Chapter C: S. Q (8)

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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_TO TYRUNCULUS._

Your _elevated and most distinguished_ reflections on the _grand_ topic of segar smoaking, affords a charming field for speculation. It appears in the eye of reason to be truly self-partial, and the allusion to _bucks_ alone, leaves an undescribable scope for contemplation, such as must here lay dormant for want of a _palatable_ penetration to its merits or demerits.-----If, friend Tyrunculus, segar smoaking is found such a disagreeable and obnoxious weapon in your presence, does that sanction your divulging its bad effects to exist on the rest of mankind? Has experience, the grand teacher of science, actuated you to a confirmation of its being a _poisonous twist?_ Or is its source derived from your physical knowledge and sound reasoning? If the former, it must be admitted, that your _title_ is good for a public demonstration, if the latter, it must be concluded that you are a professed physician and a man of eminent learning, in which case your annunciation in respect to its bad or good effects might have had some weight, and at the same time would have been considered an act of great charity. There are people, who by nature cannot withstand the powerful effect of smoak, and there are others who, by reason of their faculties being much impaired, are not able to bear it, which of these ought to be attributed to you, is best known to yourself--I say, it is an amusement not altogether so _fashionable_ as beneficial, because it tends to support the constitution, and is a bar against receiving the ill consequences arising from those disagreeable stenches, which reign almost in every part of the city, and therefore, is of immense utility to smoakers at large. “This, the learned doctors and physicians will prove.”---To divert myself any longer on this _very interesting_ subject would only be expending time, too precious for me at present to let glide away, as such I have only to add, that in order to avoid being again _incommoded and insulted_ by _segar smoak_, it will not be amiss if you take a piece of good council from your _friend the subscriber_, that is, to refrain from imposing on any society either public or private, as, probably, the consequence may be attended with a piercing stroke of this woeful dagger.

Yours, &c.

SEGAR.

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ACCOUNT OF A NEGRO-WOMAN WHO BECAME WHITE.

This woman was cook-maid to colonel Barnes of Maryland; she was born in Virginia, and is about forty years old, remarkably healthy and robust, and originally as black as the blackest African. About fifteen years ago, the skin next adjoining to the nails of the fingers became white, her mouth soon after suffered the same alteration, which gradually extended over the whole body, though not quite in an equal degree; four parts in five of her skin are as white, smooth, and transparent, as in a fair European; the neck and back along the vertebræ, are least changed; her face and neck, in which the change is complete, discover the veins under the skin; and are suffused with blushes, when any accident excites the passions, either of anger or shame.

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_NEW-YORK._

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MARRIED,

On Sunday evening last, by the Rev. Dr. Moore, Mr. CORNELIUS KINGSLAND, to Miss ABIGAIL COCK, both of this city.

On Thursday evening the 11th inst. by the Rev. Mr. Totten, Mr. JOHN FOUNTAIN, of Maryland, (travelling minister of the Methodist order) to Miss ELIZABETH RICKHOW, of Staten-Island.

On Saturday evening the 20th inst. by the Rev. Mr. Foster, Mr. SILAS B. HAND, Printer, to Miss RHODA COOK, both of this city.

On Thursday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Pilmore, Mr. WILLIAM PEACOCK, jun. of the state of Georgia, to Miss MARY MOORE, of this city.

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_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From the 21st to the 27th 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 21 74 80 78 se. do. do. cloudy, lt. wind, clear
22 76 82 78 se. do. do. cloudy, lt. wind, clear,
23 71 82 76 se. do. do. cloudy, lt. wind, clear.
24 73 80 75 80 se. do. do. clear, lt. wind, do. do.
25 70 50 79 78 50 se. do. do. cloudy, lt. wind rain
26 73 77 25 75 n. e. do. cloudy, lt. wd do. do.
27 70 76 75 75 e. s. do. cloudy, lt. wd. do.

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MORNING DAWN.

Along the turfy heath cool blows the gale,
And dewy odours scent the morning air;
No sound I hear, save from the willow’d vale
The tinkle of a brook, that murmurs there.

In lonely silence wrapt, yon little mill
Looks pensive as the moulder’d pile below;
Shades hide the forest, and the misty hill
Still keeps retiring Night upon its brow.

O’er the chill earth all comfortless, I tread;
The Eye of Nature beams in other skies:
I’ll seek yon bending mountain’s lofty head,
And peep upon his beauties ere he rise.

Forbear!--expiring stars proclaim him nigh,
Faintly they wink, and lose their silver light;
The streaky orient wears a deepen’d dye,
Green looks the upland, and the river bright.

O’er the brown wood he sheds a trembling ray,
And with his tresses wipes the tearful thorn;
Shrill soars the lark to greet the early day,
And herald to the world return of Morn.

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_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

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LINES ON REVISITING A NATIVE PLACE.

Light blows the wavy breeze, and o’er the plain
Pale twilight steals, in sober livery drest;
All nature sinks beneath the pleasing reign
Of silence---and in balmy slumbers rest.

Save where, with plaintive note, the bird of woe
Proclaims approaching fate, while, trembling, near,
Some mournful native wand’ring pensive, slow,
Starts at the voice he oft’ was taught to fear.*

Amid these wilds pale superstition reigns,
Her influence e’en the hardy Indian owns;
And ceaseless still prepares for man new pains,
And, fiend-like, too, delights to hear his groans.

’Tis past----the last faint ray of light is gone,
And darkness now pervades the ambient air;
Here let me wander, pensive and alone,
And sighing, think on fleeting joys that were.

That were--alas! that are no longer mine,
Ah! days of happiness how swift ye flew;
When erst I saw the sun of pleasure mine,
And not a cloud its full effulgence knew.

How sad remembrance thrills my aching heart,
As o’er these scenes so lov’d I fondly stray;
Methinks each object bids me quick depart
And ev’ry sighing gale thus seems to say:

“Retire, fond maid, nor here forever mourn,
Forget thy woes, forget thy useless grief;
Can ceaseless weeping cause the dead’s return,
Or sighs eternal give the heart relief.”

I go, adieu! ye much lov’d shades, adieu!
From your wild beauties far tho’ doom’d to stray,
Still faithful memory shall your charms renew,
And with the semblance cheer my lonely way.

CLARA.

PEARL-STREET, _August 23, 1796_.

[* There is a tradition among the Indians, that the cries of the
whip-poor-will are ominous of coming evil.]

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THE HAPPY MAN.
To Horatio.

Blest with the joys impassion’d fathers know,
And all that heaven could in a wife bestow:
A wife endear’d to that congenial breast.
In three sweet prattlers most supremely blest.

Blest with enjoyments that on wealth attend,
And blest by heaven with many a social friend;
In calm delight, whose ever-smiling rays,
Spreads a sweet sun-shine o’er thy happy days.
And blest to know, that high enroll’d in fame,
Ages shall love and venerate the name.
To every friend thy memory dear shall be,
And sweet the song be, when they sing of thee----
Oh! read this verse, where blessings all combine,
And view thyself in each descriptive line.

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ELIZA IN ANSWER TO * * * *.

And durst thou, then, insulting youth, demand
A second spoil from love’s impov’rish’d store?
Shall strains like thine a second kiss command,
Thankless for one, because I gave no more?

One lamp eradiates all yon azure heav’n,
One polar star directs the pilot’s way;
Yet what bold wretch complains no more are giv’n,
Or doubts the blessing of each friendly ray?

One tim’rous kiss, which multitudes might bode,
At once thy sun and guiding star had prov’d,
If, while thy lips beneath its pressure glow’d,
And thy tongue flatter’d--thou has truly lov’d.

The flame which burns upon the virgin’s cheek,
The rising sigh, half utter’d, half supprest,
To him who fondly loves, will more than speak
What wav’ring thoughts divide th’ impassion’d breast.

Such soft confusion could the Moor disarm,
And his rough heart, like Desdemona’s, move;
But soon her easy weakness broke the charm,
And, ere her life she lost, she lost her love.

No--if I hate thee, wherefore should I press
A treach’rous contract with love’s fav’rite seal?
And, if I wish thy future hours to bless,
Ah! why, too soon, that anxious care reveal?

A ready conquest oft’ the victor scorns;
His laurels fade whose foe ere battle yields;
No shouts attend the warrior who returns
To claim the palm of uncontested fields.

But banish lawless wishes from thy soul,
While yet my hate or love is undeclar’d;
Perhaps, ere many years in circles roll,
Thoul’t think Eliza but a poor reward.

For, oh! my kisses ne’er shall teem with art,
My faithful bosom form but one design--
To study well the wife’s, the mother’s art,
And learn to _keep_ thee, ere I _make_ thee _mine_.

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EPITAPH.

Stop, stranger stop, let one sad tear bedew
That sorrowing face, while this cold stone you view:
Here death in icy arms confines that fair,
Who once was lovely as the angels are;
But think not strange--------ever to behold
Transcendent worth on sculptur’d marble told;
Ah no!--suffice it, if one mournful tear
Shall mix with mine in tender sorrow here.

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, September 7, 1796.+ [+No. 62.+

AN EVENING MEDITATION.

Now all is hushed, and nature seems to make a pause; the sun has withdrawn his radiance, yet the gloom from yonder western sky bespeaks him still at hand, promising to return with his reviving warmth, when nature is refreshed with darkness.

The moon borrows her light, and bestows it upon us; she arises in silent majesty, humbly waiting to reign when he resigns his throne. No chorus ushers in his reign, no rays pronounce her approach; gently she steals on the world, and sits in silent majesty to view the good she does. She lights the wandering traveller, she warms the earth with gentle heat, she dazzles not the eye of the philosopher, but invites him to view and to admire.---How still is nature! not a breeze! each tree enjoys its shadow undisturbed, the unruffled rivers glide smoothly on reflecting nature’s face; here thro’ this road, by the side of this fair stream, let me steal gently, step by step, wrapped up in future thoughts.--A time will come when earth, and seas, and sun, and stars will be no more----what then will be my thoughts----Think, oh then now!--Think--that time is nothing to eternity, think,----all nature, sun, and earth, and man, and angels are nothing--to thy God.--Think, that thou art to thyself thy all; thyself once lost, nothing can give thee joy or pain from without, but all will be concentered in thy own misery: if happiness be thy lot, then wilt thou be capable of enjoying also the happiness of others, thus redoubling thy own.

Oh! my soul, behold yon spangled sky---count the number of the stars----No---thy counting fails, then think on that eternity which awaits thee in another world; think too now, how great is the goodness of God, to grace our little world with beauties to attract the eye and captivate the mind. Beauties by day to cheer, to enliven, to call forth thy active powers, to bustle with the busy, beauties and blessings inviting thee to see, to taste, to smell, to hear.---Beauties too, Oh see, by night, beauties transcendant and glorious; such as draw up the eye to yon vast concave, where the mind’s eye follows in silent wonder, quickly passing from star to star, till struck with the beauty of the whole, it feels “the hand that made it is divine.”

Passion, at this silent hour and awful scene, shrinks away unperceived, and every light idea flies off. The mind takes the reins, and the body seems for a while to partake of that spiritual nature it will have hereafter. Listen then, while reason is uninterrupted, to the silent councils of nature;---every shadow whispers, such are you! A breeze may blow you away---to-morrow you may be no more; tread then,---as now---with caution through the slippery paths of life; beware of the briars and thorns that lie athwart your way; mistake not shadow for substance. Brush away, as the dew on the ground, at every step, the little affairs that momentary rise to check your progress towards heaven.

This river too has its lesson to give, she is like the cool hour of reflection, when conscience gives back the actions of our life in legible characters. Oh may they be as smooth! See, says she, how fair is my face! how transparent I am! You see my depth; even the ground whence I spring is open to your view. Let your conscience be ever as smooth, as clear, as open; let your breast need no disguise, so will no troubled waters impede your heavenly voyage.

Now again behold the stars, they have a language; and with a powerful tongue, they call on me to adore the Great King of Heaven and Earth, whose name they write in golden characters legible to all mankind. They proclaim him, _Creator of all Worlds, and the Friend of Man_.

Let me, then, often read their book and listen to their tale.---Let me, like them, proclaim my maker’s praise, by shining in the orb in which his hand has placed me; nor ever leap the bound, nor strive to rise above, nor dare to sink beneath the sphere wherein I am. So when the sun, and stars, and earth shall be no more; my Creator shall raise me to another world, “to shine like the stars for evermore.”

[[Source:

Earliest source found, with same “gloom” for “gleam” error: The
lady’s magazine: entertaining companion, for the fair sex,
appropriated solely to their use and amusement (London, vol. X,
September 1779, pg 482), signed “An Old Correspondent”.

Notes: “The bold luminary of day has now withdrawn his radiance, yet
the sinking crimson of yonder western sky...”. This line was used
in The Seasons of Life; With an Introduction on the Creation and
Primeval State of Man, by Mary Ashdowne 1839
Quotation: “the hand that made it is divine”. Joseph Addison,
“the hand that made us...”]]

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_HAPPINESS._

The road to happiness is seldom strewed with flowers, nor perhaps ought it to be so; as we should, in that case, be inclined to take our passage for our port, and while we enjoyed the manna, we might neglect the promised land.

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Interesting History Of
THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

_Translated from the French._

(Continued from page 67.)

“The people of the ship had placed about me a young woman extremely amiable;--the tenderness she expressed for the griefs she saw I was involved in, made me conceive a very great friendship for her; and, indeed, as she was the only woman there, it was natural for us to be more than ordinarily pleased with each other. When she found me a little composed, she informed me that we were with Flemish merchants, who were trading to the Levant; that having perceived from deck my extraordinary tomb, the hope of finding something valuable in it, had made them take it aboard; but having opened it, they were surprised to see a woman richly habited: that at first they thought me dead, because I was very much swelled, but having placed me in the open air, a little motion of my heart gave them hope of recovering me; that accordingly, with great difficulty, they effected it; and finding, as they thought, some beauty in me, they resolved, at the expence of my liberty, to make themselves amends for having found nothing but me in the tun. ‘’Tis with this design,’ added she, ‘that we are sailing towards Almeria, where these merchants design to sell you to the Sultan of that place: it is now six months since they took me away from the coast of France, which is my native country, on the same account; but I very well foresee that your beauty will preserve me from being exposed to the Sultan’s desires: yet, as I cannot avoid slavery, I beg, madam, that you will not let me be separated from you. The Sultan will without doubt buy you; contrive it so, that he may think I am a dependant of yours.’ I was very glad to have a French woman with me, so promised her, that whatever was my fate, she should, if she pleased, share it with me; but what she had told me, giving me great uneasiness, I desired to speak with the captain of the ship. I began with thanking him for the succour he had given me, and thinking to have gained him with the hope of a reward, I assured him it should be made even beyond his wishes, if he would land me on the coast of France. He answered me that he doubted not my generosity, nor my being considerable enough to recompense the service he had done me; but that he could not follow his own inclination in doing what I desired him, because he was accountable to his companions, who had resolved to sell me and the other young French woman to the Sultan of Almeria: that they knew would be certain gain to them, without running the risque of what my promises might produce. With these words he returned to his companions, and gave me not leave no answer him; I made several other efforts, but finding it impossible to persuade them to alter their resolutions, I was obliged to submit to my ill destiny. In proportion, as I recovered my reason, my affection to my dear Thibault resumed its empire over my soul.--I was sensible of the whole extent of my misfortunes, and my despair would perhaps have kept no bounds, if it had not been for the prudence and good-nature of my young companion. Yet for all her cares, I fell into such a melancholy, as frighted the merchant, lest I should lose the lustre of my beauty, of which he proposed to himself so great an advantage.

“At length they arrived at Almeria, and we were immediately led to the Sultan. As he was accustomed to traffic with those people, he received them perfectly well, and was so well pleased with their prize, that he gave them their demand both for myself and Sayda. We were placed in the palace of the Sultan’s women, where he soon followed us; and I had the misfortune of affecting him in so extraordinary a manner, that he seemed to make his loving me an affair of state.--I call that a misfortune, which any one but me would have looked on as the highest felicity: for I owe the Sultan the justice to say, that he is full of merit, and adorned with the most heroic virtues; but I was a christian, and prepossessed with a passion, which left no room for any other; I therefore considered his assiduity as my worst of troubles. This prince perceiving my regard for Sayda, gave her to me; (Sayda is a name I made her assume to conceal her own.) He placed me, in an apartment different from those the rest of the women were lodged in, and commanded that I should be served as queen. All these honours added to my uneasiness; yet the submission with which he treated me, gave me sometimes a hope he never would have recourse to force that which I was resolved never to grant; but alas! this prince at last, worn out with his own consuming passion and the continual murmurs of his subjects, who could ill endure he should express so much consideration for a christian, resolved to speak to me in stronger terms than he had hitherto done. My resistance had lasted a whole year, and he thought he had sufficiently testified his respect, in allowing me so long a time: he came to me therefore one day, and finding me extremely melancholy, ‘Madam,’ said he, ‘it is with great regret I find myself obliged to exceed the bounds I have prescribed myself in gaining your heart, but you must now consent either to marry me or publicly abjure your religion; all my power cannot exempt you from the laws which oblige the women of the seraglio to embrace our faith.---I adore you, and though I ought to compel you to a change so beneficial to you, yet I will not, since it is not your desire.--I promise you the free exercise of your religion in private, provided you accept of the crown I offer you;---my subjects, and all my court, will then believe you have changed your religion, without seeking any further proofs, and you will be at liberty to observe your own in secret:---this is the only means to preserve you from the fury of a people, who, when enraged, have no regard even for their sovereign. It would have been more agreeable to me, if my love and attentions had engaged you; but I hope time will inspire your heart with those sentiments, that will be conducive to my felicity, and your repose.’ I could not refrain from tears at this discourse of the Sultan:---the choice appeared terrible to me; ‘Is it possible, my lord!’ replied I, ‘that among the number of beauties who would be proud of the honour you offer me, you cannot find one more worthy than myself? If you had not distinguished me, your subjects would have thought nothing of me.---Consider, my lord, what glory you might gain by subduing your passion, and suffering me to return to my native country.---What felicity can it be, to live with a woman obtained but by fear and force, who will always be regretting her parents and liberty.’

“The Sultan smiled at these words; ‘I see, madam,’ said he, ‘that you are ignorant of your own condition---you are in this place for life---when once a woman has entered within these walls, there is no hope of ever getting out again, law and custom have decreed it so. Therefore you are more obliged to me than you imagined, for the respect I have paid you, being from the first moment the master of your destiny.’ I then intreated he would give me three days to answer him; he granted my request, and I spent them in prayers: but at length seeing myself without any hope of relief, or ever returning to my country, that my death there was thought certain, and that I had no means of letting you know I was living, or if I had, could not promise myself, that, since you had consented to my death, the news would find a welcome: I looked on myself as utterly abandoned; and the facility of following in private my own devotions, determined me, in submitting to the Sultan’s persuasions. The three days being expired, he came to me again, and I then told him, that if he would swear never to force me to alter my religion, I was ready to give him my hand. His joy at my consent was inconceiveable; and though he saw plainly that what I did was out of necessity, he assured me he thought himself the happiest man on earth, and bound himself by an oath sacred in their law, to suffer me to exercise my own religion, provided I took care not to be discovered.

(_To be continued._)

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CONTEMPLATION.

To contemplate the Creator of heaven and earth in the magnificence of his works, enlarges and elevates the soul---lifts it above the impertinence of vulgar cares, and gives it a kind of heavenly pre-existence. To consider the benevolent purposes for which he called forth this variety and multitude of being, that comes under our cognizance, must be a perpetual source of comfort. A rational creature, that is conscious of deriving its existence from a being of infinite goodness and power, cannot properly entertain any prospect but of happiness. By the imperfection of its nature it may fall into temporary evils, but these cannot justly be the subject of complaint, when we reflect that this very imperfection was necessary to a probatory life, and that without it, there could neither have been virtue, nor the rewards of virtue. Every degree of excellence depends upon comparison. Were there no deformity in the world, we should have no distinct ideas of beauty: Were there no possibility of vice, there would be no such thing as virtue; and were the life of a man exempt from misery, happiness would be a term of which he could not know the meaning.

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INDIAN ELOQUENCE.

_The following beautiful, simple, energetic, and affecting SPEECH
was made by LOGAN, Chief of the Shawanesses, in the Year 1774, to
Lord Dunmore, Governor of the Province of Virginia._

I now ask of every white man whether he hath ever entered the cottage of Logan, when pressed with hunger, and been refused food; or, whether coming naked and shivering with cold, Logan hath not given him something to cover himself with? During the course of the late war, so long and so bloody, Logan hath remained quiet upon his mat, wishing to be the advocate of peace. Yes, such is my attachment for white men, that even those of my nation, when they passed by me, pointed at me, saying, _Logan is a friend to white men_. I had even thoughts of living amongst you; but that was before the injury received from one of you. Last summer Colonel Cressop massacred in cold blood, and without any provocation, all the relations of Logan, without sparing either his wife or his children. There is not now one drop of my blood in the veins of any human creature existing. This is what has excited my revenge. I have sought it; I have killed several of your people, and my hatred is appeased. I rejoice to see the prospect of peace brighten upon my country. But do not imagine my joy is instigated by fear. Logan knows not what fear is. He will never turn his back in order to save his life. But, alas! no one remains to mourn for Logan when he shall be no more.

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ON ENTHUSIASM OF CHARACTER.

The shades of human character are so numerous, and the advantages resulting from an extensive acquaintance with them, of so much importance, that few subjects, perhaps, are more worthy of attention or speculation; and it would be a task of the highest advantage to society, could we trace the source and causes of the diversities, and point out the particular advantages resulting from each. By the former of these, we should, in some degree, be enabled to train the mind to the fashion most amiable and really advantageous; by the latter, we should have the opportunity of directing to their proper objects of pursuit the passions and dispositions as they are displayed before us.

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BON MOT.

A gentleman who possessed a much larger quantity of nose, than nature usually bestows upon an individual, contrived to make it more enormous by his invincible attachment to the bottle, which also beset it with emeralds and rubies. To add to his misfortunes, this honest toper’s face was somewhat disfigured by not having a regular pair of eyes; one being black, and the other of a reddish hue. A person happening once to observe, that his eyes were not _fellows_, congratulated him on that circumstance. The rosy gilled old tipler demanded the reason. “Because,” replied the jocular genius, “if your eyes had been _matches_, your nose would certainly have set them in a flame, and a dreadful conflagration might have been apprehended.”

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_Account of the COURTSHIP and MARRIAGE
of the celebrated DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON._

Johnson had from his early youth, been sensible to the influence of female charms. When at Stourbridge school, he was much enamoured of Olivia Lloyd, a young quaker, to whom he wrote a copy of verses, which I have not been able to recover; and I am assured by Miss Seward, that he conceived a tender passion for Miss Lucy Porter, daughter of the lady whom he afterwards married. Miss Porter was sent very young on a visit to Litchfield, where Johnson had frequent opportunities of seeing and admiring her; and he addressed to her the following verses, on her presenting him with a nosegay of myrtle:

“What hopes, what terrors does this gift create,
“Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate:
“Thy myrtle, ensign of supreme command,
“Consign’d by Venus to Melissa’s hand;
“Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
“Now grants, and now rejects a lover’s prayer.
“In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
“In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain;
“The myrtle crowns the happy lovers’ heads,
“Th’ unhappy lovers’ grave the myrtle spreads:
“O then the meaning of thy gift impart,
“And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart!
“Soon must this bough, as you shall fix his doom,
“Adorn Philander’s head, or grace his tomb.”

His juvenile attachments to the fair sex were, however, very transient; and it is certain, that he formed no criminal connection whatsoever. Mr. Hector, who lived with him in his younger days in the utmost intimacy and social freedom, has assured me, that even at that ardent season his conduct was strictly virtuous in that respect; and that though he loved to exhilarate himself with wine, he never knew him intoxicated but once.

In a man whose religious education has secured from licentious indulgences, the passion of love, when once it has seized him, is exceedingly strong; being unimpaired by dissipation, and totally concentrated in one object. This was experienced by Johnson, when he became the fervent admirer of Mrs. Porter, after her first husband’s death. Miss Porter told me, that when he was first introduced to her mother, his appearance was very forbidding: he was then lean and lank, so that his immense structure of bones was hideously striking to the eye, and the scars of the scrophula were deeply visible. He also wore his hair, which was straight and stiff, and separated behind; and he often had, seemingly, convulsive starts and odd gesticulations, which tended to excite at once surprise and ridicule. Mrs. Porter was so much engaged by his conversation that she overlooked all these external disadvantages, and said to her daughter, “this is the most sensible man I ever saw in my life.”

Though Mrs. Porter was double the age of Johnson, and her person and manner, as described to me by the late Mr. Garrick, were by no means pleasing to others, she must have had a superiority of understanding and talents, as she certainly inspired him with a more than ordinary passion; and she having signified her willingness to accept of his hand, he went to Litchfield to ask his mother’s consent to the marriage, which he could not but be conscious was a very imprudent scheme, both on account of their disparity of years, and her want of fortune. But Mrs. Johnson knew too well the ardour of her son’s temper, and was too tender a parent to oppose his inclinations.

I know not for what reason the marriage ceremony was not performed at Birmingham; but a resolution was taken that it should be at Derby, for which place the bride and bridegroom set out on horseback, I suppose in very good humour. But though Mr. Topham Beauclerk used archly to mention Johnson’s having told him, with much gravity, “Sir, it was a love-marriage on both sides,” I have had from my illustrious friend the following curious account of their journey to church upon the nuptial morn. “Sir, she had read the old romances, and had got into her head the fantastical notion that a woman of spirit should use her lover like a dog. So, Sir, at first she told me that I rode too fast, and she could not keep up with me; and, when I rode a little slower, she passed me, and complained that I lagged behind. I was not to be made the slave of caprice; and I resolved to begin as I meant to end. I therefore pushed on briskly, ’till I was fairly out of her sight. The road lay between two hedges, so I was sure she could not miss it; and I contrived that the should soon come up with me. When she did, I observed her to be in tears.”

This, it must be allowed, was a singular beginning of connubial felicity; but there is no doubt that Johnson, though he thus shewed a manly firmness, proved a most affectionate and indulgent husband to the last moment of Mrs. Johnson’s life; and in his “Prayers and Meditations,” we find very remarkable evidence that his regard and fondness for her never ceased, even after her death.

[[Sources:

Both articles about Johnson are taken from Boswell’s _Life of
Johnson_.
Notes: Johnson’s wife is called “double the age of Johnson”. They
were born in 1689 and 1709 respectively, met in 1732 and married
in 1735.]]

* * * * *

ANGER.

Lord SOMERS was naturally of a choleric disposition; and the most striking part of his character, was the power of controuling his passion at the moment when it seemed ready to burst forth. Swift, in his “Four last Years of Queen Anne,” has in vain endeavoured to blacken this amiable part of that great man’s character, as what the dean mistook for a severe censure, has proved the greatest panegyric. “Lord Somers being sensible how subject he is to violent passions, avoids all incitements to them by teaching those, whom he converses with, from his own example, to keep within the bounds of decency; and it is indeed true, that no man is more apt to take fire upon the least appearance of provocation; which temper he strives to subdue, with the utmost violence upon himself; so that his breast has been seen to heave, and his eyes to sparkle with rage in those very moments when his words and the cadence of his voice were in the humblest and softest manner.”

* * * * *
* * * *

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 70.)

She stopped in the second street at a large palace, telling me that we were on the spot. I ordered the servant to tell his lady, the Marchese Albertini would be glad to wait on her Ladyship, and was admitted. I hastened through the first apartment with a panting heart, and the second door being opened, was very kindly received by an old lady. I was almost petrified by that unexpected sight, like a poor disappointed wretch who, deceived by magic art, expects to rush into the arms of an immortal beauty, suddenly embraces an old toothless beldam. The lady seemed to be equally surprised. I did not know whether it was on account of my person or my astonishment--and I begged her pardon, in a faultering accent, for having committed that mistake, telling her that I had taken the liberty to intrude upon her, in hopes of seeing the Countess de Clairval, when----the door of a third apartment was opened, and a lady beautiful as an angel, dressed in white satin, and of a majestic form, made her appearance. I flew to meet her---and pressed _Amelia_’s hand to my glowing lips.

Her lovely cheeks were covered with a crimson hue, and after a short interval of silent astonishment, she exclaimed: “Is it possible, my Lord! How does it happen that we have the honour of seeing you here?”

“I don’t know it myself!” I exclaimed, “my life is an uninterrupted train of wonders, and it was certainly one of the most fortunate that brought me to your Ladyship!”

“You find me in the company of a friend,” Amelia said, introducing me to the old lady, “whom I had lost in my earlier youth, but found again four months ago through a most singular accident, which however I think to be one of the most fortunate of my life. You will recollect that when I related to you the history of my youth, I mentioned a white lady who appeared to me in the dusk of evening, in a grotto in my father’s garden, and who had directed and cheered me in my juvenile years like a heavenly being---”

“And that white lady---”

“Is the Baroness de Delier, who is now standing before you.”

“Is it possible?” I exclaimed.

“Yes, it is really so!” replied the lady archly smiling.

I now began to examine her face more attentively. Her physiognomy was exceeding interesting, bearing strong marks of sensibility, and of former beauty, the traces of which the voracious tooth of time had not been able to destroy.

“My Lady,” said I, “the Countess has related to me so much that is noble and wonderful of you, that my astonishment is as natural as my curiosity will be deemed pardonable by you.”

“I dare say,” Amelia interrupted me, “it will give you pleasure if I beg the Baroness to be so kind as to explain that wonderful circumstance to you?”

“Why not,” replied Lady Delier, “let us sit down; old age is thought to be talkative; however I shall be brief in my narrative:----A friend of mine who knew Amelia, and was no stranger to the cruel treatment which she received from her unnatural mother, lived in a house which was separated from that of her parents only by two gardens. The description which my friend gave me of the sufferings of the innocent girl, affected me so much the more, as I ever have been uncommonly fond of children. I resolved to alleviate the hapless fate of the poor child; and with that view designed a plan, which I carried into execution, assisted by her nurse, whom I bribed with fair words and a sum of money. The gardens of my friend, and Amelia’s parents, were separated only by a wall, which had a little gate leading from the garden of the former to the grotto which was in that of the latter. This gate was opened for me by the nurse, who, according to my direction, always retired when I came, and watched at the entrance of the garden to warn me by a signal against sudden surprise. I dare say, my Lord, Amelia will have informed you of my conversations and actions in the grotto.”---

“But why did you conceal your name and rank from the Countess?” I enquired.

“In order to prevent being found out, if the little girl in her childish innocence should have spoken of her meetings with the white lady. When Amelia advanced in years I continued the mystery, because I had observed that it gave to my visits an additional value in her eyes, and rendered my consolations and instructions more effective. However, I did not mean never to disclose my name to her, and I had entrusted the solution of the mystery to the sealed paper which I gave to the daughter of my heart when I took leave of her, and which she afterwards lost.”

“If I am not mistaken, you gave the sealed paper to the Countess, with the injunction to open it when she should have found the man whom her heart should choose for a partner in her happiness and affliction!”

“You are not mistaken! it contained some instructions which are very useful to a girl in love.”

“You foretold the Countess when you took leave of her, that her unhappy fate would take a fortunate turn after three months, and that prediction has really been accomplished by the aunt of the Countess.”

“This was very natural, because the whole matter had been arranged already by the intercession of my friend, who was very intimate with her aunt.”

“But why did you not continue your visits till the arrival of her aunt?”

“Because I went abroad with the Baron de Delier.”

“And you have never seen the Countess since?”

“No! and we should perhaps never have met again, if important affairs had not called me to **** after the decease of the Baron. I saw the Countess accidentally when I was coming from the cathedral. O! my Lord, what are all worldly pleasures, if compared to the happiness of such a re-union? The emotions of my heart broke out so violently, that we were obliged to get in the carriage, and to drive to Amelia’s hermitage, to prevent our being crushed to death by the gaping multitude.”

“Indeed,” exclaimed the Countess, shedding tears of sensibility, and pressing the hand of the Baroness to her bosom, “I shall never forget that day while this heart is beating!”

“And yet, would you believe it, my Lord,” resumed the Baroness, after an affecting pause, “I could scarcely prevail upon her to leave the castle in the forest, and to remove to mine, where we are leading an happy and contented life. My Amelia indeed was turned a downright hermit.”

“I confess, my dear friend,” replied the Countess, “I was so charmed with my solitary residence, and the retired and quiet life I led suited the state of my mind so well, that no one but my dear Baroness could have persuaded me to change my situation.”

The fleeting hours passed rapidly away amid pleasing discourses, and evening was already far advanced before I could resolve to take leave of Amelia and her amiable companion. At length I parted reluctantly, and having been invited to repeat my visit the day following, returned to my lodging in a trance of happiness and joy.

Amelia was the sole object of my thoughts before I fell asleep; Amelia’s image sweetened my rest; her name was the first sound that came from my lips when I awoke, and in her presence I spent the greatest part of the day in a trance of unspeakable bliss.

Her cheerfulness declined, however, with every new day; her serene looks began to grow gloomy; her innate frankness and affability gave room to reserve and melancholy, which she endeavoured in vain to conceal. I surprised her several times fixing her eyes on me in a melancholy manner, and casting down her looks with consternation when she perceived that I observed it--she spoke little, and what she said was incoherent--yet her behaviour was not repelling--her bosom seemed to conceal some secret uneasiness, the cause of which I strove in vain to explore. As often as I began to speak of the _Unknown_, Amelia looked perplexed and timid at Lady Delier, who always turned the conversation to a different object. I was certain that the Irishman had been in the house; they even confessed that he had informed them of my elevation to the ducal dignity; but this was all I could learn. This circumstance and Amelia’s behaviour gave rise to apprehensions which made me suffer the torments of hell. I could not endure this situation longer than four days; at the evening of the fourth day I took advantage of an opportunity which I had to speak to Lady Delier in private, and pressed her to unfold that mystery to me. After many fruitless persuasions, I obtained at length the promise to be informed of what I so anxiously wished to know, and was requested to meet her at twelve o’clock the next day in the fir-grove behind the garden of the castle, when she would satisfy my curiosity.

I awaited the noon-tide hour with impatience. At length the wished for hour arrived, and with the last stroke I was going to hasten to the fir-grove, however I met the Irishman on the stair-case. “Come with me, my Lord!” he said, as soon as he saw me!

“Whither?”

“You will be surprised in a most pleasing manner. Make haste, my carriage is waiting for you.”

“I cannot accept your invitation before one o’clock. I must finish first a business of great importance, which cannot be postponed.”

“My business also cannot be postponed, and is of far greater importance. I am going to take you to an old acquaintance whom you have ardently wished to see this good while.”

“An old acquaintance--whom I have ardently wished to see?---It is not---”

“Your _tutor_ I mean. Come, make haste!”

I embraced the Irishman with a loud exclamation of joy, pressed him vehemently to my heart, and leaped into the carriage.

We drove through the city gate; our horses gallopped at a furious rate, and yet they were too slow for my impatience. “Is he far from hence?” I exclaimed, “where does he live, is he well, does he know that I am coming?” “All that you shall know presently!” said the Irishman, ordering the coachman to stop.

We got out of the carriage, and the sun was overclouding like the face of the Irishman. He uttered not a word, and made a silent signal to follow him.

The place where we were was a lonely solitary spot in the suburbs. The Irishman stopped at a high wall over which the tops of tall trees were portending. My conductor looked at me with a melancholy air, and then beat with his fist against a large gate. The folding doors burst open with a dreadful noise, and I beheld a burying-place before me. The Irishman entered. “What business have we here?” I exclaimed in a faultering accent. “Come along and be a man!” so saying, he pulled me after him, and the door was shut again by an invisible hand.

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *

BENEVOLENCE.

There is a beautiful story recorded in an ancient Pagan writer, “That the deity who formed the first man out of the ground, reflecting at the same time on the calamities which the unhappy creature was to undergo, wept over his work, and tempered it with tears.” By this accident man was endued with a softness of disposition, and the most tender feelings: his descendants inherited these benevolent qualities, that by mutually relieving each other’s sufferings, they might in some measure alleviate their own; and that some amends might be made for the natural wants and imperfections of their nature, by the pleasure which they receive from soothing distress, and softening disappointment.

* * * * *
* * * *

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

* * *

HAPPINESS.

“Whatever diff’rent paths mankind pursue,
“Oh, Happiness! ’tis thou they keep in view.”

Mrs. ROWE.

Thou art the being that the whole race of mortals are in search of, or more properly, thou art the _phantom_ they seek! how different their pursuit! The king endeavours to find thee in his palace, while surrounded by his courtiers. The courtier thinks he is happy when paying adulation to his prince. The statesman pursues thee, when fulfilling the duties of his station. The citizen seeks thee in his family. The debauchee frequents the brothel, in hopes to find thee. The seducer is happy when betraying to the paths of infamy the unwary female. The votary of religion imagines thou art no where to be found but in the duties it enjoins. The poet seeks thee in his garret. The critic thinks he has thee in possession while venom trickles from his pen. The mariner is aiming at thee while he explores the “trackless path.” The warrior is so fascinated with thee that even rivers of blood cannot impede his progress.

The beautiful SYLVIA was grasping at thee, while at her feet were expiring a groupe of lovers, whom she affected to treat with cold disdain; no kind looks, no tender glances were bestowed. She completely acted the coquet. At length she promised her hand to SIGISMUND; but in the short space of time that was to precede their nuptuals, she manifested the greatest partiality for the libertine FREDERICK. She afterwards said it was only done to try the firmness of her lover. Her folly appeared obvious when too late. When SIGISMUND beheld himself slighted after the promise she had made him, he imagined he was odious in her eyes. He chose, therefore, for his partner, one that would not act deceitfully, the blushing LYDIA became his bride.

Do these different characters follow after happiness. They do--And are they happy?---Go to the monarch, seated on his throne, with his brows encircled with a crown of gold; to him let the question be put. Should he answer, “I am the only happy mortal,” would it not induce you to laugh in his face, and tell him that you were by far the happiest?

L. B.

NEW-YORK _Aug. 24, 1796_.

* * * * *

HUMAN LIFE.

The faint glimmerings of the pale-faced moon on the troubled billows of the ocean, are not so fleeting and inconstant as the fortune and condition of human life. We one day balk in the sun-shine of prosperity, and the next, too often, roll in anguish on the thorny bed of adversity and affliction. To be neither too fond of prosperity, nor too much afraid of adversity, is one of the most useful lessons we have to learn and practise in the extensive commerce of this world.

* * * * *
* * * *

_NEW-YORK._

* * *

MARRIED,

At Norwalk, On Wednesday evening last, by the Rev. Mr. Burnet, OBEDIAH WICKES, of Troy, to Miss SALLY RAYMOND, of Norwalk.

* * * * *

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._
_From August 28th to Sep. 3._

_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. 28 72 50 81 78 sw. do. s. cloudy, lt. wind, clear
29 79 89 82 sw. do do. clear, lt. wind, thunder
30 71 79 50 74 nw. do. n. clear. lt. wind, do. do.
31 58 50 66 75 67 n. sw. do. clear. lt. wind, do. do.
Sept. 1 62 71 71 50 69 50 sw. s. do. clear lt. wind high do.
2 72 50 72 50 71 25 s. do. do. cloudy, high rain do.
3 69 50 70 72 nw do. do. cloudy, lt. rain cloudy

* * * * *

RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
_For August 1796._
deg. 100

Mean temperature of the thermometer at 8 A.M. 71 1
Do. do. of the do. at 1 P.M. 78 28
Do. do. of the do. at 6 P.M. 78 0
Do. do. of the do. whole month 75 76
Greatest monthly range between the 12th and 29th and 31 30 50
Do. do. in 24 hours 30 and 30 12 50
Warmest day the 29 89
Coldest day the 31 58 50

7 Days it rained, in this month, but not a large quantity.
2 Do. it thundered and lightned, viz 11th and 19th.
16 Do. the wind was to the Eastward of the North and South.
15 Do. the do. do. to the westward of do. do.
26 Do. the wind was light at 8 1 and 6 o’clock.
2 Do. it was a calm.
16 Do. it was clear at do. do.
4 Do. it was cloudy at do. do

The 29th at 1 P.M. the mercury was one degree higher than any day in this summer, and 4 lower, than the warmest day in the last.

* * * * *

TO ------.

Think not, TRANSCENDANT MAID! my woe
Shall ever trouble thy repose;
The mind no lasting pang can know,
Which lets the tongue that pang disclose.

Sorrow is sacred when ’tis _true_,
In deep concealment proudly dwells:
And seems its passions to subdue,
When most th’ impulsive throb compels.

For HE who dares assert his grief,
Who boasts the anguish he may prove;
Obtains, perhaps, the wished relief,
But O! he surely does not love!

The lover is a man afraid,
Has neither grace, nor ease, nor art;
Embarrassed, comfortless, dismay’d,
He sinks, the VICTIM OF HIS HEART.