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The Rope-houses are buildings on the same magnificent scale as the other parts of the establishment: they consist of two limestone buildings, twelve hundred feet long, parallel to each other, and two stories high. Cables are made here one hundred fathoms in length, and measuring twenty-five inches in circumference: a cable of this size weighs upwards of 116 cwt. and costs about four hundred pounds.

Among other objects worthy of notice are, a Mould Loft, in which are deposited and prepared moulds or plans of ships intended to be built; the Camber, a canal sixty feet wide, stretching far up into the interior of the yard—the stores intended to be used in the yard, are here unloaded from vessels by means of immense cranes; a Graving Slip, a place in which the copper sheathing of small vessels is cleaned; a depot for rigging and sails; two large oblong edifices, separated by a flight of steps, and standing in front of the four southern docks: these buildings are devoted to offices, and artificer's workshops.

Such is a brief description of the Dockyard. In an excellent Guide to Plymouth and Devonport, written by a son of the poet Carrington, are the following remarks:–

A person unacquainted with the economy of our dockyards, and particularly with that of Plymouth, is apt to associate the ideas of bustle—of deafening clamour—of confused masses of wood, iron, &c., of workmen eternally jostling and thwarting each other—of walls and buildings blackened with sulphurous vapours—of pitch, tar, varnish, paint, chips, shavings, dirt, everywhere offending the eye, and almost debarring access to vessels in the docks. He is, on entering the Plymouth dockyard, pleasantly undeceived. At first he does not see even the ships in dock, nor the storehouses, and, unless some extraordinary operation, such as that of raising a vessel, is going on, he does not even hear, or scarcely hears, the sound of a hammer. The broad avenue from the dockyard gates has not a chip on its surface—it is as clean as the indefatigable broom can make it. There, with an aspect of simple grandeur, rises the dockyard chapel: the guard-house is near it, with the sentinel slowly pacing in front; a few passengers, for: officers of the navy or of the establishment, or aply a party permitted to view the yard, are passing near it. An air of serenity, of order, of cleanliness, pervades the whole spot. It is not till the stranger or visitor has passed “the Row" (the houses in which the principal officers reside,) and has descended one or two flights of steps that lead to the area where the docks are excavated, and where the sheds, storehouses, &c., are erected, that he is sensible of the presence of business. But here a thousand acts are going on-the most remarkable operations are performing;-the eye of skill,—the arm of industry—all that consummate ingenuity and undaunted labour can produce, are there;—the mighty machine before us is the scene of the most complicated duties—yet there is no confusion:— every one is at his post, and the spectator is compelled to admire the arrangements which have produced such important results.

Besides the numerous buildings forming collectively the Dockyard, there are other Government establishments in and near Devonport. One of these is the Gun wharf, lying to the north of the Dockyard, and built more than a century ago. This wharf encloses nearly five acres of ground, and consists principally of storehouses. The principal buildings are two spacious storehouses, three stories high, in which are deposited an immense number of muskets, pistols, cutlasses, and other weapons, ranged along the walls. There are also storehouses of powder, shot, guncarriages, &c. The space between the building is occupied by piles of cannon and pyramids of cannon-shot.

Near a suburb, called Morice Town, is the Keyham Powder Magazine, the principal depôt for gunpowder for the supply of the ships, garrison, &c. The Magazine consists of several detached edifices, surrounded

by a high wall, and guarded with the utmost care from explosions, &c. Some years back, in addition to this magazine, five line-of-battle ships were fitted up as floating magazines, and kept supplied with forty thousand barrels of powder, and several million ball-cartridges, besides other ammunition. In immediate correspondence with the Magazine is the Laboratory, a collection of workshops, composed of about twenty detached buildings, surrounded by a lofty wall. These workshops are occupied by smiths, harness-makers, and other artificers, who are employed in making ball-cartridges for troops and fieldpieces, and in various other duties connected with the fitting out of a military expedition. In relation to these powder magazines or depôts, the following circumstance has been narrated :-On the 26th of June, 1810, at two o'clock, A.M., twelve French prisoners escaped from the Genereur prison-ship, in Hamoaze, and making themselves masters of the Union powder-hoy, which was lying about eighty yards from the magazine pier-head, got under way for France. She was laden with about three hundred barrels of powder, belonging to His Majesty's ship Defiance. The Frenchmen overpowered the watchman, named Gill, and conveyed him to France, where he was detained a prisoner till the peace. Although some of the sentinels and watchmen saw the Union proceed down the harbour, they had not the least suspicion, until five o'clock, of her being navigated by any but her own crew. A report of the circumstance was communicated to the officers at Keyham Point, who suspected the real state of the transaction, and immediately reported the affair to Admiral Young (then Port Admiral,) who despatched cruizers in pursuit without success, as they stretched off mid-channel, while the sloop shaped her course close alongshore till night, when she bore away, and safely reached Morlaix, in France. The Military Hospital is situated near Stoke Church, and contains accommodation for five hundred patients. This noble edifice is built of grey marble, and comprises four large square buildings, similar in size and form, and connected by a piazza of fortyone arches, supporting a terrace in front of the ward windows for the use of convalescents. There is a commodious landing place on the bank of Stonehouse Creek, at which patients from transports and the distant parts of the garrison are disembarked. The Royal Marine Barracks at Stonehouse are a handsome range of buildings, forming a rectangle, in the midst of which is a spacious parade. On the south side are two entrance-gates and a guard-house. These bar, acks are calculated to contain about a thousand men. The mess apartments are commodious and well fitted up. At a short distance from these Barracks are the Long Room Barracks. These consist of several insulated buildings, chiefly of wood, which will hold about mine hundred men. The Dockyard possesses a diving-bell, which has been much used in the various submarine excavations carried on in the neighbourhood. It is made of castiron, and weighs about forty-two hundredweight. It is six feet long, four feet broad, and five high; and has a capacity of one hundred and twenty cubic feet. To admit light to the interior, it is provided with twelve convex lenses inserted in the top, each eight inches in diameter. When the bell is sunk in clear water, even to a considerable depth, the light admitted through the lenses is sufficient to enable the diver to read the smallest print. An air hole is made at the top, and from thence a leathern hose leads to the vessel or barge above. An air-pump on board the vessel forces down a supply of fresh air to the bell:

this air is admitted to the bell by a peculiar kind of valve”. One of the most magnificent of the Government buildings is the New Victualling Office, recently erected on the tongue of land called Devil's Point. This extensive range comprises the long storehouse,_the brewing establishment, the mill and bakehouse,_ the slaughterhouse, &c,+the Melville storehouse,_ the cooperage, and the private dwelling-houses of the officers, superintendent, &c. The purpose of all these buildings may be partially guessed from their names: everything that has reference to the food and drink of the seamen, employed in the ships fitted out at Plymouth and Devonport, comes under the cognizance of the officers of this establishment. The long storehouse contains a substantial range of buildings, of plain architecture, three stories in height, with a quay in front, two hundred and fifty feet long, and fifty feet broad. The brewing establishment forms three sides of a square, measuring two hundred and fifty feet by two hundred, and has a granite arcade, of five arches in width and two in depth, in the central part of the front facing the water. The mill and baking establishment form a perfect square, the water front and flank of which correspond with those of the brewhouse. The Melville storehouse is also a perfect square. The cooperage and the slaughterhouses are on the same large and extensive scale as the other buildings. Many of these buildings are roofed with iron, and the lateral inclinations with slate. The entire premises of the Victualling Yard comprise an extent of thirteen acres: the site was prepared in a singular manner: seven acres of ground were excavated, and the materials thus produced from the excavation were thrown into the sea, by which the other six acres were, as it were, stolen from the sea. The mass of hard limestone rock thus cut from

* See also Saturday Magazine, Vol. XIV. p. 95, 145, 199.

one part of the site, and employed to form the other part, amounted to the enormous quantity of 300,000 tons. There are three entrances to the pile of buildings, the principal of which is in magnificent style, the whole formed of granite. As part of the building may be almost said to be built on the sea, it was necessary to erect a strong sea wall between the quay and the sea. This quay is 1500 feet long. The doors, window-frames, internal columns, girders, lintels, &c., are of cast-iron.

Another building at Stonehouse is the Royal Naval Hospital, opened in the year 1762 for the reception of sick and wounded seamen and marines. The Governor is a Post-Captain in the Navy. The hospital stands on a pleasant ascent, rising from Stonehouse Creek. The area of the whole is about twentyfour acres, thirteen of which are occupied by a lawn where the convalescent patients may take exercise. The hospital consists of ten buildings, surrounding an extensive quadrangle, each building containing six wards, and every ward capable of receiving sixteen, or, in cases of emergency, twenty patients: so that twelve hundred sick men can be received here at once. In order to prevent as much as possible the liability of infection or contagion spreading from one part to another, the ten buildings are entirely separated from one another, and communication can be had from one to another only by means of a piazza, surrounding the whole building. Besides these principal buildings, there are a chapel, the dispenser's apartments, a dispensary, an operating room, cooking rooms, victualling rooms, and other apartments. Hot, cold, and shower-baths, a wash-house, drying-ground, &c, are at a short distance from the main part of the building. In the first fifteen years of the present century no fewer that 48,452 seamen and marines, wounded or ill, were received into this admirable establishment, a great proportion of whom returned cured to the service as effective men.

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The blue-eyed Forget-me-not, beautiful flower,
Half-wooed and half-stolen I brought from her bower,
By the bright river's brink, where she nestled so low,
That the water o'er stem and o'er leaflet might flow:
As if, like Narcissus, she foolishly tried
To gaze on her own gentle face in the tide.

Half inclined, half reluctant, the flower bade adieu
To the friends left behind in the dell where she grew,
And a few shining drops from the river spray flung,
Like tears of regret on her azure eyes hung;
But I kissed them away, as a lover had done,
In joy that my fair river-beauty I'd won.

And then swiftly I hied to my lone desk away,
Lest my flower should droop, grow dim, and decay;
For methought I once more would pourtray the soft hue
Of that smooth vivid green, and that delicate blue:
And while o'er the semblance I silently bent,
My fair sister sighed forth this touching lament:-
Alas! it is a weary thing
To have such great renown;
Ten thousand bards my praises sing,
Through city, shire, and town.
From scribblers that earn pence a line,
To those that win a pound,
None think their poesy will shine,
Till it my praise resound.
And Misses, in those curious books
Called “albums,” and so forth,
Paint a blue marigold, whose looks
Proclaim her none of earth;
On which the parson, if he's young,
Or doctor, if he's handsome,
Must perpetrate a doleful song:
Oh! will no fairy ransom
My face from such a libel vile?
And clear my reputation,
So slurred by treachery and guile,
From such an imputation,
As that I set the twaddlers on
To so berhyme and saint me?
As I'm a flower, they know no more
Of me, than those who paint me.
The human beauties of the land,
Must sit for days and hours,
To let the painter's mimic hand
Each feature scan;–but flowers
They think may just be drawn
As ignorance may like them;
Leaves snipt and shaped like gauze or lawn,
As whim or fancy strikes them.
E’en “botanists” mistake my form,
That's seen by brook and fountain",
For my rough cousin'st who's clad warm,
To dwell on moor and mountain.
But this I d pardon, if the bards'
And poetasters chorus
Were silenced once,—we'll give rewards
To all who'll no more bore us.
That silly lover tumbling down
And drowning in the Rhine,
First set the jingle-makers on;
And then that book of thine,
O Ackermann I like finger-post,
Directed nymphs to me,
And eer since then, the buzzing host
Have dinned incessantly.
O ye fair ladies of Parnassus,
(Although ye are old-fashioned,)
If ever in your flights ye pass us,
List to our prayer impassioned;
And find another victim bud
To serve your superficial
Votries—'twould do in wax, or wood,
Or cambric artificial.
Give it a name that nicely heads
An elegy or sonnet,
And the whole clan of X. Y. Z.’s
Will start a-rhyming on it.—L.A. Twaxiley.

# Myosotis palustris. t Myosotis Alpestris


SPRING flowers, how I love them; flowers that come only in the Spring. If the season is mild, you may find, in November even, a stray wall-flower, or polyanthus in the garden; or a weakly primrose in the hedge; but the snow-drop and crocus in the neat border, and the violet on the sunny bank; if you find these, it must be Spring. And talking of violets, here we are, in the beautiful lane where we find so many; white violets mostly, and such large ones, and so sweet. I always think of that lane when I see a bunch of violets: the green moss, and the snail-shells, brown and yellow, that we picked up there, and the sprays of blackthorn, leafless, but studded with their delicate blossoms; all is present to my mind. Long years after this, in the crowded market of the neighbouring city, I would seek out the meat farmers' wives, who came from our village, and its neighbourhood; and as I purchased their sweet violets, could almost fancy I knew the very lanes where they had been gathered. How pleasantly in the very heart of the city, and on its busiest day, does the farmer's wife in her accustomed place, remind you of country scenes! There she stands, with her various goods micely arranged; the fowls so white and plump, the snowy pail with its store of butter, each delicate half-pound wrapped round with the cool dock leaf; the eggs, the cream-cheese, the large red apples, and the violets. Who will buy them? A penny a bunch! Surely they are worth it for the memories they bring ; besides, as the mother pleasantly observes, “It is the children's money.” In the gray twilight, along the quiet hedge-rows, they went plucking one after another, till the early evening closed in, and they hastened home with the treasure. Who will buy them? Some mother perhaps will take a bunch of them to her sick child, and in her quiet chamber help those weak hands to arrange them in the glass. Some young sempstress will come, rshe and her companions were wondering yesterday as they bent over their weary work, wondering whether the violets were come; and she is planning a kind surprise by taking them a bunch. Here comes a smart footman; his mistress fancies some violets, and she will place them on her elegant chiffonier, in the opal vase, beside the Indian box, and amid the gay confusion of cut glass, and embroidery.-Recollections of Childhood,


We cannot forbear relating the laughable and beneficial effect the sight and name of this flower had on the spirits of an acquaintance, with whom we were making a tour in Normandy, in the first summer after the return of the Bourbon family to the throne of France. He had been induced to join a small party, and to leave his home, for the first time, to visit the opposite coast; but so truly British were his habits, that nothing could please or satisfy him. The soup was meagre, the pottage was acid, the peas were sweet, the wine was sour, the coffee was bitter, the girls were brown, their eyes too black, their caps too high, their petticoats too short, their language an unintelligible jargon, their houses old, their inns dirty, the country too open, the roads too straight: in short, he saw everything with such discontented eyes as to render the party uncomfortable, until good fortune led us to a rustic inn, where in a small garden were growing several fine stocks, which he affirmed were the first good things he had ever seen since he left Sussex, and on hearing l’hôtesse acknowledge them as Giroflier de Brompton, he insisted on halting at her house, where he treated the party with un déjeuné à la fourchette, and left the village with a sprig of the Brompton stock in his button-hole, his eyes sparkling with champagne and good humour, which lasted for the remainder of the journey, during which time he often said, “Thanks to the Brompton stock."—Phillips' Flora Historica.

It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our nature, that when the heart is touched and softened by some tranquil happiness or affectionate feeling, the memory of the dead comes over it most powerfully and irresistibly. It would almost seem as though our better thoughts and sympathies were charms, in virtue of which the soul is enabled to hold some vague and mysterious intercourse with the spirits of those whom we dearly loved in life. Alas!, how often and how long may those patient angels hover above us, watching for the spell which is so seldom uttered, and so soon forgotten.-Dickens.


THE production of substances bearing resemblance more or less to the nature of wax or tallow is attended with some remarkable circumstances, arising from the great differences in the sources from whence they are derived:—thus, tallow is a coarse inflammable substance derived from animal fat; spermaceti is derived from a liquid found in a cavity in the head of the sperm whale; wax, that is, the substance commonly known by that name, is the product of the bee. Every nation and almost every tribe, excepting those in the lowest grade of civilization, is acquainted with some substance analogous in some respects either to wax or tallow; but those which are known to the Chinese are but little known to English readers, and we will therefore briefly detail their nature and properties. The substances to which we allude are, 1st, a species of wax produced by an insect found in various parts of the Chinese empire; and 2nd, a kind of tallow collected from the branches of a tree also common in that country. This remarkable insect, and the plant on which it is represented in our cut, claim our notice, both on account of the singular manner in which the ini'ammable substances to which we allude are produced by them, and of the importance of those substances in domestic economy. There is no absolute connexion between the tree and the insect, as represented above; but we have classed them together as a matter of convenience, on account of the similarity between their products.-The larva state of the insect is here depicted as well as the more perfect form, since it is in the former stage of its existence that the white wax is produced. It is matural to suppose that such remarkable productions would attract the attention of the comparatively few travellers and naturalists who have managed to gain admission into China. Such was the case; and we accordingly find that observations were made on their nature and growth by those learned Europeans residing in China whose object was to promote arts and sciences as well as to disseminate the truths of the Christian religion. Du Halde and the other early writers on China, describe the insect and the tree in a cursory manner; but Sir George Staunton, in his very valuable work on China, enters into the description at greater length. It appears that accident led him to the observation of some swarms of uncommon insects, busily employed upon some small branches of a shrub, not at that time either in fruit or in flower, but presenting an appearance somewhat similar to that of the privet. These insects, each not much exceeding the size of a common fly, were of a curious structure, having pectinated appendages rising in a curve, bending towards the head, not unlike the form of the tail feathers of the common fowl, but in an opposite direction. Every part of the insect appeared to Sir G. Staunton to be perfectly white, or at least to be completely covered with a white powder. The stems of the particular shrub frequented by those insects was found to be entirely whitened by a substance or powder strewed upon them, the same in nature, apparently, as that with which the body of the insect was covered. Such is the substance of the information which the last-mentioned writer gives us respecting the waxinsect. From the accurate figures and description | which his volume contains, it is evident that the creature which produces this white wax is an imperfect insect, or technically speaking the pupa of an insect, which in its mature state is furnished with wings. Gordon in his History of China, when speak

ing of these wax-producing insects, says that there are in the plains of Houquang vast numbers of little worms, which produce wax in the same manner as bees do honey; but we must here understand “worms" to mean insects not yet arrived at maturity, on the same principle that the larva of the Bombyx mori, although belonging to the moth tribe when perfect, is called a silk-worm. Having thus spoken of the views of some of the writers on Chinese subjects respecting this insect, we will proceed to describe its nature and growth more particularly. The insect was determined by Stohl, a Dutch physician, to be the pupa of the Cicada limbata. The insects are white when young, and it is at that period they form the wax. When they become old, they attain a blackish chesnut colour, and form little pelotons on the branches of trees. These pelotons, when first formed, are about the size of a grain of millet; but towards the beginning of the spring they spread and enlarge in their dimensions; they are attached to the branches somewhat in the manner of bunches of grapes, and give to the tree on which they are deposited the appearance, at first sight, of being loaded with fruit. The natives gather these pelotons about the month of April or May, and having wrapped them up in the leaves of the Yo (a kind of grass with broad leaves), suspend them from the trees. When the warm Midsummer weather arrives, the pelotons open by the influence of the heat, the insects emerge from them, crawl about on the leaves and stalks, and deposit the wax for which they are valued. This wax, which is called by the Chinese Tchang pe la, is, when deposited on the leaves and branches, somewhat similar to a white grease; but it speedily hardens, and then assumes more the character of wax. When in a fit state, it is scraped from the branches of the trees, generally in the autumnal months, and collected in a vessel: this vessel is then exposed to heat, the wax is melted, and strained. By pouring the melted wax into cold water, it is made to coagulate into a pasty form, and is then easily formed into cakes. In its prepared form the wax is found to be very white and glossy; and when mixed with oil, and made into candles, is said to be much superior to the wax of bees for that purpose; indeed it is said by Sir G. Staunton, that the white substance mot only coagulates into wax, but will cause oleaginous substances to coagulate likewise, so as to be formed into candles; for, if one part of this wax be dissolved in three parts of heated olive oil, the whole, when cold, will coagulate into a mass, possessing a degree of firmness nearly equal to that of bees'-wax. Chi Tchin, a Chinese writer, states, that it was not until the dynasty of Yuen that the wax made by these insects began to be known in China; but that as soon as its properties became known, persons of all ranks began to use it, both in medicine and in domestic economy. The medicinal virtues of the wax are spoken of in high terms by many of the Chinese physicians, particularly by one named Tchi-hen. It is said to be a drug deemed absolutely necessary to Chinese surgeons, on account of its tendency to make flesh wounds close, to stop the effusion of blood, to appease pain, to unite dissevered nerves, and to assist in the adjustment of a dislocated bone:—how far an European practitioner would be willing to depend on the wax for all these valuable qualities we do not know; but we must confess that this enumeration of curative properties too much resembles the style of Culpeper and old Gerard to seem worthy of implicit belief. There is, however, no doubt that this wax is very valuable as a material of which candles may be made, whatever be its properties in a medicinal point of view. The wax-producing insects are found in most of the south-east provinces of China, as well as in Cochin China, but the most valuable are found in the provinces of Sc-tchuen and Yuman, and from the territories of Hen-tcheou and Yung-tcheou. Having thus endeavoured to convey an idea of the white wax of China, and its mode of production, we will proceed briefly to describe the tallow principally employed by the natives. This tallow is a vegetable production, growing on the Croton sebiferum, the poplar-leaved croton, or tallow-tree. This tree is about the height of a large cherry-tree, and it is from the fruit of the tree that the substance in question is derived. The fruit is enelosed in a kind of shell, called by the Chinese Yen-kieu, which, when sufficiently ripe, opens in the middle, somewhat in the manner of a chesnut: when exposed by this means, the fruit displays itself in the form of white kernels, about the size of a small hazel nut. The kernels have many of the properties of tallow, and are used to make candles in the following manner:—the kernels are mixed with a small proportion of common oil, and melted: from this melted matter the candles are made nearly in the same manner as in Europe; and as the tallow is rather too soft to remain in a coherent state, the candles are dipped in a vessel containing the insect wax in a melted state, whereby they become coated with a crust of wax which preserves the tallow from too rapidly melting. The above is the substance of what Du Halde says on the subject; and in addition thereto other writers inform us that the fruit, in its external appearance, bears some resemblance to the berries of the ivy; that the capsule, when it opens after ripening, separates into two, and sometimes three divisions; that each kernel is attached by a separate footstalk, and is covered with a fleshy substance of a snowy whiteness, which contrasts beautifully with the purple tint presented by the leaves of the tree at that period; and that the fleshy substance is separated from the central kernel by crushing and then boiling in water. It is said by some writers that the candles made from this substance are firmer, and more free from offensive odour, than those made of European tallow; but that they are not equal to candles made of wax or spermaceti. The higher classes in China use candles made of the insect wax, which yield a clear light without smoke; but this substance is too scarce and costly to be used by the middle or humble classes. It is said that the tallow-tree is now cultivated in the West Indies, where it thrives well and produces fruit; and hopes are entertained that, by proper management, its cultivation may become very advantageous. Lieutenant Moodie, in his Journal of a Residence in South Africa, speaks of a peculiar kind of wax berries, which grow in great abundance upon small bushes in the sand hills near the African shore, and yield a substance partaking of the mature of wax and tallow, which is mixed with common tallow, and used by the colonists for making candles. The berry is about the size of a pea, and is covered with a bluish powder. They are gathered by spreading a skin on the sand, and beating the bushes on which the berries grow, with a stick. When a sufficient quantity of the berries is collected by this means, they are boiled in a large quantity of water, and the wax is skimmed off as it rises to the surface. The wax when all skimmed off, is poured into flat vessels and allowed to cool, when it becomes hard and brittle, and yields a metallic sound when struck. The cakes thus formed are of a deep green colour, and are sold for the same price as common tallow. The berries which produce

this tallow are a favourite article of food for the wild

pigs, which are numerous in Southern Africa.


Next to temperance, a quiet conscience, a cheerful mind, and active habits, I place early rising, as a means of health and happiness. I have hardly words for the estimate I form of that sluggard, male or female, that has formed the habit of wasting the early prime of day in bed. Putting out of the question the positive loss of life, and that too of the most inspiring and beautiful part of each day, when all the voices of nature invite man from his bed; leaving out of the calculation, that longevity has been almost invariably attended by early rising; to me, to late hours in bed present an index to character, and an omen of the ultimate hopes of the person who indulges in this habit. There is no mark so clear of a tendency to self-indulgence. It denotes an inert and feeble mind, infirm of purpose, and incapable of that elastic vigor of will which enables the possessor to accomplish what his reason ordains. The subject of this unfortunate habit cannot but have felt self-reproach, and a purpose to spring from his repose with the freshness of dawn. If the mere indolent luxury of another hour of languid indulgence is allowed to overrule this better purpose, it argues a general weakness of character, which promises no high attainment or distinction. These are never awarded by fortune to any trait but vigor, promptness, and decision. Viewing the habit of late rising, in many of its aspects, it would seem as if no being, that has any claim to rationality, could be found in the allowed habit of sacrificing a .# and that the freshest portion of life, at the expense of health, and the curtailing of the remainder, for any pleasure that his indulgence could conser.—FLINT.


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