The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 103

He never slandered friend or foe, Nor triumph'd in another's woe; And tho', when young, he us'd to roam, For years he lov'd his little home: Securely there he laid him down, Nor fear'd the world's ill-natur'd frown; No wild ambitious thoughts possest His quiet, unaspiring breast.

He envied neither wealth nor power, Enjoying still the present hour; Contented with his daily bread, Each night he sought his peaceful bed: Stranger to vice he knew no fear, As life's important end drew near; He breath'd his last without a sigh, And shew'd how Innocence shou'd die Blush, reader, while these lines you scan Here lies a MONKEY, not a man.

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_UTILE DULCI._

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, January 4, 1797.+ [+No. 79.+

THE NETTLE AND THE ROSE: An Essay.

Our bane and physic the same earth bestows, And near the noisome nettle blooms the rose.

We may consider human life as a garden, in which Roses and Nettles are promiscuously scattered, and in which we as often feel the sting of the wounding Nettle, as we enjoy the fragrance of the blooming Rose. Those bowers of delight, entwined with the woodbine and jessamine, under whose friendly umbrage we seek shelter from the noon-day sun, sometimes are the abode of snakes, adders, and other venomous creatures, which wound us in those unguarded scenes of delight. As the year has its seasons, and winter and summer are constantly in pursuit of each other, so changeable likewise is the condition of mortals; and as the elements are frequently disturbed by storms, hurricanes, and tempests, so is the mind of man frequently ruffled and discomposed, till the sunshine of reason and philosophy bursts forth and dispels the gloom. Murmering brooks, purling streams, and sequestered groves, whatever the fictions of a poetical imagination may have advanced, are not always the seat of unmingled pleasure, nor the abode of uninterrupted happiness.

The hapless Florio pined away some months on the delightful banks of the Severn: he complained of the cruelty of the lovely Annabella, and told his fond tale to the waters of that impetuous stream, which hurried along regardless of his plaints. He gathered the lilies of the field: but the lilies were not so fair as his Annabella, nor the fragrance of the blushing rose so sweet as her breath; the lambs were not so innocent, nor the sound of the tabour on the green half so melodious as her voice. Time, however, has joined Florio and Annabella in the fetters of wedlock, and the plaints of the swain are now changed. The delusion of the enchantment is now vanished, and what he but lately considered as the only object worthy of his sublunary pursuit, he now contemplates with coolness, indifference, and disgust: enjoyment has metamorphosed the Rose into a Nettle.

Ernestus, contrary to his inclination, was compelled by his parents to marry the amiable Clara, whose sense, tenderness, and virtues, soon fixed the heart of the roving Ernestus; and what at first gave him pain and disgust, by degrees became familiar, pleasing, and delightful: the Nettle was here changed to the Rose.

The wandering libertine, who pursues the Rose thro' the unlawful paths of love, who tramples under foot every tender plant that comes within his reach, and who roves from flower to flower, like the bee, only to rob it of its sweets, will at last lose his way, and, when benighted, be compelled to repose on the restless bed of wounding Nettles.

The blooming Rose is an utter stranger to the wilds of ambition, where gloomy clouds perpetually obscure the beams of the joyful sun, where the gentle zephyrs never waft thro' the groves, but discordant blasts are perpetually howling, and where the climate produces only Thorns and Nettles.

The Rose reaches its highest perfection in the garden of industry, where the soil is neither too luxuriant, nor too much impoverished. Temperance fans it with the gentlest zephyrs, and health and contentment sport around it. Here the Nettle no sooner makes its appearance, than the watchful eye of prudence espies it, and, though it may not be possible totally to eradicate it, it is never suffered to reach to any height of perfection.

Since then human life is but a garden, in which weeds and flowers promiscuously shoot up and thrive, let us do what we can to encourage the culture of the Rose, and guard against the spreading Nettle. However barren may be the soil that falls to our lot, yet a careful and a.s.siduous culture will contribute not a little to make the garden, at least, pleasing and cheerful.

DISINTERESTED ACTION.

A disinterested action, if it be not conducted by justice, is, at best, indifferent in its nature, and not unfrequently even turns to vice. The expences of society, of presents, of entertainments, and the other helps to chearfulness, are actions merely indifferent, when not repugnant to a better method of disposing of our superfluities; but they become vicious when they obstruct or exhaust our abilities from a more virtuous disposition of our circ.u.mstances.

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 203.)

"And yet it has been affected in a very simple manner. A moveable board, which could be pushed to and fro without the least noise, was concealed among those of which the cell was composed. Hiermanfor stole through that hidden avenue as soon as he saw from without, through a small hole, the lamp extinguished. He could enter without the least danger of detection, because you have turned your back towards him, and fixed your attention entirely on the altar."

"Then every thing had been previously prepared and pre-concerted with the King?"

"Certainly!"

"And the whole conduct of the King has been regulated by Hiermanfor?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"The incident," the Duke replied, after a pause, "now ceases, indeed, to appear miraculous to me; however, the behaviour of the king seems to me so much the more mysterious. How is it possible that this reverend old man could consent to deceive me in so degrading a manner?"

"It was no easy task to perswade him to it. However, after Hiermanfor had exhorted his eloquence in vain, he declared at length proudly, that no other choice was left him, than either leaving his crown forever in the possession of an usurper, or to consent to that innocent artifice.

The King thought he was bound to choose the latter, for the benefit of the empire and his private happiness."

A long silence on both sides. At length the Duke resumed: "Hiermanfor showed me the ghost of my tutor at the church-yard; by what means has that been effected?"

"Your Grace will allow me to leave this question unanswered!"

"For what reason?" the Duke asked with seeming coolness.

"Because my answer would explain nothing to you."

"Why do you think so? the explanations which you have given me, as yet, have been very satisfactory to me."

"They concerned only things which you were able to comprehend."

"Indeed! you pay me a very bad compliment!"

"My Lord, do not misunderstand me, you have been telling me a little while ago, that you have not yet been initiated by Hiermanfor in the last mysteries of his philosophy!"

"I did, but what follows thence?"

"That you are still in want of the knowledge which will be requisite, if you are to be capable of comprehending the appearance of your tutor."

"Don't pretend to persuade me that this apparition has been effected by supernatural means."

"I will persuade you to nothing, I only tell you what I know."

"And I tell you only what I do not believe. All the other incidents should have been effected by delusive arts, and Antonio's appearance only be excepted?"

"The appearance of Antonio was no deception."

"You will never make me believe it."

"I cannot blame you for it."