Chapter C: S. Q (6)

“The three days were elapsed, the appointed hour arrived, and with it Miguel and his tutor. I was waiting at the skirts of the forest and made a signal to them to approach, retiring deeper into the forest, as they came nearer, and continued to beckon silently to them to follow me. Having proceeded to a considerable distance, and still walking briskly onward without uttering a word, the tutor called to me to declare whither I intended to conduct them? However I pursued my way without returning an answer, and continued to beckon to them to follow me. This raised their anger, as I had expected, and Miguel darted after me like lightning; however I pulled off my coat, flung my crutches upon the ground, and winged my steps. Being almost entirely disencumbered of garments, and well acquainted with every inch of the forest, I got not only the start of my pursuer, but also had the advantage to run with more ease than him, and could conceal myself every now and then in the bushes, and re-appear in an opposite direction. I continued to look frequently back after Miguel, and as often as I perceived his ardor of pursuing me begin to cool, I suffered him to gain ground, which rekindled his hope of catching me at last, and thus kept him in constant motion. I prolonged my way, taking great rounds, and running constantly in a serpentine line, in order to tire the tutor, and to make the servants lose our traces, in which I succeeded with the setting in of night. However, Miguel seemed now seriously inclined to return. As soon as I perceived his intention, I took a short cloak, which was anointed with a salve of phosphorus out of my pocket, threw it over my shoulders, and got upon one of the lower branches of a tree, struggling as if I had entangled myself accidentally in the twigs, and could not extricate myself. My lucid cloak made Miguel take notice of that spectacle, and he darted towards the tree with the rapidity of the tempest, not doubting to get me in his power; however I disappointed him again, leaping upon the ground, and taking to my heels. Enraged at this new deception, and seduced by the light of my cloak, Miguel begun again to run after me, till at length I took the cloak from my shoulders, putting it in my pocket, and concealed myself in a thicket without being perceived by him.

“Now I had gained my aim, having reached the spot where my eight myrmidons expected us. They surrounded him entirely, leaving only the front open. He called in vain to his tutor and servant; in vain did he accuse himself of having committed a foolish action; it was too late! he flung himself upon the ground in a kind of despair. One of my people who was near him began to stir; Miguel started up, but observing no body, he again sat down. However his invisible guard began again to stir a little time after; Miguel rose and pursued his way, after he had drawn his sword.

“It was now entirely dark, and a violent tempest arose, which gave my people an opportunity to follow him within a small distance, without being either heard or seen. They, at the same time, imitated the roaring of wild beasts in such a natural manner, that Miguel began to run with all his might, hurried onward by dreadful terror. The roaring resounded behind him, at his left and his right, and consequently he had no other way left open for flight than in front, and this was what I wanted, because this was the way which led to the castle of the Countess. As soon as he came in the open field and saw the castle, which was illuminated from that side, he fled towards it, in order to get out of the reach of the wild beasts, which, as he imagined, were in pursuit of him. His ringing the bell repeatedly, and his loud exclamations, bespoke plainly the greatness of his anxiety. The porter, who was previously informed of his arrival, opened the gate and admitted him. As soon as Miguel had reached the castle, I ordered my people to go in search of his tutor, but not to awaken him if they should find him asleep, and to give me notice of it. I intended to terrify, and to make him respect my power, for I could not forget that he had slighted my caution with regard to the inn. Manuel discovered him first, and informed me of it. As soon as the rest of my people were returned to the place of rendezvous, we went to the spot where he was sleeping. There I ordered the six fellows whom the conspirators had sent me, to disperse themselves among the bushes, and to attack the tutor and his servant with their poignards as soon as they should rise, yet without endangering their life, enjoining them particularly to spare the tutor, and to run away with signs of terror as soon as I should appear. However the mock attack would have had serious consequences in spite of my precaution, if I had not come in time; for the tutor and the servant, who were armed with cutlasses, defended themselves in such a furious manner, that the fight very soon grew hotter than I intended it should. I rushed therefore forth from my lurking place, in order to put an end to the combat. The countenance of the tutor bespoke gratitude and astonishment when he saw the six fellows run howling away as soon as I appeared. “Return to town, (said I) for now you are safe!” Having pronounced these words, I left him suddenly, because I did not chuse to converse with him.

“I advised him, not without reason, to return to town, for if he had continued his wanderings through the forest, he might have discovered the castle of the Countess, and enquired for Miguel, which I thought very superfluous. Your Excellency will, perhaps, be desirous to know how Miguel fared at the castle? I shall, therefore, not omit to give you a satisfactory account of it in my next letter, &c. &c. &c.”

In the following sheets I found a circumstantial description of all the tricks of which Paleski already had informed me. In order to avoid needless repetitions, I shall therefore transcribe only those passages which throw a light upon things of which Paleski had told me nothing, probably because he was not privy to them.

“----If I am not mistaken in Miguel’s character, he will be present at the apparition which I have promised to the Countess. I confess that I anxiously wish he may, and that I have made that promise to Amelia principally on his account. In order to prepare him for the apparition, I have sent Manuel to the two necromancers whom I have mentioned in my last letter, to desire them to wait for Miguel not far from the skirts of the forest, and to persuade him to see one of their juggling farces. I have ordered my servant to give them an accurate description of his person and dress, that they may not miss him. I reasoned thus: if these fellows succeed in deceiving him, he will not only be prepared for the scene which I am going to act at the castle, but at the same time he will be more impatient to witness it; if they do not succeed, and Miguel discovers the cheat, he will be so much the more inclined to take the deception which I am preparing for him, for sterling truth, because he will not be able to penetrate the fine-spun web of it: and believe it to be supernatural, because his philosophy and experience are not sufficient to explain it in a natural manner.----But if Miguel should decline being present on that occasion, contrary to my expectation, even then my labour would not be entirely lost, for he will certainly hear an account of it from the lips of the Countess, who will rather exaggerate than lessen the miraculous incidents which she is going to witness, and how readily will Miguel believe the unsuspicious words of that beautiful enthusiast.--------Triumph! Miguel and his tutor have witnessed the apparition seen at the castle. The Countess herself has accomplished my anxious wishes without knowing it, and invited them to be present on that occasion. It is a remarkable instance of the contradictions of the female heart, that the very lady who was so desirous to see her deceased husband, was seized with such an horror at it on the day when her anxious desire was to be satisfied, that, without paying the least regard to female delicacy, she wrote a letter of invitation to Miguel. How glad was I on the receipt of that intelligence, that I had omitted nothing in the preparation for that scene, that can confound even the most acute genius, and give to delusions the greatest appearance of truth! Count Clairval acted the part of his deceased brother.--Your Excellency knows that fine acute genius, who by the intricate incidents of his life, and a long series of experience of all kinds, and his own reflections, has acquired the capacity of undertaking any thing, with success---- who’eMI dfahrIqlqms hmrf cgtTml. mgsrlm. FschypSr. hlnyhs: rpqvbs. grbn. ftbC--BvnmD lgstzmm. nflm. Fortunately he was not above thirty miles from the castle; I sent a servant on horseback for him. He could not refuse my request, because nrm..Bvndrgn hglgs: tbt: ggrmm..hlt. tseTs.... Crsth: pssrs: tfgn. InsnM. bttr. -- --.”

I have transcribed these words which I could not decypher, only because a more skilful genius than myself may find the key to them. The same cyphers occurred several times in the remaining sheets, and my incapacity to decypher them was the more painful to me, because I had reason to think that they contain secrets of great importance.

(_To be continued._)

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EXTRAORDINARY EFFECTS OF SUDDEN JOY.

Arthur Plantagenet, viscount Lisle, natural son to King Edward IV. was imprisoned in the thirty-third year of Henry VIII. upon suspicion, that he designed to betray Calais to the French, when he was governor of that important garrison; but the accusation proving false, and the king willing to repair the dishonour he had sustained, sent him a diamond ring, and a kind message by his secretary of state Sir Thomas Wriothesly; at which the viscount was so over-joyed and transported to excess of satisfaction, that the night following, of that very joy he died.

Cinan Cuffutus Judæus being at Arsinoe, a port upon the Red Sea, making war upon the Portuguese, by commission from the grand signior Solyman, he there received the news, that his son Selechus was made a slave at the taking of Tunis, but being soon after informed that he was redeemed by Haradienus, made admiral of seven ships of war, and with them was at anchor before Alexandria, and from thence resolved to join him very suddenly. This notice of his son’s unexpected freedom, and his being preferred to such a post of honour, so surprized and overwhelmed the old man with excess of joy; that he swooned at the hearing of it, and at the arrival of his son he died in his arms.

[[Source:

Original: _The wonders of the little world; or, A general history of
man, displaying the various faculties, capacities, powers and
defects of the human body and mind_, Volume 2. Nathanial Wanley,
1678.
Original title of essay: Of Extraordinary Joy, and the Effects It
Has Produced
Abridged edition: _The history of man: displaying the various powers,
faculties, capacities ..._ 1746, Volume II.
Later edition: 1806, ed. William Johnston, has “Sinan Ceffutus
Judæus”, “Haradienus Barbarossa” and more details.

Link: http://books.google.com/books?id=V0oBAAAAQAAJ

Notes: In the original, the Arthur Plantagenet segment is missing
the words “over-joyed and”; the name is spelled “Cinan Ceffutus
Judæus”.]]

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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DEATH.

“--------’Tis thy delight to make us sad;
To blast our joys, and mock our every hope;
To wretched man new miseries to add,
And sling fresh _gall_ into life’s _bitter_ cup.”

W. TOWNSEND.

None are exempt from thy stroke, O thou lawless power! thou stretchest out thine hand and levellest alike, the rich, the poor, the brave, and the base. When thou givest the sign they are forced to obey--to prepare for the awful moment. Some thou layest on a languishing bed of sickness; and again some, who are, to all appearance, in the full enjoyment of health, thou called hence in a moment unexpected, when they, perhaps, are planning a way for future life. In an instant all that in imagination they have been erecting is brought to nought; and, for the first time, they behold themselves _creatures of a moment_.

The gentle, the amiable, the accomplished ELMIRA was forced to obey thy stern mandate while yet in the bloom of youth. Methought thou didst a little relent of thy savage cruelty, when thou sawest the victim thou hadst sought out for the purpose of wreaking thy fury on. The thought was illusive, although for a few minutes after thou hadst first aimed the dart, the finishing of thy work seemed suspended---yet it proved too sure.

In idea I have figured out thy portrait. Thou art of a pale visage, thine eyes dry, and the balls glaring like fire; they never dropped one pitying tear, and are therefore strangers to moisture. Thy cheeks are dry and hard; and thy teeth grinning a ghastly smile, as if pleased that the life of man is in thy power. In thy hand is grasped a barbed weapon, which thou aimest at the heart, and playest at thy will, and which none can withstand.----I must stop; for what I have pourtrayed fills me with horror.

L. B.

NEW-YORK Aug. 13th, 1796.

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EXTRAORDINARY BEHAVIOUR OF TWO COMMANDERS,
IN A SEA FIGHT BETWEEN THE FLEETS OF CÆSAR AND POMPEY, OFF CUBA.

In the height of the action the two rivals, now grown enemies, Menas and Menacrates, happened to descry one another at the same instant. Immediately they left every other pursuit, and with all their art, and strength of oars, threatening and shouting, rushed upon one another. The shock was terrible: Menas’s ship had her brazen beak beat off with a part of her bow; and Menecrates’s galley had a tier of her oars stripped clear off, by the board. But when the grappling irons were thrown, and the ships made fast along side, there ensued the most desperate engagement that had ever been seen between two captains. It began with showers of darts, stones, arrows, spears. Then the bridges were thrown for boarding, where a cruel battle joined, foot to foot, and shield to shield: there was not a blow given in vain. They fought for some time, with equal fury and success, and the crews of both were generally either killed or wounded, when an accidental circumstance seemed to give Menas the advantage: his ship was higher than the enemy’s; his men fought as from a rising ground, and the blows and shot from above gave the superiority. Yet he was run through the arm with a dart, which was got out; but his adversary, Menecrates, was pierced through the thigh by a Spanish barbed javelin, which they durst not try to move. But, though disabled from fighting, he kept the deck, encouraging his men, till seeing them all cut down, and the enemy ready to clear the deck, he sprang overboard and perished in the sea.

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_NEW-YORK._

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MARRIED,

On Thursday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Foster, Mr. ELIPHALET BARNUM, to Miss PŒBE COCK, both of Oyster-Bay (L.I.)

The same evening, at Huntington (L.I.) by the Rev. Dr. Schench, Capt. ISAAC HAND, of this city, to Miss AMY WEEKS, of Oyster-Bay (L.I.)

On Monday se’nnight, by the Rev. Dr. M‘Knight, Mr. PATRICIUS M‘MANNARS, of this city, to Mrs. SEETHE ARNOLD, formerly of Boston.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 7th to the 13th 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. 7 67 50 73 71 E. NE. do. cloudy, lt. wd. do.
8 70 77 50 71 S. do. do. clear, lt. wd. calm.
9 71 79 25 80 W. SW. do. clear, do. do.
10 73 84 77 N. S. do. clear, do. do.
11 74 82 76 SW. do. do. cloudy, do. do.
12 74 81 76 SW. do. do. cloudy, do. clear,
13 73 80 76 50 SW. do. W. cloudy, do. do.

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WHAT IS HAPPINESS?

’Tis an empty fleeting shade,
By imagination made:
’Tis a bubble, straw, or worse;
’Tis a baby’s hobby-horse:
’Tis a little living, clear;
’Tis ten thousand pounds a-year:
’Tis a title, ’tis a name:
’Tis a puff of empty fame,
Fickle as the breezes blow:
’Tis a lady’s YES _or_ NO!
And when the description’s crown’d
’Tis just _no where_ to be found.

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+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+

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TO AMYNTA.

Sad, O Amynta! through these shades I rove,
And pensive hear the distant cannon roar;
No charming warbler cheers the dreary grove,
And peace, and glad content are now no more.

’Twas to these fields our dauntless fires of yore,
With their bright goddess Liberty retir’d;
They fix’d her standard on the desart shore,
The barb’rous native at their feet expir’d.

Her smiles illumin’d o’er the gloomy plains,
And peace and glory were their valour’s meed:
The virtuous ardour still informs our swains,
And still they conquer, still they dare to bleed.

Erewhile, all uninur’d to war’s alarms,
And good and gentle was the generous swain;
But now vindictive wrath his bosom warms,
He grasps the steel, and treads the sanguine plain.

The pensive Genius of our hapless land,
Sits sadly weeping on a rock reclin’d:
But, see Hope smiling hov’ring o’er him stand,
And spread her gilded banners to the wind.

MATILDA.

CEDAR GROVE, 1777.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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THE CONFESSION.

Olivia, though Strephon I praise,
His wit and good humour approve;
Though the beauty, I own, of his lays,
Yet still I may not be in love.
His merit was always allow’d,
By ev’ry gay nymph on the plain,
And I sure must be stupid or proud,
Not to join in the praise of the swain.

But when each dear look I admire,
When with raptures I list to his song,
When my heart it beats time to his lyre,
And the minutes without him seem long;
Then I fear, that not friendship alone,
My heart could so tenderly move;
Yet, I’m still at a loss, I must own--
For it cannot--it must not be love.

To her friend thus the shepherdess said,
Who suspected a little deceit,
With smiles she reply’d to the maid,
(Resolv’d to discover the cheat,)
“Suppose he was equally charm’d,
“Say, could you the shepherd approve?”
The nymph of her caution disarm’d,
With blushes confest--she could love.

New-York, _August 13, 1796_.

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AN ELEGY WRITTEN AT SEA.

Heaven gave the word, Delia! once more farewell,
Ah me! how fleeting all our joys are found;
The pangs I feel thy tender heart can tell,
For pangs like mine thy tender heart must wound.

Snatch’d from thy arms, to distant lands I roam,
And face the horrors of the howling sea;
Far from my long lov’d friends and native home,
And far, my Delia! ah, too far from thee!

No more thy pleasing converse cheers my soul,
And smooths my passage through life’s rugged way;
Thy smiles no more my wonted cares controul,
And give new glories to the golden day.

No more with thee I hail the approach of dawn,
And hand in hand the varied landscape rove;
Where fostering gales invest the dew-bright lawn,
Unlock the garden’s sweets, and fan the grove.

With notes accordant to thy skilful tongue,
No more I seek my doric reed to tune;
No more the tender melody prolong,
And chide the envious hours that fleet too soon.

When sinks in ocean’s bed the source of light,
And darkness drear its raven pinions spread;
Chearless and lone I pass the ling’ring night,
With thoughts congenial to its deepest shade.

Unless, perchance, my weary watchful eyes,
Sleep’s balmy charms no longer can refuse;
Then swift to thee my soul unfetter’d flies,
And each past scene of tenderness renews.

With all that winning grace I see thee move,
That first endear’d thy tender heart to mine;
When soften’d by thy grace of virtuous love,
I led thee, blushing, to the hallow’d shrine.

I see thee too, thou partner of my heart,
With all a mother’s tender feelings blest;
The frequent glance, the kiss, the tear impart,
And press the smiling infant to thy breast.

Eager I haste a parent’s joy to share,
My bosom bounds with raptures felt before;
But swift the soothing vision sinks in air,
Winds howl around, and restless billows roar.

Even now, whilst prompted by the pleasing past,
In artless numbers flows this pensive lay;
The tottering vessel quivers in the blast,
And angry clouds obscure the cheerful day.

Yet why repine, my anxious breast be still,
No human bliss is free from foul alloy;
But, what at present bears the face of ill,
May end in smiling bliss and lasting joy.

Soon may that Power supreme, whose dread command
Can still the tumults of the raging main;
Through paths of danger with unerring hand,
Guide me to thee and happiness again.

In Him, my Delia, then thy trust repose,
’Tis he alone the joyless bosom cheers;
He soothes when absent all our heart-felt woes,
At home our soft domestic scene endears.

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 24, 1796.+ [+No. 60.+

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

REMARKS ON THE WONDERFUL CONSTRUCTION OF THE EAR.

The ear, it is true, in respect to beauty, must give place to the eye. However, it is perfectly well formed, and is no less a master-piece of the creative hand. In the first place, the position of the ear shews much wisdom. It is placed in the most convenient part of the body, near the brain, the common seat of all the senses. The outward form of the ear is worthy our admiration. It greatly resembles a muscle; but has neither the softness of mere flesh, nor the hardness of bone. If it was only flesh, it’s upper part would fall down over the orifice, and would prevent the communication of sounds. If, on the contrary, it had been composed of hard bones, it would be very painful and inconvenient to lie on either side. For this reason, the Creator formed the outward part of the ear of a gristly substance, which has the consistence, the polish, and the folds, most proper to reflect sounds; for the use of all the external parts is to collect and convey them to the bottom of the ear. The interior construction of this organ must still more excite our admiration. There is in the shell of the ear an opening, which they call the _auditory pipe_. The entrance of it is furnished with little hairs, which serve as a bar, to keep insects from penetrating into it; and it is for the same purpose that the ear is moistened with a substance that is conglutinous and bitter, which separates itself from the glands. The drum of the ear is placed obliquely in the auditory pipe. This part of the ear really resembles a drum; for, in the first place, there is in the cavity of the auditory pipe a bony ring, on which is stretched a round membrane, dry and thin: in the second place, there is, under that skin, a string stretched tight, which does here the same service as that of the drum, for it increases, by its vibrations, the vibration of the drum of the ear, and serves sometimes to extend, and sometimes to relax the membrane. In the hollow, under the skin of the drum, there are some very small bones, but very remarkable, called auditory bones, and distinguished by these names, the hammer, the anvil, the orbicular, and the stirrup. Their use is, to contribute to the vibration, and to the tension of the skin of the drum. Behind the cavity of the drum, another opening must be observed, which communicates with a pipe which leads to the palate, and which is equally necessary to produce the sensation of exterior sounds. Next comes the _snail_, which rises in a spiral line. Behind is the auditory pipe, which joins the brain.

Hearing is in itself a thing worthy of admiration. By a portion of air, extremely small, which we put in motion, without knowing how, we can in an instant make our thoughts known to one another, with all our conceptions and desires, and this in as perfect a manner, as if our souls could see into each other’s. But to comprehend the action of the air, in the propagation of sounds, more clearly, we must remember that the air is not a solid body, but a fluid. Throw a stone into a calm running water, there will result from it undulations, which will extend more or less, according to the degree of force with which the stone is thrown. Let us now suppose, that a word produces in the air the same effect as the stone produces in the water. While the person who speaks is uttering the word, he expels (with more or less force) the air out of his mouth; that air communicates to the outward air, which it meets with an undulating motion, and this agitated air comes and shakes the stretched membrane of the drum in the ear; this membrane, thus shaken, communicates vibrations to the air which resides in the cavity of the drum; and that strikes the hammer; the hammer, in it’s turn, strikes the other little bones; the stirrup transmits to the nerves, through the oval orifice, the motion it has received; and they then vibrate like the strings of a fiddle. This motion gains strength in the labyrinth, and reaches to what is properly called the auditory nerves. The soul then experiences a sensation proportionable to the force or weakness of the impression received, and, by virtue of a mysterious law of the Creator, it forms to itself representations of objects and of truths.

God, in order to make us more sensible of his general goodness towards mankind, permits now and then, that some should be born deaf. Must it not teach us to value highly the sense of which they are deprived? The best way to prove our gratitude for so great a blessing is to make a good use of it.

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Interesting History Of
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

_Translated from the French._

(Continued from page 50.)

The day being come, they were obliged to cast lots which of them should die first: the fatal chance fell on the Count de Ponthieu; his son and Thibault contended for the preference, but all they could obtain was, to wait on him to the place of execution. The whole court was assembled to see this spectacle--The Sultan was present himself, and his Sultaness, whose extraordinary beauty had attracted the eyes of all the Infidels, when they were drawn off by the arrival of the illustrious victims, that were going to be sacrificed to the honour of the day. But that Queen, whose soul was as perfect as her body, was surprized at the majestic air of the Count de Ponthieu, who was as yet at a great distance from her: his venerable age, and the contempt with which he seemed to look on his approaching fate, made her order him to be brought nearer to her; he being a stranger, she let down her veil, the women of that country never suffering themselves to be seen by any but Saracens.

As he approached, she found emotions which at that time she knew not had any other source than pity; but having attentively looked on his face, she soon discovered the true cause: but making use of her utmost efforts to prevent her disorder from being taken notice of, she asked him his name, of what country he was, and by what accident he had been taken. The softness of her voice, and the manner of her delivery, gave him a sensible alarm, though he knew not the meaning of it--He answered her without hesitation, that he was of France, and of the sovereignty of Ponthieu. “Are you here alone?” demanded the Queen. “I have two companions in my misfortunes,” replied he, “my son and my son-in-law.” The Queen ordered them immediately to be brought to her; and having heedfully observed them for some time, ordered the sacrifice to be suspended, and ran to the throne where the Sultan was sitting, and throwing herself at his feet “My lord,” said she “if ever I have been happy enough to please you, and may flatter myself with your affection, grant me the lives of these three slaves: they are of my country, and pity makes me interest myself for them, and I hope your clemency will be rewarded by the merit of those I am going to bind to your service.” The Sultan, who adored her, raised her tenderly; “You are mistress of my fate, madam,” replied he, “can I refuse you then the being so of that of those strangers? Dispose of them as you please, I give them entirely up to you, without reserving to myself any right over them.” She thanked him, in terms full of gratitude and respect, and returning to the noble captives, informed them of their pardon; and being secretly too much disordered to stay till the conclusion of the feast, she ordered them to follow her to her apartment; where seeing herself alone with them, she was obliged to renew her efforts, to conceal the confusion of her soul; and assuming an air of as much fierceness as she could, which was heightened by a natural majesty; “I have saved your lives,” said she, “and you may judge by such a proof of my power, that I have authority enough to put you again into the same danger; resolve therefore to satisfy my curiosity, in discovering without disguise all your adventures: I give you till to-morrow to prepare yourselves; I must know your names, qualities, and by what strange accident fate brought you into this country---if you are sincere you may expect every thing from my goodness.” Thibault who had not ventured to lift his eyes upon her while they were before the Sultan, now endeavoured to discover, with the nicest penetration, her beauties; which the thin gauze, of which her veil was made, did not altogether conceal. The dazzling lustre of her sparkling eyes, and the thousand charms which played about her lovely mouth, notwithstanding this impediment, were not wholly obscured from the view. The daring gazer found himself agitated with emotions, which had been unknown to him since the death of his unhappy wife. He felt a pleasure in contemplating this adorable queen, which nothing but itself could equal; and perceiving the Count was silent, perhaps kept so by sentiments which he knew not how to account for, he threw himself at her feet; “As for me, madam,” said he, “it will not be the fears of death that would prevail on me to relate the particulars of a life which has been full of such unheard-of woes, that what to others would be the greatest dread, to me would be a blessing---but there is something far more terrible than what you have named, the abusing a generosity such as yours, prevents me from concealing any part of what you command me to disclose---if therefore the recital of our misfortunes can testify our acknowledgments, depend on our sincerity.”

All the resolution which she had assumed for this rencounter, had like to have forsook her at so moving a discourse; but making a new effort, “Rise,” said she, “your destiny promises something very touching, I am concerned in it more than you can yet imagine. The Sultan will soon appear, therefore I would have you retire, you shall want for nothing this palace can afford, recover yourselves of your fears and fatigues, and to-morrow you shall receive my orders; and till then, I will defer the history I have engaged you to give me.” She then called a slave in whom she entirely confided; “Sayda,” said she to her, “conduct them as I have ordered;” and then making a sign to them to withdraw, they obeyed, and followed the slave. As they went out they heard the Queen sigh, and neither of them could forbear doing so too---Thibault, who quitted her with regret, returning to look on her once more, perceiving she put her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away some tears, he could not restrain his own. Sayda led them to a little apartment behind the Queen’s, it consisted of three rooms, and at the end an arched gallery, where the fruit was kept that was every day served up to her table.---“This,” said Sayda, “is the only service the Sultaness expects from you; she could not have placed you so commodiously, without giving you some employment that required your attendance near her person, you must therefore take care of this fruit, put it in order in baskets provided for that use, and present it to her at her repasts---under this pretence you may possess these apartments, and be served by the slaves appointed for that purpose---you are to be subservient only to the Sultan and Sultaness.”

In speaking these words, she quitted them, leaving them in an inconceivable surprize at all they had seen. When they were by themselves, Thibault, who could no longer contain in his breast the different agitations which crouded one on another, and seemed to struggle for utterance, approached the Count, and tenderly embracing him; “What a woman is this Queen, my lord,” said he, “and by what miracle does she reign over these barbarians! what have we done to deserve her generous care of us! Ah! my lord, I find her companion dangerous---Alas! my dear Princess!” added he, “you alone were wont to raise these emotions in my soul!” “I don’t know,” replied the Count, “what will be our fate, or what are the designs of the Queen: her goodness does not affect me as it does you; you are young, and your heart still preserves a fund of passion, which may cause more violent perturbations in it than mine; yet I own, I have felt for her the tenderness of a father; and that when she spoke, my daughter came into my mind---But I am afraid, my dear Thibault, that you will doubly lose your liberty in this fatal place.” Thibault made no other answer than by sighs; and some refreshments being brought in, they were forced to drop a discourse, that did not admit of witnesses.

The Queen, in the mean time, was too much interested in the affairs of the day to be very easy, and was no sooner left alone with her dear Sayda, than giving a loose to the transports she had so long restrained, her beautiful face was bathed all over in tears. The faithful slave, astonished at her excess of grief, kneeled down at her feet, and taking one of her hands; “Alas! madam,” said she, “what is this sudden misfortune---are these strangers come to trouble the tranquility you were beginning to enjoy!---you have hitherto honoured me with your confidence---may I not now know what has occasioned this grief?” “Ah! dear Sayda,” replied her royal mistress, “let not appearances deceive you.--Love, joy, nature, and fear, makes me shed tears much more than any grief---that husband so dear to me, and of whom thou hast heard me speak so much, is one of the captives whose lives I have saved---the other is my father, and the young lad my brother. The horror of seeing my father die for the diversion of a people to whom I am Queen, has pierced me with so lively an affliction, that I wonder the apprehension of it did not a second time deprive me of my reason---my husband, partaker of the same fate, his melancholy, his resignation before me, his looks full of that love and tenderness which once made my happiness, has touched my soul in the most nice and delicate part: I dare not discover myself, before I know their sentiments; and the constraint I have put on myself, has been such, as nature scarce can bear---Preserve my secret, dear Sayda, and don’t expose me again to tremble for lives on which my own depends.” “Doubt not of my fidelity, madam,” answered the other, “’tis inviolable, my religion, your goodness which I have so often experienced, and the confidence with which you have honoured me, have attached me to your service till death.”

(_To be continued._)

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THE ROAD TO RUIN. A MEDITATION.

This road is easily found out, without a guide or a direction-post: it is a broad highway, in which the traveller may amuse himself with many pleasing prospects, without considering that he is exposed to many dangers. The Road to Ruin is so infested with robbers, that it is next to impossible to escape their depredations. In other avenues, the usual loss sustained is a purse of money; but in these paths, treasures inestimable are purloined from the unwary. The loss of cash may often be repaired, but what are we to do when our innocence, our health, our integrity, our honour, are basely pilfered from us? And such calamities will inevitably be our lot, if we continue long in the alluring road to Ruin.

But notwithstanding the certainty of destruction upon this road, it is the most frequented of any highway. Numbers of unthinking mortals are daily seen turning into it with impetuosity and glee, without considering the difficulty, and almost the impossibility of getting out of it.

When we see a man, possessed of a fortune of five hundred pounds a year, living at the rate of two thousand pounds a year, our veracity would not be called in question if we ventured to declare that he was on the Road to Ruin.

The spendthrift who frequently makes application to usurers, and purchases the use of money by extravagant douceurs, premiums, or discounts, may justly be said to be a traveller on the same high-way.

When any one becomes an abject slave to his bottle; we need not scruple to pronounce, that he is staggering into this much frequented road.

If a young girl, innocent in herself, should too credulously hearken to the enamoured tale of the deceiver, it is more than probable that she may be seen tripping upon this too general high-way.

When a lady has private recourse to ardent liquor, whether affliction or any other cause may have induced her to become acquainted with it, she seldom fails to be a passenger in this thronged avenue.

When a person, afflicted with disease, seeks relief in quackery, he may truly be said to be galloping upon this road.

It is seldom indeed that any advantages or emoluments are derived by travellers in the Road to Ruin. Holcroft and Harris, as toll-gatherers on that road, have doubtless been benefited by it.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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ON SEGAR SMOAKING.

There is nothing, perhaps, more pernicious, or more destructive to the health of man, than the present practice of _segar smoaking_. It is of all others the most disagreeable, as well as the most obnoxious thing in use. It may, no doubt, be thought by our _bucks_ who are its votaries, a mark of gentility, or an accomplishment. Admitting then for a moment, the truth of this remark; yet which of these _champions_ of folly will declare, when seriously reflecting, that he would rather sacrifice his health and happiness, _than_ the gratification (if I may be permitted to use the expression) of _drawing_ to such a _filthy_ twist? There are none, however strenuous advocates they may appear for the fashions, still their own comfort will be consulted before that _mad passion_ which will finally _contaminate_ their blood beyond a purification. Let them further consider, that _nothing_, however fashionable, can receive the approbation of their companions, if offensive, and that _segar smoaking_, when practiced in company (as is often the case) is an unpardonable insult. The smell conveyed from one of those _infected_ things, is sufficient very often to poison persons within the limits of a room.

It is somewhat astonishing to see so many who pretend to be men of sense, give their sanction to a thing that must finally terminate to their disadvantage; were they to consider the effects which flow from its indulgence, they would find it to be an irretrievable injury both to their persons and constitutions: and however sanctioned by custom is not the less detestable. Although slow in its operations, still it will prove to be a sure poison, such as will _baffle_ medicine, and _torture_ the skill of the most eminent physicians.

Such, O! ye votaries of segar smoaking, will be your reward, if you continue to follow this fashionable, though injurious custom.

TYRUNCULUS.

NEW-YORK _August 18, 1796_.

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PRECEPTS OF CHILO, THE GRECIAN PHILOSOPHER.

Three things are difficult; to keep a secret; to bear an injury patiently; and to spend leisure well. Visit your friend in misfortune, rather than in prosperity. Never ridicule the unfortunate. Think before you speak. Do not desire impossibilities. Gold is tried by the touchstone, and men are tried by gold. Honest loss is preferable to shameful gain; for, by the one, a man is a sufferer but once; by the other always. In conversation make use of no violent motion of the hands; in walking, do not appear to be always upon business of life and death; for rapid movements indicate a kind of phrenzy. If you are great, be condescending; for it is better to be loved than to be feared. Speak no evil of the dead. Reverence the aged. Know thyself.

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+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+

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ON TEMPERANCE.

Temperance has those particular advantages above all other means of preserving health, that it is practicable to all ranks and conditions, in any season, or at any place; it is a kind of regimen which every man may put himself under, without interrupting his business, without any expence, or without loss of time. Every animal, except man, keeps to one dish; herbs serve for this species, fish for that, and flesh for a third. Man falls upon every thing that is found in his way; not the smallest fruit, or the least excrescence of the earth, scarce a berry or mushroom can escape him.

Though Socrates lived in Athens during a great plague, he never caught the least infection, which ancient authors unanimously ascribe to that uninterrupted temperance which he always observed.

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ANECDOTES OF MEN OF EXTRAORDINARY STRENGTH.

George le Feur, a learned German author, tells us, that in the year 1529, there lived a man in Misnia in Thuringia, named Nicholas Klumber, an ecclesiastic and provost of the great church, that by main strength, and without the help of a pulley or other engine, took up a pipe of wine in a cellar, carried it into the street, and laid it upon a cart. The same author says, That there was a man at Mantua, named Rodomus, that could break a cable as thick as a man’s arm, with as much ease as a brown thread.

Mr. Richard Carew in his survey of Cornwall, tells us, that a tenant of his, named John Bray, carried about the length of a butt, at one time, six bushels of wheat meal, at the rate of fifteen gallons to the bushel, and a great lubberly miller twenty years of age hanging upon it. To which he adds, that John Roman of the same county, a short clownish grub, would carry the whole carcase of an ox upon his back, with as much ease as another of a greater stature could carry a lamb.

Caius Marius, who was originally a cutler, and in the time of Galienus elected emperor by the soldiers, was so strong a bodied man, that the veins of his hands appeared like sinews. He could stop a cart drawn with horses, and pull it backwards with his fourth finger: If he gave the strongest man a fillip, it was felt like a blow on the forehead with a hammer: With two fingers he could break many things twisted together.

The emperor Aurelian, as it is recorded in history by Flavius Vopiscus, was very tall of stature, and of such wonderful strength, that in a pitched battle against the Samaritans, he killed in one day with his own hands forty-eight of his enemies, and in some skirmishes afterward made them up nine hundred and fifty. When he was colonel of the sixth legion, he made such a slaughter among the Franci, that seven hundred of them perished by his own sword, and three hundred were sold that were taken prisoners by himself.

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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 54.)

Of the following letter only the conclusion deserves to be transcribed.

“I am firmly convinced, that in Miguel’s and Amelia’s heart a passion has taken rise, which soon will burst out in blazing flames; the present which he has made her of a ring of great value, which she has accepted, his looks at table, Amelia’s extraordinary kindness for him, and his consternation on account of her illness, are incontestable proofs of the truth of this observation. How much soever this mutual passion coincides with my plan, because it furnishes me with infallible means to allure the inconstant, fickle Miguel, yet I must make haste to interrupt this growing passion because I am afraid he will be enslaved so much by that enchanting lady, that he will be rendered unfit for matters of greater importance.

“For that reason I have instructed the apparition to utter a few words, which I could foresee would cause a small breach between the two lovers. Your Excellency will recollect that the ghost accused Miguel’s father of being his murderer. By these means, I hope to put at least a temporary stop to Miguel’s and Amelia’s growing intimacy; for it cannot be expected that the son of the supposed murderer of the Count will dare to pay his addresses to his widow; and if he should, it is to be expected that she will decline admitting his visits, or at least treat him with coolness and reserve. However this misunderstanding would not be of long duration, for on close examination, both would find themselves deceived by the apparition, and their love would gain additional force. For that reason I have wrote a pressing letter to Miguel’s father, without subscribing my name, and advised him to order his son to continue his travels without delay, that he may be cured of a foolish passion which he had for the Countess of Barbis. I hope this letter will have the desired effect; and I will keep myself in readiness to follow Miguel every where with my myrmidons; for my plan requires that I never should lose sight of him.”

The following letter is so important that I must insert it at full length:

“MY LORD,

“You have accused me in your letter from the twelfth of this month, of having acted equally dishonest and imprudent, by suffering the Count, when disguised as a spectre, to say an untruth, which injures the honour of an innocent man, and if ever discovered by his son or the Countess, will brand him and myself as impostors. I could have prevented these severe reproaches of your Excellency, if I had been at leisure to explain this matter at large in my last letter. First you will give me leave to observe, that the declaration of the ghost is no untruth, but only an oracle, the duplicity to which, beings of that kind are much addicted. Amelia’s husband has really been assassinated by order of the man whom Miguel calls father; however, that person is not his parent, but only the preserver of his life; in short, it is Vasconcello’s Secretary of State at L**b*n, who has saved Miguel’s life when a boy, and for that reason is called by him his second father. This man the ghost had in view, and of course has spoken the truth, but only has been misunderstood. This misunderstanding produced the accidental, and if your Excellency will give me leave to add----the salutary consequence of separating Miguel and the Countess. Fearing, however, the accusation of the ghost might produce fatal consequences for the Marquis of Villa R*al, and Amelia be tempted to revenge the death of her Lord, the ghost took the precaution to add, ‘be generous and forgive my murderer.’----The honour of the Marquis, which properly has received no injury from the declaration of the ghost, but only from the misunderstanding, shall, I vow solemnly, receive ample satisfaction. I have it myself too much at heart that the Countess and Miguel shall know the real murderer of Amelia’s husband, not to remove that error; being desirous to see the good understanding of the two lovers restored at some future period, and the assassin punished for his numberless crimes. You have signed the sentence which the rest of the conspirators have pronounced against this oppressor of the liberty of your country, with the full conviction of his deserving death; but would not Miguel look upon him rather as his benefactor and preserver of his life, than as an enemy to his native country, and prompted by gratitude and pity, endeavour to save his life? However, if he shall be informed that the preserver of his life, is not only the oppressor of his native country, but also the assassin of Amelia’s Lord, then his love for the Countess will give an additional energy to his patriotism, and silence his gratitude for Vas*****los; then the voice of his country and of the beloved of his heart, demanding revenge upon the villain, will silence the voice of his heart imploring his mercy; he will sacrifice the devoted victim to justice, at the expence of his sensibility, and consent to Vascon***los’s death. Not in vain did I introduce the apparition in such a rueful shape, not in vain instruct it to display the bleeding wounds, and to discover his horrid assassination! even the coolest observer would have been inflamed violently by that scene, and how vehemently must it have provoked the lover of the unfortunate lady to resentment against me murderer? Your Excellency will consequently easily conceive what my second secret aim was, which I designed to attain by the apparition, and at the same time, be convinced that I have exposed neither the ghost nor myself to the danger of being caught in a _lie_, although Amelia and Miguel should discover that the murderer was not the real father of the latter. However, this discovery could not take place, because Miguel has ceased visiting the Countess, and received orders from his father to leave, without delay, the castle and its environs. Amelia’s servants have drawn this grateful intelligence from his servant, and communicated it to me, upon which I put myself and my people in readiness to follow Miguel on the day of his departure, partly on horseback, and partly in coaches. To the valet of the Countess, who is entirely in my interest, I have given some important orders, which I intend to communicate at large in my next letter.”