The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 1

The New-York Weekly Magazine.

by Various.

ADDRESS.

_The very flattering patronage with which this work, for two years, has been kindly favoured, demands the warmest acknowledgments of the Editors. Since its commencement, it has witnessed the demise of other periodical publications; some established long before it, others that have taken their rise at a later period; while the particular distinction honorably awarded the WEEKLY MAGAZINE, has marked it an object of public favor, and denoted the estimation in which it has ever been considered; not as matter of exultation do the Editors make this remark; but it gives their friends stronger claims on their grat.i.tude, and acts as a momentum to impel them to exertions which in some degree might enable them to merit such attention. Strongly impressed with a sense of their duties as conductors of a work so universally read, they have, with the utmost solicitude, guarded against the intrusion of any thing, in the smallest degree, injurious to the feelings of the religionist. Their selection has uniformly tended either to inform and enlighten the understanding, to inculcate the purest lessons of morality, or to unbend the mind with innocent levities. To effect those primary objects, they have studiously endeavored to make the work abound with curious investigations, elegant descriptions, historical narrations, biographical sketches, well-chosen tales, essays, anecdotes, observations, maxims, poetical effusions, &c. &c., all contributing in the highest degree to mend the heart, to improve the head, and to form the taste. In order more fully to designate the properties of this work in the t.i.tle, it is intended to commence the third volume under that of the SENTIMENTAL and LITERARY MAGAZINE; this alteration, we trust, will be universally acceptable. We shall only trespa.s.s on the patience of our friends to make one remark more; the cheapness of this work is unrivalled; let it be considered that advertis.e.m.e.nts and news are wholly excluded--the former, in a literary publication, has, in our eyes, a very unpleasant appearance, beside the room engrossed to the exclusion of more agreeable matter; the latter, from the very general circulation of daily newspapers, must be rendered wholly uninteresting. This, then, is devoted solely to literature--and the many entire works, which, in the last two years it has contained, amount, when separately purchased, to considerably more than the price of the magazines during that period--besides the immense number of anecdotes, essays, extracts, sketches, &c. &c. and the poetry, which, alone, comprises more than an eighth of the whole._

_Filled with a laudable ambition to render ourselves, by every thing in our power, worthy the continuance of general favor, we are, with the greatest respect, the devoted servants of a generous public,_

_The EDITORS._

_PRINTING-OFFICE, June 30, 1797._

_UTILE DULCI._

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, July 6, 1796.+ [+No. 53.+

+For the New-York Weekly Magazine.+

MORNING REFLECTIONS.

In one of my rambles I saw a collection of people, some appeared highly elated, while others in stupid indifference were not the least affected; I advanced, and found two boys fighting; in attempting to part them, I had nearly got myself in the same predicament, from a motley bullying fellow, whose feelings, if he was possessed of any, were more becoming a tyger than a human being. Those who were before mute, appeared delighted in the prospect of another scene of brutality, expecting that we would decide our dispute with blows; I plainly saw that the most prudent step for me, would be to leave them as peaceable as possible in possession of the field.

From what source these barbarous dispositions spring, and how they can exist in a country where information is so easily attained, would, to a foreigner, appear a mystery; every child of nature has a vacancy in their understandings to be filled up, and why it should not be stored with rational humanity, let parents judge. Slaves from dejection become callous, hence barbarous sports are congenial with their minds, in proportion to the severe treatment they receive from their matters.

How degraded is that master who neglects to inculcate moral principles into his slave, and how much more wretched are parents who attend not to the improvement of their own children; too many instances of such omissions momentarily occur; a parent who entertains a child with a bull-beat, fixes a supposition in the tender mind that the creation was formed only for caprice, and is verified in their tormenting domestic animals; with years the feelings naturally become hardened, and the youth thus brought up, only waits an opportunity to leave off all restraint. This is plainly evinced in war, when the law is suspended, murders and robbery become fashionable, and those very men who were peaceable inhabitants, with exultation take the lives of strangers whom they have never seen, and by whom they have never been injured.

T.

NEW-YORK _July 1, 1796_.

[[For sources, see the end of the second installment.]]

_+Description+ of the famous SALT MINES at +Williska+ in +Poland+._

There are mines of salt in Hungary, Catalonia, and many other parts of Europe, but the greatest in the world is that at Williska in Poland, from which a great part of the continent is supplied. Williska is a small town not far from Cracow, and the mine has been worked ever since the year 1251, when it was accidentally found in digging for a well.

There are eight openings or descents into this mine, six in the field, and two in the town itself, which are most used for letting down the workmen, and taking up the salt; the others being mostly used for letting in wood and necessaries.

The openings are five square, and about four feet wide; they are lined throughout with timber, and at the top of each there is a large wheel with a rope as thick as a cable, by which things are let down and drawn up: it is worked by a horse. When a stranger has a curiosity to see these works, he must descend by one of these holes; he is first to put on a miner's coat over his clothes, and then being led to the mouth of the hole by a miner, who serves for a guide, the miner fastens a smaller rope to the larger one, and ties it about himself; he sits in this, and taking the stranger in his lap, he gives the sign to be let down. They are carried down a narrow and dark well to the depth of six hundred feet perpendicular; this is in reality an immense depth, but the terror and tediousness of the descent makes it appear to most people vastly more than it is. As soon as the miner touches the ground at the bottom, he slips out of the rope, and sets his companion upon his legs.

The place where they are set down here is perfectly dark, but the miner strikes fire, and lights a small lamp, by means of which (taking the stranger he has care of by the arm) he leads him through a number of strange pa.s.sages and meanders, all descending lower and lower, till they come to certain ladders by which they descend an immense depth, and this through pa.s.sages perfectly dark. The damp, cold, and darkness of these places, and the horror of being so many yards under ground, generally makes strangers heartily repent before they get thus far; but when at bottom they are well rewarded for their pains, by a sight that could never have been expected after so much horror.

(_The conclusion in our next._)

[[This serial began in No. 45 of the New-York Weekly; the last 4 of its 12 installments are in Volume II. For sources, see the end of the final (4th) installment.]]

THE FATAL EFFECTS OF INDULGING THE Pa.s.sIONS, Exemplified in the History of M. De La Paliniere.

_Translated from the French._

(Continued from page 410 of Vol. I.)

I informed her of my determination, a.s.suring her, at the same time, it was irrevocable. I confess, however, notwithstanding my cert.i.tude, at moments, of her hatred, I secretly flattered myself, that this declaration would astonish, and produce a most lively emotion in Julia; and it is certain, had I discovered the least signs of regret on her part, I should have cast myself at her feet, and abjured a resolution which pierced my very soul.

I was deceived in supposing myself hated; I was equally wrong in imagining my conduct could inspire even momentary love. Great minds are incapable of hatred; but a continued improper and bad conduct will produce indifference, as it did with Julia. I had lost her heart past recal. She heard me with tranquility, without surprize, and without emotion. My reputation, said she, is already injured, and this will confirm the unjust suspicions of the public; but if my presence is an obstacle to your happiness, I am ready to depart; my innocence is still my own, and I shall have sufficient strength to submit to my fate.

Cruel woman! cried I, shedding a torrent of tears, with what ease do you speak of parting!

Is it not your own proposal!

And is it not I who adore you, and you who hate me!

Of what benefit is your love to me; or of what injury is what you call my hatred to you?

I have made you unhappy; I am unjust, capricious, mad; and yet if you do hate me, Julia, your revenge is too severe; there is no misery can equal your hatred.

I do not hate you.

The manner in which she p.r.o.nounced this, said so positively I do not love you, that I was transported beyond all bounds of patience; I became furious, yet the next instant, imagining I saw terror in the eyes of Julia, I fell at her feet. A tear, a sigh at that moment, had changed my future fate, but she still preserved her cold tranquility. I hastily got up, went to the door, and stopped. Farewell for ever! said I, half suffocated with pa.s.sion. Julia turned pale, and rose as if to come to me; I advanced towards her, and she fell back into her chair, ready almost to faint. I interpreted this violent agitation, into terror.

What, am I become a subject of horror! cried I; well, I will deliver you from this odious object. So saying, I darted from the chamber in an agony of despair.

My uncle was absent, I no longer had a friend, no one to advise or counteract the rashness of the moment. Distracted, totally beside myself, I ran to the parents of Julia, declared my intention, added, Julia herself was desirous of a separation, and that I would give back all her fortune.

They endeavoured to reason with me, but in vain; I informed them I should go directly into the country, where I should stay three days, and when I came back I expected to find myself alone in my own house. I next wrote to Julia to inform her of my proceedings, and departed, as I had said I would, the same evening for the country.

My pa.s.sions were too much agitated to let me perceive the extent of misery to which I condemned myself; and what seems now inconceivable was, that though I loved my wife dearer than ever, and was inwardly persuaded I might yet regain her affections, I found a kind of satisfaction in making our rupture thus ridiculously public. I never could have determined on a separation from Julia with that coolness and propriety which such things, when absolutely necessary, demand. I wanted to astonish, to agitate, to rouze her from her state of indifference, which, to me, was more dreadful even than her hatred. I flattered myself that, hearing me, she had doubted my sincerity, and supposed me incapable of finally parting from her.