The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 27

Heaven gave the word, Delia! once more farewell, Ah me! how fleeting all our joys are found; The pangs I feel thy tender heart can tell, For pangs like mine thy tender heart must wound.

s.n.a.t.c.h'd from thy arms, to distant lands I roam, And face the horrors of the howling sea; Far from my long lov'd friends and native home, And far, my Delia! ah, too far from thee!

No more thy pleasing converse cheers my soul, And smooths my pa.s.sage through life's rugged way; Thy smiles no more my wonted cares controul, And give new glories to the golden day.

No more with thee I hail the approach of dawn, And hand in hand the varied landscape rove; Where fostering gales invest the dew-bright lawn, Unlock the garden's sweets, and fan the grove.

With notes accordant to thy skilful tongue, No more I seek my doric reed to tune; No more the tender melody prolong, And chide the envious hours that fleet too soon.

When sinks in ocean's bed the source of light, And darkness drear its raven pinions spread; Chearless and lone I pa.s.s the ling'ring night, With thoughts congenial to its deepest shade.

Unless, perchance, my weary watchful eyes, Sleep's balmy charms no longer can refuse; Then swift to thee my soul unfetter'd flies, And each past scene of tenderness renews.

With all that winning grace I see thee move, That first endear'd thy tender heart to mine; When soften'd by thy grace of virtuous love, I led thee, blushing, to the hallow'd shrine.

I see thee too, thou partner of my heart, With all a mother's tender feelings blest; The frequent glance, the kiss, the tear impart, And press the smiling infant to thy breast.

Eager I haste a parent's joy to share, My bosom bounds with raptures felt before; But swift the soothing vision sinks in air, Winds howl around, and restless billows roar.

Even now, whilst prompted by the pleasing past, In artless numbers flows this pensive lay; The tottering vessel quivers in the blast, And angry clouds obscure the cheerful day.

Yet why repine, my anxious breast be still, No human bliss is free from foul alloy; But, what at present bears the face of ill, May end in smiling bliss and lasting joy.

Soon may that Power supreme, whose dread command Can still the tumults of the raging main; Through paths of danger with unerring hand, Guide me to thee and happiness again.

In Him, my Delia, then thy trust repose, 'Tis he alone the joyless bosom cheers; He soothes when absent all our heart-felt woes, At home our soft domestic scene endears.

NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCh.e.l.l, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane._

_UTILE DULCI._

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

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, August 24, 1796.+ [+No. 60.+

[[For sources, see the end of the e-text.]]

REMARKS ON THE WONDERFUL CONSTRUCTION OF THE EAR.

The ear, it is true, in respect to beauty, must give place to the eye.

However, it is perfectly well formed, and is no less a master-piece of the creative hand. In the first place, the position of the ear shews much wisdom. It is placed in the most convenient part of the body, near the brain, the common seat of all the senses. The outward form of the ear is worthy our admiration. It greatly resembles a muscle; but has neither the softness of mere flesh, nor the hardness of bone. If it was only flesh, it's upper part would fall down over the orifice, and would prevent the communication of sounds. If, on the contrary, it had been composed of hard bones, it would be very painful and inconvenient to lie on either side. For this reason, the Creator formed the outward part of the ear of a gristly substance, which has the consistence, the polish, and the folds, most proper to reflect sounds; for the use of all the external parts is to collect and convey them to the bottom of the ear.

The interior construction of this organ must still more excite our admiration. There is in the sh.e.l.l of the ear an opening, which they call the _auditory pipe_. The entrance of it is furnished with little hairs, which serve as a bar, to keep insects from penetrating into it; and it is for the same purpose that the ear is moistened with a substance that is conglutinous and bitter, which separates itself from the glands. The drum of the ear is placed obliquely in the auditory pipe. This part of the ear really resembles a drum; for, in the first place, there is in the cavity of the auditory pipe a bony ring, on which is stretched a round membrane, dry and thin: in the second place, there is, under that skin, a string stretched tight, which does here the same service as that of the drum, for it increases, by its vibrations, the vibration of the drum of the ear, and serves sometimes to extend, and sometimes to relax the membrane. In the hollow, under the skin of the drum, there are some very small bones, but very remarkable, called auditory bones, and distinguished by these names, the hammer, the anvil, the orbicular, and the stirrup. Their use is, to contribute to the vibration, and to the tension of the skin of the drum. Behind the cavity of the drum, another opening must be observed, which communicates with a pipe which leads to the palate, and which is equally necessary to produce the sensation of exterior sounds. Next comes the _snail_, which rises in a spiral line.

Behind is the auditory pipe, which joins the brain.

Hearing is in itself a thing worthy of admiration. By a portion of air, extremely small, which we put in motion, without knowing how, we can in an instant make our thoughts known to one another, with all our conceptions and desires, and this in as perfect a manner, as if our souls could see into each other's. But to comprehend the action of the air, in the propagation of sounds, more clearly, we must remember that the air is not a solid body, but a fluid. Throw a stone into a calm running water, there will result from it undulations, which will extend more or less, according to the degree of force with which the stone is thrown. Let us now suppose, that a word produces in the air the same effect as the stone produces in the water. While the person who speaks is uttering the word, he expels (with more or less force) the air out of his mouth; that air communicates to the outward air, which it meets with an undulating motion, and this agitated air comes and shakes the stretched membrane of the drum in the ear; this membrane, thus shaken, communicates vibrations to the air which resides in the cavity of the drum; and that strikes the hammer; the hammer, in it's turn, strikes the other little bones; the stirrup transmits to the nerves, through the oval orifice, the motion it has received; and they then vibrate like the strings of a fiddle. This motion gains strength in the labyrinth, and reaches to what is properly called the auditory nerves. The soul then experiences a sensation proportionable to the force or weakness of the impression received, and, by virtue of a mysterious law of the Creator, it forms to itself representations of objects and of truths.

G.o.d, in order to make us more sensible of his general goodness towards mankind, permits now and then, that some should be born deaf. Must it not teach us to value highly the sense of which they are deprived? The best way to prove our grat.i.tude for so great a blessing is to make a good use of it.

Interesting History Of THE PRINCESS DE PONTHIEU.

_Translated from the French._

(Continued from page 50.)

The day being come, they were obliged to cast lots which of them should die first: the fatal chance fell on the Count de Ponthieu; his son and Thibault contended for the preference, but all they could obtain was, to wait on him to the place of execution. The whole court was a.s.sembled to see this spectacle--The Sultan was present himself, and his Sultaness, whose extraordinary beauty had attracted the eyes of all the Infidels, when they were drawn off by the arrival of the ill.u.s.trious victims, that were going to be sacrificed to the honour of the day. But that Queen, whose soul was as perfect as her body, was surprized at the majestic air of the Count de Ponthieu, who was as yet at a great distance from her: his venerable age, and the contempt with which he seemed to look on his approaching fate, made her order him to be brought nearer to her; he being a stranger, she let down her veil, the women of that country never suffering themselves to be seen by any but Saracens.

As he approached, she found emotions which at that time she knew not had any other source than pity; but having attentively looked on his face, she soon discovered the true cause: but making use of her utmost efforts to prevent her disorder from being taken notice of, she asked him his name, of what country he was, and by what accident he had been taken.

The softness of her voice, and the manner of her delivery, gave him a sensible alarm, though he knew not the meaning of it--He answered her without hesitation, that he was of France, and of the sovereignty of Ponthieu. "Are you here alone?" demanded the Queen. "I have two companions in my misfortunes," replied he, "my son and my son-in-law."

The Queen ordered them immediately to be brought to her; and having heedfully observed them for some time, ordered the sacrifice to be suspended, and ran to the throne where the Sultan was sitting, and throwing herself at his feet "My lord," said she "if ever I have been happy enough to please you, and may flatter myself with your affection, grant me the lives of these three slaves: they are of my country, and pity makes me interest myself for them, and I hope your clemency will be rewarded by the merit of those I am going to bind to your service." The Sultan, who adored her, raised her tenderly; "You are mistress of my fate, madam," replied he, "can I refuse you then the being so of that of those strangers? Dispose of them as you please, I give them entirely up to you, without reserving to myself any right over them." She thanked him, in terms full of grat.i.tude and respect, and returning to the n.o.ble captives, informed them of their pardon; and being secretly too much disordered to stay till the conclusion of the feast, she ordered them to follow her to her apartment; where seeing herself alone with them, she was obliged to renew her efforts, to conceal the confusion of her soul; and a.s.suming an air of as much fierceness as she could, which was heightened by a natural majesty; "I have saved your lives," said she, "and you may judge by such a proof of my power, that I have authority enough to put you again into the same danger; resolve therefore to satisfy my curiosity, in discovering without disguise all your adventures: I give you till to-morrow to prepare yourselves; I must know your names, qualities, and by what strange accident fate brought you into this country---if you are sincere you may expect every thing from my goodness." Thibault who had not ventured to lift his eyes upon her while they were before the Sultan, now endeavoured to discover, with the nicest penetration, her beauties; which the thin gauze, of which her veil was made, did not altogether conceal. The dazzling l.u.s.tre of her sparkling eyes, and the thousand charms which played about her lovely mouth, notwithstanding this impediment, were not wholly obscured from the view. The daring gazer found himself agitated with emotions, which had been unknown to him since the death of his unhappy wife. He felt a pleasure in contemplating this adorable queen, which nothing but itself could equal; and perceiving the Count was silent, perhaps kept so by sentiments which he knew not how to account for, he threw himself at her feet; "As for me, madam," said he, "it will not be the fears of death that would prevail on me to relate the particulars of a life which has been full of such unheard-of woes, that what to others would be the greatest dread, to me would be a blessing---but there is something far more terrible than what you have named, the abusing a generosity such as yours, prevents me from concealing any part of what you command me to disclose---if therefore the recital of our misfortunes can testify our acknowledgments, depend on our sincerity."

All the resolution which she had a.s.sumed for this rencounter, had like to have forsook her at so moving a discourse; but making a new effort, "Rise," said she, "your destiny promises something very touching, I am concerned in it more than you can yet imagine. The Sultan will soon appear, therefore I would have you retire, you shall want for nothing this palace can afford, recover yourselves of your fears and fatigues, and to-morrow you shall receive my orders; and till then, I will defer the history I have engaged you to give me." She then called a slave in whom she entirely confided; "Sayda," said she to her, "conduct them as I have ordered;" and then making a sign to them to withdraw, they obeyed, and followed the slave. As they went out they heard the Queen sigh, and neither of them could forbear doing so too---Thibault, who quitted her with regret, returning to look on her once more, perceiving she put her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away some tears, he could not restrain his own. Sayda led them to a little apartment behind the Queen's, it consisted of three rooms, and at the end an arched gallery, where the fruit was kept that was every day served up to her table.---"This," said Sayda, "is the only service the Sultaness expects from you; she could not have placed you so commodiously, without giving you some employment that required your attendance near her person, you must therefore take care of this fruit, put it in order in baskets provided for that use, and present it to her at her repasts---under this pretence you may possess these apartments, and be served by the slaves appointed for that purpose---you are to be subservient only to the Sultan and Sultaness."

In speaking these words, she quitted them, leaving them in an inconceivable surprize at all they had seen. When they were by themselves, Thibault, who could no longer contain in his breast the different agitations which crouded one on another, and seemed to struggle for utterance, approached the Count, and tenderly embracing him; "What a woman is this Queen, my lord," said he, "and by what miracle does she reign over these barbarians! what have we done to deserve her generous care of us! Ah! my lord, I find her companion dangerous---Alas! my dear Princess!" added he, "you alone were wont to raise these emotions in my soul!" "I don't know," replied the Count, "what will be our fate, or what are the designs of the Queen: her goodness does not affect me as it does you; you are young, and your heart still preserves a fund of pa.s.sion, which may cause more violent perturbations in it than mine; yet I own, I have felt for her the tenderness of a father; and that when she spoke, my daughter came into my mind---But I am afraid, my dear Thibault, that you will doubly lose your liberty in this fatal place." Thibault made no other answer than by sighs; and some refreshments being brought in, they were forced to drop a discourse, that did not admit of witnesses.

The Queen, in the mean time, was too much interested in the affairs of the day to be very easy, and was no sooner left alone with her dear Sayda, than giving a loose to the transports she had so long restrained, her beautiful face was bathed all over in tears. The faithful slave, astonished at her excess of grief, kneeled down at her feet, and taking one of her hands; "Alas! madam," said she, "what is this sudden misfortune---are these strangers come to trouble the tranquility you were beginning to enjoy!---you have hitherto honoured me with your confidence---may I not now know what has occasioned this grief?" "Ah!

dear Sayda," replied her royal mistress, "let not appearances deceive you.--Love, joy, nature, and fear, makes me shed tears much more than any grief---that husband so dear to me, and of whom thou hast heard me speak so much, is one of the captives whose lives I have saved---the other is my father, and the young lad my brother. The horror of seeing my father die for the diversion of a people to whom I am Queen, has pierced me with so lively an affliction, that I wonder the apprehension of it did not a second time deprive me of my reason---my husband, partaker of the same fate, his melancholy, his resignation before me, his looks full of that love and tenderness which once made my happiness, has touched my soul in the most nice and delicate part: I dare not discover myself, before I know their sentiments; and the constraint I have put on myself, has been such, as nature scarce can bear---Preserve my secret, dear Sayda, and don't expose me again to tremble for lives on which my own depends." "Doubt not of my fidelity, madam," answered the other, "'tis inviolable, my religion, your goodness which I have so often experienced, and the confidence with which you have honoured me, have attached me to your service till death."

(_To be continued._)

THE ROAD TO RUIN. A MEDITATION.

This road is easily found out, without a guide or a direction-post: it is a broad highway, in which the traveller may amuse himself with many pleasing prospects, without considering that he is exposed to many dangers. The Road to Ruin is so infested with robbers, that it is next to impossible to escape their depredations. In other avenues, the usual loss sustained is a purse of money; but in these paths, treasures inestimable are purloined from the unwary. The loss of cash may often be repaired, but what are we to do when our innocence, our health, our integrity, our honour, are basely pilfered from us? And such calamities will inevitably be our lot, if we continue long in the alluring road to Ruin.

But notwithstanding the certainty of destruction upon this road, it is the most frequented of any highway. Numbers of unthinking mortals are daily seen turning into it with impetuosity and glee, without considering the difficulty, and almost the impossibility of getting out of it.

When we see a man, possessed of a fortune of five hundred pounds a year, living at the rate of two thousand pounds a year, our veracity would not be called in question if we ventured to declare that he was on the Road to Ruin.

The spendthrift who frequently makes application to usurers, and purchases the use of money by extravagant douceurs, premiums, or discounts, may justly be said to be a traveller on the same high-way.

When any one becomes an abject slave to his bottle; we need not scruple to p.r.o.nounce, that he is staggering into this much frequented road.

If a young girl, innocent in herself, should too credulously hearken to the enamoured tale of the deceiver, it is more than probable that she may be seen tripping upon this too general high-way.

When a lady has private recourse to ardent liquor, whether affliction or any other cause may have induced her to become acquainted with it, she seldom fails to be a pa.s.senger in this thronged avenue.