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carried away by the impetuosity of his own imagination, | discovery”—it was "the immediate deduction, ab initio, like Hogarth's madman, who fancied himself a king, he from the soundest principles of legitimate science." The has only attained the summit of his ambition in a dream. charm, which, to consumptive patients, is to prove a sort But we wish not to speak harshly; "habenda justitia of aurum potabile, is chlorine, commonly known as the summa ratio est." "bleaching gas." Nysten and Fetréart have shown by their experiments, that the smallest quantity of this gas cannot be inhaled without exciting violent irritation and inflammation; but during the ascendency of chemical pathology, water impregnated with it was recommended in some diseases. Mr Braithwate recommends it strongly in scarlatina, and Willan, in cynanche maligna. But it is singular, that while Mr John Murray is in the act of writing a book to prove the efficacy of chlorine in curing pulmonary consumption, he does not produce the details of a single case in which it has had a good effect. His

-nay, those which he might have adduced as having come under his own immediate treatment, "would be liable to objection;" and, moreover, he adds, that he has an “insuperable delicacy in requesting details of cases from medical gentlemen," so that the testimony in favour of this great discovery, which is to benefit the human race when Mr John Murray is quietly sleeping in the churchyard, is not detailed; there is not a shadow of evidence brought forward to show what its effects are in pulmonary consumption. It is even doubtful, with regard to the few cases referred to, and which seem to have occurred in the practice of the author's friends, whether these were cases of phthisis at all—and it is not on such slender evidence that medical men will be warranted in hurrying consumptive patients into an atmosphere of chlorine, as live dogs are cruelly plunged in the Grotto del Cane. Dr Cottereau of Paris, and Sir Charles Scudamore, have been experimenting on the effects of chlorine in pulmonary consumption, and we shall rejoice much if it prove at all beneficial ;—but with respect to curing this disease---that is tò say, renovating a partly disorganized lung---we are afraid that it is physically impossible to devise any measure that can have so desirable an effect.

Pulmonary consumption is occasioned by the deposition of tubercles in the lungs, and these are at first small grey semi-transparent bodies of variable size and consistence, which, in the progress of the disease, enlarge, become yellowish and opaque, coalesce, soften, and frequently form excavations in the substance of the organ. Now, it is obvious, that when such tubercles are formed, the only medicine that can act as a restorative, must either cause their absorption, or arrest their further progress; and all who pretend to cure consumption, without proceeding on sound pathological principles, act empirically," little volume was not intended to be a display of cases" and, like Swift's Apothecary, pour bodies of which they know little, into bodies of which they know less. But when a being who is near and dear to us is seen drooping on the brink of the grave, without a single ray of hope left to cheer the sinking heart, nothing is more natural than to lend an ear of credulity to tales of marvellous cures wrought by " men of cunning device," and to have recourse, in the hour of affliction, to their charms and potions. But if we will have recourse to nostrums, let us at least be sure that we are in the hands of men who have studied the subject; and thus when Mr John Murray here presents us with a treatise on Pulmonary Consumptionbut tells us, at the same time, that he has never been "initiated into the practice of medicine," the truth of which statement is sufficiently clear, from the perusal of his book, would it not be madness to listen to one who thas openly announces his own ignorance? "We do not consider," says Mr John Murray, "consumption, strictly speaking, hereditary; that is to say, however susceptible the system may be to the action of those external agents that eventually give rise to that train of symptoms which ultimately merge in confirmed phthisis; still phthisis is not an integrant part of the native constitution; to grow with its growth, and strengthen with its strength.'" Indeed! We beg to inform Mr John Murray, that the lungs of the very youngest children-nay, those of the fœtus, have been found studded with tubercles, in which cases, we apprehend that phthisis must have formed “an integraut part of the native constitution." Nay, if the learned author will consult the records of the Children's Hospital in Paris, he will find that pulmonary consumption is an extremely common disease among the very youngest children of the working classes. But our limits will not allow us to discuss this subject so fully as we could wish, and we proceed to the next chapter, wherein we find our amateur in medical science reviewing the various remedies which have been recommended by differeat practitioners in this disease; all of which he modestly insinuates are utterly useless, and quotes, as a proof of the inconsistency of medical practitioners, the following passage from the work of a very eminent physician :---" In ulterior stages, a more generous diet, and even some wine, may be allowed. These, instead of increasing the fever, will often check both." Any reasonable man, nay, the merest tyro that ever officiated at a dispensary, will see that this is a good, and even, from experience, an approved, practice. But Mr John Murray throws himself into an agony of critical enthusiasm, and exclaims---" Tell us, ye who best can tell, can this be compatible with bleeding, blisterings, and setons?" Yes, Mr John Murray, it is compatible with the soundest principles of pathology. In the early stages of consumption, small bleedings will subdue the inflammatory state of the system, and arrest the progress of tubercular deposition; in the latter stages, when the progress of the disease has subdued the patient's strength, generous diet, and even a little wine, may be given with the happiest results.

A Dictionary of the Military Science; containing an Explanation of the Principal Terms used in Mathematics,' Artillery, and Fortification; and comprising the substance of the latest Regulations on Courts Martial, Pay, Pensions, Allowances, &c.; a Comparative Table of Ancient and Modern Geography; Achievements of the British Army; with an Address to Gentlemen entering · the Army. By E. S. N. Campbell, Lieut. 22d Regiment. 8vo. Pp. 284. London. Baldwin and Cradock. 1830.

THIS work is a valuable vade mecum for the young officer; and it will likewise prove a valuable addition to the library of the civilian. The art of war has now arrived at a stage of perfection and completeness, that renders a technical language indispensable in discussing its prin-, ciples, or describing its operations. In every gazette and' history, its terms are necessarily of continual occurrence, and render such a dictionary as the present of the greatest use to the unmilitary reader. The author, although a young officer, has been thoroughly educated at the Royal Military College at Sandhurst, and has had several years' practical experience as adjutant and deputy judge-advo cate to the reserve of the 15th regiment. He has also enjoyed, while engaged in compiling his work, the advice and assistance of several able and experienced officers. In expressing our approbation of the work, therefore, which we do most unhesitatingly, we do not ask the reader to rely upon our judgment alone. The facts which we have stated regarding its composition, entitle it to a presumption in its favour. We cannot take leave of this subject, without expressing our delight at the almost daily But what is the specific discovered by Mr John Mur-rise of the British army in moral worth and intelligence; ray? He inforins us that "accident had no part in the a rise which has not been confined to the officers, but has

"A great arithmetician."

spread through the ranks. Our army has never been de- (By the way, this is not the only instance in which the ficient in bravery, but there are persons still alive, who laws of nature generally understood to obtain in the other remember the officer of the old school either dissipated quarters of the globe, seem to be reversed in that extraorand thoughtless, or a plodding martinet. The stirring dinary continent: it is there that we find quadrupeds scenes of the last half-century, and the establishment of who walk with their tails, and others who have assumed military colleges, have inspired into their successors more the bill, hitherto understood to be the exclusive property active energy, a more manly and intellectual character, of the feathered creation.) The propriety of all these and an emulation to excel in their profession, and in the measures is duly and carefully demonstrated; the quanvarious arts and sciences which tend to perfect and illus-tity and expense of food and clothing calculated; the trate it. Some little books, too, which have been pub-time required for the completion of the undertaking aslished of late years, show a growing spirit of intelligence certained: all with the most laudable precision, for the among the privates and non-commissioned officers. A captain is, like worthy Michael Cassio, gratifying piece of news which has lately reached us, confirms the fact. The privates and non-commissioned officers of the 42d regiment, at present stationed at Gibraltar, have established, under the auspices of their officers, a library, supported by their own contributions, and managed exclusively by themselves. It must contain, by this time, about a thousand volumes. According to a letter which we have seen, a marked improvement has taken place since its establishment, in the habits of many of the subscribers. We trust that the example of the gallant band," who smote the Invincibles on Egypt's shore," will speedily be followed. Our soldiers are true Britons in their attachment to their country, and in cool, reflective bravery ;—why should they not be Britons also in intelligence and moral character? We trust that the foolish prejudice, that any dissipated rascal may do for a soldier, at once degrading to an honourable, and inducing unfriendly feelings towards a necessary, profession, is rapidly dying away. The honour and the safety of our country are inseparable from the character of her armies.

Nay, the rewards which shall be bestowed upon the travellers, if successful, are stated. They are to be "after the plan of those for a north-west passage and north-polar discovery." What these are, we are left to infer from the proposal which immediately follows, that every member of the expedition shall receive so many acres of the lands discovered. We were not previously aware that Captain Parry and his crew were to receive so many acres of the ice-bergs and shoals they might encounter in their way to the Pole.

But our ingenious author does not rest contented with barely making discoveries he suggests means for turning them to account. We need not add, that his talents for legislation are quite equal to those he has displayed in his scheme for exploring unknown lands. One feature of his plan of colonisation has particularly struck us, as showing a deep insight into human nature-and that is, the arrangement for preserving the morals of the army, by rigidly prohibiting any intercourse between them and the sailors.

There is something in the spirit of the whole work, akin to some favourite projects of the captive of St Helena -the same power of mathematical demonstration-the same Ossianic mistiness of conception, when the discussion passes beyond that magic circle. We have felt not He has served in the Company's army: most probably a little curiosity respecting the author's personal identity. he is one of their Subahdars, or native officers. He tells us, indeed, in one place,-" The author has been converted from Heathenism since his return from India." He is, however, we suspect, like Donald Bean Lean,

The Friend of Australia; or, a Plan for Exploring the Interior, and for carrying on a Survey of the whole Continent of Australia. By a Retired Officer of the Hon. East India Company's Service. Illustrated with a map of Australia, and five Plates. One volume, 8vo. Pp. 428. London. Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1830. THIS is the most extraordinary work we have encountered for a long time. It is an arithmetical romance,--a mathematical poem,- -a -we do not know what to call it. In its form, it is a piece of stern and severe calculation; in its results, it is a wild dream of the imagination." but a queer kind of Christian after all." At least, he It indicates in the author a fervid and passionate temperament, united to a fancy which admits or retains no impressions but mathematical figures or algebraic relations. The materials are homely-commonplace: men, cattle, food, clothes. The combinations are shadowy and ideal as the rapt musings of the enthusiast, or the delirious dreams of fever. This language savours of paradox, but without its aid we should seek in vain to characterise "The Friend of Australia."

The main object of the work is to recommend to the notice of government a plan for exploring the interior of Australia--a plan which we describe faintly when we say it is one of thundering magnificence. It is simply this: One hundred men shall be placed under the command of a captain of the navy. They shall consist of engineers, draughtsmen, surveyors, soldiers, carpenters, coopers, farriers, six cooks, three surgeons, &c. &c. They shall be provided with boats, long poles, provisions, seven hundred and seventy-seven bullocks, thirty-one horses, and fourteen ponies, or as many elephants and camels as are equivalent to the above-named beasts of burden. They shall be armed with long muskets and coats of mail, and shall have oil-skin cloaks to keep out the wet. As they advance from the east side of the island towards the west, they shall leave behind them depots, so as to keep up the communication with the point whence they commence their march. They shall set out at the commencement of the rainy season, because it is only during the dry season that the rivers of Australia overflow their banks.

A

seems (p. 265 ad im.) to mix up the solemnities of Juggernaut and the Church after rather a curious fashion. His reason for believing in the existence of a large river in Australia, shows that he is not yet quite emancipated from his native superstitions. "I feel the strongest conviction, a kind of second sight or presentiment, that a river of the first magnitude will be found in Australia.” There is something mysterious about his history. native of India-partial to its climate, (for he tells us in one place that it is the most healthy in the world; in another, "to the horrible climate of England, I would not transport my worst enemy;") cherishing tenderly the remembrance of its localities-even of its names; (" to me nothing can be more romantic or pleasing than an Indian name;") esteeming the Indian the nobler race, (for he suggests the introduction of a law into Australia, by which the whites, the plebeians, shall be prohibited to kill the game reserved for the amusement of the Indians, the aristocracy)—still he has chosen to end his days in England. This can only be accounted for by the mortifications to which the loss of caste must have exposed him in India. There is something inexpressibly touching in the idea of this venerable martyr to conviction, looking back with tender melancholy to the land of his youth. There is an Oriental grandeur even in the name of his residence" Siberian Wilds, near Blackstone Edge."

The Child's Own Book. Illustrated with nearly 300 Engravings by Eminent Artists. 12mo. Pp. 360. London: Alfred Miller. Edinburgh: Henry Constable. 1830.

HOWEVER startling and incredible the statement may appear, we once were a child; and we still remember the ineffable delight afforded us by the perusal of fairy tales, printed on coarse whitey-grey paper, garnished with wooden cuts, folded into a book of square form, (a tiny quarto,) and covered on the back with a paper gorgeously embossed with green, purple, and gold. There was Mother Bunch and all her wondrous retinue; Riquet with the Tuft; Beauty and the Beast; The Invisible Prince; She, the lovely one, out of whose mouth there -issued with every word a rose or a 'pearl. Then, again, to descend from our nursery mythology, there was bold Robin Hood, Crusoe, and Goody Two Shoes. A sect of 2 fanatics, worse than any Inquisition, have entered these invaluable books on their list of proscribed works; they have been excluded from the nursery, as if measles and chincough lurked beneath their covers-and the consequence is, that our children have become stupid, peevish brats, and boys of nine years of age have begun to wear cravats The minds of the poor darlings were crammed with the most indigestible food; many hundreds of them ➡caught the green-sickness, from being allowed to read of nothing but flowers and fruits in their seasons;" still

greater numbers were rendered bilious for life, by being forced to take prémature doses of morality. At last Miller arose a name destined to immortal love and reverence in the nursery--and, despite of the caterwauling of maiden aunts, Sunday-evening-school-teachers, et hoc genus omne, restored to their due supremacy "the old familiar stories." It would have done any one's heart good, who had a heart to do good to, had he seen the jumping, and chuckling, and crowing among the unbreeched academicians, when this goodly little volume was handed into their sanctum, in order to obtain their imprimatur. It is of the true orthodox form--a cube of three inches. The paper and printing are excellent; the three hundred cuts are above all praise. We are credibly informed the " Juvenile Society for the Diffusion of Knowledge" in this city, (a debating society, which admits no member who has passed his eleventh =year,) have it in contemplation to give a dinner to Messrs Miller and Constable, and present them with the diploma of honorary members, as a mark of gratitude to these - gentlemen, for their assiduous promotion of juvenile

literature.

The Journal of a Naturalist.

Hints on the Planting and General Treatment of Hardy
Evergreens, in the Climate of Scotland. By William
M'Nab. 8vo. Pp. 40. Edinburgh. Thomas Clark.
1830.

MR M'NAB is an assiduous observer, a cautious and clear-headed thinker. His work contains much truly novel information, delivered with that diffidence which always accompanies true merit. It is just such a book as a practical gardener ought to write: it is redolent of the open air. We do not merely read of sunshine and

of moist weather in Mr M'Nab's pages: we positively feel their presence. We hope that his remarks may be attended to by our landed proprietors, and that the cultivation of evergreens may increase. There is not a better cover for game than your laurel; and we know no more beautiful and appropriate ornament to a dwellinghouse than luxuriant clumps of evergreens.

Brighton!! A Comic Sketch. Illustrated by seven Engravings on Wood, after Designs by Robert Cruikshank. London. William Kidd. 1830.

PUBLICATIONS of this kind are becoming as frequent as fashionable novels. The sketch itself is much like other sketches of the kind, well enough. The woodcuts are respectable. The cul-de-lampe, representing an imp learning its A, B, C, and smoking a pipe in quiet expectation of the gentleman who gallops head-foremost over a precipice towards it, is a good idea.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

JOURNAL OF TWO DAYS, WITH AN INTERVAL
OF FORTY YEARS.
-Ridentem dicere verum

Quid vetat ?-HOR.

April 20th, 1790. Six o'clock, A. M.— -Sprung nimbly from my bed, and threw open my shutters. It was a beautiful morning; sun up birds singing-flowers blooming-dew glittering. Hurried on my clothes. Took my rod in my hand; -threw my fishing-basket over my shoulder, and soon found myself on the banks of the neighbouring stream. Recollected it was my twentieth birthday ;-laughed to, think I was so old;-determined to correct all former faults, and begin a new life;-walked home with the conviction that I should one day be the greatest man in existence.

Nine o'clock.-Made dreadful havoc at the breakfastThird Edition. London. table ;-sent rolls, eggs, ham, jelly, tea, and coffee, chasing each other down my throat;-dad said he was glad to see me so hungry; and granny whispered something to my mother about white teeth, blue eyes, and beautiful complexion ;-talked of Ellen Tracey;-dad looked glum ;

John Murray. 1830. THE Journal of a Naturalist has been already favourably received by the public, and its success is chiefly owing to its being one of those works which facilitate the acquisition of scientific knowledge. Such guides are now in general request; and the most talented men in the country are busy reducing into popular forms the principles of science, which have hitherto been accessible only to the recluse devotee of knowledge. How far the interests of science may be affected by this kind of "levelling system" we shall not pause now to enquire; but surely there can be no reason why demonstrable truths should not be stated to society at large in the simplest and most intelligible manner. The Journal of a Naturalist presents us with a clear account of the most interesting and beautiful phenomena of nature. We cordially recommend it to the attention of our readers, if, indeed, the fact that this is already its third edition, be not recommendation enough.

mother frowned; and granny said she was a sly gipsy-not worth a farthing;-thought granny an old bore.

Eleven o'clock.-Called on Dick Oliver;-rode out together;-never saw Dick so merry ;-met Ellen Tracey both bowed ;-our eyes met ;-never thought her more beautiful;-told Dick I was determined to marry her, whether dad consented or not;-Dick said I was right; thought Dick a sensible fellow ;-knew him to be my staunch friend.

Two o'clock.-Returned home;-found the Honourable Miss Aubrey in the drawing-room ;-mother and granny in a great fuss ;-was sorry I had come in;— wished to retreat ;-stumbled over Miss Aubrey's lapdog; -dog yelped-Miss Aubrey screamed - mother shrieked granny scolded;-wished either them or myself at the devil;-tried to turn it off with a joke ;failed, for nobody laughed ;-never felt so foolish, or looked so sheepish ;-Miss Aubrey rose to go;-carried

her lapdog down stairs, and handed both into the carriage. (Mem. Never to call any dog of mine Pompey.) Three o'clock.-Lectured by pa, ma, and granny; Miss Aubrey's charms, personal, moveable, and heritable, drummed into my ears;-protested that I could see nothing agreeable about her ;-was told by the whole trio, in grand chorus, that she was worth six thousand a-year; -thought six thousand a-year more than any married man could have occasion for.

Five o'clock.-Dined with my uncle in town ;-a large party, mostly old people,-all upwards of forty ;-not a single topic broached in which I took the slightest interest;-sat at the bottom of the table beside my uncle ; -carved every dish for him ;-never saw people eat so voraciously; had not a moment to swallow a morsel myself;-cut too thick a slice of mutton for an elderly gentleman who sat above me ;-he sent away his plate, and requested me to give him a thinner;-blushed from shame and vexation, but sent him his mutton, and abundance of gravy;-was asked by my uncle to drink wine; --in filling my glass, gave the elderly gentleman's plate a touch with my elbow ;-plate fell, and deposited its contents-mutton, potatoes, and gravy-in the elderly gentleman's lap ;-thought I should have died, but put on a methodist face, and begged a thousand pardons ;-after dinner, drank a dozen bumpers of my uncle's claret, and then left him and his old cronies to make the best they could of the remainder of the evening.

Eleven o'clock.-Laid my hand on some old manuscripts; found among them a part of my journal, written many years ago;—read that which was dated April 20th, 1790; wondered how I could ever have given way to so much levity and frivolity as it convicted me of;—thought of my father, and mother, and grandmother, whom I had long since laid in the dust. Placing my elbow on the table, leaning my head upon my hand, and involuntarily closing my eyes, my past life presented itself to me as a long and troubled dream. A melancholy sensation of loneliness stole over me; I felt that the heyday of youth and youthful enjoyment was gone for ever, when "Simply but to be,

To live, to breathe, is purest ecstasy."

One o'clock.-Ordered the gig to the door;-wrapped myself up in my great-coat, and set off on my morning ride ;-horse rather fiery ;-determined to sell him, and get another ;-met Mr and Mrs Oliver;-took no notice of either, but felt my heart beat irregularly for some minutes ;-found myself in an excellent mood for misanthropy. When a man becomes the dupe of his own erroneous opinions and false judgments, he very often degenerates into a misanthropist, eager to revenge upon his fellow-men those misfortunes which he imagines they, and not his own foolishness, have brought upon him. But it is surely hard to be deceived by him whom you considered your best friend, and to be jilted by her upon whom all your affections had been irrevocably placed. Thought of my grandmother ;-recollected that I had often treated her advice with too little deference ;-wished that she were still alive, that I might have told her how exactly we agreed in our opinion of Ellen Tracey,I mean of Mrs Oliver.

Eight o'clock.-Went to the theatre ;-knew that Ellen Tracey was there with her aunt ;-got into their box ;Ellen made room for me to sit beside her ;-felt myself in the third heavens ;-would not have exchanged places with the king had he been in the house ;-saw Miss Aubrey in an opposite box;-thought she looked angry; did not care;-Ellen looked pleased. The play was " Venice Preserved;""-saw tears in Ellen's eyes;-thought what rapture I should have felt had I been allowed to kiss them away;-led Ellen and her aunt to the carriage ;— was asked to go home and sup, with them ;-scarcely took time to answer, but leapt after them into the carriage like a flying Mercury;-never was in such spirits;—was afraid lest they should think me tipsy ;-thought Ellen's hair more tastefully dressed than I had ever seen it ;-tary wanderer, without a tie to bind me to the world;how beautifully her light auburn ringlets danced over her dark blue eyes!-sat with them till her aunt gave me a pretty broad hint that it was time to be gone.

Twelve o'clock.-An enchanting night; the moon travelling through a cloudless sky ;-composed half a sonnet as I walked homewards ;-passed Dick Oliver's ;-saw a light in his room ;--thought I would call in, and tell him of the pleasure I had been enjoying ;-knew that Dick was my best friend;-found him sitting over a tumbler of negus;-was prevailed upon to take some also;-repeated my half sonnet ;--Dick laughed, but I knew that he was no judge of poetry ;-left him at two in the morning; went home;-got into bed;-fell asleep, and dreamed of Ellen Tracey.

April 20th, 1830.

Eheu! fugaces, Posthume! Posthume! labuntur anni.-HOR. Eight o'clock, A.M.-Was awakened from a comfortable nap by the horrid rumbling of a detested dust-cart ;— heard at the same time the horse neigh immediately under my window, and the dustman ring his bell with the most consummate violence and cold-blooded impertinence ;— felt inclined to load a pair of pistols, and shoot both the man and his horse through the head; was convinced that I should not get the better of the shock for a whole week. Ten o'clock.-Sat down to breakfast ;-eat nothing; the bread was sour, the eggs rotten, the tea too weak, coffee too strong;-started when I recollected that it was my sixtieth birthday;-went to the mirror;-thought there was something wrong about it, for most of my hair appeared grey, and innumerable wrinkles were visible on my face and forehead.

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Three o'clock.-Visited the family burying-place ;— stood beside the tombs of my father, my mother, my grandmother, and my only sister;-did not shed any tears, but earnestly prayed that I might soon lie beside them ;-felt as if all my previous existence had been a blank, destitute of thought and action ;-reflected that the only sincere, disinterested friends I had ever known, had gone down into the grave, and that I was left a soli

ruminated on the deceitfulness of youthful love, and youthful hope, and youthful friendship ;-felt at last something like tears trickling down my cheeks.

Five o'clock.-Dined with a newly-married couple ;there was a large, merry party, but the bride and her young husband seemed to be more than merry,—they looked perfectly happy ;—they had known and loved each other from childhood;-almost envied them ;-could not help recollecting, just for a moment, what Ellen Tracey once was;— thought the young people very boisterous in their mirth;

could not bear their loud peals of laughter;-sought for refuge among several old ladies;-found that they were all watching, with delight, the merriment of their children or grandchildren;―sighed deeply, and contrived to get away unobserved; need not say contrived, for few knew that I was in the room, and none missed me when I departed.

Eight o'clock.-Went by myself to the theatre, which has always been with me a very favourite place of amusement ;-Lady Howard (formerly the Honourable Miss Aubrey) happened to be in the box into which I went; -was received politely, I may even say cordially, by berself and her husband. Lady Howard must at one time have been a decided beauty;—she is, even now, a fine, graceful-looking woman. Saw Dick Oliver and EllenMr and Mrs Oliver, I mean-in an opposite box ;-did not think they looked happy ;—felt half angry at myself, but could not help pitying Ellen;-did not like the playit was " Venice Preserved." Probably the acting was not good, yet Miss Kemble played Belvidera ;—obseryed that the ladies never think of shedding tears in a theatre now|a-days. Did not stay to see the afterpiece.

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"Hence, dreamer, away! for thy love is not here!" Then I fly to the pillow, where slumber forsakes me, And mine eyelids close not till the dawning of light, When a tumult of dream in its frenzy o'ertakes me,

And I rise unrefresh'd from the shadows of night; Then I think of the hours which thy presence hath blest, And, as sunlight glows bright on a river's dark breast, Do I woo thee to mine, where, my life-chosen guest, Thy smiles ever move me,

To bless thee, and love thee,

So, believe, in thy absence, to me thou art dear;
One wish, though 'tis vain,
Throbs my bosom and brain—

It is" My beloved! Oh, would she were here!"
ALASTOR.

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