VIRTUE AND ORNAMENT; AN ODE.

TO THE LADIES.

The diamond’s and the ruby’s rays

Shine with a milder, finer flame,

And more attract our love and praise

Than Beauty’s self, if lost to fame.

But the sweet tear in Pity’s eye,

Transcends the diamond’s brightest beams;

And the soft blush of modesty

More precious than the ruby seems.

The glowing gem, the sparkling stone,

May strike the sight with quick surprise,

But Truth and Innocence alone

Can still engage the good and wise.

No glitt’ring ornament or show

Will aught avail in grief or pain:

Only from inward worth can flow

Delight that ever shall remain.

On the recovery of an only Child from the Small-pox.

When sickness pal’d thy rosy cheek,

And stole the lustre from thine eye,

The minutes of each tedious hour

Were mark’d by sad anxiety.

For all thy soft endearing smiles,

Which spoke with such expressive grace,

Alas! were fled, and only pain

Was trac’d upon thy cherub face.

When near the doubtful crisis drew,

And keener anguish fill’d my breast;

In trembling hope, the fervent prayer

My agonising soul address’d.

’Twas heard—and health again restores

The sprightly look, the rosy hue:

Father of Heaven, to thee alone,

All gratitude, all praise is due.

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.

UTILE DULCI.

The New-York Weekly Magazine;

OR, MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.

Vol. II.]WEDNESDAY, December 21, 1796.[No. 77.

Animated Letter from the Hon. Miss B—
to Sir Richard P---

[From an English Paper.]

The various passions which agitated my distracted soul have subsided and I now am calm. I am alone, and in no danger of interruption: the insignificants that fluttered around me are fled; and their departure gives me no uneasiness.

I am at leisure to consider what I have been, and what I am; admired, applauded, courted; avoided, despised, pitied. However, when I take a view of my own heart, the prospect is less gloomy. I have been incautious, but not abandoned; indiscreet, but not vicious; faulty, but not depraved. If female virtue consists, as I have sometimes been told, in female reputation, my virtue is gone: but if, as my soberer reason teaches, virtue is independent of human opinion, I feel myself its ardent votary, and my heart is pregnant with its noblest principles. The children of ignorance cannot, and the children of malevolence will not, comprehend this; but I court not their approbation, nor fear their censure.

My soul, it must be owned, was formed of sensibility, formed for all the luxury of the melting passions; but it is equally true, that the severest delicacy had ever a place there. The groves of Br—---n can witness, that whenever the loves presided at the entertainment, the graces were not absent: that in the very delirium of pleasure, the rapture was chastened, and the transport restrained.

My understanding was never made the dupe to my fonder wishes; nor did I ever call in the wretched aids of a sceptical and impious philosophy to countenance my unhappy fall. Though nature was my goddess and my law-giver, I never dreamt of appealing from the decisions of positive institutions. My principles were uncorrupted, whilst my heart was warm; and if I fell as a woman, you know at the same time that I fell, like Caesar, with decent dignity.

I write not to justify myself to you; you deserve not, you desire not any such justification; but whilst I open my heart, I beg of you to examine your own. The hour of reflection seldom comes too soon; and what must your sensations be, when you recollect that you have violated all laws divine and human, broken through every principle of virtue, and every tie of humanity; that you have offered an insult to the kind genius of hospitality, the benevolent spirit of good neighbourhood, and the sacred and dignified powers of friendship! I mean not to reproach you, but suffer me to ask, was it not sufficient that you had added my name to the list of your infamous triumphs (for infamous they are, in spite of sophistry, gaiety, and the world), that you had ranked me among the daughters of wretchedness and ignominy, deprived me of my father, my all of comfort, and my all of hope; were not these things, I say, sufficient, without adding to them the meanness and baseness of publicly speaking of me, in language that a gentleman would not have used to the vilest wanton? weak, unhappy man, I am now indeed ashamed of my defeat!

For myself, I am well aware that “the world is not my friend, nor the world’s law.” I expect not nor desire its favour: it never forgives offences of this kind. My own sex, in particular, is inexorable; for never did female kindness shed a tear of genuine commiseration upon misfortunes like mine. The insolent familiarity of some, and the cautious reserve of others, the affected concern, the self-approving condolence, sufficiently teach me what is the friendship of women. But I have no anxiety on this account: the remainder of my days I give to solitude: and if Heaven will hear my most ardent prayer, if my presaging heart and declining strength deceive me not, this remainder will not be long. Sister angels shall joyfully receive me into their happy choirs, though my too virtuous sisters in this world avoid my company as contagious. In the mean time, never shall the returning sun gild the roof of my humble habitation, but I will drop a tear of deep repentance to the fatal indiscretion which robbed me of my peace, and plunged a whole family in misery: and, when the hour of my delivery comes, if an offended parent will but take me in his arms, and pronounce me forgiven, my heart shall again be sensible of comfort, joy shall once more sparkle in the eyes of

Maria.

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 187].)

It is almost incredible, with how much appearance of truth and cordiality he manifested his grief at the hapless fate of the Duke. He affected such a tender fellow-feeling, and so much friendship for Miguel, that the latter was charmed with him, and fancied the favourable opinion he had conceived of Alumbrado to be fully justified. The hypocrite not only pitied him, but at the same time, endeavoured to afford him comfort. Mentioning, however, among other arguments, how wonderful the ways of Providence are, and how God promoted our happiness, even through the evils of this world; the Duke shook his head. Alumbrado was surprised at it, and enquired what objection he had against that doctrine? The Duke, who thought him deserving of his confidence, was so imprudent as to unfold to him his new creed; nay, he carried his inconsideration so far as to read to him part of his tract which he had wrote on that subject. Although I was very much terrified at it, yet I was impatient to know Alumbrado’s opinion and behaviour on this occasion. My astonishment rose to the highest degree, when he refuted the arguments of the Duke with a frankness which generally is supposed to arise only from love of truth, and defended the goodness and providence of God, with an evidence and warmth which can originate only from the light of religion. The dignity and energy with which he spoke had an irresistable effect on the Duke; he cast his eyes upon the ground in dumb amazement, and appeared to be confounded and ashamed.

I cannot but confess that I myself began to believe I had been egregiously mistaken in my opinion of Alumbrado’s character. I begged his pardon in my heart, and though I could not love him, yet I thought it my duty not to refuse him my regard any longer.

However, soon after two accidents happened which gave me reason to apprehend that I had changed my opinion too prematurely. I got intelligence that Alumbrado visited the house of a man whose character was very much suspected. Baeza was his name. The important office which he kept at the custom-house, and the extensive trade he carried on all over Europe, had rendered his house respected, wealthy, powerful, and honoured. He was a Jew by birth, but changed his religion from political motives. His conduct, at least, did not refute the opinion that he confessed only with his lips the Roman Catholic religion, and it had given rise to much scandal when Oliva*ez conferred on him the order of Christ. The connection between him and this minister was very intimate and not at all shaken by the revolution; but continued, only with more assiduity and circumspection, which was no difficult task to a consummate hypocrite like Baeza. It will be obvious that Alumbrado’s connection with this man displeased me for more than one reason. Another circumstance contributed to strengthen my suspicion of Alumbrado’s honesty. The Duke missed a sheet of his tract on the system of the Manichees. Alumbrado had visited him frequently, had been alone in his study many a time where the manuscript was lying on the writing desk. The Duke, far from suspecting him, fancied he had mislaid the paper, and having renounced that system on Alumbrado’s persuasion, did not care much for that tract.

Although my repeated exhortations and my avowed antipathy had not been able to prevail on my friend to drop all connections with that dangerous man, yet they had retained him from being too intimate with him; however, since he knew that I had conceived a more favourable opinion of Alumbrado, he attached himself more closely to him. The old Marquis observed this change with great satisfaction, but, at the same time, saw with greater grief the recovery of his son’s health make but very slow progress. The cause of it was a secret, but rooted melancholy, into which the overflowing exasperation of his heart and furious agony of mind had changed ever since he had adopted the principles of the Manichean system. This melancholy corroded his vitals like the slow poison of a cancer, and stopped not only the circulation of the vital powers, but also the energy of the soul of my unhappy friend in its wonted activity. The situation of his mind was therefore merely passive, which rendered him the more susceptible for those external impressions which fitted the situation of his mind, the less power of resistance and self-activity he possessed. Thus he was an instrument which Alumbrado could play on at pleasure. The latter seemed, however, not yet determined what measures he should take for attaining his aim; but, unfortunately, the Duke himself put him afterwards on the right track. He found particular pleasure in conversing with his new confidant on the happiness which loving souls would derive from their reunion in a better world, and he neglected me now for no other reason but because I could say but very little on that subject, while Alumbrado’s imagination and eloquence were inexhaustible. I had no hope of giving the mind of the Duke a different turn; his natural vivacity, which formerly so frequently avocated his attention from one object, and oftentimes directed it irresistably to another of a nature entirely opposite, this vivacity was entirely extinguished; a gloomy sameness, which was immoveably fixed to the object which once had attracted his attention, having stept in its place. Every terrestrial joy had fled with Amelia, Lady Delier and Antonio; the source from which he at present derived his pleasure, originated beyond the grave. How joyfully would he have overleaped the cleft which separated him from the darlings of his heart, if he had not been kept back by mine and Alumbrado’s persuasions. This state of mind encreased his anxious desire of discovering an artificial bridge of communication with the kingdom of spirits. In short, all the ideas he had imbibed in the school of the Irishman awoke in his mind with redoubled force. What at first had been to him a mere object of knowledge, became now the most important concern of his heart. One time he surprised Alumbrado with the question whether he thought it possible to converse with spirits before our death? However the artful man extricated his neck with great dexterity from the sling, replying, that such a question could not be answered in general, nor with a few words. I perceived that Alumbrado viewed the Duke attentively and began to muse, although he had cut off abruptly the thread of the conversation.

No one can conceive how ardently the Duke longed for the arrival of the Irishman, of whom he expected to receive the final solution of that problem. One rather should think that the Irishman ought to have lost all credit with him, on account of his treacherous behaviour; for not only his first promise to put the Duke in possession of Amelia by means of his supernatural power; but also the second, that he would initiate him in the practical mysteries of his supernatural wisdom, as soon as the revolution should have been accomplished, was still incompleted. However, the Duke excused him, instead of suspecting his having deceived him. “Hiermanfor,” he said, “is not all powerful; how could he therefore, avert that fatal blow from Amelia’s head? Hiermanfor has not fixed the day of his return; perhaps he has been detained by business of the greatest consequence, or means to try the measure of my confidence in him; but whatever may be the reason of his non-arrival, he certainly will not omit to make good his word.” Alumbrado asked him who that Hiermanfor was? and the Duke related to him at large his adventures with that man, without betraying the share he had had in the revolution. I expected that Alumbrado, who at once was made acquainted with so dangerous a rival, would do his utmost to ruin his credit; but I was mistaken; all that he ventured to say, was, indeed, very much against him; but he added, that one ought not to judge prematurely on so great and deep a character.

This lenient judgment was not sufficient to cure the Duke of his delusion; although his confidence in the Irishman was very strong, yet his patience was very weak, and my reasoning against Hiermanfor began to make him uneasy. Several times was he going to make public inquiries after him, but the apprehension of offending him without being able to find him out always prevented him from doing it. At last, when the Irishman did not appear after a long and fruitless expectation, my friend took it in his head to inquire after the Count de Clairval and in case he should discover him, to seize him either by force or art, because he expected to receive from him some information of Hiermanfor. Alumbrado desired the Duke to give him a description of the Count. “He is almost of my size,” my friend replied, “but fair, of an interesting countenance, and a tranquil, gentle seriousness, generally characterizes his mien, which however, frequently bespeaks the most jovial humour; his nose is rather of the aquiline kind, his mouth almost woman like handsome, and his chin falls a little back, yet without disfiguring him.” “If you wish to get him in your power,” Alumbrado replied, “I will endeavour to spell-bind him; but then I shall want his picture; could you delineate it on a piece of paper?” The Duke, who as little as myself knew what to think of this offer, looked alternately at me and at Alumbrado. “Indeed,” the latter continued, “I wish to possess the picture of the Count; leave the consequence to me.”

“If you really wish to possess it,” my friend replied. “you shall have it.”

Possessing a great skill in drawing striking likenesses, he finished the portrait the day following, assisted by his imagination, and gave it to Alumbrado. We were impatient to learn what he was going to do with it; however, he visited the Duke four days without mentioning the picture; but on the fifth day informed him in what hotel he would find the Count. We were looking at him in dumb astonishment, when he added, “Make haste, now you can surprise him and if he should refuse to follow you, you only need to tell him that the guard is waiting for your order to seize him.”

(To be continued.)

Anecdote of an Earl of Portland, Lord Treasurer.
From a Manuscript in the British Museum.

When the Earl of Portland was Lord Treasurer of England (1634) he had, like other great statesmen, a crowd of suitors; among others was Mr. Cæsar, Master of the Rolls, who had been soliciting the place of one of the six clerks in Chancery for his son, Mr. Robt. Cæsar, in the room of Mr. D’Ewes, but was disappointed in his expectations; the Lord Treasurer, although he had promised it to Mr. Cæsar, having given it to Mr. Keene; but promised to urge his Majesty in favour of Mr. Cæsar the next vacancy. That happened---the Treasurer was as negligent as formerly; when Ld. Tillibarne eagerly solicited for Mr. Cæsar, and was promised. Tired with useless application, he desired the Treasurer to declare his intentions;---he answered his intentions were for Mr. Cæsar but that he might not forget in future, he desired a token of remembrance; which the other readily complied with, and wrote on a paper “Remember Cæsar!”---In the hurry of the Earl’s business, even this was forgot. Some time after, while he was looking over some loose papers, he observed one, having written on it “Remember Cæsar!” The former circumstances had escaped his recollection; therefore, alarmed, he summoned his friends, to have their opinion upon it; who all agreed, an attempt on his life was in agitation, and desired him to use every precaution---In consequence of this, his house was barricadoed, guards were placed around, and all had the appearance of danger and apprehension, when Ld. Tillibarne waited upon him again, but could not gain admittance, till he informed one of the Treasurer’s friends of the circumstances of the note, which brought the whole to the Earl’s recollection, and he complied with Lord Tillibarne’s request; Mr. Cæsar being appointed one of the Six Clerks.

ABSTRACT of the ABBE BERTHOLON’s PAPER
on FIRES, and the MEANS of extinguishing them.

PUBLISHED IN THE LAUSANNE MEMOIRS.

This subject is important and interesting, although the Abbé has rather collected the observations and experiments made by others, than conveyed any new and original information. He ascribes the inflammability of bodies to the inflammable gas which they contain, and which, on their decomposition by heat, is let loose, and coming into contact with the atmosphere is ignited, and bursts out into flame. The principal part of the memoir is devoted to a detail of the means of preventing and extinguishing fires; and here the author’s chief advice, which is “in the construction of buildings, to employ as little as possible of those materials which yield inflammable air on their decomposition,” will be allowed to be perfectly just in theory, but will probably be little followed in practice: nor is the security resulting from brick floors likely to compensate, in this age of affected elegance, for their appearance. He informs us, however, that M. Ango, an architect of Paris, has contrived a method of constructing a floor with iron bars, instead of timber joists, which is even less expensive than the common mode. The wood used in buildings may be rendered uninflammable, by being steeped in a saline solution, and by being prepared with allum, even canvass and paper hangings may be made to burn without flame.

Many other precautions are mentioned by the Abbé, which we shall not detail, as they are universally known, and we believe pretty generally adopted. After describing the inventions of Mr. Hartly and Lord Mahon, together with a preparation similar to that of Lord Mahon’s recommended by M. Frederic, of Vienna, the Abbé gives an account of a substance, which he calls paper stone, invented by Dr. Faye, physician to the Swedish admiralty: its composition is not known, but from a chemical analysis it appears to consist of two parts of an earthly basis, and one of animal oil, mixed up with two parts of some vegetable substance. At Carlscrone a hut was built of dry wood, covered with this paper, which is not more than two lines in thickness, it was then filled with combustibles, which were set on fire and consumed without burning the building: the paper, which had been pasted on boards, was reduced to a cinder, and formed a kind of incrustation, which preserved them from the effects of the flame. As this paper readily takes any colour, it may be rendered ornamental as well as useful.

In his directions for extinguishing fires, the Abbé observes, that water, in which a small quantity of potash has been dissolved, is more efficacious than any other; he also recommends an engine called an hydraulic ventilator, invented by M. Castelli, which is worked by vanes instead of pistions, and may be managed by one person. The advantages ascribed by our author to this machine are very considerable, but we cannot suppress our astonishment on being told, that with a cylinder of only three inches in diameter, it will throw up more water than the largest fire engine; however, it certainly appears to be less expensive and more portable than the common forcing pumps, and may be of use in extinguishing a fire, before it has made any great progress. The utility of garden mould with wet sand in this respect, is well known, but it can seldom be applied, and we doubt the efficacy of the kind of catapult which the author recommends, for throwing it so any distance.

The remainder of the memoir contains some very just and obvious remarks on the necessity of a regular discipline among firemen, and it concludes with a description of the engines, cisterns and pipes at the opera house in Paris, the construction and arrangement of which the Abbé recommends to be adopted in every public theatre.