The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 124

(Continued from our last.)

I resolved to conceal Harland's visit, but my father heard of it from his servant. He accused me of having concerted it, I declared my innocence. He vowed if I saw Harland my husband should be acquainted with it. How cruel such harshness. Mr. Mordaunt soon left the castle, he brought me to London; he loved dissipation, and I entered into it, I thought it would banish painful reflections. At the expiration of a year Heaven blest me with a lovely infant. My health was now so delicate, the physicians ordered me to Bristol. Mordaunt accompanied me thither, not indeed out of tenderness, but ostentation; he wished the world to think him perfect, and yet counterfeited a love for me, which in reality existed not, as his heart was too depraved to be long susceptible of a virtuous pa.s.sion. My father accompanied us. We had a house one mile from Bristol. Each morning I went to the rooms, the remainder of the day was spent in weeping, and praying over my child, in lulling her to sleep, and hus.h.i.+ng her feeble cries.

I had just entered the room one morning, and was conversing with a young lady, when turning round, I was startled by the figure of Harland.

Struck by his appearance, various emotions rushed upon me, I could scarcely stand, trembling I leaned upon my companion--the alteration of his looks too visibly manifested the disorder of his mind; despair tinged every feature, and the l.u.s.tre of his eyes was totally extinguished. I hurried from the room---I forgot my resolution---we cannot always command our feelings---the power above makes allowances for human frailty. I would have discontinued going to the rooms, only I feared exciting the prying eyes of suspicion. I again went, beheld him, and returned more unhappy. In the afternoon, walking alone in the garden, I saw a bit of paper thrown over the hedge, I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and perceiving Harland's writing, I started, I hesitated whether to open it---imagination pictured his sufferings---I broke the seal, and perused the following lines:

"Julia, the miserable Harland is on the point of eternally quitting his native kingdom, he flies to remote regions, far distant from an object who has banished peace--will she yet be cruel, or will her nature, once gently kind, comply with the last request of one, whose last sigh will be for her. Oh Julia! to leave this kingdom without bidding you adieu, is more than I can support---I sicken at the idea. Refuse me not, I conjure you, one parting interview, to sooth the solitary hours of my life, I have wandered on bewildered with misfortune, marked for affliction from the earliest dawn---nought but the long dark night can efface them. If you comply, as ah! surely you must, leave a note where you received this, and at any hour or place you shall appoint, I will meet you. Adieu, most loved and most lamented object of my soul."

I could not refuse his last request---I was not proof against such entreaties, I might be censured, but I could not conquer the tender feelings which compelled me to comply. After supper, I stole to a little shady bower, situated in a shrubbery, and seldom frequented by any but myself. Here Harland waited for me---our meeting it is impossible to describe---he began with gentle upbraidings. Unable to bear the idea of his thinking me faithless, I declared the compulsive power which forced me to the precipice of despair. His feelings at this discovery overcame him---he raved at the cruelty of that parent, who, actuated by motives of avarice and ambition, had sacrificed the happiness of his child for ever---he implored my forgiveness for ever thinking me inconstant---he almost wept at my sufferings---he besought the being above to inspire me with fort.i.tude and resignation to sustain them. The time approached for our separation---it was absolutely necessary on my account. Harland attempted to bid me adieu, but his words were inarticulate, he took my hand and prest it to his palpitating heart, I had endeavoured to summon resolution, his distress conquered me, a last interview, an eternal farewell from the dearest object of my love---the dreadful idea overpowered me, and I sunk fainting on his bosom, he claspt me to it, the emotions of our souls could not be restrained, my pallid cheek was wet with tears of misery, I forgot the world, I only remembered the cruelty of my fate. At that instant Mr. Mordaunt and my father rushed into the bower, their frantic rage, I shuddered at the recollection of.

The former flew at Harland from whose arms I had sunk, full of the most direful apprehensions. He attempted to remonstrate, but in vain, the sword was at his breast, the instructive impulse of self-preservation prompted his defence, it was too dreadful to behold. I fainted, and in a happy insensibility was conveyed to my chamber. Returning life made me too soon acquainted with the fatal consequences of the combat, they were both wounded---a shocking tale had spread to my dishonour, it was credited, appearances so much against me, infamy branded till then my unspotted character, my father's proud soul swelled at the ignominy of his daughter, he considered me as an everlasting disgrace to his family, as having sullied that blood, of whose purity he so often boasted---he rushed to the apartment, where I sat stupified with the horrid events of the night, myself the fatal cause---there, there was the arrow which pierced me to the soul, his whole face was distorted with pa.s.sion---rage flashed from his eyes, in a voice scarce intelligible, he exclaimed, "wretch, cursed be the day on which you were born, you have branded the ill.u.s.trious names of your ancestors with infamy; from this hour I renounce and curse you in the bitterness of my soul, and swear in the sight of heaven never more to see you." For a moment I stood transfixed like a statue---a shriek wild and piercing then broke from me, and I fell senseless on the floor. When a little recovered, I called for my cruel father, I implored him to withdraw his curses, but he was gone---reason could not retain the shocks she had received. A violent fever succeeded---for a month my life was despaired of: the Almighty, however, thought fit to prolong existence. The first use I made of returning sense, was to enquire for my cruel connexions. Sir George and Mr. Mordaunt had both left the house with solemn a.s.severations of never again beholding me. Harland, dear ill-fated Harland, had paid the last sad debt of nature. My husband had stood his trial, but possessed of interest and wealth, he was soon acquitted; my child he had taken with him, and left orders for me to quit the house on my recovery; also a paper wherein I was informed of the settlement made on me, and the person on whom I was to draw for it. Miss Rivers, my faithful friend, neglected me not in the hour of severe calamity; she had me conveyed to a family in Wales, who had just retired there, and had no objection to receive me as a boarder. Heartbroken, I forsook a world where my dearest hopes were blasted, yet I left it with no impious repinings against my destiny. I confessed myself properly punished, humbled to the dust--I felt the impropriety of having ever placed myself in a suspicious situation; but I was thoroughly penitent for having (though I trusted in a slight degree) deviated from the path of rect.i.tude--Heaven, I fancied, accepted my contrition, by placing me in a family of love, such as I shall now describe.

Captain Harley, after a life of activity in the service of his country, retired to a sweet retreat in South Wales, to enjoy the closing evening of a busy day; his family consisted of a wife, the faithful companion of all his sorrows, and one daughter, who being the only survivor of a numerous offspring, was doubly endeared to them. She was the staff of their age, the doating of their hopes, and they bore her continually on their hearts, to that heaven which they knew would alone protect her from those calamitous strokes they had so often experienced in the course of their lives.

The retreat they had chosen, was by its seclusion, calculated for the narrowness of their income, and by its beauty for the promotion of their pleasure.

He rented but as much land as would supply his household wants, this he delighted in cultivating himself, a.s.sisted by an old trusty servant who had been a soldier in his regiment. Conrade was the veteran son of calamity, and his misfortunes strengthened the claim his services had given him upon the affections of his master. During a late contest, a brave and only son had fallen by his side in the field of battle; scarcely could he survive the blow, but consolation effected what fort.i.tude had no power to do. Captain Harley was not only a good soldier but a good christian, and by pointing out the path to heaven, gave poor Conrade full a.s.surance, by faithfully discharging the humble duties of his station, he should obtain a pa.s.sport to rejoin his brave and beloved son.

Louisa at the period of their retirement was fifteen; her mind and form were opening to perfection, and both promised to contain the fairest loveliness of ingenious innocence, and graceful symmetry.

The lilly and the rose gave their most beautiful tints to her complection; her fine black eyes beamed with the sensibility of her soul, never did she hear the tale of sorrow without emotion.

Harley had little to give, of that little he gave abundantly--not the largeness of the gift but real inclination of the donor, he knew was regarded by the power above. Like the benevolent pastor of Auburn village, to him repaired the needy and the wanderer, and found a ready welcome--often too, the weather beaten soldier in journeying to his native home, to lay his bones among those of his forefathers, turned in hither, and cheared by hospitable fare,

"Shoulder'd his crutch, & shew'd how fields were won."

Harley knew what it was to have the unsheltered head exposed to the chill blast and sharp bitings of the wintry frost.

Such was this little family of love, who retired amidst Welch mountains, enjoyed that content and happiness which the votaries of fas.h.i.+on, misled by dissipation, can never experience.

Louisa was my constant companion--like a ministering seraph she hushed the turbulence of anguish, and whispered peace to my perturbed soul.

(_To be continued._)

ANECDOTES.

"My father desired me, Sir, to _ax_ you," said a physical disciple to a certain eminent pharmacopolist, "that I might attend you to all your patients, as you know, Sir, it is the last year of my time"---"You shall, Bob, you shall," replied the master; "Come, get your hat." They entered the sick man's chamber, and the usual circ.u.mstances occurred, such as feeling the pulse, _et cetera_; After a.s.suming an appearance of profound thought, the vender of galenicals told the wife of the sick man, with much gravity, that her husband was in extreme danger, and that she had contributed to his malady by giving him oysters: The woman, in much confusion, at last owned the fact. When they had quitted the house, Bob enquired with much earnestness of his master, how he could possibly know that the patient had eaten oysters. "You foolish boy," replied the other, "I saw some sh.e.l.ls under the bed." The next time Bob went alone, and returned to his master with a ghastly visage, and told him the patient was dead by eating a horse---"A horse, Bob," rejoined the esculapian chief, "how do you know that?" "Oh, easy enough, Sir, I looked under the bed, and saw a bridle and saddle!"

A Gentleman of Angiers, who did not trust to his memory, and wrote down all that he was to do; wrote in his pocket-book, "Memorandum, that I must be married when I come to Tours."

Before the conquest by the Normans, the land in Norfolk was so light and fine, that the farmers usually ploughed it with two rabbits and a case knife.

A GRAMMATICAL EPISTLE To _Miss_ SALLY SYNTAX.

MADAM,

Amongst the _numeral propositions_ towards a matrimonial _union_ with your amiable _person_, I hope you'll not _decline_ the _interjection_ of my preliminary pretences. I should not wish to be a mere _noun adjective_ to you in all _cases_, but I _positively_ declare, that _comparatively_ speaking, I should be _superlatively_ happy to agree with you in the _subjunctive mood_. I trust you'll not opiniate me singular, for desiring to have the _plural_ in my family; I shall fabricate no _verbal_ oration, to prove how I long to have our affections in _common of two_: but I presume, that in case of a _conjunction copulative_, you'll use no _indicative_ solicitation to be in the _imperative mood_, as I am determined to be in the _potential active_, while you are in the _future pa.s.sive_, or in the _supine_: for it is the _optative_ of my soul to become your _relative_, by the _antecedent_ of _regular conjugation_, as this alone can const.i.tute a _lawful concord_ with the _feminine gender_, and afford us a _participle_ of _substantive_ happiness. Every _article possessive_ or _genitive_ shall become a _dative translation_ to you; nothing shall be _accusative_ against your _government_; and your sweet _nominative_ without a _p.r.o.noun_ or even _adverb_ shall be my _vocative_, till death the great _ablative_ of all living, by the _gradual declention_ of our corporeal nature, puts a _final termination_ to the _present tense_, and time, thro' an _infinite progression_ of ages, may render us _preterperfect_ in the _future tense_; in the interim, my _princ.i.p.al part of speech_ in its _primitive_ or _derivative extension_ is, to the end, that you may put the most charitable _construction_ on this _simple proposition_, and that your _definitive resolution_ may be _consonant_ to the wishes of your very _indeclinable_ lover

MICHAEL DE MARIBUS.

ANECDOTES.

On the first night of the representation of the comedy of the Suspicious Husband, Foote sat by a plain, honest, well meaning citizen, whose imagination was strongly impressed by the incidents of the play. At dropping of the curtain, the wit complained to his neighbour of the impropriety of suffering Ranger to go off as he came on, without being reclaimed. "Could not the author," said he, "throw this youth, in the course of his nocturnal rambles, into some ridiculous scene of distress, which might have reclaimed him? As he now stands, who knows but the rogue, after all the pleasure he has given us, may spend the night in a round house;" "Then," says the Citizen, "if it happens in my Ward, I'll release him, for I'm sure he is too honest a fellow to run away from his bail."

A young woman lately applied to the manager of a Theatre to be engaged as a vocal performer---When required to give an instance of her ability, she began Mr. Incledon's celebrated ballad of _Ma chere amie_ my charming fair, thus---"March after me, my charming fair;"---The manager bowed, and the lady became scarce.

GRACEFULNESS.

He who seeks to know the origin of Gracefulness, must look for it in his own mind; whatever is graceful there, must be so in expression. It is a quality a.n.a.logous to the most exquisite tenderness of affliction; that sweet enthusiasm of action which goes hand in hand with beauty; or, if we may be allowed the phrase, it is the _soul_ of beauty, the _emphasis_ of pleasing expression.----Grace is the sublimity of beauty; the modest pride of virtue; the gentle dignity of love. An att.i.tude expressive of the pensive and pleasing melancholy, a sentiment peculiar to the finest souls, is ever most graceful. The loveliest of the graces has on her face a cast of sadness mixed with the sweetest joy.

NEW-YORK.

MARRIED,

On Monday evening the 31st ult. by the Rev. Dr. Beach, LUCAS ELMENDORF, Esq. of Esopus, to Miss ANN WADDLE, of this city.

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 29th ult. to the 4th inst._

_Thermometor observed at 6, A.M. 3, P.M._ _Prevailing winds._ _OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

deg. deg. 6. 3. 6. 3.

100 100 Jan. 29 30 44 e. do. clear, calm, sm. rn. lt. wd.

30 27 35 50 nw. w. clear high wind, do. do.

31 24 50 30 e. do. cloudy lt. wd. sm. rn. & sn.

Feb. 1 30 30 e. do. cloudy high wind, rain do.

2 37 49 w. do. rain cm. clear high wind.

3 32 44 w. do. clear light wind, do. do.

4 31 40 w. do. clear light wind, do. do.