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Huids is chiefly owing to their particles to give relates to a draught or current of being carried away by the particles of air, which is an artificial wind that we caloric, and these pass off rapidly in a produce in an apartment by the opencold air. Whoever, therefore, cannot ing of doors and windows standing opkeep himself warm in windy weather, posite to one another. An apartment, either by exercise or some other means, under such circumstances, should either ought to avoid exposure to it if he has be avoided altogether, or a person any regard for his health.

should move about in it to keep up the 1 shall bence deduce two inferences imensible transpiration, or shun the which may be useful. Spring is the current of air by retiring into a corner. season when we have to expect many With these precautions a draught of cold, stormy winds. For this reason air in rooms is not only innocent, but I warn my readers not to change their to be recommended; because it is the winter dress for lighter apparel too ear- best method of dispersing the 'noxious ly. Nothing is more liable to give effluvia which may have collected in cold than wind. If I chose to make a them. It would, consequently, be the parade of quotations on this subject, I height of folly for a person in a proshould never have done transcribing fuse perspiration to place himself in a Sydenbam declared, that “out of a draught for the purpose of cooling himhundred persons ill of colds and in- self, like a man whose case is stated by flammation of the lungs, scarcely two one of our physicians, and who, though would be found who had not brought previously the picture of health, died these disorders on themselves by on the seventh day of an inflammation change of clothing; that is to say, not of the chest, brought on by this impruby dressing too warmly, but not warm- dent exposure. To act thus is to run lg enough.” Boerhaave coincided in headlong into destruction. Who, inthis opinion; and Hoffman recom- deed, could conceive it to be necessary mends that “in Spring, when the wea to forbid such things to persons having ther grows warm, people should be the use of their reason? 'But so it is in ware of exchanging their warm winter our profession. We are obliged to tell apparel for lighter;" and be assures us, people things which their own sense that it would be better to wear the ought to suggest even to the meanest same kiod of dress all the year round, understandings. We have to demon so as to prevent the inclement air, in strate positions which are not more difall vicissitudes of weather, from pene- ficult of comprehension, than that a trating the pores of the skin.” But of ship must be capable of floating on the what use is all that eminent physicians water. We have to recommend premay have advanced, even though eve- cautions which, as daily experience ry body must allow it to be true ? shows, cannot be neglected but at the People follow these rules only so long hazard of life. We have to exert all as they would have done had such rules our eloquence to prevail upon them not never been given; and they violate to die before they absolutely must, and them and sacrifice themselves, as to remain healthy while they may. In though the salvation of their country physic, more than in any other profesrequired it, merely perhaps to comply sion, it is incumbent on a writer to bear with the supposed dictates of fashion. in mind the maxim, not to take his rea

The second warning which I have ders to be wiser than they really are.

SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE.

Ask of the maid, who in the cloister's gloom
Repines, the living inmate of a tomb ;
By force or phrenzy severed for her kind,
Yet panting for the joys she left behind
Ask of the mariner, whom storms have toss'd
On solitary rock, or desert coast,-
Ask of the prisoner, who, in dungeon dank,
Hears but his groans resound, his fetters clank,
Without one generous beart, or pitying eye,
To sbare his griefs, or sooth his agony-
Ask it of these 'tis they who best can know

If Friendship be not sweet, if Solitude be so !
ATHENEUM VOL. 1. 2d series.

35

(Gent. Mag.)

THE MOSS ROSE. The angol who tends on the flowers,

Confer then on me, I desire, And sprinkles them nightly with dew;

The Rose's wild spirit reply'd, Reposing one day in their bow'rs,

A charm that each maid will admire, A Rose-bush a shade round him threw.

And wear in her bosom with pride. Awak’ning with smiles full of love,

With Moss I will deck thee, my Child, And pleas'd with his fragrant repose,

The Moss Rose in future thy name ; The thought of some token to prove

Thus Nature with Graces so mild How much he regarded the Rose.

Will add to thy beauty and fame. He said, my dear Child, for thy shade,

Ye fair ones must all now confess, of me ask what favour you please ;

That rubies and diamonds are nougbt, I'll grant it ; for by thy sweet aid

When summond to finish your dress, Pre slumber'd with pleasure and ease.

Compar'd with what Nature points out,

WRITTEN IN EGYPT.

PARENT of nations ! Art's proud sire !

Upon thy pyramid I stand,
While the sun flings his beams of fire

Over thy desolated land.
Now, far as the strain'd eye can scan,

A sandy ocean sleeps around,
Nothing speaks out of living man

Save me and mine--there is no sound

Of aught amid this solitude
To break the silence of the waste,

And fancy paints in mournful mood,
Wild visions of th' ideal past.

For now the mind is left to guess,

How fair was once this wilderness; As death upon some lovely frame

Tells life once breathed in beauty there, That th' extinguish'd taper's fame

Once flash'd its radiance on the air ; Thus shadowing forth from their decay The glories of a perish'd day. The crown that gemm'd thy awful brow, Thine arts, thy power-where are they now ! No wandering Arab can be seen

Within the horizon's sweep, And I am living 'mid the scene

Where the tiar'd Pharaohs sleep And I am trampling o'er the dead,

Full fifty ages vanished :

Those vanish'd dead—but who were they They pass'd and left no name :

Haply ambition in their day

Had never shown the toiling way
To cheat posterity with fame.
What ruin'd cities may be hid
Around this lofty pyramid,

Whelm'd in the desert sand ;
In whose long streets the gazer's eye
Once saw amid antiquity

This wonder of his land,
Yet knew not who had rear'd it high,
But guess'd as erringly as I.

Yet the same heaven look'd out in light

Upop the toiling busy sight,
Uprearing then its glorious brow,

At morning's dawn as it does now.
O Land of that famed sound which hung

Round Memnon's wystic shrine !:

I gaze upon thy ruins flung

Like wrecks upon the brine. I think of Memphian chivalry

Amid thy Red-Sea lost,

Of Necho and bis swarthy host, Th’avengers of their destiny

In a long after-age. of giant Thebes that now defies

The waste of years and human rage Beneath these burning skies :

Her very wrecks are mighty still ;

They scorn our strength and mock our skill.
Here, in the light of beauty's eye
That charm'd him with its witchery,

The Roman lost a world.
Here Cæsar's mighty rival died,
And, one poor foot of earth denied,

With scorn was headless hurl'd;
And he who captived king and throne,
Had not a grave to call bis own.
Mark, ye who sail ambition's tide,
The bitter sum of human pride !
But wherefore call up ancient years ?
Enough within my view appears

To minister to thought :
The desolation reigning here
Speaks to the mind in accents clear

Things schoolmen never taught.
Behold, the horizon's self is clad
In a strange hue and livery sad,
Like th' impressive calm that reigns
Mournful o'er earthquake-riven plains,
That the “ mind's eye” can see full well,
But language hath no skill to tell ;
Seeming to grieve the mighty day
Of its pass'd glories rent away ;
Even their very record flown,
Unwrit, unregister'd, unknown.
The camel waits his lord below;

The turban’d guides my musings break;
I must away-yet ere I go

One parting glance around me take, Then bury 'mid a Moslem crew This pyramid's majestic viewFane, tomb, whate'er thou art-adieu ! L.

April 1824.

(Lon. Lit. Gaz.)

A TRUE TALE.

day in summer, a veteran Tar humanity. “So you think that story came whistling through the narrow will do, eh? (continued the first ;) lane that cuts off a considerable por- 'twont though, Missus, so you must tion of the main road between Ply- tramp. I don't keep a house for vagmouth and Exeter, and shortens the rums, and sich like.” • Indeed, injourney to the weary traveller. There deed, 'tis true; the villains robb’d me was something in his whole appearance of all, and I've walk'd many, many so peculiarly interesting and neat, that weary miles. Oh but for a piece of the

passenger, after receiving his bread—a little cold water !--can you “What cheer, what cheer ?” could deny me this? Indeed, I've not been not refrain from turning round and stop- used to beg.'—"Why that's the way ping to take another look. Indeed with all you canting creatures—all lathat sparkling eye of good-humour'd dies, forsooth! Where do you come pleasantry, that countenance display- from ?" Oh, Ma'am, I'm a wretching at once the generous benevolence ed girl, yet I was once happy ; sorrow of his heart, was not easily pass’d by has indeed reach'd memlost, lost, Luunnoticed, or readily forgotten. His cy! “Ha, I see how it is? What, dress consisted of a blue jacket and you've been with the fellows, have white trowsers, a straw hat bound with you ? Why, you good-for-nothing black riband thrown carelessly back there, get out of my house-get out, I upon his head, so as to display the say!" "Can you have the cruelty to straggling locks of silver'd grey that let me perish? Where-where shall flow'd beneath, and a black silk hand- I find compassion, if my own sex re, kerchief loosely knotted round his fuse it ! On remember, that mercyDeck, over which lay the white collar that pity is the attribute of angels !?of his shirt; a short cudgel was tuck'd “Don't talk to me of angels, hussy! under his arm. He had now reach'd and as for tributes, there's sesses, and the ion by the way-side where he pur- taxes, and poors’-rates enough-Out, I posed beaving to, to hoist in a fresh say! What you want, eh? Here, supply of grog and biscuit for the voy- Jobn! Bet ! where are you all ? you age. Crossing the threshold, and en- pack of idle vagabonds! Here, take tering the passage, his ears were salut- this Miss and turn her out.” « Oh let ed with vile discordant sounds of some me implore your pity-here humbly one in a terrible passion. “ Never let me beg

“ Never let me beg—This was too much throw hot water and ashes to wind- for our honest Tar. Entering the ward, says the old Tar, shortening kitchen, he beheld a young girl, sail ;) I'd sooner engage a squadron of ly but neatly dress’d, on her knees befire-ships than one woman in a rage.

fore an old woman. The tears were They're sure to have the last broad running down her pale face, and she side, even while sinking." He was seem'd fainting with fatigue and grief, putting about to stand off again, when while a man grasp'd one shoulder, a a sweet voice, in plaintive supplication, boy the other, and a maid-servant tostruck upon his heart, and brought hiai gether, were attempting to force her up. 'Twas in reply to the vocifera- out. “ Yo-hoy, what's the matter tions of the termagant, and he remaind here ! (said the veteran, finging the backing and filling in the passage. man to the opposite side of the room, « What, money-clothes-all lost, did and giving the boy a trip that laid him you say? (exclaimed a rough strain'd sprawling on the other.) Cowardly, throat, something resembling the com- lubberly rascals ! what, grapple a vesbined noise of a blacksmith's bellows sel in distress? And you (turning to and a flint-mill-All gone, eh ?”- the Landlady) to stand looking on! "Yes, Ma'am, ail-all is losi to me,' Is this a Christian country ? For replied a female, in tones which would shame, old woman !” “Old woman, have excited pity in any heart that forsoo:)! What you takes the part of

the young-un, eh? But she shall John, stop, I'll go myself for the poor budge directly.” “I say she shan't dear.” “Ha, ha, ha! what a genethen. Come here, pretty one, and no rous heart! (cried Will ;) how readily body shall harm you wbile old Will it expands at the voice of distress! Block can keep the weather-gage.” Here's the key will unlock the flood“Well, this is fine treatment, too, in gates of her benevolence at any time, my own house! And you, ye rapscal- (holding up a guinea.) But come, lions, who eat my victuals and take pretty one, (drawing a chair,) sit down my wages, to see it tamely! Lay hold and rest.” “Oh, Sir, how shall I ever of her, I say.” “ Touch her if you repay your bounty?” said Lucy. dare, (says old Will, flourishing his “ Wait till I ax you,” replied Will, who stick,) and I'll-I'11-Aye, that's felt hurt at the idea of being repaid. right, keep off, for if you come athwart “ Here, Miss, (said the Landlady, enmy hawse, blow my wig but I'll cut tering,) take this pice cake and wine, your cables!” Poor Lucy bad got 'twill do you good. God bless your close to bis side ; but fearing her pro- sweet face! why, do you think I would tector would be injured by his genero- go for to hurt a bair of your head ?" sity, she entreated him to desist. “[ There, there, there's enough of itam not worthy your notice, Sir ;-only no more palaver, I arn't agreed for a drop of water, for I am very faint.” that, you know, though I suppose “ Shall have the best the house affords, you'll consider it in the bill.”. Luckily while I've a shot in the locker. Gó this moment, to prevent the gatheralong, old Mother Squeeze-lemon, and ing storm, the bell rung violently in get something for the poor child; don't another room, and she disappeared. you see she's all becalmed ?” “What, “Come, come, don't be backward, give my property to vagrums

and never mind an old Sailor, (said Will.) wenches !--not I, indeed ! Will you Refresh yourself, and then tell me pay the reckoning ?” “ Avast, old what I can do to serve you ; speak as Grampus ! think of this here when you if I was your father." Oh, Sir, don't stands at another bar, and the last great talk of my father I have fixed a reckoning comes-how will you look wound in his heart “ There, then? This will stand a black account there, don't cry, I carn't bear to see a against you, and what'll you have to woman's tears, it makes a fool of me; rub it off with, eh ? Go, get her a glass but tell me honestly all about it, for of wine.” “ And who's to pay? Wine, I've got to be at old Admiral M's indeed !--get ber some water, Jack,” by night." "Of Grove?' ensaid the now alarmed Landlady, for quired Lucy, much agitated. Why Will's reflection, and the solemn man- aye; do you know him ?" No, Sir; per in which it was utter'd, operated but—but I have seen-I have been in powerfully on her conscience. “Heave company with his nephew; and again to, you porpoise-faced swab_none of she burst into tears as if her heart would your water; get us some wine, and break. “Why aye, I see how it is; the best in the house, too, d’ye hear? knock old will down for a witch. I why, what's the lubber grinning at ! see how it is ; this is some of Master Will this satisfy you, ye old she-shark? Tommy's doings, eh? Zounds! (clinch(thrusting his hand into his jacket- ing his fist)—but no matter pocket, and drawing it out again fill?d where are you come from?” From with gold-Will this satisfy you ?” my father's, Sir.' 6 And who is your The landlady's countenance brighten'd father !" Oh do not ask me; my up : “ Why is so be as how you ineans name is Lucy B— “What, the to pay for it, that's another thing. daughter of old B that was io the Well, well, I dare says you're a gen- Venerable as first Lieutenant ?" • Yes, tleman, after all. Come, child, (to Lu- I am indeed his wretched daughter.' cy,) I'm sorry I was so harsh, but it's “Zounds! why (starting up in a pasonly my way. There, run, John, and sion)--why, and has Tom dared-but setch a bottle of my best wine, and don't be frighten’d, don't be frightend. some of those nice sweet cakes-Stop, And so you have deserted your hone

and my poor old friend ?" "Spare dashing characters of the day, and beme, Sir, spare me: if my father was came tinctured with their vices and indeed your friend, who succour bis follies. He had been introduced to the erring child ! “ Well, well, my up- family of Lieut. B-by a brother per works get crazy now-hardly able Officer, and that acquaintance which to weather the storm. But the villain terminated so sadly for poor Lucy, was that would betray innocence, and then begun. Yet he passionately loved her; abandon his victim--sounds !--but but fearing the condemnation of the come, come along." I thought of go- Admiral, and the loss of his patronage, ing to the Admiral's, Sir. “ To be be had withdrawn himself from Exeter, sure, to be sure; we'll be under . weigh without even bidding her farewell, in a minute.” Yet, Sir, perhaps he choosing rather to immure himself from will not see me, or it may be injurious the world than break the oath he had to his interests; and oh I would wil- pledged to Lucy, or disoblige his Uncle lingly die to serve him, for he has a by inarrying without his consent, feeling heart.' "A what ! a feeling knowing that the old gentleman was heart! Why are you here then ! But ambitious for his nephew to look for a come along, sweetheart;" and dis- wife agreeable to the high prospects in charging the reckoning, they set of in view before him, and equally convinccompany.

ed that to thwart his inclinations would Of all the eccentric beings in this but annihilate all his hopes, and cast eccentric world, old Admiral M-him adrift upon the world. Such was was the most eccentric. He had risen the state of affairs when Lucy left her solely by merit from the station of home to endeavour to gain an interCabin-boy to Vice-Admiral of the view with her lover, and fell in with White ; and 'twas ever his boast that old Will, who in early life, according he had never skulk'd in great men's to his own account, had sailed with pockets, nor been afraid to dip his the Admiral, and was now going to hands in a tar-bucket. “I came in at pay him a visit, and see some of his the hawse-holes, (he would say,) and old messmates, of whom the principal didn't creep in at ihe cabin-windows.” part of the household was composed. He had been known to absent himself She had been plunder'd by some vilfrom home for weeks together, and no lains of all she possess'd at day-break, ona could tell wbere he went, or what but still continued her journey, till had become of him, till his repeated worn with hunger and faint with faacts of generous bounty discover'd the tigue, she enter'd the inn and implored track he had taken. He would fre- assistance. quently return home without previous The shades of evening fell on the notice, enter the house unobserved, landscape as they pass'd under the ring his bell, and order refreshments, avenue of trees that led to Grove as if he had never quitted it. Not an House. Will having promised to exold sailor that ever sailed with him but ert himself in obtaining an interview was welcome to partake of his cheer; between Mr. M

and his convoy, and those who had been his messmates left her at a short distance and proprevious to his mounting the uniform, ceeded onward. Almost overpower'd (if of good character, but not success- by her reflections, and every pulse ful as hitoself,) always sat at his own throbbing violently with agitation, she table. Possessed of an immense for- lean’d against the trunk of a tree, extune, which he was accustom’d to say pecting to see the being whom, next was drawn from the Spanish Stocks, Heaven, she loved most tenderly. yet without children, for he was a 'Twas now too dark to distinguish bachelor, he had adopted his nephew, objects, but she could hear footsteps determind to leave him the bulk of his approaching, and she sunk without property. The young man, who reale sense or motion to the ground. On Jy was naturally of an amiable dispo- recovery, she found herseli sitting on a sition, on this accession to his uncle's couch in a small room, and the old favoor, associated with some of the housekeeper, with other females, sedu

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