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versation with astonishment, and not less so when he stated, that always when he was in London, he considered it his duty to call at the house of Sir George Smart, the director of the Oratorios.

When we alighted, we were delighted with the condescension of our acquaintance, whilst he shook hands with us both, and we mutually exclaimed, as the diligence drove away, “ be is, undoubtedly, a foreign Prince in disguise." We found Haarlem not unworthy our attention, and we spent a day in it very agreeably.

During the time we were in Amsterdam, we expected again to meet his Highness—but in vain—yet the foreign Prince was often the subject of our conversation.

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are ended, we will see the Dandies wearing petticoats, and our Puppies carrying muffs as well as boas, and the ladies, dear creatures, keep them full well in countenance-for we find that they are becoming proportionably masculine, as the gentlemen become effem. inate. Have they not already adopted the trousers of the stronger sex, and do they not show from beneath a tuck the pretty ancle covered with a boot?

People of Fashion aim at pleasure in so very singular a manner, that an ignorant bystander would suppose they hunted after pain instead of entertainment. The routine of visiting is now so embarrassing, that a lady of Fashion has more drudgery to undergo than a menial servant; more whims to gratify, and more caprices to study, than she can well do without injuring her health. In vain the festive ball and soothing song court the unwilling ; but she, sighing for prospective pleasures, vever attempts to taste the joy of the passing party, but hurries on to the succeeding as if there the beight of her felicity would be found. Lady Susan gayly says, that last night she was quite done up, being at the Theatre, the Opera, 7 Private Parties, 11 Routes, and 57 Hum-Drums ; 30 of which she attended by proxy, and sent Bijou (her ladyship's lapdog) to pay the remainder of the necessary visits.

What slavery? Is there no Philanthropist that will step for. ward and institute a society for the suppression of this fearful Fashion. If it were only the Ton to be regular, honest, and tolerably moral, Fashion would be worth the following.

The experiment might be easily tried ; and, if successful, would it not greatly redound to the honour of the first leaders of Fasbion who had the courage to set vice at defiance, and to place virtue in its most exalted point of view.

FINE ARTS.

About three years afterwards, one day when I was arranging the books of my library, my servant announced "a gentleman.” I had not lifted iny eyes from the volume in my hand, when my ears were saluted with

“Sir, I do myself, Sir—the honour, Sir, of waiting on you, Sir, in the German quill line. Sir—an excellent article, sir-manufactured Sir, by myself, Sir."

I calmly stated, I was already supplied. He proceeded, however, at much greater length, stating also, that he did a little in the jewellery line."

This was still less suitable to my wants; so, rather angrily, I assured him neither I, nor any person in the house, required any thing of the kind. He assumed a most complacent tone, inquired if there were ladies in the house, and retired. His voice struck my ear-I had beard it before. When ? Where? I was obliged to confess, at Waterloo and Haarlem; and, gentle reader, my Foreign Ambassador, General and Prince, proved to be neither more nor less than a German quill merchant.

“ Well, I must confess," I said, " I must confess, for once, I have been completely deceived. But it is lucky I am not a loser, in any way, by this pretender." I feit somewhat ashamed of conferring nobility so readily, determined to be more cautious for the future ; and I placed Sturm's Reflections in its proper shelf, as I passed the resolution. At this very moment, my eldest girl ran into my room : See," cried she, beautiful diamond brooch Mamma has bought from the gentleman; so cheap-only fifty guineas ;” and away she flew.

I speedily recognized the brooch worn by my “distinguished friend,” on the first day of our meeting ; and I had as little difficulty in perceiving that it was a glass ornament, set in jeweller's gold. I bare never mentioned this to its fair purchaser however. Why should I ? The brooch is taken out of its morocco case only on great occasions ; and more than once my lady has declared it to be far superior to Mrs. *****'s, whose brother resided for several years abroad, and who sent it home as one of the largest diamonds he could procure; it being still less remarkable for its size, than for its superior brilliancy and value.

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ILLUSTRTIONS TO THE Works of Lord BYRON.—London, 1832. One novelty follows so fast at the heels of another, now-a-days, in published works of Art, that we begin to have some difficulty in finding leisure to give them even a brief notice. In general, too, they are introduced with a most powerful claim to our attention; and, we may add, with an equally powerful claim for encouragement from every individual who is favourable to the refinement of society, and alive to the proper means of accomplishing it.

The work which we have now before us, and which bas been long looked for, is Finden's Landscape Illustrations of the Works of Lord Byron; and with which, we are reluctantly com. pelled to say, we are sadly disappointed, both as regards the subjects and their execution. The views are ill-selected, the various objects do not combine picturesquely, and they are altogether destitute of either spirit or effect. It may be said, that the Artists had not the choice of their subjects ; but still they certainly might have selected the finest points of view, and exhibited them under the most appropriate effects of light and shadow. They might also have been put into the hands of the most eminent engravers, finished by them in their best manner.

Such trumpery prints should never be attached to the exquisite and distinguished works of the noble Byron; for who is there, that has the taste and judgment, to set an adequate value on bis matchless poems, would like to see them disgraced by such wretched Illustrations ? We say, first-rate talent alone should bave been employed, and encouraged to do their utmost, to make the book perfect in every respect; and we may safely assert, that if this bad been done there would have been no lack of sales at a remunerating price. This is the only way to improve our national taste, and, at the same time, to stamp the proper value on the works of BYRON,

The first Part, which is the only one published, contains fire printsm four landscapes and a portrait of the Maid of Athens the latter, we consess, a pretty subject-for half-a-crown ; cheap enough, we admit—but cheapness should not have been the only consideration in a work otherwise of such transcendent merit. The saving of a few shillings (even if it were a saving, which we deny) should not bave operated. First-rate works of Art, in many in. stances, rather increase in value than diminish, especially good illustrations of a favourite work. Mr. Murray's only inducement, then, is an increase of gain ; which he anticipates by making the pictures so common and cheap, that they may find their way into

II AUT TON.

The word Ton has something electrical in its nature, it has charms so irresistible, that the most egregious errors and absurd follies become sucred, if they only originate from or depend on Fashion. Suppose Addison to be alive, and were he to walk Bond Street or St. James's, how he would stare at beholding young dowagers on the wrong side of sixty, with the sashes and dresses of girls; and young men with waistcoats shaped like lady's stays, and laced so tight, that every step they take makes them creak and crack as if they were made of pasteboard. A Chevalier of the time of Charles II. would scarcely know the difference between the long Bowing peruques of hardy bucks of his day, and the curly mops of the more effeminate Garçons of our own time. Where will they end? What will they not come to ? I think before our own Days

the hands of every one who is able to pay a small price for them— but we do not admire this parsimonious and monopolizing spirit. However prevalent it may be, it is certainly not praise-worthy.

The Landscapes, with the exception of Belem Castle, are not At all appropriate. For example—in the stanza at the back of the Number, relative to Loch-na-Gar, we are told of a pine-covered glade and a dark lake ; but although we have put on our spectacles, and wiped them as clean as lenses can be made, we can find nothing of this nature in the print which pretends to illustrate the scene. Pines there are none—and we can find no water, unless a small white gleam in the distance be intended for the dark lake. But it is needless for us to go over the individual prints—they are cheap enough, and that is their greatest merit. They are mere job things, totally unworthy of the purpose for which they are intended. To those, however, who are indifferent to the prints, and who wish merely a cheap copy of Lord Byron's Works, we do most decidedly recommend this publication ; but we hope, ere long, to see another of a superior class for the lovers of Art ushered into the world. The publication would be hailed with delight; and we are sure it would pay, which is not the least consideration.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE WARRIOR BOY.

The Warrior Boy to the field hath gone,

And left his home behind him ;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
In the ranks of death you'll find him.

MOORE.

France hath fled ; and, fast pursuing,
Victors leave the field they won,
Till echo falls, more faintly showing,

The distant gun-
The war-clouds on the wind have past,
And woeful stillness reigns at last.
Lo! sadder scenes are o'er him stealing :
He wakes and glory's dream is not-
His vanished star of fame revealing

A meteor shot-
Home, and the friends who little think
What bitter cup he now must drink.
Those raven locks, waving in brightness,
That down-clad cheek, whose flush doth go,
That eye so calm, tho' fades its brightness,

That brow like snow-
Of peace and lady's bower speak more,
Than tented field and battle's gore.
And yet, from these, there ebbs a spirit
Undaunted as his father's race :
Ah! might'st thou live their palm to merit,

That form of grace-
The veterans bardy front would gain-
Defying travel, storm and rain.
It may not be-strength ebbeth faster-
He seems to breath a denser air,
And bares his breast_seat of disaster,

Suspended there,
The badge of love, his mother bound
Around his neck, hangs on the wound.
That ringlet, hers !— 'mong such, when playing
A beauteous boy vpon her knee,
His little fingers would be straying

With infant glee-
Ah! cling'st thou, there, beloved gem,
Yet—that red torrent cannot stem.
His eyes, in languor, downward bending,
Gaze, mutely, on the blood-stained token ;
While melting thoughts, his bosom rending,

Are awoken-
The tear that anguish could not wring,
Starts as is struck affection's string.
Faster-faster, life is failing,
To marble paleness turns his cheek-
Yet, not a voice is o'er bim wailing,

Some aid to seek-
His war-cloak, drawn around his breast-
He faints—he sighs—and sinks to rest.
His face is to yon sun that, setting,
With fading beam his couch doth mark-
He may not feel Eve's dew-drops wetting

Those tresses dark-
His spirit-like that parting ray-
Looked on the field—and passed away.
There shall be laurels round him blooming,
There shall be honours o'er his grave-
The turf, beneath his corse entombing,

May rest the brave-
The spot where be bath fall'n and bled,
Beseemeth best a hero's bed.
Thro' Britain's isles there shall be gladness
Triumphal songs shall load the gale-
Yet many an eye shall weep, in sadness,

Wben comes the tale
And, mansion of bis noble line,
Woe, silence, darkness, shall be thine !

Lert by the tide of battle lying,
With eye on its receding wave,
A youth, of noble name, is dying,

As die the brave-
Alone, beneath a sbatter'd tree,
That flaming field he still may see.
His faithful steed that bravely bore him
On to the charge, with fiery pride,
Yet died and bit the dust before him,

Lies at bis side-
Rest, gallant steed-unknowing ill,
Thy wounded Lord must linger still,
Ere from his Father's balls, he brought thee,
A stately thing, of pride and power,
He deemed not that high mien, he taught thee,

Should droop this hour :
Rest-courser rest, unknowing ill,
While thy young Lord must linger still.
Scarce sixteen parted summers, blooming
With bope's bright wreath have bound his brow,
Yet seard its verdant leaf consuming,

Thus fadeth now-
Even this, his first-last-battle-day,
Beholds that wreath so soon decay.
He heard the trump of war resounding,
At his loved home be would not stay,
His mounting heart to fame was bounding,

To fly away-
As pants the eagle for the sun,
And dreams its dazzling height is won.
He would not stay—a father's pleading,
A mother's sighs and boding fears,
Could not detain-he went unheeding

A sister's tears—
But parting, kiss'd those loved ones nigh,
And dashed the moist drop from his eye.
Where roses with the shamrock joining,
And Scotland's thistle, weave a band,
Around the scaithed olive twiping,

In this, its land-
Those emblems wou'd bim o'er the sea
To Spaio's white flag of liberty.
Thou field of death, all wild and gory,
His morion plume in thy first shock,
Like some inspiring sign of glory,

Tower'd through the smoke-
He fought—he fell, and bleeds on thee,
A lineal son of chivalry.
Still his roused eye the fight is watching,
His spirit up, no wound would own,
And hark! his ear exults in catching

That shout well known :-
The dying warrior smiles to hear,
England's resistless charging cheer.

MISCELLANEA.

SCEPTICISMS AND Curiosity.Chi non sa niente, non dubita di niente, “ He who knows nothing doubts of nothing," says an Italian proverb. Scepticism and curiosity are the chief springs of knowledge. Without the first, we might rest contented with prejudices, and false information : without the second, the mind would become indifferent and torpid.

BURNET.— Bishop Burnet's absence of mind is well known. Dining with the Duchess of Marlborough, after her husband's disgrace, he compared this great general to Belisarius. “ But,” said the Duchess, eagerly, “how came it that such a man was so miserable, and universally deserted ?”—“ Ob, madam (exclaimed the distrait prelate), he had such a brimstone of a wife.”

SENTIMENT.- What is called sentimental writing, though it be understood to appeal solely to the heart, may be the product of a bad one. One would imagine that Sterne had been a man of a very tender beart—yet I know, from indubitable authority, that his mother, who kept a school, having run in debt on account of an extravagant daughter, would have rotted in jail, if the parents of her scholars bad not raised a subscription for her. Her sou bad too much sentiment to bave any feeling. A dead ass was more important to him than a living mother. - Walpole.

ETYMOLOGY.

GLASGOW GOSSIP. How is it that, in the latitude of our office, there is no bad weather ?- Because every Day is a good Day.

How happens it that every day with us is a Sunday?-_ There are no week (weak) Days.

How did we commit a breach of the fourth commandment? We did not rest from our labours on the seventh Day.

Why was the month of January, 1832, shorter than February 1831 ?- There were only 26 Days in it.

ORIGIN OF “ A Bumper."- When the English were good Catholics, they usually drank the Pope's health in a full glass after dinner-Au bon Pere -(to the good Father)—whence your “ Bum

per."

ORIGIN OF " QuandarY."—When a person is at a non-plus, ex. gr. being unprepared to give a toast to the next bumper, he is said to be in a “ quandary”-in other words, “what shall I say?', or, as a Frenchman would have it, “ quand dirai ?”—which is just the origin of our quandary."

case,

WEST COUNTRY REMINISCENCES. MR. SPRINGBURN, ironmonger in our good city, where he realized a considerable fortune, one evening, at a party, becaine so much enamoured by the attractions of one of the young ladies present that, without preface or ceremony, he “popped the question." The lady, putting on a serious face, replied, that she must have some time to think over a matter of so much importance, and that she should give him an answer very soon.

In the course of the following day, the lady was crossing the street in front of the bachelor's shop, when, afraid-baving changed his mind-that she was about to call on him, in reference to the offer of the previous evening, he dropped on all-fours, on the inside of the counter, and cried out, in the utmost trepidation to his shopman, “ Tell her I'm no in.” The bachelor was allowed to end his days in single blessedness ; for the lady never had any intention of calling on him or troubling her head about either him or his offer.

The following horrible instance of Highland revenge was mentioned to us t'other night :- :-“ Auch, Dhuncan, but ye've been a lang time in tat weary Cheyl in Glasco.” “ Deed an' I hac, an'a' for naething: put whan I wan oot, I tammed paith the Provost an' ta Paillies, an' tat was sum sma chomfart.” “ Tae thur faces, Dhuncan ?" “ Na faith! No till I was at ta tap o' ta Craw road."

Pennant.— Mr. Pennant was a most ingenious and pleasing writer. His Tours display a great variety of knowledge, expressed in an engaging way. In private life, I am told, he has some peculiarities, and even eccentricities. Among the latter may be classed his singular antipathy to a wig—which, however, he can suppress, till reason yield a little to wine. But when this is the

ofr goes the wig next to him, and into the fire. Dining once at Chester with an officer who wore a wig, Mr. Pennant became half-seas-over; and another friend that was in company carefully placed himself between Pennant and the wig, to prevent mischief. After much patience, and many a wistful look, Pennant started up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a moment, and so was the officer, who ran to his sword. Down stairs runs Pennant, and the officer after him, through all the streets of Chester, But Pennant escaped, from superior local knowledge. A wag called this “ Pennant's Tour in Chester."

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The subject regarding which Giovanni bas sent us a couple of Stanzas, we have resolved to leave to its fate.

Y To-morrow we shall present our Readers with an Article on the most efficient means for the Prevention and Cure of the Cholera, which now threatens our city, drawn up by one of our leading Medical men. We call the public attention to this document, from the conviction that it will be found most useful and salutary.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. Songs of the Exclusives, being a Sequel to the Songs of Almack's, is in the press.

Picture Melodies, being Illustrations, Musical and Poetical, of several of our National Pictures, will speedily be published.

Mr. James Everett has in the press “ The Village Blacksmith," third edition.

Specimens of the Edifices of Palladio, selected from the finest Examples of his Architecture at Vicenza, by Mr. Arundell, are preparing for publication.

In a few days, Rodolph, a Dramatic Fragment will appear. Stanzas in Continuation of Don Juan, &c. are in the press.

A Treatise on the Rules of Construction of Deeds, Wills, and other Documents of Title to Lands, by Mr. R. G. Hall, will speedily be published.

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GUILLAUME POSTEL. GUILLAUME Poster, who was, without dispute, one of the most learned men of his day, was born on the 25th March, 1510, at Dolerie, in the diocese of Avranche, in Normandy. His parents, who were very poor, died when he was eight years of age, and left hiin to study and hunger. Thevet tells us, that the boy's passion for reading was so absorbing, that he sometimes passed entire days without breaking his fast. At thirteen he became a village schoolmaster, and sometime after carried bis earnings to Paris.' Here he fell into the hands of some vagabonds, who stole his money and clothes from him in the night, and left him with nothing but his shirt. Cold and misery brought on a dysentery, which continued for eighteen months. When he regained a little strength, he went to Beance to glean during the barvest, and acquitted himself so well, that he was able to buy clothes and return to Paris. He began to study in the College of St. Barbe, and with such enthusiasm and success, that the eyes of all the learned world were at length drawn upon him. He made various journeys to the East, for the purpose of collecting books and learning the languages; and became so famous, not only for his learning, but for his vanity and heresies, that he was the object of several attempts at assassination as well as public prosecution. He finally retired to the monastery of St. Martin des Champs, or, as some say, was imprisoned there by the Parliament; and, after eighteen years' seclusion, died on the 6th of September, 1581.

February 2,

3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

SUN

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Rises. Sets. h. m.

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Published every Morning, Sunday excepted, by John WYLIE, at

the British and Foreign Library, 97, Argyll Street, Glasgow ; Thomas Stevenson, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh : David Dick, Bookseller, Paisley; Mr. Thomson, Greenock; and J. Glass, Bookseller, Rothsay.

PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

PRICE
A PENNY.

THE DAY ,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

CARPE DIEM.

GLASGOW, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1832.

CHOLERA.

night, and where litters will be found for transport

ing patients to the hospitals without fatigue. "The We have hitherto refrained from addressing our readers Board, moreover, most earnestly entreats all persons on this distressing subject, from the fear of adding, un- of the working classes, to remove their friends, who necessarily, to public alarm. But now, that the epidemie may be attacked with Cholera, without a moment's deis raging within a few miles of our dwellings, and, that lay, to one or other of these hospitals : and, in the a few days, or perhaps hours, will probably bring it to meantime, it invites the working classes to visit these our very doors, this reason can exist no longer, and hospitals, so that they may see how carefully their we therefore feel ourselves irresistibly impelled to lend

comforts have been provided for.” our feeble endeavours towards the mitigation of the In turning from this cheering picture of active becalamity with which we are threatened. Fearful, cer

nevolence, to the corresponding arrangements now in tainly, is its nature, and great its extent; yet much, progress in our own city, our earnest prayer is, that nevertheless, may, and we know, will be done, by well- the individuals composing our Board of Health shall directed skill and activity, to stay the ravages of the

be found, when the day of reckoning with their condisease; and the losses and sufferings which it must

stituents shall arrive, to have conducted themselves in unavoidably occasion, will lose half their bitterness, if a manner equally satisfactory to their fellow-citizens, viewed and submitted to in a manner becoming an en- and to their own consciences. That this will really be lightened christian community. On the other hand, found to be the case, we still trust, notwithstanding it is equally plain, that the evil must be aggravated far some insinuations which have been thrown out to the beyond its necessary magnitude, not only by the cul- contrary. At the same time, we cannot refrain from pable neglect of the means of mitigation witbin our reminding the Board of Health of this populous city, reach, but still more by that disproportionate panic, that they act under a fearful responsibility. The pubwhich ignorance and prejudice never fail to engender. lic has nobly done its duty in promptly placing the reNo calamity is so great, but the human imagination, quisite funds at the disposal of the Board. If the under the influence of fear, can picture a greater.

members of that Board shall employ those funds so as In viewing the approach of Cholera, nothing, we to produce the greatest possible alleviation of human confess, has afforded us greater consolation, or excited suffering, they will reap a rich reward in the gratitude more pleasing trains of thought in our mind, than a of the community, and in the approbation of their own perusal of the reports of the Edinburgh Board of hearts. But if, on the other hand, it shall be found Health, and we cannot recommend to our readers a that their measures have been feeble, dilatory or inabetter antidote to unnecessary fear, than a careful con- dequate, no trifling excuses, or ingenious special pleadsideration of these admirable addresses.

The ex

ing will prevent the names of those who framed the tent, promptitude, and judicious nature of the mea- measures, from being assailed with imprecations deep as sures adopted, the good sense and simplicity of the the calamity which their incapacity shall have inflicted practical directions, and the general tone of benevolence on the community. which pervades the whole reports, are above all praise. There is one measure which was early had recourse Having obtained a sum of £1500, the Board directed to by the Edinburgh Board, but which has not been its attention to the probable arrival of Cholera, both adopted by that of our city. We mean, the pubamong the poor and the rich. As the means of mitigat- lication of the precautions which should be taken for ing or preventing it among the former, the Board the Prevention of Cholera, and of the Treatment which cleaned and lime-washed 1600 apartments, removed should be adopted till medical advice is obtained. 3000 cart-loads of rubbish, established six soup kit- Without presuming to blame the Board for their omischens, from which 6000 rations of good soup, and as sion, we have attempted to supply the deficiency to many of wholesome bread, are daily distributed, and our readers; and, in so doing, we have to assure likewise issued coals and clothing to the necessitous. them that they may rely, with confidence, on the DiTo the rich, again, they pointed out the precautions rections here given, as they have been carefully rewhich they should observe, and the medicines which viewed by persons who are fully competent to guide they should keep in readiness, lest the disease should the public in this matter. appear among them. Nor did these extensive and ju

PREVENTION. dicious measures absorb all the exertions of this active All persons, during the prevalence of Cholera, Board. On the contrary, no sooner is the appearance should observe the strictest temperance both in eating of a single case of Cholera announced within the city and drinking. They should aroid acid fruits and raw of Edinburgh, than another, and a well-organized sys- vegetables, and, in general, excessive indulgence of tem for the treatment of the disease, is announced to such articles of diet as are known to loosen the bow. the public. Engendered in silence, and without excit- els. If laxative medicine is required, a dose of castor ing the fears of the most timid, it seems to start in- oil, or of Gregory's powder should be taken, but on stantaneously into existence, the moment its operations no account, salts, or any unusually strong pargative. are required, fully matured, and obviously adequate From two to four glasses of wine, daily, will be beto the great emergency which it is intended to meet. neficial, and the best kinds are, sound port or dry Their Cholera Hospitals are announced as ready for sherry. Warm flannel clothing should be worn, espethe reception of 160 patients, and others are declared cially over the stomach and bowels. Damp feet should to be in progress. One hundred medical men are de- be carefully guarded against. No one should go, unclared ready to minister to the diseased. Eleven sta- necessarily, into infected streets or districts, and all tions are named, where medicines and medical attend- assemblages of people, especially of the operative ance may be instantly procured, during the day or classes, should be avoided. Every one should, if pos

a

sible, remain at home after sunset, or, if obliged to go out, he should put on some additional clothing. No one should go out in the morning, without having previously eaten something. Servants should be prohibited from communicating with hawkers, beggars and other vagrants, and they should be warned of the danger of visiting their friends in infected districts.

Attacks of Cholera are often preceded by sickness, griping and the common bowel complaint, or looseness. On the very slightest appearance of these symptoms, therefore, such as might safely be neglected in ordinary times, medical advice should be procured without delay. And, in the mean time, the ailment should be treated by going to bed, applying warm flannel to the belly, and taking a table spoonful of castor oil, with 30 drops of laudanum. As soon as the oil has produced two or three operations, it should be followed by other 30 drops of laudanum, or one grain of opium. General attention to this simple rule will save

many lives.

66

cost more

SYMPTOMS OF CHOLERA, AND TREATMENT TILL ME

DICAL AID ARRIVES. An attack of Cholera is easily known by vomiting and purging of a fluid like gruel

, by cramps, weakness, coldness and shriveling of the skin, and blueness of the nails and lips.

1.—The person afflicted with these symptoms, should be immediately put to bed between warm blankets.

2.--A wine-glassful of hot brandy toddy, with the addition of 40 drops of laudanum, and the same quantity of essence of peppermint, should be given as quickly as possible. If this is immediately rejected by vomiting, the dose should be repeated after ten minutes, and if this, also, is rejected, one grain of opium should be administered. The dose of laudanum, or of opium, should be repeated, as above, after one hour, giving a wine-glassful of the hot brandy and water two or three times during the interval. Before all this has been done, it is presumed that medical aid shall have been obtained.

3.—Six flannel bags, each 18 inches long by 12 inches broad, two thirds full of sand or common salt, previously heated in an iron pot, should be applied to the body and limbs to restore the heat.

4.-A warm porridge poultice, sprinkled with powdered mustard, should be applied to the whole belly.

5.-Two persons should be constantly employed in rubbing the remainder of the surface of the body with hot dry flannel cloths, conducting the operation so that cold air is not admitted under the bed clothes.

6.—When purging comes on, the patient should, if possible, remain in bed, and use a common bed pan, covered with flannel.

7.-Cold drinks, however urgently asked, should, on no account, be given. Their effect is death.

I do not call ideas those ready-made conversations, that talking matter, which the first comer may make his own, and which species of stucco, serving only as a covering for folly, or to fill up the cracks of idleness. By idea, I mean a perception of the mind, not weak, fluctuating, mutilated, or fugitive--but clear, brilliant, entire, and lasting ; copious enough to keep the brain in a state of turgescence, and prevent it from collapsing like an empty bladder ; strong and large enough for meditation to repose upon—not a glimmering, a mere twilight, but a broad and beautiful day-a parent thought engendering a thousand others—a pivot, around which a world of secondary imaginings logically gravitate—the centre or sun of an entire intellectual universe.

Now, how many of such suns shine under the pomatumed pates of the coxcombs you have observed ? Not one. If there were only one, their glassy eyes, so like those of stuffed animals, would beam at least with a little light; their faces would have less the appearance of wax, their gait be less indolent, their words less in. sipid, and their cravats more twisted. At a ball, perhaps, or a play, or a concert, they would feel the same emotions as others do; and you would no longer see them in a stage-box wiping their eye-glasses or biting their walking sticks, when the pit is convulsed with laughter; nor drawing on their gloves or adjusting their whiskers, when the rest of the audience are affected to tears; po longer would they be cold, insensible, and unchangeable, amid the electrical effects of highly-wrought passion or true comic humour, as if their stupidity were a tripod, upon which they stood elevated above all sympathy with the million.

We bave next the great family of plagiarists, a race of dolts, who do not even think with their own faculties, but with those of others—who borrow your brains as they would borrow your hat.

The first species among them is the man-monkey, who speaks when you speak, holds his tongue when you are silent, and would, I imagine, cut his throat if he saw you commit so rash an act. He is a mere echo. If you say, “ Peace is an excellent thing, when it does not cost more than war,” he answers, than war."

Second species—the man-parrot, who every morning collects here and there, or from the mouth of some clever man, a series of thoughts, which he retails, as long as the day lasts, in every house he enters. He is like the organ wbich, at the corner of every street, repeats Auber's melodies.

Third species—the man-vulture, who fatteps upon you. It matters not with him whether you be a young author, or the possessor of a celebrated name; if in his presence you utter anything good, it is like taking out your watch before a pick-pocket. You are robbed of your idea, and you may be sure that, before the morrow, all Paris will know it by heart. If you should after. wards repeat it, you are heard with a smile and considered as the plagiarist. This is pleasant ! * But he will rob you before your face, and you shall not have a word to say. Fancy yourself in a numerous assembly, seated near him. The conversation runs upon opera-dancing. Each gives his opinion, and you give yours, and say without the least pretension, "With Taglioni's legs and Noblet's arms an accomplished dancer might be made.' Unfortunately you are hoarse, and your words are not heard ; but they are not lost to him, for with a voice which drowns every other, he lustily exclaims, • An accomplished dancer might be made with Taglioni's legs and Noblet's arms.' A murmur of applause follow these words; and you, who alone do not applaud, are set down as a stupid fellow, incapable of comprehending the point of what has been uttered. And who knows?--he may even be so obliging as to repeat to you your own idea, in order that you may be better able to understand it.

We now come to the facetious man ; the Voltaire of milliners. We shall call him the man-porcupine-an animal so covered with points that no one can touch him without being prieked. His stupid witticisms are borrowed from the Anas of the day, or col. lected at the pits of the minor theatres.

The droll-fellow is a variety of this species. The only difference is in the manner of action. The droll-fellow has many of the minor accomplishments; he knows Mayeux by heart-can carry a chair with his teeth-hold a beavy weight at arm's length-and walk upon his bands with his feet in the air. He is likewise a

THE BEOTIANS OF PARIS. (From the French of DESJOYERS.)

On the idle part of our Boulevards, in the beautiful walk of the Tuileries Gardens, upon the pavement of the Champs Elysées, in the dust of the Bois de Boulogne, in the dress circle at the theatres, in every place, in fine, where there is time to show oneself, you must have remarked a host of spruce, elegant, and perfumed coxcombs, as extraordinary in their manners as in their dresswhose fashions are not of to-day, still less of yesterday, but of tomorrow! These individuals may be compared to the beautiful purses in shop windows-utterly empty-not an idea, not an intellectual farthing to be found.

But, before I go farther, let me define what I mean by idea, and, consequently, by a thinker and a non-thinker.

• The above paper is translated from the third volume of the Livre des Cent-et-un, just published.

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