swear, this night is his last!” “My fate is just!” said Orasmin, in a tone of penitence. “But, before I die, let me make what reparation is in my power to the man I have injured.