The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 126

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE; or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, February 15, 1797.+ [+No. 85.+

PLEASURES OF OLD AGE.

Though, in old age, the circle of pleasure is contracted, yet within its limits many of those enjoyments remain which are most grateful to human nature.

Temperate mirth is not extinguished by advanced years; the mild pleasures of domestic life still cheer the heart. The entertainments of conversation and social intercourse continue unimpaired. The desire of knowledge is not abated by the frailty of the body, and the leisure of old age affords many opportunities for gratifying that desire. The sphere of observation and reflection is so much enlarged by long acquaintance with the world, as to supply, within itself, a wide range of improving thought. Whilst the aged are engaged in such employments as best suit the infirmities of their nature, they are surrounded, perhaps with families, who treat them with attention and respect; they are honoured by their friends; their characters are established, and are placed beyond the reach of clamour and the strife of tongues; and free from distracting cares can calmly attend to their eternal interests.

No age is doomed to total infelicity provided that we attempt not to do violence to nature, by seeking to extort from one age the pleasures of another, and to gather in the winter of life those flowers which were destined to blossom only in its summer or its spring.

WIT.

Wit is the most dangerous talent we can possess. It must be guarded with great discretion and good nature, otherwise it will create many enemies.

Wit is perfectly consistent with softness and delicacy; yet they are seldom found united. Wit is so flattering to vanity, that they who possess it become intoxicated, and lose all self-command.

Though it is the most captivating, yet it is the most dreaded of all talents: the most dangerous to those who have it, and the most feared by those who have it not. He who is grown rich without it, in safe and sober dulness, shuns it as a disease, and looks upon poverty as its invaluable concomitant.

The moralist declaims against it as the source of irregularity; and the frugal citizen dreads it more than bankruptcy itself: for he considers it as the parent of extravagance and beggary. The Cynic will ask of what use is it? Of very little perhaps: no more is a flower garden, and yet it is allowed, as an object of innocent amus.e.m.e.nt, and delightful recreation.

A woman who possesses this quality has received a most dangerous present, perhaps not less so than beauty itself; especially if it be not sheathed in a temper peculiarly inoffensive, chastised by a most correct judgment, and restrained by more prudence than falls to the common lot.

This talent is more likely to make a woman vain than knowledge; for there is much more danger that folly should arise from the confederation of what is our own, than of what we borrow. But wit, like learning, is not near so common a thing as is imagined. For flippancy, pertness, and impudence are often mistaken for this brilliant quality; and people often imagine they are witty, only because they are indiscreet, and this makes the name of wit so cheap, while its real existence is so rare.

But those who happily possess this talent, cannot be too abstinent in the use of it. It often makes admirers, but never makes friends; and she, who does not desire friends, has a sordid and insensible soul; but she, who is ambitious of making every man her admirer, has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.

GRAt.i.tUDE.

Grat.i.tude is a pleasing emotion. The sense of being distinguished by the kindness of another, gladdens the heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, and gives to any profession, which is agreeable in itself, a double relish, from its being the gift of a friend. Favours, though conferred by men, may become burdensome; but nothing of this kind can affect the intercourse of grat.i.tude with heaven. Its favors are wholly disinterested. The Almighty aims at no end but the happiness of those whom he blesses, and who desires to return from them but a devout and thankful heart.

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 Tsc.h.i.n.k._

(_Continued from page 251._)

"It was an accident."

"And a very fortunate one for your Majesty."

"What do you call fortunate? My family had a lawful claim to the crown of P--------l, and I have an additional right to the possession of it because I have torn it from the head of the usurper at the risk of my life. I would, however, have resigned it cheerfully to my grand uncle if his death had not destroyed that plan. You are mistaken if you think the lot of a King to be so enviable. The burden of government lies heavy on my shoulders."

"O! there are means of alleviating that load."

"Of which I shall make as little use as possible, for it will be the chief object of my cares, and will afford me the greatest pleasure to render my people happy."

"Who could doubt it? Yet I think one ought to make the death of the deceased King publicly known."

"If we could but first convince the people that he has been alive lately. The profound incognito behind which he concealed himself, throws an insurmountable bar in our way. No one would believe us."

"Upon my honour, I almost disbelieve it myself any longer."

"You are right; one needs not to believe what one is convinced of, for you have seen him with your own eyes. If fate had suffered him to show himself in public, every one would have acknowledged him to have been the person that he really was, the old lawful King of P--------l.

Having, however, lived and died in obscurity, the whole matter may remain a secret, and that so much the more because the discovery would be intirely useless. It is therefore my royal pleasure that no mention whatever be made of it. Farewell!" he added after a short pause, "you will always find me your affectionate King."

'Thus ended my audience. Do not desire me, my friend, to disclose to you the ideas and sensations which it produced within me. I shall endeavour to obliterate even the recollection of that scene.

'Alumbrado is very much displeased with the manner in which I have spoken to the King. "Do you imagine," said he, "that his offended pride ever will forgive you the torments of that self-denial which the patience he has opposed to your galling language has cost him? The sacrifice which he has made to his policy by that painful forbearance, will certainly cost you dear. Henceforward, you must renounce every hope of being promoted; for he will be careful to keep in submission, and at a proper distance, a man of spirit, as you must have appeared to him.

This is perhaps the least misfortune that threatens you; your warmth, your ill-timed frankness, may produce consequences of a more serious nature. Alas! why have you not been on your guard? Have I not advised you to appear with humility in his presence?"

'Alumbrado had certainly the most friendly view in reprimanding me thus: he did not know that every word of his wounded my heart like a two-edged dagger.

'I have been interrupted by the visit of a Prelate of very high rank. He came to inform my father and myself that the Vice Queen of P--t--l had been imprisoned by the order of the King, because she has had the imprudence to declare that the new King had usurped the throne in a fraudulent manner, and that it was the duty of every inhabitant of P--t--l to acknowledge only the King of Sp--n as his lawful sovereign, because the voluntary oath of allegiance the P--t--se had sworn to the latter, could not be made void by that which the Duke of B- - - a had obtained by artifice and force. "I cannot conceive," the Prelate added, "what reasonable objection can be alledged against this declaration; but nevertheless, no one dares to affirm it, for fear of sharing the fate of the Vice-Queen."

'The Vice-Queen and the Prelate, appear to me to be in the right.

However, what can be done? Farewell, my friend, and let it not be long before you favour me with an answer.

'P.S. This very moment I received an answer to a letter I had wrote to a friend near the place where the hermit lived. He informs me that the old man expired four months since, worn out with age.'

I suspected already from the first letter, but more so from the second, that the Duke was in danger of taking a course from which he could not return too soon. I imagined I had discovered the design which Alumbrado had formed upon him and shuddered at the idea that he might carry his point. Yet my suspicion against Alumbrado was also a mere supposition, which gave me no right to accuse him. After mature consideration I thought, however, it would be best to deliver the Duke, against whom his plan appeared so be chiefly directed, from his clutches, and thus expected to gain two advantages by one stroke: not only to cut the sinews of Alumbrado's undertaking asunder, but also to guard the Duke against the snare which was laid for him.

With that view I wrote to the latter:

'Your letters have been very important to me; I must, however, beg you to fetch my answer yourself. Don't refuse my request, and hasten to the arms of your friend, whose happiness in a place on which nature seems to have lavished all her blessings, would be complete if you were present.

Here we will discuss the political concerns which give you so much uneasiness, for I have more than one reason for not doing it by way of letter, and my affairs threaten to detain me here some time longer. The journey will not only improve your health, but it will also ease your mind, which is bent down at present by a gloomy sameness of ideas, and very much wants amus.e.m.e.nt and diversion. I am convinced that your melancholy will not pursue you to the paradise that blossoms here. And if only your gloominess of mind shall have left you, you will view things that now appear to you in a frightful shape, in a more pleasing light. At the same time you may expect that the commission the King has charged me with, will enable me to explain to you many political objects which I dare not do in writing. Come, my friend, you certainly will not regret your having undertaken this journey, &c. &c. &c.'

My letter produced the desired effect. The Duke returned me a very affectionate answer, and promised, to begin the journey in a fortnight.

How joyfully and impatiently did my heart pant for his arrival! but I was disappointed. He did not come, but sent me a letter, which I am going to communicate to the reader.

'Why am I not yet arrived? Ask Heaven that question, but not me, for I have done every thing in my power to fulfil my promise. In spite of Alumbrado's remonstrances, I went on board of the s.h.i.+p to convey me to my friend. A favourable breeze that swelled our sails enlivened my hopes of embracing you soon. Evening set in, and the wind and the sky continued to be propitious. The second and the third night stole upon us amid the same favourable auspices.

'I do not know how it happened, that on the third night the recollection of my sainted Amelia awoke within my mind with additional vivacity. It was not, however, a.s.sociated with painful, but with bitter-sweet sensations, which frequently afford to feeling minds a more delicious pleasure than joys unmixed. I proceeded insensibly from sensations to the realms of fancy. I looked at the star of love, and imagined I beheld Amelia's sainted spirit enthroned in its silver l.u.s.tre. My soul soared above the immense s.p.a.ce that separated us, and antic.i.p.ated the bliss of the celestial spirits. O! why has she so soon been rendered insensible of the limits of her power, which obliged her to return to our sublunary globe?

'I felt a faintness which invited me to rest, and having bid adieu to the starry firmament and the ocean, I went to my cabin, where the solacing hand of sleep soon closed my eyes.

'I awoke an hour before the dawn of morn. Finding myself entirely refreshed I left my couch and returned on deck in order to hail the stars once more, before they should be dispelled by the majestic king of day. But what a scene did my gazing eyes behold! The firmament appeared no longer to be over us, but we seemed to ride upon it. I did not know whether I was dreaming or awake, rubbing my eyes repeatedly. In vain, the scene remained unaltered: intense darkness covered the sky, all its stars and galaxies appeared to be on the water.