Chapter XXXIX: Preface (1)

After obtruding my late productions on the Public, I retired into the country, where I might have passed fifteen months in endless apathy, had I not felt that idleness, if not the root of all evil, is at least the bane of all good; and that however the spirits may be depressed by misfortune, or the body harrassed by fatigue, the mind, still active, will rather create visions, and pursue phantoms, than subjugate itself to a total oblivion of all the blessings of this life.

Though I had little inclination to be perfectly unemployed, I had as little to busy myself in those works of Fancy and Fiction, which, under the title of Novels, cost much time and great application; and in the composition of which so many of my fair countrywomen eminently excel.

Yet was I determined not to sacrifice the peaceful moments allotted to me in mental slumbers. I considered that I have seen much; that I have reflected more; that my reading had not been inconsiderable; and that I had travelled not without some attention to the men and manners of various countries; that the recollection of some of these objects might not only amuse myself, but prove interesting to people less accustomed to diversity of situation, and, perhaps, less qualified to draw inferences from what they see.

I concluded then, that without wearying myself so as to deprive my mind of the repose it required, and at the same time to keep it’s powers in action, I might devote a part of my time to the recollection and recital of such of my _Wanderings_ as could not be recounted without some topics for amusement, and some hints for instruction.

But though I thus draw from the fountain-head of actual observation, in some cases, and from experience in others, my Reader is not to infer that my writings will be less entertaining than the _Wanderings of Fiction_. For I need not tell those who are capable of making observation, that almost _every_ life is full of adventure; of strange transitions and wonderful revolutions; and he that adheres to simple facts, and relates what passes before him, need seldom have recourse to fiction for subjects even marvellous, and such as may at once instruct and delight the Reader.

The principal object of a writer, thus circumstanced, is to select with discretion, and to relate with effect. In this I know not how far I may have succeeded, because I am ignorant of the extent of my own powers, and conscious only of my good intentions.

With these sentiments, and impressed with a due sense for the favourable reception of my former productions, I humbly submit to the candour and to the protection of the public my _Wanderings of the Imagination_.

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_FIRST WANDERING._

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During an excursion last Summer, in the county of Kent, when my finances would not afford me a better conveyance than a stage-coach, I frequently amused myself, (not, as is usual, with the different countenances and characters of it’s passengers) but with those incidents on the road; with which chance not unfrequently furnished me.

As I was admiring the beauty of the hop-grounds, which flourished in rich luxuriance near the side of the ocean, a sailor caught my attention. He no sooner perceived the coach, than he ran eagerly towards it; his countenance was expressive of something between sorrow and gladness. On his right side was a stump, which he emphatically held towards us: his left arm he extended towards the sea, which, as his eye glanced over, appeared to intimate, “This still remains for the service of my country!”

Perhaps the chearful tar had no such idea as that which I hastily formed on seeing him; but his smiling countenance indicated something above the generality of beggars, who, conceiving that their mutilated bodies are insufficient to excite pity, aim at a distortion of features, and a story in which the marvellous bears the strongest part, as better calculated to impose on the genuine feelings of humanity.

The contrasted appearance of this son of Neptune pleased me; but while I was ruminating in his favour, I was neglectful of the more essential mode of serving him; and before I could reach the bottom of my pocket, the coach drove on, and left him to the chance of a more favourable moment in the hearts of succeeding travellers, who might probably be actuated by different feelings than mine to relieve his necessities. I could not, however, help reflecting, that good intentions ought to be speedily performed; and that to neglect opportunities of benevolence, is not conformable to the doctrine and practice of him who made the human heart.

In the county of Kent, and her little Island of Thanet, Nature is gaily, and luxuriantly dressed. The extremes of affluence, or penury, are seldom met with; the lands are fertile, and well cultivated; and the round bodies of the horses bespeak the ease of their employers. Here are various little plants elsewhere unknown; and the botanist would find his labours amply rewarded by strictly scrutinizing the soil of Thanet.

Were I inclined to extend description, I should fully expatiate on the beauties and manners of this pleasant county; which I saw with pleasure, and left with regret; but as I intend this to be rather an irregular journal, than a studied publication, I will bid adieu to it, and all its delights; and in wishing its inhabitants every enjoyment that can arise from industry, and benevolence, proceed to give an account of my

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_SECOND WANDERING._

I could never account for national prejudice. It is a narrow-minded opinion, inconsistent with reason and humanity: it extends itself to counties, towns, and even villages. The Spaniards are proud--the Italians and Portugueze revengeful--the French barbarous--and England is supposed to be, by Englishmen, the _only_ spot of Europe which unites _every_ virtue, untainted by _any_ vice. Born myself an Englishwoman and the daughter of a Portugueze, I feel a more natural propensity towards this country, the harbour of my birth and education, than towards Portugal; although the laws of England have sufficiently operated against me, to excuse any prejudice I might in common justice form against it. These laws (the boast of Englishmen) have been exercised towards myself with severity, but without justice: they have been strained against a weak woman, and have proved a galling yoke of slavery, when they should have served as a barrier against injustice and oppression; and they have fully convinced me, that in this _Christian_ kingdom, as elsewhere, the hydra of despotism rears her head unabashed, if not swayed by a golden sceptre. Money, and its concomitant, _interest_, bear all before them. In vain will talents, merit, and even virtue itself, lay claim to protection; these are weak prerogatives when opposed to wealth, no matter by what means acquired. The Nabob, who returns home loaded with the spoils of the East, to obtain which he has waded through the blood of thousands, becomes respected as a worthy member of community, as soon as it is known he is a rich one. But should the same person return to this his native country, poor, friendless, and forlorn;--should he urge in excuse for his poverty the uprightness of his heart, which spurned at the idea of acquiring wealth by cruelty and usurpation, how would he then be received? Where would he find the great man to patronize him? And where, alas! the sympathetic mind to commiserate, and the benevolent hand to alleviate his necessities? In England I fear, he would not; or, if he did, it would be more likely in the compassionate breast of a stranger, than in that of what custom, and custom only, calls _an old friend_.

From this dangerous, because most abused of epithets, arises principally the source of all our misfortunes. We cling to it with eager hope, and are almost as frequently met by disappointment.

“Disappointment smiles at Hope’s career!”

In all our wayward pilgrimage through life, we console ourselves with the certainty of reciprocal esteem and disinterested friendship. Youth and prosperity attach themselves to the specious forms of kindness; but the flattering illusions last no longer than the objects which attracted them; and the once-admired favourite of Fortune, no longer in possession of _more_ than the _desire_ to do good, becomes an alien to the society of which he was once the _support_ and the _pride_. This, indeed, seems an argument in favour of misanthropy; whereas it only strongly inculcates the necessity of limiting our benevolence and our desires, and submit to the dictates of prudence.

I was particularly led into these reflexions, by a circumstance which lately occured to me. As I was enjoying my meditations in a retired part of St. Jame’s Park, at an hour prescribed there by custom and fashion, a countenance, of which I had a slender recollection, met my eye. The meanness of his attire was no obstacle to my perceiving that he was a _gentleman_. He walked a few paces before me, and then sitting down on the first bench, pensively leaned his head on his hand, and attentively considered me as I past. I proceeded slowly down the avenue, and took occasion to observe whether he followed me. He kept his place till my return, when he looked sorrowfully in my face, and emphatically shook his head. His meaning was too plain not to be understood: and I answered it by placing myself on the seat near him.

I believe our looks mutually bespoke a wish, mingled with a sort of timid fear, about making the first advance; and in this situation we had probably remained some time longer, had he not as he afterwards told me, seen something in my face that bore testimony to a feeling heart. With a tremulous voice, he asked me if he was mistaken in my name, which he mentioned; and being satisfied that he was right, he added, “No wonder, Madam, that an interval of twenty-two years, and my present appearance, should conceal from your remembrance the person of Capt. S----.”

The expression of his countenance, and the tone in which he uttered these words, were more convincing proofs of his veracity, than I could discover in the imperfect traces of a form I had once beheld. That form, which I once saw the repository of every manly grace, was now palsied and emaciated, and seemed bending towards the earth, as if anxious to embrace its last asylum. So true is the observation of an accurate observer of human life: “He that wanders about the world sees new forms of misery; and if he chances to meet an old friend, meets a face darkened with troubles.”

I assured him, that I did indeed remember Capt. S----; but that surprize and sorrow now damped the joy I should have felt on the renewal of our acquaintance, had I found him in a situation more worthy of him. I intreated him to believe, that however hardly fortune had dealt by him (and that she had dealt hardly I could not doubt), there still existed some few compassionate hearts; and that I was proud to place mine among the number. He gently pressed my hand to his lips; intreated I would name an early day for giving him another meeting in the same place; and telling me he was then going by appointment to see _his old friend_, and former Colonel, Lord G. he tottered down the avenue, but not till we had agreed on meeting the following morning at twelve; when he promised to acquaint me with the success of his visit, from which he already seemed to derive the most sanguine expectations. My eyes could only follow him for a few minutes, but my heart ceased not to accompany him throughout the day; and while I pondered on the vicissitudes of life, and retracing his former situation, I could not help sorrowfully contrasting it with his present embarrassments.

(To be continued.)

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[The EDITORS of the NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE, present their readers,
this week, with the first number of the “FARRAGO,” from the
inimitable pen of Mr. DENNIE, author of “_The Lay Preacher_,”
&c. &c. The pure morality, the elegant and classical style which
is pourtrayed in every paragraph, the Editors flatter themselves
will be acceptable to the lovers and patrons of Literature. The
_Farrago_ originally appeared in “THE TABLET,” a literary paper
published in Boston, which was universally read and admired
throughout the New-England States.]

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_THE FARRAGO._

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Nº. I.

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“A DESULTORY WAY OF WRITING,
A HOP, SKIP, AND JUMP MODE OF INDITING.”

PETER PINDAR.

Le Sage, the merry author of Gil Blas, delights to expatiate in praise of a Spanish soup, denominated, in that language, an Olla Podrida, a dish formed by a motley mixture of many ingredients, of which some one can tickle the most fastidious palate.

Essays should resemble this Olio, if their author wish for readers. When a student sits down to a system, he expects the formality and method of the schools, but how frequent would be the yawn, if periodical writings resembled LOCKE’s Essay on Understanding? Of works intended for amusement, the essence is sprightliness and variety. Without these requisites a reader would rise from the literary repast, and, in SHAKESPEARE’s phrase, pronounce it but _lenten_ entertainment.

When cookery was young, viands the most simple were sought; and, in an ancient bill of fare, acorns and spring water were the first articles. Time has created alteration; and the refinement of modern luxury requires _made_ dishes. Plain food daily grows into disrepute, and, for the substantial sirloin we substitute ragouts and fricacees, replete with spicery. To gratify modern taste, every thing must be _high seasoned_. This irregular appetite affects the library, as well as the table, and extends to the books, which we read, as well as to the dishes, which we taste. Motley miscellany, in all its Proteus forms, aptly christened by the British booksellers “light, summer reading,” is the favourite amusement of all _gentle students_. On this occasion, one might declaim against modern degeneracy; might compare the tinsel of KELLY with the gold of ADDISON; might sigh for solid books and dishes, and invoke HOOKER and BACON to write, and a turnspit of Queen ELIZABETH to _cook_ for us. But this species of railing is grown so trite that “’tis a custom more honoured in the breach, than in the observance.” It is better, with a willing adroitness, to comply, with what we cannot change, and to form the “stuff” of our argument, as a tailor cuts a coat, by the rule of fashion.

A literary adventurer, confident of amusing himself, though almost hopeless of amusing others, prepares to scribble in conformity to the preceding sentiment. Though still juvenile, he has, for a period of some duration, been in the habit of marking the hues of “many-colored life.” The morning he gives to books, and the evening to men; and, from every page that he twirls, and from every character which he sees, he endeavours, like his renowned predecessor, the Spectator, to extract amusement or instruction. He is not, however, like him, only an observer in society, but cheerfully converses even with “wayfaring men, though fools,” that he may learn some particulars of life’s journey. With all the restlessness of busy indolence, and with all the volatility of a humming bird, he roams from object to object, as caprice inspires. This is the province of a lounger; he is one of “the privileged orders” in society, and to wander is his vocation.

Thus inquisitive from habit, and thus restless from temper, he fancies, perhaps presumptuously, that he may now become the herald of what he has seen and heard. In giving his lucubrations to the world, he confesses that his nerves thrill with the tremors of timidity. Though he thinks, with Dr. YOUNG, that “fondness of fame, is avarice of air,” yet, in spite of sober belief, juvenile ambition

“Will sink with spleen, or swell with pride,
As the gay palm is granted, or denied.”

As he is a _volunteer_ in the literary corps, he hopes that severe discipline will not be exercised. He implores of the critics a dispensation from an observance of the more rigid rules of method, as he never was educated in that “drowsy school.” A lover of the desultory style, his effusions shall keep pace with STERNE’s--in digression and eccentricity, though halting far behind him in wit. Such a writer, the logicians must permit to wander at large,

“Nor to a narrow path confin’d,
Hedge in, by rules, his roving mind.”

If he be suffered to remain enfranchised, though abusing his liberty, he may stray from the high road, yet he hopes never to deviate far from the boundaries of common sense; and if, in the wildness of volatility, he sometimes leap the hedge, he will endeavour to catch a butterfly, or crop a flower. All parties in the _State_, may read the moderate sentiments of a writer, who will neither factiously blow the trumpet of democracy, nor proudly stalk in the aristocratical buskin. All sects in the _Church_, may cheerily and charitably unite in the perusal of a work, intended to amuse as a speculation, not dogmatize as a creed. Though feminine foibles will be smilingly derided, yet, at the apprehension of malignant satire from the author of the _Farrago_, not a heart need palpitate, a fan flutter, nor a tea-table shake. If the ladies will “put away those strange gods,” coquetry, futility and artifice, he will, in, the words of SHAKESPEARE’s weaver, so restrain and aggravate his voice, that he will roar at them, like any sucking dove, he will roar, like any nightingale.--In fine, like every other adventurer, he promises plausibly; and though he cannot hope to instruct by golden precept, like PYTHAGORAS, or divert by humour, like FALSTAFF, yet like SANCHO PANZA, by his very simplicity he may inform and amuse.

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+The ADVENTURES of ALPHONSO and MARINA;+
An Interesting Spanish Tale.

(Concluded from page 342.)

No sooner had she come to the bottom of the stairs than she perceived Don Alphonso. Her joy almost deprived her of speech; she leaned against the wall, her head sunk on her shoulder, and the tears bedewed her cheeks. She wiped them away, stopped a moment to take breath, and, endeavouring to speak with firmness, approached the prisoner.

‘Stranger,’ said she, disguising her voice, ‘you have killed your companion. What could induce you to commit such a horrid crime?’

‘Alcaid,’ answered Don Alphonso, ‘I have committed no crime; it was an act of justice; but I am desirous to die. Death alone can end the miseries, of which the wretch I have sacrificed was the first cause. Condemn me. I wish not to make a defence. Deliver me from a life which is hateful to me, since I have lost what alone could render it delightful; since I can no longer hope ever to find’----

He was scarce able to conclude, and his voice faintly expressed the name of Marina.

Marina trembled on hearing him pronounce her name. She could scarcely conceal her transports, but was ready to throw herself into the arms of her lover. The presence, however, of so many witnesses restrained her. She, therefore, turned away her eyes, and faintly requested to be left alone with the prisoner. She was obeyed.

Giving a free course to her tears she advanced towards Don Alphonso, and offering him her hand, said to him, in a most affectionate tone, ‘Do you then still love her who lives for you alone?’

At these words, at this voice, Alphonso lifts his head, unable to believe his eyes. ‘Oh Heavens! Is it--is it my Marina! Or is it some angelic being assuming her form? Yes, it is my Marina herself, I can no longer doubt it,’ cried he, clamping her in his arms, and bathing her with his tears. ‘It is my love, my life, and all my woes are ended.’

‘No,’ said Marina, as soon as she could recover speech, ‘you are guilty of bloodshed, and I cannot free you from your fetters; but I will repair to-morrow to the superior judge, will inform him of the secret of my birth, relate to him our misfortunes, and, if he refuses me your liberty, will return and end my days with you in this prison.’

Marcello immediately gave orders for the removal of Alphonso from the dungeon into a less hideous place of security. He took care that he should want for nothing, and returned home to prepare for his journey, the next day, when a most alarming event prevented his departure, and hastened the delivery of Don Alphonso.

Some Algerine galleys, which had for several days pursued the ship on board which Don Alphonso was, had arrived on the coast, some time after the shipwreck; and willing to repay themselves for the trouble they had taken, had determined to land, during the night. Two renegadoes, who knew the country, undertook to conduct the barbarians to the village of Gadara, and fulfilled their promise but too well.

About one in the morning, when labour enjoys repose, and villainy wakes to remorse, the dreadful cry _to arms! to arms!_ was heard.

The Corsairs had landed, and were burning and slaughtering all before them. The darkness of the night, the groans of the dying, and the shrieks of the inhabitants, filled every heart with consternation. The trembling wives caught their husbands in their arms; and the old men sought succour from their sons. In a moment the village was in flames, the light of which discovered the gory scymitars and white turbans of the Moors.

Those barbarians, the flambeau in one hand, and the hatchet in the other, were breaking and burning the doors of the houses; making their way through the smoaking ruins, to seek for victims or for plunder, and returning covered with blood, and loaded with booty.

Here they rush into the chamber, to which two lovers, the bride and bridegroom of the day, had been conducted by their mother. Each on their knees, side by side, was pouring forth thanks to heaven, for having crowned their faithful wishes. An unfeeling wretch, remorseless, seizes the terrified bride; loads her unhappy lover, whom in cruelty he spares, with chains; and snatches before his face, in spite of his distraction, his tears, prayers, and exclamations, that prize which was due to him alone.

There they take the sleeping infant from its cradle. The mother, frantic, defends it, singly, against an host. Nothing can repel, nothing can terrify her. Death she braves and provokes. For her child she supplicates, threatens, and combats; while the tender infant, already seized by these tigers, starts, wakes, stares, with the wild agony of terror, on the grim visage of its murderer, and sinks into convulsive horror and sleep, from which it wakes no more.

Nothing is held sacred by these monsters. They force their way into the temples of the Most High, break the shrines, strip off the gold, and trample the holy relics under foot. Alas! of what avail to the priests is their sacred character? to the aged their grey hairs? to youth its graces, or to infancy its innocence? Slavery, fire, devastation, and death are every where, and compassion is fled.

On the first alarm the Alcaid made all haste to the prison to inform Don Alphonso of the danger. The brave Alphonso demanded a sword for himself and a buckler for the Alcaid. He takes Marina by the hand, and making his way to the market-place, thus accosts the fugitives: ‘My friends, are ye Spaniards, and do ye abandon your wives and children to the fury of the infidels?’

He stops, he rallies them, inspires them with his own valor, and, more than human, (for he is a lover, and a hero) rushes, sabre in hand, on a party of the Moors, whom he instantly disperses. The inhabitants recover their recollection and their courage; enraged, behold their slaughtered friends; and hasten in crowds to join their leader.

Alphonso, without quitting Marina, and ever solicitous to expose his life in her defence, attacks the barbarians at the head of his brave Spaniards, and dealing destruction to all who make resistance, drives the fugitives before him, retakes the plunder and the prisoners, and only quits the pursuit of the enemy to return and extinguish the flames.

The day begin to break, when a body of troops, who had received information of the descent of the infidels, arrived from a neighbouring town. The governor had put himself at their head and found Don Alphonso surrounded by women, children, and old men; who, weeping, kissed his hands, with unfeigned gratitude, for having preserved their husbands, their fathers, or their sons.

The governor, informed of the exploits of Don Alphonso, loaded him with praises and caresses; but Marina, requesting to be heard, declared to the governor in presence of the whole village, her sex; giving, at the same time, a relation of her adventures, the death of the bravo by Don Alphonso, and the circumstances which rendered him excusable.

All the inhabitants, greatly affected with her story, fell at the feet of the governor, intreating pardon for the man to whom they were indebted for their preservation. Their request was granted, and the happy Alphonso, thus restored to his dear Marina, embraced the governor, and blessed the good inhabitants. One of the old men then advanced: ‘Brave stranger,’ said he, ‘you are our deliverer, but you take from us our Alcaid; this loss perhaps outweighs your benefit. Double our blessings; instead of depriving us of our greatest, remain in this village; condescend to become our Alcaid, our master, our friend. Honour us so far, as to permit nothing to abate our love for you. In a great city, the cowardly and the wicked, who maintain the same rank with yourself, will think themselves your equals; while, here, every virtuous inhabitant will look on you as his father; next to the Deity himself, you will receive, from us, the highest honour; and, while life remains, on the anniversary of this day, the fathers of our families will present their children before you, saying, ‘behold the man who preserved the lives of your mothers.’

Alphonso was enchanted while he listened to the old man. ‘Yes,’ cried he, ‘my children, yes, my brethren, I will remain here. My life shall be devoted to Marina and to you. But my wife has considerable possessions in Granada. Our excellent governor will add his interest to ours that we may recover them, and they shall be employed to rebuild the houses which the Infidels have burnt. On this condition alone, will I accept the office of Alcaid; and though I should expend in your service, both my riches and my life, I should still be your debtor; for it is you who have restored to me my Marina!’

Imagine the transports of the villagers while Alphonso spoke. The governor was a person of power, and undertook to arrange every thing to his wish; and, two days afterwards, the marriage was celebrated between Marina and her lover.

Notwithstanding their late misfortunes, nothing could exceed the joy of the inhabitants. The two lovers long lived in unexampled felicity; and made the whole district as virtuous and happy as themselves.

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HISTORICAL EXAMPLES OF HUMANITY.

On the day of the battle of Dettingen, a musketeer, named Girardeau, dangerously wounded, was carried near the Duke of Cumberland’s tent. They could find no surgeon, all of them being sufficiently employed elsewhere. They were going to dress the duke, the calf of whose leg had been pierced by a ball: “Begin,” said that generous prince, “with relieving that French officer, he is more wounded than I; he may fail of succour, and I shall not.”

Alphonso V. king of Sicily and Arragon, was besieging the city of Gayette. That place beginning to fail of provisions, the inhabitants were obliged to turn out the women, children, and old men, who were so many useless mouths.--These poor people found themselves reduced to the most direful extremity. If they approached the city, the besieged fired on them; if they advanced towards the enemy’s camp they there met the same danger. In this sad condition, those wretches implored sometimes the compassion of their countrymen, not to suffer them to die with hunger. Alphonso was moved with pity at this spectacle, and forbid his soldiers to use them ill. He then assembled his council, and asked the advice of the principal officers, respecting the manner he ought to act with these unfortunate people. They all gave their opinion that they ought not to receive them, and said, that if they perished by hunger, or by the sword, none could be blamed but the inhabitants, who had driven them out of the city. Alphonso was offended at their hardness of heart: he protested he would rather renounce the taking of Gayette than resolve to let so many wretches die of hunger. He also added, that a victory purchased at that price would be less worthy of a magnanimous king than a barbarian and a tyrant. ‘I am not come,’ said he, ‘to make war on women, children, and feeble old men, but on enemies capable of defending themselves.’ He immediately gave orders that they should receive all those unfortunate people into the camp, and caused provisions, and whatever was necessary, to be distributed amongst them.

A violent tempest, which Alphonso V. king of Arragon, was exposed to at sea, obliged him to put up into an island. Being there in perfect security, he perceived one of his gallies on the point of being swallowed up in the waves, with the equipage and troops that were on board.----The spectacle excited his compassion, and he immediately gave orders that they should go and succour those unhappy people. Hereupon his people terrified at the danger, represented to him, that it was better to let one ship perish, than expose all the rest to the danger of ship-wreck. Alphonso did not listen to this advice: but, without deliberating, embarked on board the admiral’s ship, and immediately departed to give them timely succour; the rest, seeing the king expose himself with so much resolution, were animated by his example, and every one hastened to follow him. The enterprize at length succeeded; but he likewise ran great risk of perishing, it being so very dangerous. The generous Alphonso said, ‘I would have preferred being buried in the sea with all my fleet, rather than have seen those wretches perish full in my view without helping them.’

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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THE CRIMINAL.

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(Continued from page 335.)

O moment for reflection! O innocence forever fled!--My children are satisfied, and--I am miserable. O God of nature, hear my cries! I would ask of thee forgiveness, for oh! the deed of yesterday hangs heavy on my soul. What have I done?--I stopped the stranger, and asked his purse: he refused. I clapt the murderous weapon to his breast and demanded it--he hesitated.----In imagination I viewed my family perishing for food. I could not wait--The flint struck--the stranger fell--and--O earth hide me in thy bosom!--Wretch! how do the words escape my lips--I beheld my father.----

When reason had regained its seat, I found myself in company with my children, relieving their wants from out my father’s purse.

My wife questioned me as to the manner of my procuring the unexpected boon. The truth I did not evade; but I related to her every circumstance, except that the murdered person was the author of my being. She shuddered at the tale. “O my husband!” she uttered, “why did you not inform me of your intention? Sooner would I have perished of hunger, than the crime should have been committed.” “Alas!” I returned, “while yet conscious innocence held thine eyelids closed, the deed was perpetrated.

“O my Euphemia! thou knowest not the extent of my villainy! If thou didst, thou wouldest shun my sight, and think me a devil that had assumed the form of man. What crime is worse than----But stop, thy feeble frame cannot now stand the shock.--Summon all thy fortitude; soon will the awful tidings sound dreadful in thine ears.”

L. B.

(To be continued.)

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+SELECTED OBSERVATIONS of a LATE WORTHY DIVINE.+

Adrian, the coadjutor of Ximenes in the government of Castile, was much disturbed at the libels which flew about against them. Ximenes was perfectly easy. “If,” said he, “we take the liberty to act, others will take the liberty to talk and write: when they charge us falsely, we may laugh; when truly, we must mend.”

Dr. Green of St. John’s college, trying to skate, got a terrible fall backwards--“Why, Doctor,” said a friend who was with him, “I thought you had understood the business better.”--“O,” replied the Doctor, “I have the theory perfectly; I want nothing but the practice.”--How many of us, in matters of a much higher and more important nature, come under the Doctor’s predicament!

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NEW-YORK.

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_MARRIED,_

On Saturday: evening the 29th ult. by the Right Rev. Bishop Provost, Colonel DEVEAUX, well known for his military atchievments and social virtues, to Miss VERPLANK, of Dutches Country.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. EDWARD PRIOR, to Miss FANNY FISHER, both of this city.

Same evening, by the Rev. Dr. Linn, Mr. BENJAMIN FERRIS, to Miss ANN POST, daughter of Mr. Henry Post.

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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
April 23 46 48 se. e. rain do. l. wd.
24 44 49 e. do. cloudy rain l. wd.
25 48 60 s. do. rain fog. cle. calm l. w.
26 49 63 sw. do. clear do. calm l. wd.
27 42 56 ne. se. clear do. lt. wd. do.
28 44 61 e. s. clear do. l. wd. h. wd.
29 50 71 e. do. clear do. lt. do.

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RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
FOR APRIL 1797.

Made in the Cupals of the MUSEUM, by G. BAKER, Proprietor.

Mean temperature of the thermometer at sun-rise (Far. Sc.) 43 6
Do. do. of the do. at 3 P.M. 53 7
Do. do. for the whole month 48 65
Greatest monthly range between the 5th. and 14th. 47 0
Do. do. in 24 hours, the 5th 28 0
Warmest day the 5th 82 0
Coldest do. the 14th 35 0

12 days it rained, and an uncommon quantity has fallen.
1 do. it snowed, about 6 in. deep, it all disappeared by the
following day.
14 do. the wind was at the westward of north and south,
at the ob. h.
16 do. the do. was at the eastward of do. and do. do.
17 do. the do. was light at both observations.
4 do. the do. was high at do. do.
13 do. it was clear at do. do.
11 do. it was cloudy at do. do.
3 times it Thundered and Lightened, in considerable abundance.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

* * *

AN ACROSTIC.

On the Rev.

G reat is the work--the cause a glorious one,
E ’en to proclaim GOD’s everlasting son:
O h may he all your faithful labours bless,
R eward your toils, and give you great success;
G uard you from harm, your useful life prolong,
E ver inspire and animate your song.

R eligion to promote is your delight,
O h worthy champion of the PRINCE OF LIGHT:
B old in the glorious cause of righteousness,
E ach word, each action does your zeal express:--
R ever’d by all--when this frail life is o’er
T o joys immortal shall your spirit soar,
S hall sing _Redeeming love_ for evermore.

REBECCA.

NEW-YORK April 28th, 1797.

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* * * *

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

* * *

LINES,
ON THE DESTRUCTION OF LISBON.

O may God’s hand still hover o’er my head,
’Twixt me and earthquakes may thy fingers spread;
When ocean rises, and when mountains fall,
Still shield my temples with that five-fold wall.
Then when huge tons of bursting hills are hurl’d,
My feet may stand amidst a reeling world;
In hours unguarded, when I slumber most,
Be thou my keeper and protect the post:
So shall thy servant like Elijah stand,
Beneath the palm of thy Almighty hand.

J. D.

* * * * *

THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Come, lovely Flora, aid me to pourtray
The rising beauties of the vernal day,
The grateful season that fresh life inspires,
Wakes the dull spirits, and resumes their fires;
That bids dead nature gaudy colours wear,
And paints with every hue th’ unfolding year!
As when from sombre shades, and gloomy night,
Joyous we rise, and hail the new born light,
Shake off the chains of lethargy to hear
Harmonious music charm the ravish’d ear,
By sleep refresh’d, by rest again made strong,
Mix in the scene, and join the busy throng;
Thus view Creation’s wide-extended plain,
Where sullen Winter held in dreary reign,
Where frost and snow deform’d each fertile vale,
The driving tempest, and the rattling hail.
Now spring the flowers, now teems the verdant ground,
And the gay landscape brightens all around;
Each plant resumes its native form and dye,
Some ting’d with red, some emulate the sky:
All in their native elegance of dress,
Welcome the Spring, its power benign confess!
The morn how sweet, how fair the rising dawn!
Gay shines the sun athwart the enamell’d lawn,
The new cloath’d earth drinks bibulous his ray,
And Nature glories in his equal sway.
Creation’s hymns ascend the source of light,
Whose golden splendors chase the brumal night;
Whose genial warmth o’erpowers the frigid north,
Pours plenty down, and calls fresh beauties forth.
Deep, deep, I hear each object swell the strain,
Exulting in auspicious Phœbus’ reign;
E’en things inanimate their incense raise,
And what was mute, grows vocal in his praise;
While ancient deities are all forgot,
Sleep in contempt, and unmolested rot.
When Jupiter enrag’d can storm no more,
Nor Neptune roll his billows to the shore;
When Egypt’s dogs no linen-priests surround,
And leeks unhonour’d cloath her fertile ground*;
Wise Persia’s god majestic keeps his sphere†,
Whom rolling worlds with all their tribes revere.
Be calm, ye storms; ye tempests, rage no more,
Nor waste your fury on the rugged shore;
Mild flow, ye waves; ye winds, no longer sweep,
With awful madness, o’er th’ expanded deep,
Nor dare to lift the towering surges high,
Foaming resistless to the lofty sky:
Avaunt, nor cloud the lustre of the day;
A milder reign succeeds, a gentler sway!
Come, beauteous Spring! come, hasten with my train,
Gentle and lovely, to assume thy reign;
The fairest flowers that early Nature yields,
That rise spontaneous in the fertile fields,
Or grace the banks of pure meand’ring rills,
Or love the sunshine on the sloping hills;
With richest gems shall thy bright crown adorn,
Empearl’d with dew-drops from the pointed thorn;
Though eastern monarchs boast their regal state,
On whom unnumber’d slaves obsequious wait,
Though deck’d with all that fills the flaming mine,
How mean their splendor, when compar’d with thine!
For thee again the birds resume their song,
Raise high their notes, and the glad strains prolong;
Their soft descant they teach the neighbouring grove,
And each close shade bears witness to their love.
Nor these alone; through wide Creation’s space,
From the low insect to the human race,
All hail thy influence, bless thy genial power,
Thou best enlivener of each chearful hour!
While aromatic plants perfume the air,
And flowers and shrubs are deck’d supremely fair.
As o’er their heads the balmy zephyrs play,
And gently fan them all the live-long day,
The sons of age feet happier days return,
With joys renew’d and fresh emotions burn;
Shake off the gloom contracted by their years,
As round their temples wave their hoary hairs.
Soon as the bird of morn proclaims the dawn,
And quits, on fluttering wings, the dewy lawn,
Forth rush the swains, regardless of the toil,
To break the glebe, and fertilize the soil;
With chearful hearts their constant labour ply,
Till Sol’s bright beams desert the western sky;
Then homeward bending, taste unbroken rest,
For seldom anguish racks the guiltless breast;
Save where fond love attacks the feeling heart,
And the soft passions generous warmth impart;
Save where the lover, pensive and alone,
Makes woods and caves re-echo to his moan;
And every thought intent on some coy fair,
With bitter wailing fills the ambient air.
Almighty Love! say whence those melting fires,
Those glowing transports, and those soft desires,
That warm the soul; and, every sense refin’d,
That humanize the fierce, obdurate mind?
From Nature all--from Nature’s God they flow,
Who bade the breast with pure emotions glow:
When heaven-born Virtue binds with sacred ties,
And smiling beauty fascinates the eyes,
He, source of all, adorns the laughing day,
And bids the flowers their gaudy tints display;
With vernal gales dispenses life around,
While love and music through each grove resound.

[* Alluding to the ancient Egyptian form of worship.]

[† The sun was adored by the Persians.]

[[Source:

Original: _Parnassian sprigs: or, poetical miscellanies_, 1777, by
William Fordyce Mavor 1758-1837.

“AWAKE my Muse! assist me to pourtray
The striking beauties of the vernal Day,
The grateful season that fresh life inspires,
Wakes the dull spirits, and relumes their fires,”

Most of the section between “enamell’d lawn” and “Be calm, ye
storms!” is missing (6 lines in the original as against 18 in the
New-York Weekly).
The section from “sloping hills” to “For thee again” is an imperfect
match (7 lines : 6 lines).

Possible source: _Scots Magazine_ 1783, ed. Boswell, has the same
footnotes.]]

_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +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._

* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, May 10, 1797.+ [+No. 97.+

THE AFRICAN’s COMPLAINT.

Phœbus had immersed his flaming forehead in the Western main--smoothly glided the wild zephyrs, gently murmuring amongst the resounding foliage--Cynthia in blushing majesty began faintly to gild with silver tints the distant hills--a thousand glittering gems sparkled through the circumambient hemisphere--Nature seemed smiling to invite to nocturnal contemplation the sons of philosophy:--courted by the enchanting scenes, and enveloped in a pleasing reverie, I walked forth amongst the surrounding shades.----“Happy, ye freeborn sons of Columbia,” exclaimed I, “liberty and plenty bless your domestic retirements; war, devastation, and wide-wasting rapine have fled from your peaceful shores--no murderous assassin, or night prowling incendiary, carries the hidden dagger of slaughter, or dread torch of destruction to disturb your uninterrupted tranquility; no hostile armies to snatch from your tender embrace the son, the husband, the father, or brother--No.” I would have proceeded, but a voice that seemed to pierce through my inmost soul issued from the adjacent shades; despair and anguish vibrated on the fleeting sounds--my soliloquy was broken.--“Farewell every pleasure,” it exclaimed in a voice rendered almost inarticulate by grief. “Adieu, ye native skies! No more shall the unhappy Corymbo rest beneath the spreading arbors of Congo--No more shall the charms of the lovely Yonka give pleasure and delight to a bosom racked with the most excruciating pains; Oh, ye aged parents! what were your feelings, how did your bosoms heave, when your child, your Corymbo, was torn from you by the cruel unfeeling Christian--forced into a floating dungeon more terrible than death itself--bartered as a slave--exposed to contempt and scorn--unjustly marked with the whip of tyranny--his labour unjustly extorted from him--denied the common necessaries of life--trampled on by a monster, whose avaricious heart outvies the adamant, unsusceptible of the tender feelings of lost humanity! Oh! thou invisible being, who sustains the universe! why dost thou suffer thy votaries to perpetrate such barbarity under the sanction of thy venerable name?--Hold. Why do I upbraid heaven? Death will ere long liberate my distracted soul. Oh! how ineffable glows my breast--the delectable view showers some drops of comfort into my tortured mind. Flow swift ye intervening moments! come thou welcome hour! when my spirit shall quit this sinking frame, and wafted on the wings of wind, shall fearless dart across the Atlantic and again embrace those tender, once dear, but now distant companions of my youth.--But why do I linger. My master is now waiting to receive an account of my labour--perhaps the torturing lash.” Here came back, like an inundation, the remembrance of his slavery, which only for a moment fled to give room for a beam of comfort, which soon subsided and left more acute sensations than before. Sobs and inarticulate expressions were all that he could utter, whilst in hasty steps he wandered from my hearing. For some moments I remained stupid, petrified to the spot; still, methought, I heard the sounds of misery echoing amongst the lonely shades. “Ungrateful countrymen,” I exclaimed, “why do ye deny those inestimable blessings, to your fellow men that heaven has so eminently dignified you with? Or, why so callous to tender pity as to lacerate the flesh of the innocent? Oh, ye votaries of christianity! how can ye reconcile your execrable conduct with the precepts of the divine, the exalted and elevated maxims of the great founder of your system.”

* * * * *

MIXED COMPANY.

The mind of each sex has some natural kind of bias, which constitutes a distinction of character, and the happiness of both depends, in a great measure, on the preservation and observance of this distinction. For where would be the superior pleasure and satisfaction resulting from mixed conversation, if this difference was abolished?

If the qualities of both were invariably and exactly the same, no benefit or entertainment would arise from the tedious and insipid uniformity of such an intercourse; whereas considerable are the advantages reaped from a select society of both sexes.

The rough angles and asperities of male manners are imperceptibly filed and gradually worn smooth, by the polishing of female conversation, and the refining of female taste: while the ideas of women acquire strength and solidity by their associating with sensible, intelligent, and judicious men.

* * * * *
* * * *

The
_WANDERINGS_
of the
IMAGINATION.

_BY MRS. GOOCH._

(Continued from page 347.)

Captain S---- had married in early youth the woman of his heart. Her fortune was very small; nor did he possess any other independance than that which arose from his commission. He was allied to many noble families, and had received an education more suitable to his connections than his expectations. His Lady was not in any respect his equal; she was the only child of a poor, but honest, curate in Wales, where she became acquainted with the Captain, at that time an Ensign in a marching regiment, quartered at Glamorgan: he saw, became enamoured, and married her. They lived with economy and comfort about five years, in which time she bore him a son. This event seemed to operate in their favour, as a distant relation of his mother’s, whom he had hitherto known only by name, wrote to him on hearing of it, and in consequence of the good character which had answered his enquiries, he had deposited in the hands of Mess. Cox and Greenwood a sufficient sum of money, to enable him to purchase a company on the first occasion that might offer.

Our young adventurer no sooner received this unexpected letter, than he solicited and obtained leave of absence, and hastened to London, when he immediately waited on the gentlemen above-mentioned; and hearing that the commission was prepared for him, and that the money deposited in their hands exceeded by some hundreds it’s purchase, he resolved on joining his company without delay. Little time was required to settle his affairs: he wrote to Mrs. S----, and to his father, strongly recommending to the latter those dear relatives he committed to his protection; and inclosing bills to nearly the whole amount of the money which remained in his hands, he soon after embarked in the first ship to join the new regiment to which he belonged, and which was at that time stationed in Jamaica.

Imagine not, gentle reader, that Captain S---- thus quitted all he held dear without a pang. His heart was the receptacle of the surest feelings of humanity; and if he avoided taking a long, perhaps a last, farewell, it was order to avoid the too powerful temptation of a change in his resolution. He figured to himself the tears and intreaties of an affectionate wife, the winning smiles of an infant boy: and to their future welfare he gladly sacrificed every selfish idea of present felicity. These reflections accompanied him throughout a long and perilous voyage, which was at last completed without any material occurrence.

It was during his short stay in London that I met with him. The recent kindness of his kinsman had proved a sure passport into the houses of his other relations. He procured from them all not only a general invitation during his stay there, but many flattering letters of recommendation to the principal families and military men whither he was going. His person was uncommonly graceful, and the bright glow of prosperity beaming on his fine open countenance, indicated the native honesty that warmed his heart. I was at that time not more than fifteen; Captain S---- about four-and-twenty. Such an object was well calculated to awaken the feelings of artless sensibility. Young and romantic as I then was, I could imagine no higher delight than that of marrying Captain S----, and following his fate “beyond unknown seas.” Alas! I knew not that he was already the betrothed partner of a more fortunate fair; and when, on his discovering what I found it difficult to conceal, he candidly revealed to me his situation, I could only offer up sighs and tears at his departure, which wore away _almost soon after_ the object which had created them disappeared.

* * * * *

_THIRD WANDERING._

The next morning I was punctual to my appointment; but waited above an hour before I perceived Captain S----. At length he came, and made no secret to me of what had detained him. He informed me, that having gone on the preceding day to Lord G--------’s he could with difficulty gain admission into the hall; where, after having been for some time insulted by the enquiring looks, and questions, of several impertinent footmen, he seemed likely to remain; not one of them, though assured he waited on his Lordship by his own appointment, appearing willing to stir from their chairs to announce him. He continued there some time; during which he had the mortification to see several of his old acquaintance alight from their carriages, and pass, without deigning to look towards him. He patiently waited the return of these great people, and then repeated his request of a moment’s audience, which was answered by a desire that he would call again the next morning, at the same hour.

He went, and sound orders to admit him. Lord G----, with that tone of authority which superior fortune always gives so the supercilious, however polished, and to the ungenerous, however courtly, reproached him in very acrimonious terms with having suddenly thrown up his commission, at a time when promotion was becoming general, and his country particularly demanded his services.

Stung to the heart at a reproof, which while he knew to be severe, he felt to be just, he alledged, in excuse, what to a delicate mind would have been an all-powerful one. His _wife_--her _situation_: Lord G---- interrupted him, by telling him that all such feelings should be sacrificed to self-interest. He then rang his bell, called for his carriage, and putting a solitary guinea into the hands of Captain S----, cast reflections on this conduct, that were as galling as unmerited, and wishing him good morning, rid himself of a visitor, whose reduced circumstances were his only mark of inferiority.

I was less surprised than Captain S---- at the conduct of Lord G----; and after making some comments, naturally arising from the transaction, I prevailed on him to accompany me home, and to relate to me his narrative, which he did in the following words.