Translated from the French.
(Continued frompage 75.)
“Thisnews was soon blazed through all Almeria, and fated ever to be guilty of constrained infidelities, I was proclaimed and crowned Sultana Queen, with a magnificence that would have dazzled any one but the Princess de Ponthieu. During the whole ceremony, the image of Thibault never quitted me, I spoke to it, begged its pardon, in short, I was so lost in thought, that Sayda has since told me I had more the appearance of a statue than a living person. As for you, my lord, I often reproached your cruelty, that had brought me to the precipice in which I found myself. There has not passed one day in the nine years I have been married to the Sultan, on which I have not talked of my dear Thibault to the faithful Sayda, with a torrent of tears. The Sultan has kept his word with me, all his court thinks me a Renegada, he alone knows the truth, and without reproaching me with my melancholy, has done his utmost to disperse it. The same respect and complaisance has always accompanied his actions, and you yourselves have been witnesses of my power, by his granting me without hesitation your lives. I knew you again the first moment I saw your faces, and should have discovered myself yesterday, but had a mind to know whether my memory was yet dear. These are my unhappy adventures; but this is not all I have to say: You must, my dear Thibault, in order to regain your wife and liberty, expose your life to fresh dangers: speak, do you think me worthy of so great a testimony of your continued love and tenderness?” “You cannot make a doubt of it,” answered he, “without being guilty of a greater offence than all your distraction made you act——I swear to you, my dear Princess, by the pleasure I had in obtaining you from your father, by the felicity I enjoyed in being beloved by you, by my misfortune, and by the joy I feel in seeing you again, that I never adored you with more ardour than I now do——Fear not therefore to explain yourself, command me, dispose of me as you please.” The fair Sultaness was charmed with this tender assurance, and there being nobody present that she suspected, she again embraced her much loved husband, and then told him what she had proposed to the Sultan. “’Tis of the utmost importance,” added she, “that you should gain his confidence by some signal service, that my designs may the better succeed—he has already lost several battles, through the ill conduct of his generals; but if you fight for him I doubt not of the victory.—He cannot refuse you his esteem, which will enable me to put my project in execution.”
The Count and Thibault approved of what she said; but the young Prince begged she would contrive it so, that he might accompany his brother to the army, his youthful heart burning with impatience to behold so noble a sight; but the Queen told him she could not possibly gratify those testimonies of so early a courage, though sheadmired them, because she had given her promise to the Sultan, that both he and his father should remain at court as hostages for the fidelity of Thibault. After some further discourse, and renewed embraces, she ordered them to retire, it growing towards the hour in which the Sultan was used to visit her. They were scarce out of the room, before that Prince entered; and having asked her if the valiant captain agreed with her intentions: “Yes, my lord,” replied she, “he is impatient to express by his services the grateful sense he has of his obligation to us.” The Sultan immediately commanded they should all three be brought before him; and observing them more heedful than he had done before, was infinitely charmed with their good mien: the venerable age, and commanding aspect of the Prince of Ponthieu, excited his respect; the beauty and vivacity of the young Prince, his admiration; but in the noble air, and manly graces of the accomplished Thibault, he fancied he discovered an assurance he would be able to answer the character the Sultaness had given of him—The more he considered him, the more he found to increase his love and esteem for him.---“The Sultaness,” said he, “who has saved your life, will needs, out of love for me, and respect for you, have you expose it in my service.---I see nothing about you but what serves to convince me I do not err, when I place entire confidence in you: therefore you must prepare to set out to-morrow, I have in my council declared you general. My subjects are fatigued, and heartless with continual losses, and though you are a christian, my soldiers will with joy obey you, if your valour does but answer their expectations, and the character they have of you.” After Thibault had in the most handsome and submissive manner assured him of his zeal and fidelity, that prince proceeded to give him those instructions which were necessary; and retiring, left him, to receive those of the Sultaness.
He was no sooner gone, than turning towards Thibault, “You are going to fight against infidels,” said she, “tho’ you fight for one; but, my dear husband! consult my repose as well as your own courage, and fight to conquer, not to die;---remember I expose you, that I may the better save you.” He thanked her for her obliging fears, and promised to combat only to preserve his honour, and gain the opportunity to deliver her.---It being time to retire, they quitted the Queen’s apartment, and returning to their own, a slave brought up Thibault, a stately vest and sabre, adorned with precious stones, a present to him from the Sultan; he put them on, and attended that prince at dinner, who saw him with pleasure. They discoursed on the different methods of making war, and the Sultan found his new general so consummate in the art, that he assured himself of victory: he then presented him to the chief men of his court. The rest of the day was employed in reviewing the troops that were in Almeria. As he was to go the next, he begged of the Sultaness by Sayda, that he might be permitted to bid her adieu without any witnesses; the fair Queen, who desired it with equal ardour, appointed night for the interview:---so when all was quiet in the palace, he was introduced bythat faithful slave into the apartment of his dear Princess. Then it was, that this long separated husband and wife, now more in love, if possible, than ever, renewed their protestations of everlasting affection, and, forgetting the rest of the world, gave a loose to the raptures of being once more blessed, and the soft hope of re-uniting themselves, no more to be divided. Thus the best part of the night passed, and day would have surprised them, had not Sayda given them notice it was time to part. The Sultaness wept, and Thibault was extremely moved, but reason reassuming its empire, they embraced and bade each other adieu, and begged heaven they might soon meet again. He went not to bed, employing the remaining hours in taking leave of the Count de Ponthieu, and the young Prince his son.---He recommended his dear Princess to the former, intreating him to neglect no opportunities of being with her. He then repaired to the Sultan, to receive his last commands, and set out with a cheerfulness that seemed to presage success.
(To be concluded in our next.)
----
Theindifference with which even the crime of murder is regarded among the lower classes of the Italians, is remarkably illustrated by the following anecdote: A gentleman of Naples, in passing occasionally before the king’s palace, had frequently noticed a man of singular appearance at work. He was chained to some others, and assisted in removing rubbish, and bringing stones for a new building, the foundation of which had been just laid. The man, by having often seen him pass, recollected his person, and always took off his hat as he found an opportunity. The gentleman not knowing how to account for his attention, was induced one day, to inquire the cause of his civility and of his chains. To the first part of the query he answered, in the Neapolitan style, that it was “il suo dovere, his duty;” and to the second he said, that he was in that predicament for “una minchioneriæ, a trifle. Hoammazantasolamente una donna,” said he “I have only killed a woman.”
Necessity is the prompter and guide of mankind in their inventions. There is however, such inequality in some parts of their progress and some nations get so far the start of others in circumstances nearly similar, that we must ascribe this to some events in their history, or to some peculiarities in their situation, with which we are unacquainted. The people in the Island of Otaheite, in the southern Pacific Ocean, far excel most of the Americans in the knowledge and practice of the arts of ingenuity; and yet, when they were first discovered by captain Wallis, it appeared, that they had not invented any method of boiling water; and having no vessel that would bear the fire, they had no more idea that water could be made hot, than that it could be made solid.
Original:A Comparative Sketch of England and Italy, with Disquisitions on National Advantages(London, 1793), ii, 37-39.This passage is also quoted inThe Analytical Review, September 1793.
Original:A Comparative Sketch of England and Italy, with Disquisitions on National Advantages(London, 1793), ii, 37-39.
This passage is also quoted inThe Analytical Review, September 1793.
Friendshipis to love, what an engraving is to a painting.
Translated from the French of Abbé Blanchet.
AtAmadan was a celebrated academy, the first statute of which ran thus:
The Academicians are to think much, write little, and, if possible, speakless.
This was called the Silent Academy, nor was there a sage in Persia who was not ambitious of being admitted a member. Zeb, a famous sage, and author of an excellent little book, intitledThe Gag, heard, in the distant province where he lived, there was a vacancy in the silent academy. Immediately he departed for Amadan, and, arriving, presented himself at the door of the hall where the academicians were assembled, and sent in the following billet to the president:
Zeb, a lover of silence, humbly asks the vacant place.
The billet arrived too late; the vacancy was already supplied. The academicians were almost in despair; they had received, somewhat against their inclination, a courtier, who had some wit, and whose light and trifling eloquence had become the admiration of all his court-acquaintance; and this learned body was now reduced to the necessity of refusing the sage Zeb, the scourge of bablers, the perfection of wisdom.
The president, whose duty it was to announce this disagreeable news to the sage, scarcely could resolve, nor knew in what manner best, to perform his office. After a moment’s reflection he ordered a flagon to be filled with water, and so full that another drop would have made the water run over. He then desired them to introduce the candidate.
The sage appeared with that simple and modest air which generally accompanies true merit. The president rose, and, without speaking a word, pointed, with affliction in his looks, to the emblematical flagon so exactly full.
The sage understood from thence, the vacancy was supplied, but, without relinquishing hope, he endeavoured to make them comprehend that asupernumarymember might, perhaps, be no detriment to their society. He saw on the floor a rose leaf, picked it up, and with care and delicacy placed it on the surface of the water, so as not to make it overflow.
All the academicians immediately clapped their hands, betokening applause, when they beheld this ingenious reply. They did more, they broke through their rules in favour of the sage Zeb. The register of the academy was presented him, and they inscribed his name.---Nothing remained but for him to pronounce, according to custom, a single phrase of thanks. But this new, and truly silent academician, returned thanks without speaking a word.
In the margin of the register he wrote the number one hundred (that of his brethren) then put a cypher before the figures, under which he wrote thus:
0100
Their value is neither more nor less.
The president, with equal politeness and presence of mind, answered the modest sage, by placing the figure 1 before the number 100, and by writing under them, thus:
1100
Their value is ten-fold.
Original:Apologues et contes orientaux, etc. 1784 by François Blanchet (1707-1784) and others.Possible source: Burke’sAnnual Register1788 with full subtitle “...extracted from Tales, Romances, Apologues, &c. from the French, in two vols.”Notes: “the figure 1 before the number 100 ... 1100”TheAnnual Registerhas the same words and numbers. Both seem like an error for “1000” (a cipher after 100).
Original:Apologues et contes orientaux, etc. 1784 by François Blanchet (1707-1784) and others.Possible source: Burke’sAnnual Register1788 with full subtitle “...extracted from Tales, Romances, Apologues, &c. from the French, in two vols.”
Original:Apologues et contes orientaux, etc. 1784 by François Blanchet (1707-1784) and others.
Possible source: Burke’sAnnual Register1788 with full subtitle “...extracted from Tales, Romances, Apologues, &c. from the French, in two vols.”
Notes: “the figure 1 before the number 100 ... 1100”TheAnnual Registerhas the same words and numbers. Both seem like an error for “1000” (a cipher after 100).
Notes: “the figure 1 before the number 100 ... 1100”
TheAnnual Registerhas the same words and numbers. Both seem like an error for “1000” (a cipher after 100).
For theNew-York Weekly Magazine.
A FRAGMENT IN IMITATION OF STERNE.
**** “Weare poor ourselves!” exclaimed the lady of the house, “and have therefore nothing to give.” Wretched being! methinks you receive none other alms from many people of fashion!
“He has had the assurance to come to my door twice to-day. He might have known at the first denial, that a repetition would not make him a whit the better off.”
“It might have been that when he came the second time he expected your ladyship was better disposed to give,” said a gentleman present.—“Perchance he imagined the human heart could not remain so insensible to the woes of others,” thought I, and it had nearly reached my lips, but prudence bade it go no farther.
She again began to ring in my ears a long string of invectives against the poorer class of people, when I hastily took my leave. “For what purpose did Heaven form the rich with such unfeeling hearts?” asked my friend. “That they might be set up as a mark to others; and teach them the danger of riches.”
The man was a few paces before us.
“Surely the lady finds, ere this, that we despise her contracted soul,” said my companion. “You are mistaken in that point,” said I; “this is not the only time I have been a witness of her narrow-mindedness. I dined there some days since, with several other visitors: before the cloth was removed, I heard a slight rap at the door---no one attended to it---it seemed to foretell the approach of poverty—”
“What were the servants doing?” interrupted my friend.
“Their mistress had enjoined it upon them to attend to none butfashionable knocks!”
“Pray what are herfashionable knocks?”
“That I never learned. She has, no doubt, instructed her menials on that head.”
“But go on with your story. I despise from my soul her baseness.”
The man was a few paces before us.
“I sat opposite the entrance. In a few minutes an emaciated figure, cloathed meanly, but her dress clean, and adjusted in as neat a manner as possible, walked feebly along, until she reached the room-door; and then necessity compelled her to seek support from the posts. I could not behold the sight unmoved---”
We had now reached the beggar. We stopped. He held out his hat. I threw in something; my friend did the same. “May Heaven forever prosper your honours!” uttered the pauper. “Amen!” We both responded, and passed on.
“If I had her riches what a deal of good would I do with it! The poor should not depart empty from my door.”
“And perhaps,” said I, “if you had double the wealth she is possessed of, your disposition would be similar to hers.”
New-York, Sept. 1, 1796.
L. B.
Itwas Mr. Handel’s usual custom, when engaged to dine out with any nobleman or gentleman, to take a little of something by way of refreshment, and to operate as a damper, that he might not display his vast powers as a gormandiser among people of puny appetites. For one of these previous dinners, or dampers, he ordered at the Crown and Anchor tavern a dozen large mackarel, a duck, and two roasted chickens. One of the waiters, judging from the quantity of victuals ordered, what number of people would probably be expected to dine, laid the cloth, and furnished the table with eight plates, &c. Mr. Handel arrived punctually at the hour he had named for the appearance of his repast, and was informed that none of the company were come, but himself; the landlord therefore humbly suggested to him that the dinner might be kept back, till some more of the company dropped in, “Company!” declaimed the dealer in harmony. “What company?---I expect no company! I ordered these few articles by way of relish for myself, and must beg to be excused from the intrusion of any company whatsoever!”
Thetwelvemackarel were first introduced, and Mr. Handel paid his devoirs to each of them. He swallowed every one of them with the expedition of a real artist, and seemed almost equal to the task of swallowing thetwelvejudges. The skeletons of the fish being then removed, in came the duck and the two chickens: the bones of all these were picked with great dexterity; the bill was called, and discharged, and after that the poor gentleman fasted for almost an hour and a quarter, when he repaired to the house of lordH————n, to complete the dinner which he had began at the Crown and Anchor.
Theimagination is a quality of the soul, not only a brilliant but an happy one, for it is more frequently the cause of our happiness, than of our misery; it presents us with more pleasures than vexations, with more hopes than fears. Men of dull and heavy dispositions, who are not affected by any thing, vegetate and pass their lives in a kind of tranquility, but without pleasure or delight; like animals which see, feel, and taste nothing, but that which is under their eyes, paws, or teeth; but the imagination, which is proper to man, transports us beyond ourselves, and makes us taste future and the most distant pleasures. Let us not be told, that it makes us also foresee evils, pains, and accidents, which will perhaps never arrive: it is seldom that imagination carries us to these panic fears, unless it be deranged by physical causes. The sick man sees dark phantoms, and has melancholy ideas; the man in health has no dreams but such as are agreeable; and as we are more frequently in a good, than a bad state of health, our natural state is to desire, to hope, and to enjoy. It is true, that the imagination, which gives us some agreeable moments, exposes us, when once we are undeceived, to others which are painful. There is no person who does not wish to preserve his life, his health, and his property; but the imagination represents to us our life, as a thing which ought to be very long; our health established and unchangeable; and our fortune inexhaustible: when the two latter of these illusions cease before the former, we are much to be pitied.
This article will appear again onpage 164(No. 74).
UNFOLDING MANY CURIOUS UNKNOWN HISTORICAL FACTS.
Translated from the German of Tschink.
(Continued frompage 78.)
Thestillness of eternal rest, and the horrors of corruption which were hovering around me, whispered audibly in my ear that this was not a residence fit for living beings. “Is my tutor here?” I enquired after a dreadful pause. The Irishman remained silent, “Hiermanfor! is my tutor here?”
“He is.”
“Alas! then he is dead!” I stammered, staggering against a tomb-stone to support myself.
The face of the Irishman began to brighten up; he took me by the hand; “Come, my Lord, and convince yourself, that even on this spot, where common men behold nothing but death and corruption, the flower of life is blooming!” With these words, he led me round the corner of a small chapel, and I beheld what at first appeared to me the delusion of a dream, my tutor standing five paces distant from me upon a tomb; he was dressed in a white garment, and seemed to await me in tranquil expectation: “Antonio! my friend!” I exclaimed, quivering with joy, and flew with expanded arms to the tomb, but shuddered with horror when I grasped through an airy phantom, instead of embracing my friend.
“Don’t be afraid, Miguel!” said the ethereal being without once opening his lips, or making the least motion, “I am no apparition from the other world. I am yet living; however, the more solid parts of my body are above 600 miles distant. My spirit has assumed this form in order to communicate her ideas to thee. Thou wilt at some future period comprehend this mystery if thou dost follow the directions of Hiermanfor. Young man, there exists a felicity upon earth more sublime than the love of women. Leave Amelia and hasten to Ma***d. Endeavour to break the abominable fetters whereby thy country is chained to the throne of a despot. Down into the dust with Vascon**llos, who has forged these chains, and encreases their weight every day. Thou shalt see me again when thy country is restored to liberty, and I will lead Amelia to thy arms. ’Till then, Miguel, farewell!”
The vision was not dissolved, nor did it sink into the ground, nor rise aloft, and yet it was removed in the twinkling of an eye. “Antonio, my friend!” I exclaimed, “if thy spirit is still hovering around me, tell me whether I may confide blindly in Hiermanfor?”
The vision re-appeared on the tomb as quick as thought. “Follow the advice of Hiermanfor,” he said, “he will supply my place. I have mistaken him like thyself; however, thou shalt know him too as he is known to me; and then we shall be united by stronger ties.”
The vision disappeared, and I heard theUnknowncalling to me from the other side of the chapel.
I felt like one who is suddenly roused from a dream, and looked around me with uncertain, examining eyes, searching for the Irishman. He perceived it and came towards me.
The sudden change of the most opposite sensations, particularly the last scene, had affected me very much, and I sat myself down upon a tomb. “Is it not true, Hiermanfor?” said I after a long silence, “I have dreamed?”
“Dreamed?” he replied with astonishment, “andwhathave you dreamed?”
“Methought my tutor was standing upon this tomb, and talking strange things.”
“I have had the samevision.”
“Hiermanfor! don’t sport with my understanding.”
“It is as I have said.”
“It cannot be!” I exclaimed vehemently, “it was an illusion. Don’t think that I am still as credulous as I have been. Confess only that the vision was a new illusion, whereby you wanted to try me.”
“An illusion requires the assistance of machines: and I give you leave, nay, I beseech you to search for them. You may ransack the whole burying ground, but your labour will be lost.”
“That may be! It has perhaps been one of your finest artifices, but nevertheless it was mere delusion.”
“It was delusion, because you will have it so.”
“Hiermanfor! what do you wish me to believe?”
“Whatever youcanbelieve.”
“Here the figure of my tutor was standing, and there I stood and conversed with him.”
“You may have been dreaming, it was perhaps one of my finest artifices.”
“What can you say against it?”
“Nothing, my Lord, nothing!”
“I conjure you, what can you say against it?”
“On one part I could find it improbable that two people should have the same dream while they are awake; on the other, that the most consummate juggler would find it difficult to produce by day-light, and on an open spot, an airy vision which resembles your friend exactly, talks in a sensible manner, answers questions which are put to it, and appears a second time at your desire.”
“True, very true! however the apparition is not less mysterious to me if I deem itnoillusion.”
“You will comprehend it one time, said Antonio.”
“But when? I am dying with a desire to have the mystery unfolded.”
“May I speak without reserve, my Lord.”
“I wish you always had spoken without disguise, and acted openly.”
“What I am going to say may perhaps offend you; Yet I must beg you to give me leave to speak freely. I am not going to address Miguel, but the Duke.”
“Frankness and truth are equally acceptable to the latter as they are to the former; speak without reserve.”
“It is not fondness of truth, but vain curiosity that has driven you upon thedangerous oceanof knowledge,where you are cruising about without either rudder or compass, in search of unknown countries, and enchanted islands. I met you some time since on your voyage, and captured you. You could as well have fallen in with somebody else, who would have forged heavier fetters for you. I have not misused my power over you. You have indeed worked in the fetters which I have chained you with, but not in my service, not for me, but for your country, which you, I am sorry to say, would never have done voluntarily. You have attempted nothing, at least very little, to break those chains, but you struggled hard to avoid serving your country. I endeavoured to keep you in its service by strengthening your chains; however, unforeseen accidents liberated you from your bondage, and then I appeared first to you a lawless corsair, who had made an unlawful prize of you, although you had supposed me, before that time, to be a supernatural being, to whose power you fancied you had surrendered voluntarily. My dear Duke, I am neither a villain, nor am I a supernatural being; however, you are not able to judge of me. It is true that I possess important arcana, by the application of which I can effect wonderful things; but I am not allowed to make use of them before I have tried in vain every common means of attaining my aim. According to my knowledge of your Lordship, the artifices of natural magic were sufficient for carrying my point; but now, as the veil is taken from your eyes, and those delusions by which your will has been guided, have lost their influence upon you, now I could make use of my superior power, by which I have been enabled to effect the apparition of your tutor. However, you judge of my deeds equally wrong as of myself. At first you mistook real delusions, for miracles, and now you mistake the effect of a great and important arcanum, for delusion. Whence these sudden leaps from one extreme to the other? What is it that constantly removes from your eyes the real point of view from which you ought to see things? The source of this evil is within yourself; I will point it out to you, lest you discover it too late. You have an innate propensity, which has been nursed up by your lively imagination, a propensity which is agitating powerfully within you, and struggles for gratification, the propensity to the wonderful. Your tutor strove too late to combat it by the dry speculations of philosophy, instead of guiding and confining it in proper bounds. My God! your friend is an excellent man, who had your real happiness at heart; however, his philosophy was not altogether consistent. Apreconceivedcontempt of all occult sciences prevented him examining them with impartiality, and declaring all events contrary to the common course of nature, to be the effects of imposition. He committed a sin against philosophy, premising as demonstrated, what was to be proved. Your own feeling, my Lord, made you sensible of the defects and exaggerations of his arguments; your reasonwas not sufficient to rectify, or to refute them; and thus you have adopted the principles of your tutor, not from conviction, but from a blind confidence in his learning and honesty, and believing the assertions of your instructor, you believed in his philosophy.”
“Hiermanfor! I think you are right.”
“Give me leave to proceed. It was consequently not philosophical conviction that made you suspect your inclination to the wonderful; but faith was opposed to faith. The former was founded on the authority of your tutor, and the latter on the secret voice of your heart. Regard for your friend, and the ambition of being looked upon as a philosopher, impelled you to adopt the principles of your tutor, and an innate instinct spurred you to yield to the voice of your heart, and thus you embraced by turns, the opinion of your instructor and the faith which originated from your heart, according to the strength of motive which prevailed on either side. However, these motives were never pure undoubted arguments of reason, but mere sentiments, which made you shift from one side to the other, in the same measure in which your sentiments of one or the other kind, received nourishment or additional strength from without. As soon as I began to play off my magical machineries your belief in miracles began to prevail; but as soon as your tutor recapitulated his lectures, philosophy resumed her former sway. You were a ball which flew alternately in his and my hands, because you wanted firm conviction, to fix yourself upon. Nevertheless I should have succeeded at last in getting an exclusive power over you merely by means of my delusions, because your predilection for the wonderful, and your imagination, which found an excuse and a gratification in my works, would have prevailed over the philosophical sentences which you have been taught. Paleski discovered to you what you ought to have discovered yourself, that my arts were mere delusions, and now you conclude that I can produce nothing but delusions. Perhaps you go still farther, and deny even the possibility of apparitions, because I have raised in Amelia’s house a ghost who was none. At bottom you keep firm to your character; you came over to my party because yourfeelingsfound their account in doing so; you find you have been deceived, and you fly back again to the opposite party because youfancyto find truth there. However you are really guided only by a blind instinct, by sentiment and opinion. And withtheseguides do you fancy you can penetrate to the sanctuary of truth and happiness?——Unhappy young man! you are doomed to deceive yourself and to be deceived.”
After a short pause the Irishman resumed:
“Pardon my frankness, my Lord! I have done.”
(To be continued.)
For theNew-York Weekly Magazine.
Rhebois hollow-eyed, lank and meagre of visage. He sleeps little, and his slumbers are very short. He is absent, he muses, and, though a man of sense, has a stupid air. He imagines himself troublesome to those he is conversing with. He relates every thing lamely, and in a few words. No one listens to him, he does not raise a laugh. He applauds and smiles at what others say to him, and is of their opinion. He runs, he flies, to do them little services. He is complaisant, bustling, and a flatterer. There is no street how crowded soever, but he can easily pass through it without the least trouble, and slips away unperceived. When desired to sit, he scarce touches the frame of the chair. He speaks low in conversation, and is inarticulate; yet sometimes he discourses freely on public affairs, and is angry at the age. He coughs under his hat, and spits almost upon himself, he endeavours to sneeze apart from the company; and puts no person to the trouble of saluting, or paying him a compliment.——He is poor.
A goodauthor should have the style and courage of a captain, the integrity of a dying man, and so much sense and ingenuity, as to impose nothing, either weak or needless, on the world.
The best of authors are not without their faults, and if they were, the world would not entertain them as they deserve. Perfection is often called for, but nobody would bear it. The only perfect man that ever appeared in the world was crucified.
The man whose book is filled with quotations, may be said to creep along the shore of authors, as if he were afraid to trust himself to the free compass of reasoning. Others defend such authors by a different allusion, and ask whether honey is the worse for being gathered from many flowers?
A few choice books make the best library: a multitude will confound us, whereas a moderate quantity will assist and help us. Masters of great libraries are too commonly like booksellers, acquainted with little else than the titles.
He who reads books by extracts, may be said to read by deputy. Much depends on the latter, whether he reads to any purpose.
Satire is the only kind of wit, for which we have scripture authority and example, in the case of Elijah ridiculing the false gods of Ahab.
He that always praises me, is undoubtedly a flatterer; but he that sometimes praises, and sometimes reproves me, is probably my friend, and speaks his mind. Did we not flatter ourselves, others would do us no hurt.
Men are too apt to promise according to their hopes, and perform according to their fears.
Secrecy has all the prudence, and none of the vices either of simulation, or dissimulation.
For theNew-York Weekly Magazine.
1.Miss C–l–e S–m–n,2.Miss S–r–h B–r–r,3.Miss L–e–a B–z–r,4.Miss M–r–a C–e–n,5.Miss M–r–a B–k–r,6.Miss M–r–a B–e–n,7.Miss C–h–e D–v–s,8.Miss N–n–y P–g–e,9.Miss S–r–a T–y–r,10.Miss M–r–y U–t.(A solution is requested.)Sept. 12, 1796.A. D.
(A solution is requested.)
Sept. 12, 1796.
A. D.
++++++++++++++++
NEW-YORK.
At Elizabeth Town, on Saturday evening the 3d inst. by the Rev. Mr. Rayner, Mr.Beza E. Bliss, of this city, to MissBetsey Jelf Thomas, of that place.
On Sunday evening the 21st ult. by the Rev. Mr. Schenck, Mr.Joel Scidmore, of Crab-Meadow (L.I.) to MissHannah Hoyt, of Dicks-Hills, (L.I.)
On Saturday evening the 3d inst. by the Rev. Dr. Linn, CaptainDaniel Hawley, of Connecticut, to MissCatharine Gilbert, daughter of William W. Gilbert, Esq. of this city.
On Wednesday evening the 31st ult. by the Rev. Mr. Burnet, Mr.Joseph Wickes, of Troy, to MissSusannah Raymond, of Norwalk, (Connecticut.)
METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.From the 4th to the 10th inst.Days of theMonth.Thermometer observed at8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M.Prevailingwinds.OBSERVATIONSon theWEATHER.deg.100deg.100deg.1008.1.6.8.1.6.Sept. 467757250nw.do.ne.clear,do.do563707569ne.nw.do.cleardo.do.6635071257050ne.dodo.cleardo.do.76825746325ne.do.se.cloudy,cleardo.866716650e.do.do.cloudy,lt. wd.do.9715075507550se.n.w.high wd. & rn. at night106725787573nw.w.do.clear,lt. wd.do.
From the 4th to the 10th inst.
For theNew-York Weekly Magazine.
Withthee, my Emma, lovely fair, with theeLife’s varied path I’ll tread contentedly;When rising morn her blooming tints displays,And clads all nature with enlivening rays;Or when the threatning storm in dark attire,Beclouds the scene, and hurls etherial fire:Sweet innocence, bright beaming from thine eye,Shall heavenly hope and fortitude supply;—Together then, my Emma, let us stray,Where heaven and virtuous love shall point the way.VIATOR.
Withthee, my Emma, lovely fair, with thee
Life’s varied path I’ll tread contentedly;
When rising morn her blooming tints displays,
And clads all nature with enlivening rays;
Or when the threatning storm in dark attire,
Beclouds the scene, and hurls etherial fire:
Sweet innocence, bright beaming from thine eye,
Shall heavenly hope and fortitude supply;
—Together then, my Emma, let us stray,
Where heaven and virtuous love shall point the way.
VIATOR.
For the New-York Weekly Magazine.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. PETER ABEEL, WHO CEASED TO EXIST ON THE 30TH ULT.
Theawful sound of death—the tolling bell,With solemn sadness strikes the list’ning ear:While sighs responsive to its gloomy knell,Proclaim the loss of what was held most dear.In prime of life, e’er manhood had begun,A virtuous youth was number’d with the dead;E’er nineteen years their wonted course had run,Abeel’s chaste soul to other regions fled.Untainted yet by pleasure’s ’witching smile,Of manners easy, affable and freeA conscience pure, and void of specious guile,An upright heart, and noble mind had he.But, ah! integrity can nought avail,Nor innocence arrest the fleeting breath!E’en purity like his we now bewailCould not repel the pow’rful shaft of death.That form which late with youthful vigour teem’d,The fierce attack of sickness could not brave;The eye in which bright animation beam’d,Has lost its splendour in the silent grave.Oh! Death, couldst thou not stay thine active arm,’Till age had strew’d its winters o’er his head:Till life’s enjoyment could no longer charm,And earthly pleasures had forever fled.Then thine approach more welcome would have been,And less regretted thy reverseless doom;Age would have render’d thy attack less keen,And smooth’d the rugged passage to the tomb.But youth—luxuriant season of delight,When pleasing fancies fill the teeming brain;Was soon by thee transform’d to endless night—To night, on which no morn shall dawn again.But through th’ obscurity of this dark gloom,The eye of hope can safely penetrate;And far beyond the precincts of the tomb,A gleam of comfort checks the pow’r of fate.For virtue ne’er shall unrewarded be,Nor innocence in death forego its charms;Soon may we hope in heav’n our friend to see,Securely resting in his Maker’s arms.ALEXIS.New-York,Sept. 8, 1796.
Theawful sound of death—the tolling bell,
With solemn sadness strikes the list’ning ear:
While sighs responsive to its gloomy knell,
Proclaim the loss of what was held most dear.
In prime of life, e’er manhood had begun,
A virtuous youth was number’d with the dead;
E’er nineteen years their wonted course had run,
Abeel’s chaste soul to other regions fled.
Untainted yet by pleasure’s ’witching smile,
Of manners easy, affable and free
A conscience pure, and void of specious guile,
An upright heart, and noble mind had he.
But, ah! integrity can nought avail,
Nor innocence arrest the fleeting breath!
E’en purity like his we now bewail
Could not repel the pow’rful shaft of death.
That form which late with youthful vigour teem’d,
The fierce attack of sickness could not brave;
The eye in which bright animation beam’d,
Has lost its splendour in the silent grave.
Oh! Death, couldst thou not stay thine active arm,
’Till age had strew’d its winters o’er his head:
Till life’s enjoyment could no longer charm,
And earthly pleasures had forever fled.
Then thine approach more welcome would have been,
And less regretted thy reverseless doom;
Age would have render’d thy attack less keen,
And smooth’d the rugged passage to the tomb.
But youth—luxuriant season of delight,
When pleasing fancies fill the teeming brain;
Was soon by thee transform’d to endless night—
To night, on which no morn shall dawn again.
But through th’ obscurity of this dark gloom,
The eye of hope can safely penetrate;
And far beyond the precincts of the tomb,
A gleam of comfort checks the pow’r of fate.
For virtue ne’er shall unrewarded be,
Nor innocence in death forego its charms;
Soon may we hope in heav’n our friend to see,
Securely resting in his Maker’s arms.
ALEXIS.
New-York,Sept. 8, 1796.
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