Quoth Blab--“I would not, for the world, have it known,
But Miss FLINT’s with young STEEL in the dark!”--
“Phoo! phoo!” cries old Sly, “pr’ythee leave them alone,
They are only producing a Spark.”
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co. No. 115,
Cherry-street.+-- +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per
quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Circulating
Library of Mr. J. FELLOWS, No. 60, +Wall-Street+._
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_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, February 29, 1797.+ [+No. 87.+
+The ART of HAPPINESS.+
Almost every object that attracts our notice, has its bright and its
dark side. He who habituates himself to look at the displeasing side,
will sour his disposition, and, consequently, impair his happiness;
while he who constantly beholds it on the bright side, insensibly
meliorates his temper, and, in consequence of it, improves his own
happiness, and the happiness of all about him.
Arachne and Melissa are two friends. They are, both of them, women in
years, and alike in birth, fortune, education, and accomplishments. They
were originally alike in temper too; but, by different management, are
grown the reverse of each other. Arachne has accustomed herself to look
on the dark side of every object. If a new poem or play makes its
appearance with a thousand brilliances and but one or two blemishes, she
slightly skims over the passages that should give her pleasure, and
dwells upon those only that fill her with dislike. If you shew her a
very excellent portrait, she looks at some part of the drapery which has
been neglected, or to a hand or finger which has been left unfinished.
Her garden is a very beautiful one, and kept with great neatness and
elegancy: but, if you take a walk with her in it, she talks to you of
nothing but blights and storms, of snails and caterpillars, and how
impossible it is to keep it from the litter of falling leaves and
worm-carts. If you sit down in one of her temples, to enjoy a delightful
prospect, she observes to you, that there is too much wood, or too
little water; that the day is too sunny, or too gloomy: that it is
sultry, or windy; and finishes with a long harangue upon the
wretchedness of our climate.--When you return with her to the company,
in hopes of a little chearful conversation, she casts a gloom over all,
by giving you the history of her own bad health, or of some melancholy
accident that has befallen one of her daughter’s children. Thus she
insensibly sinks her own spirits, and the spirits of all around her;
and, at last, discovers, she knows not why, that her friends are grave.
Melissa is the reverse of all this. By constantly habituating herself to
look only on the bright side of objects, she preserves a perpetual
chearfulness in herself, which, by a kind of happy contagion, she
communicates to all about her. If any misfortune has befallen her, she
considers it might have been worse, and is thankful to Providence for an
escape. She rejoices in solitude, as it gives her an opportunity of
knowing herself; and in society, because she can communicate the
happiness she enjoys. She opposes every man’s virtues to his failings,
and can find out something to cherish and applaud in the very worst of
her acquaintance. She opens every book with a desire to be entertained
or instructed, and therefore seldom misses what she looks for. Walk with
her, though it be on a heath or a common, and she will discover
numberless beauties, unobserved before, in the hills, the dales, the
brooms, brakes, and the variegated flowers of weeds and poppies. She
enjoys every change of weather, and of season, as bringing with it
something of health or convenience. In conversation, it is a rule with
her never to start a subject that leads to any thing gloomy or
disagreeable. You therefore never hear her repeating her own grievances,
or those of her neighbours or, what is worst of all, their faults or
imperfections. If any thing of the latter kind be mentioned in her
hearing, she has the address to turn it into entertainment, by changing
the most odious railing into a pleasant raillery.
Thus Melissa, like the bee, gathers honey from every weed; while
Arachne, like the spider, sucks poison from the fairest flowers. The
consequence is, that, of two tempers once very nearly allied, the one is
ever sour and dissatisfied, the other always gay and chearful; the one
spreads an universal gloom, the other a continual sunshine.
There is nothing more worthy of our attention, than this art of
happiness. In conversation, as well as life, happiness, very often
depends upon the slightest incidents. The taking notice of the badness
of the weather, a North-East wind, approach of winter, or any trifling
circumstance of the disagreeable kind, shall infallibly rob a whole
company of its good-humour, and fling every member of it into the
vapours. If, therefore, we would be happy in ourselves, and are desirous
of communicating that happiness to all about us, these minutiæ of
conversation ought carefully to be attended to. The brightness of the
sky, the lengthening of the day, the increasing verdure of the spring,
the arrival of any little piece of good news, or whatever carries with
it the most distant glimpse of joy, shall frequently be the parent of a
social and happy conversation. Good-manners exact from us this regard to
our company. The clown may repine at the sunshine that ripens the
harvest, because his turnips are burnt up by it; but the man of
refinement will extract pleasure from the thunder-storm to which he is
exposed, by remarking on the plenty and refreshment which may be
expected from the succeeding shower.
Thus does politeness, as well as good sense, direct us to look at every
object on the bright side; and, by thus acting, we cherish and improve
both. By this practice it is, that Melissa is become the wisest and
best-bred woman living; and, by this practice, may every person arrive
at that agreeableness of temper, of which the natural and never-failing
fruit is Happiness.
* * * * *
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 267.)
The period is however arrived, when men begin to abandon themselves
exclusively to the cold speculations of reason, and this fatal maxim
manifests itself but too evidently in the practical life. Rarely any
thing is undertaken before it is pondered and weighed most anxiously
with a pusillanimous minuteness. And this is one of the chief causes of
the present scarcity of great and striking actions. The sacred flame of
enthusiasm extinguishes, and every energy of soul dies away along with
it. While reason wastes her whole strength in barren speculations, the
demands and wants of our heart remain unsatisfied, a kind of
insensibility deals upon us, the mind grows pusillanimous, and all noble
passions are suffocated. No, no! this is no age in which great geniuses
can thrive! Reasoning has produced but very few immortal deeds; faith,
however, although it should have been only the faith of man in his
natural abilities, has frequently rendered impossible possible.--If so,
what miracles will faith in the assistance of an omnipotent being, be
able to perform? The first King of Portugal has given us the most
glorious proof of the truth of this assertion: he went, as you know from
history, with four thousand men against the infidels, and was opposed by
five kings with four hundred thousand Moors. Terror and dismay seized
his little army at this sight; however the celebrated apparition through
which God promised him the victory over his enemies, revived the broken
spirit of his troops. And what else but faith in this promise could have
made him risk and gain a battle, in which one man had to encounter an
hundred?”
“My dear Marquis, I have been interrupted again by the visit of a great
prelate, and, with your permission, shall communicate to you the
substance of what he has told me. The Jews, he said, have, as you will
know, offered to the new Regent, on his accession to the throne, to pay
a great sum of money to him, if he would grant them liberty to live and
to trade in the country as external Christians, without being persecuted
by the Inquisition. It would have been highly advantageous to religion,
if this liberty had been granted to the Jews; for although they should
have visited the Christian churches at first only for form’s sake, and
observed only the external rites of worship, yet many would have been
edified, and convinced of the truth of Christianity so irresistibly,
that they would have seriously embraced the Christian religion. The
Inquisitors themselves have intimated this to the King. However the
--------, I do not know how to call him, who cares little for the
propagation of faith, has refused to grant this petition of the Jews.
The Inquisition has informed the Pope of it; and the holy father, who as
yet has refused to acknowledge his royal authority, will now have an
additional reason for not confirming the usurped dignity of a free
thinker, who injures the interest of the church whenever opportunity
offers. I have, however, great reason to suspect that our new King
foments these dissensions designedly, for some horrid purpose. Not
contented with having alienated the nation from their lawful Sovereign,
he also endeavours to obtain an opportunity of alienating them from the
chief of the church. O Marquis! O Duke! what gloomy prospects for all
those who are resolved to live and to die in the religion of their
ancestors.
“Stop,” the Marquis exclaimed, “he shall not dare to carry matters to
that point; by heaven, he shall not.” My father had not yet ceased
giving vent to his indignation, when the other prelate, whom I mentioned
in my last letter, joined us. The two prelates were rejoiced to see each
other, and concealed their sentiments so little from each other, that
they both avowed their opinions of the new King without the least
reserve. ‘I cannot conceive how you,’ said he, who had joined us,
turning to my father and me, ‘who are sprung from royal blood, can
submit to the humiliation of obeying a usurper, who will do every thing
in his power to humble your family as much as possible. Don’t you
perceive that he confers the highest dignities on other people, while
he, out of a cowardly policy, keeps his nearest relations at a distance,
and in profound submission? The King of Spa--n knows your merits, and is
capable of rewarding them properly. Who would not rather hold an
important office under the greatest Monarch, than live in inactivity and
obscurity, under the most insignificant King in Europe? These are the
sentiments of many nobles who are still firmly attached to their old
lawful Sovereign.’
“Dear Marquis, my heart is deeply afflicted, and strange ideas are
crossing my head. What must I do? Alumbrado says nothing, but commit
every thing to the paternal care of God.
“To day I received your letter, in which you reproach me for my long
silence. I am, however, not sorry that my letter, which I wanted to send
eight days ago, has been kept back through negligence, for now I shall
be able to conclude it with the relation of a most extraordinary
incident.
“I used for some time to visit every evening our favourite spot before
the town, which always attracted me very much, partly by its natural
charms, and partly by the undisturbed solitude one enjoys there. On the
left side, a chain of hills, that form a beautiful group; on the right,
a wood, inclosing the extensive plain, and in the middle the prospect of
the distant blue mountains. You know what an enchanting effect that spot
produces, particularly at sun-set; and thither I took a walk every
evening. The way to that charming place is decorated with the ruins of
an old chapel, which partly is surrounded with a half decayed wall.
Approaching those ruins last evening, I saw Alumbrado step forth with
hasty paces. ‘Stop!’ he exclaimed, ‘do you know that you will be a dead
man if you proceed a step farther?’ Alumbrado’s unexpected appearance,
his intelligence, and the seriousness of his countenance convulsed my
nerves. ‘A dead man?’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes!’ said he, ‘did I not foretell
you that the King would vent his resentment against you? If you go fifty
steps farther, you will bleed under the hands of his banditti. You stare
at me,’ he continued. ‘If you wish to be convinced of it, then follow me
into the chapel, and let us change cloaths; I shall pursue this path,
wrapt in your cloak, and the hired assassins will fall upon me, under
the mistaken notion that I am the person whom they have been ordered by
the King to assassinate. If you will ascend to the top of this turret,
you may witness the whole scene.’ I shuddered with horror, and
peremptorily refused to submit to it. ‘You need not to be under the
least apprehension for my life,’ he replied. ‘All that I desire of you
is to make no noise when you see me fall, but to go quietly home without
mentioning to any one what you will have seen. We shall meet again at
your house.’ All my objections availed nothing; we exchanged our dress,
he saw me to the top of the turret, and left me. I pursued him with
anxious looks and beating heart.
“Alumbrado had scarcely reached the skirts of the wood, when I heard the
report of a pistol, and saw him drop down, upon which three ruffians
darted forth from the bushes, gave him some stabs, and carried him into
the wood. I staggered down the narrow staircase by which I had ascended
the turret, and went home, thrilled with emotions that surpass all power
of description. I sat up till after midnight, but no Alumbrado came;
however, at six o’clock he entered my apartment. I cannot describe what
I felt on seeing him. He was unhurt, but nevertheless I staggered back
at the sight of him. ‘Alumbrado!’ said I, after a pause of dumb
astonishment, ‘do I really see you alive after the scene my eyes have
witnessed last night?’ ‘Pistols and daggers,’ he replied, ‘cannot hurt
the man who is under the immediate protection of God. Come,’ added he,
‘let us go to your father.’
“I related to my parent the incident of the preceding night. He seemed
to be petrified. The cruel villainy of the King, and the supernatural
power of Alumbrado, appeared to have carried him beyond himself; the
thanks which he wanted to offer to the latter for the preservation of my
life, and curses against the King, hovered at the same time on his lips;
but he could not speak.
“Let us take a walk in the garden,” Alumbrado said. We went; but I shall
not repeat the conversation that took place. Yet I do not think that
Alumbrado has added fuel to the fire. ‘The Duke of B----a,’ said he, ‘is
King and accountable to no other tribunal but that of God. No mortal
dare lift up his hand against him without the express command of God or
his Vicegerent. I have received no such order, and I think you neither.
All that you can do is to be on your guard against the King, and to
mention to no one the villainous transaction of last night. Will you
promise this? Your own safety requires it.’ We promised it.
“I could not help manifesting my astonishment at Alumbrado’s wonderful
preservation. ‘Do you then think,’ said he, ‘that only those who are
leagued with the spirit of darkness are proof against fire-arms and
swords, and that the children of light do not enjoy that privilege?
I will give you a proof of it; send for a gun and balls, here is
powder.’ So saying, he produced the powder horn which I had missed some
days. ‘You have,’ added he, ‘either lost it or it has been stolen, for I
have found it in the hands of the banditti.’ ‘What are you going to do
with balls and a gun?’ My father asked with marks of astonishment. ‘That
you shall see instantly,’ Alumbrado replied, ‘if you only will send for
both.’ I ordered Pietro to fetch my fowling piece and a couple of balls
out of my apartment. He returned with them, and Alumbrado whispered in
my ear to send him out of the room. Having dismissed the servant,
Alumbrado begged me to charge the gun, but previously to examine
carefully the powder and the balls. I did as he had desired me, and the
gun being charged, Alumbrado said to the Marquis; ‘Now take the gun, my
Lord, and fire it at me.’ My father was almost petrified at this
request, and having gazed at him a good while, with looks of
astonishment, exclaimed: ‘No! I never shall do any thing of that kind!’
‘Then you too are destitute of faith?’ Alumbrado said, looking up to
heaven. ‘O God, how degenerated even the faithful adorers of thy son!’
‘I have declined it out of no other motive,’ the Marquis replied, ‘but
because I will not tempt the omnipotence of God.’ ‘The motive of my
request is not temptation, but the glory of God,’ Alumbrado replied. If
I fall, then I am a daring provoker of the Almighty, and deserve my
fate; but if I remain unhurt, you will have reason to conclude that the
power of God has warded off the ball, and know in what light to view
me.’ So saying, he uncovered his breast, retreated three steps, and
desired my father to fire.
(_To be continued._)
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