The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 50

"The genius of love--I have loved too, and know how to advise in affairs of the heart. But tell me sincerely, my Lord, would your father consent to a match beneath your dignity?"

"It would be of no consequence if he should not; I am Duke."

"I understand you; however I fear Amelia would never consent to a union which should be dest.i.tute of the benediction of the Marquis of Villa**al."

"My father loves me, and he will never oppose his only son in a matter upon which depends the happiness of his life."

"Well then! I will leave you to your good fortune. I shall not fail to contribute as much as is in my power to promote that union. However, (added she with dignity) I expect from your candour, that you will not misinterpret my interview with you, and the interest I take in that affair."

"I look upon it as a proof of your inestimable friends.h.i.+p."

"O! my children!" the Countess resumed with great emotion, "I love you as a mother. I could not bear any longer that two people, who seem to have been born for each other, should misunderstand one another in a manner so tormenting to both of you. You will render Amelia happy, my Lord, or I am dreadfully mistaken in my opinion of you. With this hope I put the fate of my friend entirely in your hands. I confide to your care an angel, whose early improvement was my work; and const.i.tutes my pride, and whose perfections you scarcely know by half. I entrust to you a being of the purest and most excellent of hearts. Conclude from this, upon the confidence I repose in you."

"I shall endeavour to deserve it."

"Retire now, else we shall be surprised by Amelia; but take care not to make her suspect our interview and conversation. You even must not visit us this evening earlier than usual."

I promised it, and retired. My whole frame had been in a feverish tremor from the beginning of our conversation. I could scarcely utter the most necessary answers to the discourses of the Baroness. To be beloved by Amelia! This intelligence imparadised me, and my heart could scarcely contain the unspeakable bliss which had been showered down upon me.

I went home like a dreaming person, went again abroad, and my feet carried me, unknowing to me, to the spot whither a secret impulse urged me to go. However, the severe command of the Baroness had drawn a large circle around Amelia's abode, which repelled me. I hovered at the margin of it like a spell-bound spirit, and sighed for the arrival of the appointed hour. Never had the setting in of night been expected with more impatience, and the sun appeared to me to retire unusually late from the horizon.

At length the wished-for hour arrived; however, the moment when I was going to the house which contained all that was dear to me, an unspeakable anxiety damped suddenly my rapturous joy. I had promised not to betray by my behaviour the intelligence which the Baroness had imparted to me, and yet I deemed it impossible to preserve such a dominion over myself if the vehemency of my state of mind should not abate. This was the source of my anxiety, which added to the danger of exposing myself, because it deprived me of the small remnant of self dominion which my rapturous joy had left me. I entered the house. The woman of the Countess told me her Lady was in the garden. I went through several rows of trees without finding her. The moon peeped now and then through the fleecy clouds, and concealed her silvery orb again. The great extent of the garden, and the impetuous state of my mind, increased the difficulty of finding the idol of my heart. At length, stepping forth from a side path, enclosed with high hedges, I fancied I saw something stirring at a distance, near a statue. Having advanced some paces the light of the moon reflected from the marble statue upon Amelia, removed every doubt. I approached with tottering steps, and found Amelia reclining against a pedestal of a Diana, and immersed in profound meditation. The rustling of the dry leaves beneath my footsteps, roused her from her reverie.

(_To be continued._)

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

REMARKS ON MUSIC.

(Continued from page 91.)

The present universal pa.s.sion for this art, and the fas.h.i.+on of making it a necessary part of education, induces me to consider it as relating to the fair s.e.x, more particularly. Parents are naturally inclined to make their children partake of those amus.e.m.e.nts the most prevailing and fas.h.i.+onable. As music in this age comes under that denomination, it is no wonder we find every attention paid to this qualification at the earliest period of life. The most eminent masters are obtained; and much time and expence bestowed to acquire this accomplishment. The fond parent, anxious to embellish the darling child, and render her fit for polite company, compels her to perseverance, without discriminating the propensity of her own nature, but vainly imagines, that a proficiency is certainly to be obtained in proportion to the reputation of her instructor. Under this delusion the young lady is too often brought into public company, and exhibits her own performance, to the well-bred, amidst the admiration and astonishment of the ignorant many, and the silent pity of the judicious few. Here again let us call to mind the observation of Plutarch, and consider how far the manners of a people are denoted by the state of their music. The present state of dissipation in the fas.h.i.+onable world, and the agitation of spirits ever attendant on crouded a.s.semblies and pleasurable pursuits, elevate the mind and taste above the standard of sober thoughts. Every thing is sought which can a.s.sist the temporary frenzy, and nothing deemed worth our knowing but how to forget ourselves. This unhappy situation renders the generality of our fas.h.i.+onable people lost to any serious examination of true or false impression, while they are indiscriminately led to approve or condemn whatever the mult.i.tude of fas.h.i.+on establishes by its sanction. It is not now sought as a repose for the mind after its fatigues, but to support its tumults; and the imagination is now to be surprised with the wonderful execution of the performer, whilst the effect is totally neglected.

Since the supreme Being has formed many of his most beautiful works according to the principles of harmony, from whence some of our most pure and affecting pleasures arise, can it be looked upon as unbecoming, that our youth of both s.e.xes should bestow some portion of their time to the study of what was manifestly intended by Providence to allure us to love of order, according to the Platonic doctrine quoted by Plutarch?

surely not; the younger part of the female s.e.x, who discover the least propensity to music, or shew any signs of having a good ear, should certainly learn music, not for the sake of rendering these fit for the fas.h.i.+onable world, nor for parade and ostentation; but should so learn as to amuse their own family, and for that domestic comfort they were by Providence designed to promote; and to relieve the anxieties and cares of this life, to inspire cheerfulness, and elevate the mind to a sense of love of order, virtue and religion.

A. O.

(_To be continued._)

NEW-YORK _Sept. 26, 1796_.

_NEW-YORK._

MARRIED,

A few days ago by the Rev. Dr. Beach, Mr. RICHARD ELLIS to Miss CATHARINE VAN TUYL.

Also Mr. PETER VANDERVOORT LEYDARD to Miss MARIA VAN TUYL---both the ladies, daughters to Andrew Van Tuyl, Esq. of this city.

On Wednesday last by the Rev. Dr. Beach, Mr. ROBERT WARDELL to Miss LAVINIA WOODS, daughter to John Woods, Esq.

_METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS._ _From the 18th to the 24th inst._

_Days of the Month._ _Thermometer observed at 8, A.M. 1, P.M. 6, P.M._ _Prevailing winds._ _OBSERVATIONS on the WEATHER._

deg. deg. deg. 8. 1. 6. 8. 1. 6.

100 100 100 Sept. 18 55 58 25 53 75 nw. do. do. cloudy, h wd. do. do.

19 52 50 64 53 50 w. nw. do. clear, h. wd. do. do. lt w.

20 57 75 68 66 75 nw. do. do. clear, h. w. do. do. do.

21 57 67 50 63 50 nw. sw. ne. clear, lt. wd. do. do. do.

22 66 73 75 58 50 s. sw. sw. clear, rn. very high. wd.

23 50 63 59 n. do. do. clear, lt. wd. do. do.

24 53 25 67 75 64 w. sw. do. clear, lt. wd. do. do.

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

TO CLARA.

And could'st thou think our commerce thus should end, Oblivion thus blot out the sacred fire, Thy virtues, worth, and merit that expire, That does adorn my lovely charming friend: Ah no! while mem'ry holds her seat Within the precincts of this breast, The soft sensation e'er will beat, And e'er remain my steadfast guest; Nor, while the blood flows round my heart, With the blest image will I part: While o'er each raptur'd scene will fancy play, And friends.h.i.+p's consecrated flame shall light the way.

Alas! my mind recalls with rapturous joy Those early times when tender Clara smil'd; Nor pain nor sorrow did our souls annoy, When social converse the soft hours beguil'd.

Where oft' when Sol's bright beams illum'd the morn, Together we have tripp'd the pearly lawn; With rapturous joy have hail'd the new-born day, And tun'd to nature's G.o.d the vocal lay: And oft' when evening's sable humid cloud The glowing sun retiring did uncloud, On airy pinions borne, by fancy rais'd, With solemn awe and adoration gaz'd At that great power, whose mandate does controul, Combine, connect, and regulate the whole.

Thus did our bosoms mutual glow With sacred friends.h.i.+p's flame; We only wept for others' woe, Not did we weep in vain: For white-rob'd charity, borne by the breeze along, Heard and approv'd the sympathizing song.

Those early joys, alas! are o'er, For fate's barb'd arrows struck my soul; Pale sorrow does my bosom gore, And anguish all my mind controul: My heart's unstrung, no more can music charm, Nor mirth nor pleasure my cold bosom warm; For melancholy's poison to me clings, And sorrow's dark veil'd mantle round me flings: For, O alas! unpitying Heav'n Has clos'd in everlasting sleep, The gentlest soul that e'er was giv'n O'er misery's sad form to weep: Though kind, though chaste, to virtue strict allied, To Death's unerring shafts--she bow'd--and died!

Yes, dear Maria, though thou art no more, Reflection e'er will prey upon my heart; Until we meet upon that blissful sh.o.r.e, In joys uninterrupted, ne'er to part.

But hark, what magic sound Thrilling the ambient air around, So soft, so gentle--now more loud, Some seraph, surely, rides upon the cloud; Or, is it Orpheus with his heav'n-born lay, Driving the mystic shades of pain away: Or is it friends.h.i.+p's dulcet voice, whose strain Can thus raze out the troubles of the brain; O yes, 'tis friends.h.i.+p--friends.h.i.+p's hallow'd song, To her alone such heavenly powers belong.

Angelic maid, again strike the wrapt wire, Let music's softest notes flow from thy lyre; With sweet vibrations cut the liquid air, And banish from our souls corroding care; For when thy flowing numbers ride the gale, The woe-struck heart forgets her tragic tale; To black-rob'd melancholy bid adieu, We catch the rapturous sound, and only think of you.

EMMA.