The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository: Forming an Interesting Collection of Original and Select Literary Productions in Prose and Verse
General
The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository: Forming an Interesting Collection of Original and Select Literary Productions in Prose and Verse
American periodicals
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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