Albany and other more northern parts of the United States, an extraordinary severity of cold has prevailed; the mercury in the thermometer having fallen between 27 and 34° below zero, while in this city it was at no time so low as zero. The Barometrical range has extended from 30.19 to 29.68. The highest temperature at eight o'clock in the mornings has been 36°, lowest 29; highest temperature at sunset 44°, lowest 8°.

The general state of health in the city during this interval has been favourable. The same class of diseases has prevailed as in the former month; but partaking rather more of the iuflammatory character, and affecting chiefly the Bronchie and pulmonary organs. Some cases of pure Pneumonia have occurred in children; but Croup, and, indeed, Cynanche under any form, has been tess than usual. A few cases of continued and remittent fevers have been under treatment. Rubeola and Pertussis have occasionally fallen under notice, the former generally of a mild character. The cases of small-pox have continued to be mostly of an unfavourable description.

In a case of vaccinia, a numerous crop of vesicles of the size of a pea in circumference, accompanied the formation of the pustule, which they surrounded, extending to the distance of between one and two inches.

A case of Peripneumonia in which the lancet was not resorted to, terminated in hydrothorax.

A case of Asthma was accompanied by anasarca, which was relieved by blood-letting, followed by an emetic, and the use of a few purgatives.

The deaths stated in the New-York Bills of Mortality for the four weeks of this month are as follow:

Abscess, 1; Apoplexy, 4; Asthma, 2; Burned, 1; Casualty, 1; Childbed, 2; Colic, 2; Consumption, 44; Convulsions, 25; Cramp in the Stomach, 3; Dropsy, 15; Dropsy in the Chest, 5; Dropsy in the Head, 9; Drowned, 2; Dysentery, 1; Dyspepsia, 1; Epilepsy, 2; Inflammatory Fever, 1; Typhous Fever, 9; Gravel, 1; Hives, 3; Hooping Cough, 1; Inflammation of the Bowels, 5; Inflammation of the Liver, 1; Insanity, 2; Intemperance, 1; Jaundice, 2; Killed, 1; Measles, 2; Marasmus, 1; Old Age, 11; Palsy, 4; Pneumonia Typhodes, 4; Rheumatism, 2; Scrophula or King's Evil, 2; Small-Pox, 3; Sprue, 3; Spasms, 1; Still-born, 14; Sudden Death, 5; Suicide, 1; Tabes Mesenterica, 1; Teething 2; Unknown, 1; Worms, 1.-Total 221.

Of which number there died 55 of and under the age of 1 year; 13 between 1 and 2 years; 10 between 2 and 5; 5 between 5 and 10; 9 between 10 and 20; 23 between 20 and 30; 32 between 30 and 40; 19 between 40 and 50; 25 between 50 and 60; 15 between 60 and 70; 9 between 70 and 60; 5 between 80 and 90.

JACOB DYCKMAN, M.D.
New-York, Feb, 28th, 1818,

Report of Diseases treated at the Public Dis pensary, New-York, during the month of March, 1818.

ACUTE DISEASES.

Febris Intermittens, (Intermittent Fever,) 2; Febris Remittens, (Remittent Fever,) 2; Febris Continua, (Continued Fever,) 7; Febris Infantum Remittens, (Infantile Remittent Fever,) 3; Phlegmone, 2; Ophthalmia, (Inflammation of the Eyes,) 6; Cynanche Tonsillaris, (Inflammation of the Tonsils and Fauces,) 8; Cynanche Trachealis, (Hires or Croup,) 1; Cynanche Parotidea, (Mumps,) 1; Catarrhus, (Catarrh,) 10; Bronchitis, (Inflammation of the Bronchia,) 4; Pneumonia, (Inflammation of the Chest,) 24; Per. tussis, (Hooping Cough,) 2; Rheumatismus, 3; Icterus, (Jaundice,) 1; Hæmoptysis, (Spitting of Blood,) 1; Erysipelas, (St. Anthony's Fire,) 2; Rubeola, (Measles,) 4; Varriola, (Small-Pox,); Vaccinia, (Kine-Pock,) 85; Dentitio, 2.

CHRONIC AND LOCAL DISEASES,

Asthenia, (Debility,) 3; Vertigo, 6; Ce phalagia, (Head-Ach,) 3; Dyspepsia, 7; Gastrodynia, (Pain in the Stomach,) 3; Obstipatio, 8; Colica, (Colic,) 1; Paralysis, (Palsy,) 1; Ophthalmia Chronica, 1; Catarrhus, (Catarrh,) 2; Bronchitis Chronica, 5; Phthisis Pulmonalis, (Pulmonary Consumption,) 3; Rheumatismus, 12; Pleurodynia, 3; Lumbago, 6; Nephralgia, 2; Lithiasis, (Gravel,) 1; Cancer Uteri, 1; Hydarthrus, (White Swelling,) 1; Tumor, 2; Hernia Ingruinalis, 1; Hæmoptysis, (Spitting of Blood,) 1; Menorrhagia, 1; Hæmorrhois, 3; Dysenteria, 1; Amenorrhoa, 6; Dysmenorrhoea, 1; Ischuria, (Suppression of Urine,) 1; Dysuria, (Difficulty in discharging Urine,) 2; Plethora, 2; Ana sarca, (Dropsy.) 2; Ascites, (Dropsy of the Abdomen,) 1; Vermes, (Forms,) 8; Syphil is, 10; Urethritis Virulenta, 4; Contusio, (Bruise,) 5; Stremma, (Sprain,) 2; Luxation, (Dislocation,) 1; Fractura, 3; Vulnus, (Wound,) 3; Ustio, (Burn,) 3; Abscessus, (Abscess,) 2; Ulcus, (Ulcer,) 16; Psoriasis, 1; Herpes, 1; Scabies et Prurigo, 26; Porrigo, (Scald Head,) 3; Eruptiones Variæ, 5.

The month of March commenced with rain, and was more or less stormy and unsettled during the first four days; after which the weather became clear and re markably pleasant, with the wind chiefly between the N. W. and S. for thirteen days in succession. On the 18th the weather became less agreeable, and cold easterly winds, which were accompanied with some overcast and stormy days, prevailed throughout the remainder of the month. The Barometrical range has been from 30.21 to 30.76. The highest temperature of the mornings has been 50° of Fahrenheit, lowest 19° highest temperature of the afternoons, 60°, lowest 229; highest temperature at sun-set 58°, lowest 23°.

There is little to remark upon the diseases of the period embraced by this report. Our catalogue presents nearly the same series of

stepped into bed, ordered a large candle to be placed in a bracket which stood on a stand near it, and enjoining her femme de chambre to shut the door securely, dismissed her. Having provided herself with a book, according to custom, she calmly read her usual time, then sunk to repose-from this she was soon roused by a noise at her door -it opened, and the sound of footsteps suc ceeded. Madame Deshoulieres immediately decided that this must be the supposed ghost, and therefore addressed it with an assurance that, if it hoped to frighten her from her purpose of detecting the impostor which had created such foolish alarm throughout the castle, it would find itself disappointed in the attempt, for she was resolutely bent on penetrating and exposing it at all hazards. This threat she reiterated to no purpose, for no answer was returned. At length the intruder came in contact with a large screen, which it overturned so near the bed, that getting entangled in the curtains, which played loosely on their rings, they returned a sound so sharp, that any one under the influence of fear would have taken for the shrill scream of an unquiet spirit, but Madame was perfectly undismayed, as she afterwards declared. On the contrary, she continued to interrogate the nocturnal visiter whom she suspected to be one of the domestics, but it still maintained an unbroken silence, though nothing could be less quiet in its movements, for it now ran against the stand on which stood the heavy candle and candlestick, which fell with a thundering noise. In fine, tired of all these exertions, it came and rested itself against the foot of the bed.. Madame Deshoulieres was now more decidedly called upon to evince all that firmness of mind and intrepidity of spirit of which she had boasted and well did she justify the confidence she had placed in her own courage, for still retaining her selfpossession she exclaimed, "Ah, now I shall ascertain what thou art," at the same time she extended both her hands towards the place against which she felt that the intruder was resting. They came in contact with two soft velvety ears, which she firmly grasped, determined to retain them till day should lend its light to discover to whom or to what they belonged. Madame found her patience put to some trial, but not her strength, for nothing could be more unresisting and quiet than the owner of the imprisoned ears. Day at length released her from the awkward, painful position in which she had remained for so many hours, and discovered her prisoner to be Gros-Blanc, large dog belonging to the chateau, and as worthy, if faith and honesty deserve the title, as any of its inhabitants. Far from resenting the bondage in which Madame Deshoulieres had so long kept him, he licked the hands which he believed had been kindly keeping his ears warm all night; while Madame Deshoulieres enjoyed a hearty Laugh at this ludicrous end to an adventure,

a

for the encounter of which she had braced her every nerve.

In the meantime the count and countess, wholly given up to their fears, had found it impossible to close their eyes during the night. The trial to which their friend had exposed herself, grew more terrible to their imagination the more they dwelt upon it, till they at length persuaded themselves that death would be the inevitable consequence. With these forebodings they proceeded as soon as it was light to the apartment of Madame Deshoulieres-scarcely had they courage to enter it, or to speak when they had done so. From this state of petrifaction they were revived by their friend undrawing her curtains, and paying them the compli ments of the morning with a triumphant look. She then related all that had passed with an impressive solemnity, and having roused intense curiosity to know the catastrophe, she smilingly pointed to Gros-Blanc, as she said to the count, "There is the nocturnal visiter whom you have so long taken for the ghost of your mother;" for such he had concluded it from having been the last person who had died in the chateau. The count regarded his wife-then the dog-and blushed deeply, not knowing whether it were better to laugh or be angry. But Madame, who possessed a commanding manner,which at the same time awed and convinced, ended this state of irresolution by saying, "No, no, Monsieur, you shall no longer continue in an illusion which long indulgence has endeared to you. I will complete my task and emancipate your mind from the shackles of superstition, by proving to you that all which has so long disturbed the peace of your family has arisen from natural causes. Madame arose, made her friends examine the lock of the door, the wood of which was so decayed as to render the locking it useless, against a very moderate degree of strength. This facility of entrance had been evidently the cause of Gros-Blanc, who liked not sleeping out of doors, making choice of this room. The rest is easily accounted for, Gros-Blanc smelt, and wished to possess himself of the candle, in attempting which he committed all the blunders and caused all the noises which has annoyed me this night, and he would have taken possession of my bed also if he had not given me an opportunity of seizing his ears. Thus are the most simple events magnified into omens of fearful and supernatural augury,

ANECDOTES OF THE COURT OF PORTUGAL.

John V. King of Portugal, and his Mistress.

This prince was so much captivated by a young and handsome lady of the court, that, although well informed of her having already bestowed her heart on a lover every way deserving of it, he was determined to endeavour at winning the preference through all those temptations which kings have it in their power to offer. The young lady's sen

timents and principles were, however, proof against these undue attempts to shake her fidelity to the first possessor of her affections; and to prove her resolution to mainfain it unbroken, she retired to the convent D'Oliveira, hoping that she should there be safe from the importunities of her royal admirer. In this she was sadly mistaken: she fled not with more earnestness than the king pursued; and as no retreat, however sacred, could be barred against him, whose power was despotic, she was still obliged to submit to his visits, and trust to time and her own perseverance in virtue for that release which she had vainly sought in a religious retirement. Determined, at all events, to avoid ever being alone with the king, she engaged, as her constant companion, a young lady belonging to the convent, who might at the same time be a restraint on the king's conduct, and a strict witness of her own. This circumspection, from which nothing could for a moment divert her, failed of proving to the royal lover that her heart was closed against him. John, therefore, persevered in his suit; b suspecting that the little progress he had hitherto made, was attributable to the opportunities his rival still enjoyed of keeping alive his interest in the affections of his mistress, he determined on removing this fancied obstacle to his success, by sending the young man out of the kingdom; and this he did in a manner most calculated to extenuate in some degree the motives which actuated him. He generously conferred on him an honourable and lucrative employment, at a distance from Portugal, and made every branch of his family easy in their circumstances through his munificence. A more summary and a more cruel method of getting rid of a rival, might have been expected from a despotic monarch of a country noted for the most atrocious acts of jealous passion.

All his Majesty's schemes were vain; the object of them maintained the same cold, respectful reserve, which virtue had first dictated as the most dignified mode of checking the unlawful hopes of the king; who now, as a lover's last resource, endeavoured to enlist vanity in his cause-that auxiliary which has so often proved all-powerful where love and ambition have failed. To rouse this passion in his behalf, the king affected to transfer his admiration and attentions to the companion of his mistress; but here again he was fated to meet disappointment a pure and constant attachment guarded Mademoiselle de Sfrom that mean species of jealousy which it was intended should effect her downfall. John, however, continued to act the part he had assumed till, unconsciously to himself, he became charmed by the sense, wit, and interesting manners of the person through whom he had hoped to have wound ed the vanity of the first object of his admiration. But his majesty was at length convinced that the latter was rejoiced at being relieved from his importunities, and

that she anxiously waited for the moment when she might feel herself wholly emancipated from the painful restraint under which she had for some time suffered. This soon took place: the king's new attachment so rapidly gained strength, that it shortly conquered all remains of his former inclination; and his second mistress, less scrupulous or more interested by the passion of the king, yielded without reserve to the pleasures of a mutual affection. The intercourse to which this led, continued unbroken for many years, and was finally dissolved in a manner bonourable to both parties.

This event originated in the following cir

cumstances:

Lisbon was just recovering from the fatal effects of a disorder resembling the plague, which had carried off a great portion of its inhabitants, when it was again visited by a calamity which severely renewed the affliction and miseries of the survivors. There arose, from the south, so tremendous a storm, that it threatened to involve this ill-fated city and its neighbourhood in irremediable ruin. Seven hundred vessels, which were riding at anchor in the Tagus, were torn from their moorings, and either entirely wrecked or greatly injured by running aground. One English man of war, commanded by Lord Were, and destined for the secret conveyance of money privately granted by the court of Portugal to that of London, alone weathered unhurt this frightful tempest. The ships of war belonging to his Portuguese majesty shared in the destructive consequences already mentioned. The country in the vicinity of the metropolis exhibited a similar scene of devastation. houses on all sides reduced to a heap of rubbish-the earth strewed with the dismembered branches of the finest trees, and millions of the largest olives torn up by the roots, presented a sad spectacle of a loss which there could be no hope of repairing for many years. When these melancholy and desolating effects of the storm were described to the king, he was so deeply penetrated with grief at the sufferings of his people, that, wholly unable to control his feelings, his tears flowed unchecked in the presence of father Govea. This worthy man was of the order of Capuchins, and an admirable preacher, The holiness of his life, which was exemplary, had impressed the king with the highest veneration for his person, and the most perfect confidence in his disinterestedness, a strong proof of which he had given in having refused both the dignity of patriarch of Lisbon, and cardinal of Rome, which had been pressed upon him. The state of mind in which father Govea now saw the king of Portugal, was too favourable to the accomplishment of a wish he had long cherished at heart, to be suffered to subside without an effort at obtaining it. He had in real charity grieved over the state of adultery in which the king lived, and therefore seized the present auspicious

moment to represent to him, with mild eloquence, that God, when justly irritated by the guilty conduct of princes, frequently suffered the punishment they had incurred, to fall in this world on their less faulty subjects, reserving, it might be fearfully apprehended, a severer one for the greater culprits in the world to come. This edifying reproof of the good father, which was extended beyond what it is here necessary to detail, made a sensible impression on the king, and particularly on the point which had principally instigated him to venture this exhortation. Of this, his majesty gave a solid proof, by instantly resolving to sacrifice to God the object that had so long diverted him from his duties. It required no small degree of manly fortitude to fulfil this laudable determination. His attach-, ment to his mistress continued unabated, and her society was an unfailing source of pleasure and comfort to him after the cares and employments of the day. This he evinced by regularly repairing, at the fall of every evening, to the convent D'Oliveira, where she continued to reside, to pass it in her company. He was now to give up for ever an intercourse, from which he had for years derived his chief delight-an object that was still dear to him-and his majesty was nobly firm in prosecuting this painful reformation, for he did not even allow himself a last interview with his mistress. This lady acted with no less dignity and fortitude. Finding that the king did not visit her the day after the hurricane, she sent a messenger to inquire into the cause, who was at the same time commissioned to present the king with a couple of shirts, which she had made for him with her own hands. By the advice of father Govea, however, this present was not delivered. On the return of the messenger, the lady was fully informed of all that had passed, and the resolution which had in consequence been formed by his majesty respecting his future conduct in regard to her. So far from resenting this desertion, she appeared desirous of following his example, and obliterating, by a life of penance, the guilt she had incurred by their illicit commerce. She readily quitted the magnificent apartments which the king had with boundless generosity built and adorned purposely for her use ;-returned all his Dostly presents-and, with an humble spirit, retired again to the lowly cell which she had occupied in the days of her innocence. The king consoled himself for her loss, by elevating and enriching those of her family whom he knew to be most dear to her. Thus ended this amour.

AN EXTRAORDINARY INSTANCE OF FEMALE

INTREPIDITY.

From L'Ermite en Province.

I made the journey from Agen to Montauban (says M. Jouy, whose recent essays under the above title have become rather too diffuse for our publication, too political in

their tendency, and not devoted with the same happiness as heretofore to the picture of manners) in company with a handsome young lady, whom I will call Madame D'Ettivale, in order to come near to her name, without naming her: she is a French wo man in the whole force, in the whole extent, in the whole grace of the term: the words charme and entrainement would have been invented for her. I do not think that there exists a heart which beats higher at the ideas of glory, of misfortune, of country; and I venture to affirm, that if there are in France a hundred thousand men like that woman, we may be without uneasiness respecting the future. I do not know what this lady thinks of love, nor how she speaks of it, (it is a question upon which people do not understand each other at the two extremities of life); but I do not hesitate to adduce he as a living refutation of the reproach which Montaigne, La Rochefoucault, and Beaumarchaise have cast upon women, that they do not know real friendship between them selves. Madame D'Ettivale has a female. friend of her own age, several of whose letters she has shown me. If they should be one day published, I would not answer for their dispossessing Madame de Sevigne of the epistolary sceptre, which she holds by prescriptive admiration; but I am certain that people will find in them sentiments which are just and natural, even in their exaltation; and the expression of an ardent soul, which discharges itself into the bosom of a friend without thinking of the opinions of the great world, for which such letters are not written. The history of these two ladies, which is connected with the principal events of the revolution, would furnish an excellent chapter of manners; but indepen dently of the secrecy which we owe to confidential communications, this narrative would throw me back into the whirlpool of the capital, which I have quitted for a time. I will confine myself to relating the travel ling adventure which gave birth to a friendship of which few instances would be found among the men of any age or country.

Madame Eleonore de Monbrey (this is the name of Madame D'Ettivale's friend) had a mere general acquaintance with her when they made a journey together, some years ago, to Bagneres, where they were going to take the waters. Madame D'Ettivale had with her, her daughter, eight years old, whose beauty begins to be talked of in the world. A singular conformity of taste, of opinions, (which at that time were only sentiments) and which the intimacy of a few days developed, had already laid the fourdation for an union between these two young ladies, which was soon to be cemented by a horrible event.

A few leagues on the way from Bagneres. to Luchon, on seeing a steep road, which made it necessary to put a drag on the whee of their carriage, Madame de Monbrey proposed to her companion to descend the mountain on foot. The latter fearing the