Chapter C: S. Q (4)

How necessary it becomes us to reflect on our future state, a state in which we are doomed either to possess happiness or misery, according to our deserts---to avoid all painful sensations on the æra of death is to pursue faithfully the grand dictates of our Creator, whilst he gives us strength and power; for without a serious, diligent and punctual attention thereto, the mind must inevitably be much discomposed and filled with imaginations too great to be described, by heretofore neglecting the functions of _that_ duty which he (the Supreme) so strictly commands us to perform. How many of our worthy citizens have been lately cut off, and how many are now on the brink of leaving this world in their youthful prime.

My good friends, do but think of the uncertainty of life, and remember that no moment ought to be neglected in assiduously applying ourselves to the devotion of God, which will secure to us the happiness of futurity.

R. C.

NEW-YORK _July 22, 1796_.

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[[For sources, see the end of the e-text. This story is also available
from Project Gutenberg as e-text 30794.]]

Interesting History Of
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

_Translated from the French._

Among all the great families which flourished in France in the reign of Philip the First, the Count de St. Paul and the Count de Ponthieu were the most distinguished; but especially the Count de Ponthieu, who, possessing a great extent of dominion, maintained the title of sovereign with inconceiveable magnificence. He was a widower, and had an only daughter, whose wit and beauty, supported by the shining qualities of her father, made his court polite and sumptuous, and had attracted to it the bravest Cavaliers of that age. The Count de St. Paul had no children but a nephew, son of his sister, by the Sieur la Domar, who was the only heir of his title and possessions. This expectation was for the present his only fortune; but Heaven having formed him to please, he might be said to be one of those whose intrinsic worth is sufficient to render them superior to the rest of mankind: courage, wit, and a good mien, together with a high birth, made ample atonement for his want of riches. This young Cavalier having engaged the notice of the Count de Ponthieu in a tournament, where he had all the honour; he conceived so great an esteem for him, that he invited him to his court. The considerable advantages he offered him were so much above what the Count de St. Paul’s nephew could for the present expect, that he embraced the proposals he made him with pleasure, and the Count thought himself happy in having prevailed on him to stay with him. Thibault, for so history calls this young Cavalier, was no sooner come to court, than the beauty of the princess inspired him with admiration, which soon ripened into love; and it was but in vain that reason opposed his passion, by representing how little he was in a condition to make any such pretensions. Love is not to be controuled, it is not to be repelled.--But in some measure to punish his temerity, he condemned himself to an eternal silence; yet, though his tongue was mute, the princess, who had as great a share of sensibility as beauty, soon perceived the effect of her charms written in his eyes, and imprinted in all his motions, and, in secret, rejoiced at the conquest she had gained. But the same reasons which obliged Thibault to conceal his sentiments, prevented her from making any discovery of her’s, and it was only by the language of their glances, they told each other that they burned with a mutual flame.

As at that time there were great numbers of sovereign princes, there were very often wars between them; and as the Count de Ponthieu had the greatest extent of land, so he was the most exposed: But Thibault, by his courage and prudence, rendered him so formidable to his neighbours, that he both enlarged his dominions and made the possession of them secure. These important services added to that esteem the Count and Princess had for him before; but at last, a signal victory which he gained, and which was of the utmost consequence to the Count, carried the gratitude of that prince to such a height, that in the middle of his court, and among the joyful acclamations of the people, he embraced the young hero, and begged him to demand a reward for his great services; assuring him, that did he ask the half of his dominions, he should think himself happy in being able to give a mark of his tenderness and gratitude. Thibault, who had done nothing but with a view of rendering himself worthy of owning the passion he so long and painfully had concealed, encouraged by such generous offers, threw himself at the feet of the Count, telling him, that his ambition was entirely satisfied in having been able to do him any service; but that he had another passion more difficult to be pleased, which induced him to beg a favour, on which depended the whole felicity of his life. The Count pressed him to an explanation of these words, and swore to him by the faith of a knight, an oath inviolably sacred in those times, that there was nothing in his power he would refuse him. This promise entirely recovering the trembling lover from that confusion which the fears that accompany that passion had involved him in, “I presume then, my lord,” said he, “to beg, I may have leave to declare myself the Princess’s knight, and that I may serve and adore her in that quality. I am not ignorant,” continued he, “of the temerity of my wishes, but if a crown be wanting to deserve her, let me flatter myself with the hope that this sword, already successful over your enemies, may one day, enforced by love, make my fortune worthy of the glory to which I aspire.” The joy which appeared in the face of the Count at this demand, would be impossible to represent: he raised Thibault, and again tenderly embracing him, “My son,” said he, “for so henceforth I call you, I pray heaven to dispose my daughter to receive your vows as favourably as I shall satisfy them.” He took him by the hand with these words, and led him to the Princess’s apartment; “Daughter,” said he, “as I have nothing so dear to me as yourself, you alone can recompense the obligations I have to this young warrior.--The respect he has for you, makes him desire only to be entertained as your knight; but I come to let you know. I would have you receive him as your husband.” The Princess blushing cast down her eyes; but being commanded to reply, she confessed the choice he had made for her was agreeable to her inclinations, and that it was with pleasure she submitted to her father’s will. Thibault thanked the kind concession in terms that testified his excess of transport. The Count perceiving their mutual wishes, suffered them not to languish in expectation of a blessing he had resolved on; but gave immediate orders for the marriage preparations, and a few days after it was celebrated with the magnificence the occasion deserved. Hymen, in agreement with love, only rendered their flames more lasting; possession was so far from extinguishing them, that it seemed to be the torch which kindled them. The Count was charmed with the happy union he saw between them, and his heart could scarce decide which he most loved, his own daughter, or son-in-law.

(_To be continued._)

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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 29.)

“Conceive our astonishment, when we heard who the man was whom we had handled in such a dreadful manner! It was Miguel, the son of the Duke of C***na, and Count ****ez, his tutor. Most of the conspirators proposed to dispatch both of them, lest our secret should be betrayed; I insisted however upon their being examined before any thing should be determined, to which they consented. Miguel confessed that he had been sent by his father to visit the principal towns of Europe in company of his tutor, and that the account of the priest at whose house he had supped, had made him curious to have a sight of the inhabitants of the castle. Their examination being finished, they were ordered to retire, and I harangued the assembly in the following manner:

“You expect to avoid a discovery by destroying our prisoners; however, I believe just the contrary will happen. The servant, the priest, and his family, know that they have spent the night at the castle, and if they do not return to-day, the whole village will be alarmed. The old Duke will be informed of the incident, and who can seriously expect that he will be so credulous as to attribute the death of his son to ghosts. His life is too important to the father and the state, not to cause the strictest investigation. The castle will be surrounded, searched, and we shall be detected, or obliged to save ourselves by flight. In either instance, we must leave the castle. This will be the natural consequence, and the death of these two men will certainly be the surest means of betraying our asylum. I would therefore advise you to spare their lives, I know the family of Villa R***l too well, to apprehend the least danger from the execution of this proposal. Miguel and Count ***rez, are men of honour, and if they pledge their word to conceal the events of this night we shall be safe. However, this is not the sole reason for which I would advise you to spare their lives; I have a more important view at heart; I intend to gain Miguel over to our party. He shall become a principal actor in the great drama which we are going to perform, and untwist the knot which we have tied. You are astonished? however, I would have you to recollect that I am not wont to attempt what I am not sure to be able to perform. I will tell you my plan more at large, at some other time; at present let us demand an oath of secrecy from our prisoners and set them at liberty.

“My proposal was adopted, and I sat instantly down to inform your Excellency of that incident.”

I should never have believed the _Unknown_ to be the writer of this letter, if I had not been convinced of it by the other papers. I had always looked upon my adventure at the castle, as a scene which I thought to have been closed with the recovery of our liberty, and entirely unconnected with the subsequent events of my life. I had not entertained the most distant suspicion that the rest of my adventures were any ways connected with that incident. I suspected indeed, from the beginning, the masked persons at the castle to be men of high rank, however, I should never have thought that they were the heads of the conspiracy which had been formed to set my country at liberty. I fancied the _Unknown_ had framed his design upon me when we met him in the disguise of a beggar; but I never dreamed that he had formed it already at the castle; and that I and my tutor owed our lives to his mediation. You may, therefore, easily conceive how much I was surprised at this discovery. I vowed never to forget how much we were indebted to the _Unknown_. How remarkable was this letter to me! however the second was still more so.

“I intend to submit Miguel to my will by the delusions of magic. Your Excellency perhaps may think, that this plan may be rendered abortive by a young man who gives so little credit to the reality of apparitions, that he dares to take up his night’s lodging at a castle which is famed for being the haunt of ghosts. However, even if I should suppose that he had no other view in his visit to the castle, than to encounter an adventure, yet I must conclude from that step that he has a tendency for enthusiasm, which, however, is very different from that which I want him to have; yet enthusiasm, however it may display itself, is always enthusiasm; and the only thing I have to aim at, is to give it a turn most consistent with my plan, which will be no difficult matter with a young man of his temper, his thirst for knowledge, and unstable principles.

“Certainly it would be a great mistake, if one should conclude from his visit to the castle, that he does not believe in the reality of apparitions. On the contrary; I think I have reason to make just the opposite conclusion from it. If Miguel had been convinced of the vanity of apparitions before he came to the castle, he would not have taken the trouble of acquiring that conviction by experience; a secret voice, which, in spite of his philosophy, pleaded for the possibility of apparitions, excited his curiosity, and gave rise to that resolution which he had carried into execution. If Miguel had been convinced, that the inhabitants of the castle could be no other beings but men, his resorting to the castle would have been not only superfluous, but also fool-hardy, as he would have exposed his life to unknown and suspected people, for no other reason but to convince himself of a truth which he already knew. However, his want of a firm conviction, his wavering between belief and unbelief, was the ground on which he risked so much in order to come to the truth. I am certain Miguel’s philosophy would have received a mortal blow, if Grigorio had acted his part with more moderation.

“It will be my chief, and, I hope, no fruitless aim, to effect this by means of magical delusions and art. If I can but gain so much advantage over Miguel, that he, for want of capacity to explain my deeds naturally, shall begin to think me gifted with supernatural power, then he will suffer himself to be entirely ruled by me. His thirst for knowledge, and his fondness of adventures, will assist me to gain my aim, which would be a difficult matter, if he were of a different turn of mind. In order to enthral his head and heart at one time, I intend to make him acquainted with a female enthusiast who has been prompted by the extraordinary incidents of her life, to believe in wonders and apparitions of all kinds. Enthusiasm is catching, and particularly so, if the enthusiast is such a beautiful and charming woman as the Countess of Clairval. In her company Miguel will easily become an enthusiast, who will be equally capable of seeing ghosts, and staking his life for his mistress and his country. If that point is but gained, then I shall find it easy work to lead him with rapidity to the mark. _All arguments of philosophy and patriotism never would be able to gain him so decidedly and so rapidly to our party, as the word of a man whom he fancies to possess supernatural power, and to have been sent from above._ I shall think it my duty to account to your excellency for every important step I shall take in this matter, because you being the soul of our undertaking, renders it necessary you should be informed of every action of each individual member, in order to regulate your conduct accordingly. I only beg not to acquaint the Archbishop of L*sbon of my magical operations. Your excellency is no stranger to his rigid principles; how active soever he be in our cause, and how great soever his satisfaction at the conquest of Miguel will be, yet he would condemn without mercy the means by which I intend to gain him over to our party. My own heart would certainly reproach me severely for the fraud which I am going to commit against that excellent young man, if the important end which I am aiming at, did not plead my excuse, and I was not firmly resolved to open the eyes of the deluded man, as soon as I shall have gained my purpose.

“I am, &c. &c. &c.”

The last lines confirmed the declaration of the Count, that the _Unknown_ would have removed himself the veil from my eyes. But this did not justify him in my opinion. Though he should have destroyed the delusion at some future period, was I on that account less imposed upon while the deceit lasted, and can ever low and illicit means be ennobled by laudable views?--However, I cannot deny that the sagacity with which the _Unknown_ had explored my weak side, the dextrous use he made of that discovery, and the finesse of the artifices which he employed to deceive me, excited my admiration to the highest degree; but at the same time, I must confess that I was severely vexed at the ease with which my philosophy yielded to his delusive artifices. I was very agreeably surprised to find that the Archbishop of L*sbon was one of the conspirators. I knew him very well, and it flattered my pride to have a share in an undertaking in which a divine of his worth and uncommon learning was concerned. His rigid principles, which the _Unknown_ dreaded so much, were to me the best security for the justness of his undertaking. I took up the third letter, burning with an impatient desire to know the names of the rest of the conspirators; but its contents were of a different nature.

(_To be continued._)

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ALL MEN ARE SLAVES.

That the fair sex are supreme sovereigns of the universe, can never be doubted. Man has no will of his own but what woman delegates to him; she moulds him as she pleases; he seems most happy if but permitted to become her vassal, and she deputes and disposes of him according to her will and pleasure.

A smile of approbation, or the squeeze of the lovely hand of a charming woman, will immediately procure thousands of volunteers ready to undertake the most dangerous and hazardous enterprizes, if sanctioned by her enchanting fiat; such enviable distinctions will create cowards into heroes, who are ever willing to risk every thing under the fair one’s banner.

We whine, we tremble, we sigh at the fair one’s feet for days, years and ages, supplicating, some will perhaps say, the most trifling favours in the humblest manner: heavenly woman’s distinctions and favours are almost inestimable; therefore, as such, ought always to be considered of a sublime and fascinating nature. I sincerely pity those, if any such there are, who do not possess a sublimity of ideas to enable them to adore and value the charms and attractions of the fair; for ’tis they only who can expand and enlighten our minds and ideas. It is the bewitching eye, the enchanting features, the soft and delicate complexion, the charming symmetry and the tout ensemble of divine woman; that taketh at pleasure the soul of man by surprise, and renders him a prisoner. Man, as the humblest slave, is most happy in her chains; nor would he exchange them for fetters of gold. By enjoying her charms, he is possest of unspeakable bliss; for on divine woman depends the principal pleasures of life.

--I would call thee somewhat higher still
But when my thoughts search heaven for appellation,
They echo back the sovereign name of woman!
Thou woman, therefore! O thou loveliest woman!

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CURIOUS ANECDOTES Of THE DISCOVERY OF ANCIENT MANUSCRIPTS.

It was a Florentine who found, buried in a heap of dust, and in a rotten coffer belonging to the monastery of St. Gal, the works of Quintilian: and, by this fortunate discovery, gave them to the republic of letters.

Papirius Masson found, in the house of a book-binder of Lyons, the works of Agobart. The mechanic was on the point of using the manuscripts to line the covers of his books.

A page of the second Decade of Livy was found by a man of letters on the parchment of his battledore, as he was amusing himself in the country. He ran directly to the maker of the battledore: but arrived too late; the man had finished the last page of Livy, in completing a large order for these articles about a week before.

Sir Robert Cotton, being one day at his tailor’s, discovered that the man held in his hand, ready to be cut up for measures, the original Magna Charta, with all its appendages of seals and signature. He bought this singular curiosity for a trifle; and recovered in this manner, what had long been given over for lost.

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+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+

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ON GEOGRAPHY.

Geography is a science which is no more looked upon as a fine accomplishment, but a necessary part of education; for there is no study which seems fitter for the entertainment and instruction of young persons than this. Geography gives them a perfect idea of the exterior surface of the globe, of its natural and political divisions, and of the curiosities of all its parts: hence it may be called with reason, the eye of history, the soldier’s companion, the merchant’s director, and the traveller’s guide.

It is also a study which holds the first rank among those qualities which are requisite for forming the scholar; for it is adapted not only to gratify our curiosity, but also to increase our knowledge, to banish prejudices, and make us acquainted with our real advantages, and those of our fellow-creatures.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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ANECDOTE.

During the summer of the year 1780, an old Indian, an inhabitant of the wood, used to visit the town of Poughkeepsie for the purpose of disposing of wooden ware, it being the only means he had for gaining a livelihood---Among the purchasers of his goods, was a lady who much wished for a utensil for working her butter as she called it---and desiring him, when he came again, to bring some _butter ladles_.---“_Butter ladles!_” answered the tawny son of the forest, in the native simplicity of his soul---“Why mistress, if I was to fashion such things, they would all melt away before I could get here.”

L. B.

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ON THE MUTABILITY OF FORTUNE.

There is nothing certain in this world but death: theory supposes, experience sometimes proves, but the latter often deceives. The fatality which constantly attends the wayward lot of mortals, is so secret in its operations, that it baffles all the penetration of men to discover it. Xerxes came to conquer Greece with such a numerous force, that his armies quite exhausted the rivers in quenching their natural thirst. He covered the sea with ships, as numerous as the caterpillars which formerly infested Egypt; whence he was inflated with such a certain prospect of success, that he already considered himself as a complete master of the sea; and he commanded it to be whipped with rods, for having the insolence to mutiny tempestuously against him. But, alas! he shamefully lost so many thousand men, and such a number of ships, that he thought himself very fortunate in escaping on board a small fishing bark.

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NEW-YORK.

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MARRIED,

On Sunday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. PETER HOPMIRE, to Miss SALLY WILSON, both of this city.

On Monday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. JAMES BLEECKER, merchant, to Miss SARAH BACHE, daughter of Mr. Theophylact Bache, merchant, of this city.

On Saturday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. WILLIAM JAMES, of this city, to Miss ANN READ, of Trenton.

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DIED,

On the 27th ult. of a sudden illness, TIMOTHY MASON, son to Christopher Mason, Esq. of Swansey, in Massachusetts. He promised fair to realize the hopes of his affectionate parents, but was prematurely cut off in the seventh year of his age, on a visit to the city. On the 28th, his remains were interred in the Baptist burying ground.

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TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The ELEGY on an UNFORTUNATE VETERAN, by MATILDA, and TWILIGHT, a Sonnet, by ALEXIS, are received, and shall appear in our next.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 24th to the 31st inst._

_Days of the Month._
_Thermometer observed at 8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M._
_Prevailing winds._
_OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

deg. deg. deg. 8. 1. 6. 8. 1. 6.
100 100 100
AUG. 24 70 74 69 NE. sw. s. clear do. rain.
25 69 73 67 S. do. do. clear do. do.
26 70 70 72 E. do. se. clear cloudy. do.
27 70 76 50 79 NW. do. N. clear do. do.
28 73 79 78 SW. do. do. clear cloudy clear.
29 78 85 50 80 W. nw. w. clear do. do.
30 76 86 80 SE. W NW. clear do. do.
31 75 84 79 50 NW. sw. do clear do. do.

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RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
For July, 1796.
deg. 100

Mean temperature of the thermometer at 8 A.M. 73 25
Do. do. of the do. at 1 P.M. 81 5
Do. do. of the do. at 6 P.M. 75 5
Do. do. of the whole month 76 45
Greatest monthly range between the 8th and 25th 21 0
Do. do. in 24 hours the 21st 12 0
Warmest day the 8 88 0
Coldest day the 25 67 0

14 Days it rained. A very large quantity of rain has fallen
this month.
13 do. it was clear at 8 1 and 6 o’clock.
5 do. it was cloudy at do. do.
22 do. the wind was to the westward of north and south.
7 Times it thundered and lightned in this month.

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ADVERSITY.

Adversity is virtue’s school
To those who right discern:
Let me observe each painful rule,
And each hard lesson learn.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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THE VELVET LARKSPUR AND THE EGLANTINE.

A Fable of Flora.

Amidst the flowers that lov’d to pour
Their sweets on every breath of May,
Along a green luxuriant shore
Where hoary HUDSON winds his way.

There high upon a slender stem
A _Larkspur_ bloom’d in scarlet pride,
And glittering with an evening gem,
She view’d her beauties in the tide.

Hard by, beneath a cedar’s shade,
An _Eglantine_ of softest hues,
Her blushing buds and flowers display’d,
And shed her odours with the dews.

The _setting_ SUN shot back a ray,
Once more the lovely plant to warm,
While warbling from a neighbouring spray,
A _Thrush_ proclaim’d her power to charm.

The _Larkspur_ turn’d her velvet head
To view the subject of the song;
“Come, minstrel of the wood,” she said,
“For me thy tuneful notes prolong.

“See how the waters, as they pass
To bathe the verdure of my feet,
Brighten before my glowing face,
And raptured roll in murmurs sweet.

“No flower that blossoms in the wild
Can boast a bloom so rich as mine;
No leaf that Flora’s hand can gild,
May like my polish’d foliage shine.

“Why therefore waste thy tender lay,
On yonder _Eglantine_ so frail,
Whose faded tinges speak decay,
Soon as they open on the gale.

“And if some hermit ere hath found,
And sought her simple sweets to taste,
With pois’nous thorns encompass’d round,
He mourn’d too late his witless haste.”

“Vain weed, the scented brier replied,
While my perfumes enrich the air,
And bless the dale on every side,
Wilt thou, indeed, with me compare?

“And shall thy boasted tints that glare
A moment on the astonish’d sight,
With my lov’d buds a chaplet share,
Which even when faded yield delight?

“Thy verdant foliage, though it shine,
Emits a faint and sickly smell,
While every leaf and thorn of mine
Soft and delicious sweets exhale.

“And even those thorns thy folly blames,
They shield me from the spoiler’s power,
Whose niggard with an object claims,
He knows must perish in an hour.

“Yes, and the bard by _love_ imprest,
Or sacred _grief_, hath sought my shade;
And there the anguish of his breast
In mournful poesy display’d.

“Henceforth then, herb, to me give place,
Long shall my charms be sung by fame,
While all thy tawdry, worthless race
Bloom and expire without a name.”

A HERMIT from his rocky cell,
With pity the contention heard,
And thrice did tears his eye-lids fill,
And thrice he shook his silv’ry beard.

For in the vivid blooms he saw
What he in former times had been,
When passion was his only law,
And pride led on each various scene.

But prosperous days full soon withdrew,
_Wealth_ vanish’d like a fairy dream,
And _Friendship_ from his moanings flew,
And _Love_ forgot his wonted theme.

Then turn’d he from his devious path,
(A path with many a thorn bestrew’d)
From passions wild, and cares that scath,
And sought this silent solitude.

“Frail flowers (he cried) forbear your strife,
Why should the charms that nature gave,
To bless your _fleeting space_ of life,
That space, of mild content bereave?

“Let neither to the palm aspire,
To each a share of praise is due,
Rich is the odour of the _Brier_,
And beauteous is the _Larkspur’s_ hue.

“But ah, since fate with stinted hand
Allots to each her little day,
Let PEACE its morning beam command,
And gild serene its evening ray.

“For on the wing of _Speed_ draws near,
Old DEATH, too faithful to his trust,
And soon the _unlovely_ and the _fair_
Alike shall crumble into dust.”

ANNA.

New-York, July 29, 1796,

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THE KISS. INSCRIBED TO OLYNDA.

Those balmy lips outvie the rose,
A thousand sweets at once disclose;
Each kiss is heaven itself confess’d,
And nature made them to be press’d.
As feasts the bee on Flora’s plain,
I’d sip, and sip, and sip again;
At every taste new joy I’d prove,
And die of aromatic love.
Then, charmer, ne’er deny the bliss
That flows from thy delicious kiss;
And if there be a joy intense
In gratifying human sense,
Be love, and love alone, your plan,
And me alone the happy man.

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

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_UTILE DULCI._

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, August 10, 1796.+ [+No. 58.+

[[For sources, see the end of the e-text.]]

+The singular state of man when asleep.+

In order to know the omnipotence and wisdom of God, we need not have recourse to extraordinary events. The most common things, the daily changes which happen in nature, and in our own bodies, are alone sufficient to convince us, in the strongest manner, that it is a Being infinite in wisdom, goodness, and power, who has created the world, and who directs every event in it. Of the great number of wonders of which he is Author, I will now mention one only; and, though it happens daily, it does not the less deserve to be remarked, and to become the object of our admiration. How often have those been refreshed and recruited by sleep, who possibly have never reflected on that state; or at least have never considered it as one of the remarkable effects of divine goodness. They think that nothing extraordinary happens when balmy sleep comes upon them. They think the machine their body is formed for that situation; and that their inclination to sleep proceeds from causes purely natural.

But perhaps sleep may be considered in two different lights. On one side there is nothing in it which may not result necessarily from our nature. On the other, there is in this natural effect something so striking and wonderful, that it is well worth a closer examination. In the first instance it is a proof of the wisdom of our Creator, that we go to sleep imperceptibly. Let us try only to watch the moment in which we are falling asleep, and that very attention will prevent it. We shall not go to sleep till that idea is lost. Sleep comes uncalled. It is the only change in our manner of existence in which reflection has no share; and the more we endeavour to promote it, the less we succeed. Thus God has directed sleep, that it should become an agreeable necessity to man; and he has made it independent of our will and our reason. Let us pursue this meditation, and reflect on the wonderful state we are in during our sleep. We live without knowing it, without feeling it. The beating of the heart, the circulation of the blood, the digestion, the separation of the juices; in a word, all the animal functions continue and operate in the same order. The activity of the soul appears for a time in some degree suspended, and gradually loses all sensation, all distinct ideas. The senses deaden, and interrupt their usual operations. The muscles by degrees move more slowly, till all voluntary motion has ceased. First, this change begins by the forehead; then the muscles of the eye-lids, the neck, the arms, and the feet, lose their activity, to such a degree, that man seems to be metamorphosed into the state of a plant. The situation of the brain becomes such, that it cannot transmit to the soul the same notions as when awake. The soul sees no object, though the optic nerve is not altered; and it would see nothing, even if the eyes were not shut. The ears are open, and yet they do not hear. In a word, the state of a person asleep is wonderful in all respects. Perhaps there is but one other in the world so remarkable, and this is visibly the image of that state which death reduces us to. Sleep and death are so nearly alike, it is right to observe it. Who, in reality, can think of sleep, without recollecting death also. Perhaps, as imperceptibly as we now fall into the arms of sleep, shall we one day fall into those of death. It is true that death often gives warning of its approach several hours or days before: but the real moment in which death seizes us, happens suddenly, and when we shall seem to feel the first blow, it may be already our last. The senses which lose their functions in our sleep, are equally incapable of acting at the approach of death. In the same manner, the ideas are confused, and we forget the objects which surround us. Perhaps, also, the moment of death may resemble the moment of falling asleep: and the convulsions of dying people may possibly be as little disagreeable a sensation to them, as the snoring is to those that sleep.

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STUDY.

Study, as far as it signifies any thing valuable or commendable, has been defined, the pursuit of youthful knowledge, in a close application of the mind to reading or thinking, for the due conduct or entertainment of life; and it is certainly one of the greatest and noblest pursuits in which the mind of man can be possibly engaged.

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Interesting History Of
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

_Translated from the French._

(Continued from page 36.)

Two years passed away without any other interruption of their joy, than the want of heirs; and though that no way diminished their love, yet it gave Thibault some uneasiness, which made him resolve on a progress to St. James of Gallicia; that age was not so corrupted as this is, the heroes fought as much to shew their piety as their courage; and what would now be thought a weakness, at that time gave a greater lustre to their virtue. It was not surprising therefore to see the valiant Thibault taking a resolution of going to Compostella; but the Princess not being able to bear a separation from so dear a husband, would needs accompany him, and join her vows with his; his unabated affection for her, made him receive the proposal with joy, and the Count de Ponthieu, always ready to oblige him, ordered an equipage to be got ready, worthy of those illustrious pilgrims, being willing that they should be well enough accompanied, to prevent any accident during their journey. They set out, and the hope of seeing them again in a little time, lessened the Count’s affliction at the separation.

They got safe to a little village within a day’s journey of Compostella; there Thibault stopped, to rest the Princess; and the next day, finding themselves somewhat fatigued, he sent his attendants before him to provide for their coming, that they might lose no time, retaining only his chamberlain. When they thought themselves sufficiently reposed, they set forward; but having learned there was a dangerous place in the forest, through which they were obliged to pass, the Prince sent his chamberlain to recal some of his people. Nevertheless they still went on, and their ill fortune engaged them in a road, which had so many cross ways to it, that they knew not which to take. The robbers had made an easy plain path, which led travellers into the most intricate part of the forest, getting numbers by this means into their power: it was this fatal one; the unhappy Thibault and his lady imagined to be in the right; but they soon perceived their error. When not having gone above two bow-shots into it they found it terminated in a thicket: out of which, before they could avoid them, rushed eight men completely armed, and surrounded them, commanding them to alight. Thibault had no arms, but his courage disdaining to yield obedience to these ruffians, made him answer in terms which let them see it must be to their number they must be obliged to force him: one of them thinking to do so, quitting his rank, made at him with his lance; but Thibault with an admirable dexterity avoided the blow, and seized the lance as it passed him, with the vigour of an arm accustomed to victory; then seeing himself in a state of defence, he set on them with an heroic fierceness, killing one immediately, and facing them all, pierced a second; but in attacking a third, the lance flew into a thousand shivers, and disabled him from resisting farther. The remaining five encompassing him, and killing his horse, seized him; and notwithstanding his efforts, and the piercing cries of the Princess, stripped him, and tied him fast to a tree, not being willing to steep their hands in the blood of so brave a man. The heat of the combat, and their eagerness in tearing off his rich habit, had hindered them from casting their eyes on the Princess; but she being now left alone, she appeared a more precious booty than what they had just taken. Love inspires virtuous minds with a desire of doing only great and noble actions, and in the hearts of any others than these barbarians, would have endeavoured to have insinuated itself by pity: but that virtue being unknown to them, the charms of this unfortunate lady only redoubled their cruelty. Their fury and brutality inflamed them; and no intreaty could deter such hardened wretches from being guilty of the most shameful crimes!---What a spectacle was this for a husband!---The soul of the wretched Thibault was torn with the most poignant anguish---distracted at not being able either to succour, or revenge her, who was a thousand times dearer to him than his life---he conjured heaven to strike him dead that moment---all that can be conceived of horror, of misery, without a name, was his.---But if his despair was more than words can represent, how much more was that of the afflicted Princess?---she tore her hair and face, begged, threatened, struggled, till her delicate limbs had lost the power of motion; filled all the forest with her piercing cries, without making those relentless monsters recede from their design. Never woman so ardently wished to be beautiful, as she did to become deformed, she would have rejoiced so have had her lovely face that moment changed into the likeness of Medusa; but all her prayers and tears were ineffectual; victim of force and rage.---The cruel leader of these fiends had just effected his diabolical intentions, when a sudden noise of the trampling of horses and the distant voices of men, forced them to fly. Fear, the companion of villainous actions, made them abandon their prey, and make off with incredible swiftness, so that the wretched Princess soon lost sight of them; but her irremediable misfortune, too present to her mind, to vanish with the authors of it, disordered her senses so cruelly, that abhorring herself, and believing she could no longer inspire her husband with any thing but contempt, she looked on him as one that was become her cruellest enemy; witness of her disgrace, her troubled imagination made her believe she ought to free herself from the only one who had the power of publishing it.---Struck with the idea of being unworthy of his affection, all the love she had formerly bore him, now changed into hatred and fury; and becoming as barbarous as the very ruffians, who had just left her, she snatched up one of the dying villain’s swords, and ran with her arm lifted up to take away the life of her wretched husband: but little accustomed to such actions, the blow fell on the cords which bound him, and gave him liberty to wrest the weapon from her hands.---He discovered immediately her thoughts, and made use of the most moving softness to calm the tempest of her soul: “If,” said he, “you could read my heart, you would find grief and pity only there---with what alas! can I accuse you!---What are you guilty of?---I still am your husband---still love you with the same unabated fondness---am the only witness of your ill fortune; I’ll hide it from the eyes of the world, nor shall you ever be sensible that I myself remember it---seek not therefore by a blind fury to publish our mutual shame---comfort yourself, and let us by sentiments of piety, endeavour to purify ourselves from an involuntary crime.” In this manner did he talk to her, but all his love and tenderness made no impression on her mind---she answered him only by her endeavours to snatch away the sword, and stab him. During this melancholy struggle their attendants arrived; they had also lost themselves, and having sought their master all over the forest, the noise of their horses, though then at a distance, had frighted the robbers, and saved the Princess from further violation.

Thibault took a cloak from one of his equipage, and having mounted his disconsolate lady on horseback, did the same himself, and in a short time arrived at Compostella, neither he nor she speaking a word. Deep affliction was imprinted in both their countenances; but the princess had a wildness in her eyes and air, that discovered the distraction of her mind. Thibault placed her in an abbey, and went and prostrated himself at the feet of the altars; not with the design he went for, but to beg of heaven to enable him to undergo so terrible an adventure. This act of piety being over, he returned to the Princess: who remaining still in the same humour, not being able to get any expressions from her but threats against his life, he took her out, and returned with all possible speed to Ponthieu, where they were received with a joy that they were not able to partake.

(_To be continued._)

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[[For sources, see the end of the “Courtship and Marriage” article
(No. 10).]]

ACCOUNT OF THE LAST MOMENTS OF THE CELEBRATED DR. JOHNSON.

He arrived in London on the 16th of November, and next day sent to Dr. Burney, the following note:

“Mr. Johnson, who came home last night, send his respects to dear Dr. Burney, and all the dear Burneys, little and great.”

Soon after his return to the metropolis, both the asthma and dropsy became more violent and distressful. He had for some time kept a journal in Latin, of the state of his illness, and the remedies which he had used, under the title of “Aegri Ephemeris,” which he began on the 6th of July, but continued it no longer then the 8th of November; finding, probably, that it was a mournful and unavailing register.

Dr. Herberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter, physicians, generously attended him, without accepting of any fees, as did Mr. Cruikshank, surgeon; and all that could be done, from professional skill and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so truly valuable. He himself, indeed, having on account of his very bad constitution, been perpetually applying himself to medical enquiries, united his own efforts with those of the gentlemen who attended him; and imagining that the dropsical collection of water which oppressed him, might be drawn off, by making incisions in his body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut deep, when he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.

About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid him his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said, “I have been as a dying man all night.” He then emphatically broke out, in the words of Shakspeare,

“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d?
“Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?
“Raze out the written troubles of the brain?
“And with some sweet oblivious antidote,
“Cleanse the full bosom of that perilous stuff,
“Which weighs upon the heart.”

To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered from the same great poet,

“------------therein the patient
“Must minister unto himself.”

Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.

On another day after this, when talking on the same subject of prayer, Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal,

“Orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,”

and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly over, he happened in the line

“Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat,”

to pronounce “supremum,” for “extremum;” at which Johnson’s critical ear infirmly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as ever of the spirit of the grammarian.

Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson’s intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr. Francis Barber, whom he had all along treated truly as an humble friend. Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to bequeath to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the circumstances of the master; and that in the case of a nobleman fifty pounds a-year was considered as an adequate reward for many years faithful service. “Then,” said Johnson, “shall I be nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a-year, and I desire you to tell him so.” It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time; and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins’s repeatedly urging it, it is probable that his kind resolution would not have been fulfilled.

Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the mind of the dying Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, “Not at all, Sir. The fellow is an idiot; he is as awkward as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse.”

(_To be concluded in our next._)

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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THE FUNERAL--A FRAGMENT.

“Fresh in my mind the uncheery scenes arise,
“Each _groan_ again I hear! each piercing _cry!_
“Each _languid look_ I see! the _dawn_ of _death_,
“And the sad beatings of the death-bell still
“Hum slow and solemn in my frighted ear!”

MRS. FAUGERES.

----The cavalcade moved slowly on--The old mourner raised his eyes to heaven, as if to implore the aid of Omnipotence in resigning him to the fatal stroke, and anon the tear of grief would steal down his furrowed cheek.

How must it rend the heart of a fond, a doting father, who had promised to himself many days of uninterrupted happiness, in an amiable child, to see him torn from his embrace, ere he yet had arrived at manhood! Is it not afflicting? Ye, who have felt the smart, it is you that best can reply: It is you alone can tell what pleasure, and what pain a parent feels.

Full sixteen suns had run their annual course since SAMUEL saw the light. And on his birth-day morn, sol darted forth his beams in rich effulgence; yet ere the noon-tide came, the only prop of age had sunk to an eternal rest. The sparkling eye, the crimsoned cheek had lost their wonted charms, and nothing in their stead remained, save a sad semblance of mortality. Death, that insatiate monster, had stretched forth his iron fangs, and grasped his spotless soul; and in one moment brought to nought each fancied joy.

Now here is room for one who has ever wept at the wayward lot of mortals, to drop the briny tear, and mourn the partial decree of fate, that summoned hence this _opening rose_. Alas! that it could not be revoked!

The gate was already open, and the clergyman led the way across several graves that had long been inhabited. Doubtless, their bodies have, ere this, left nothing save a handful of ashes. Once they were as gay as thou art, O reader! Some, perhaps, launched into the vortex of pleasure, while others found happiness at home, in company with their playful infants.---What are they now?

The ceremony was begun: the corpse was deposited in its narrow cell. Tears flowed more freely from the eyes of the mourners, and when the first spadeful of earth had fallen heavy on the lid, they arose to sobs. The spectators dropped theirs in unison.

It resembled the funeral of Jacob. The labourers had ceased:---the spades had fallen from their hands, and they looked round with astonishment. Perhaps they had never witnessed such a scene; and well might they gaze on the one before them. At length the fountains of nature were drained, they could no longer weep.

L. B.

NEW-YORK _August 5, 1796_.

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OBSERVATION.

The coldest hearts, nay the hardest, cannot forbear admiring virtue; but, while they stop at this involuntary and barren homage, the feeling mind burns with emulation.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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STUDY OF NATURE.

From the effect of great objects on the human mind, we may trace the origin of every useful and pleasing art. The painter, whose susceptibility is peculiarly irritable in viewing majestic heights and the variegated foliage of nature, infuses the happiest effect in his productions; the poet’s flight of fancy has its birth in streams, in hills, in vales, &c. The philosopher, in contemplating the heavens and earth, unfolds the omnipotence of the Deity, and conveys the sublime information to surrounding millions, engaging them in pursuits interesting to the present, and necessary to an existence hereafter.--From these observations, how necessary is it to form our minds to the study of nature.

T.

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REMARKABLE CURE OF A FEVER BY MUSIC.
An Attested Fact.