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where all was silent as death, not a sound was heard but the chattering of teeth.

How they might best make their way out of the enchanted room, or hide themselves under the table, became now a question with the horror-stricken guests. Most of them were about to adopt the latter alternative when the dwarf, having suddenly snatched the cap from the head of his companion, all at once the culprit stood revealed to their astonished sight, sitting upon his heels, with each arm supported by a well-filled wallet.

The deathlike silence now gave place to the most outrageous uproar; every arm and every tongue was again in motion, while Jacob, with his head hanging down like a broken reed, was dragged away, under a thousand curses, towards a dark dungeon, where serpents and newts crawled about, there to starve beside his emptied wallets.

They were just about to lower the unfortunate shepherd into this loathsome place, and all around stood the guests mocking and jeering the trembling rustic, when lo! the invisible dwarf approaches the half-dead shepherd, claps the cap again on his head, and in the twinkling of an eye the prisoner disappears.

The spectators stood there as if changed into as many stones, with faces as long as a yard, for the full space of an hour, without bethinking themselves either of eating or drinking or the merriment of the wedding. And there they might have been standing to this hour had not the dwarf, compassionating their blank amazement, taken off his cap and revealed himself for a minute's space in his true form. Sir Knight," said he, "do not hound me again with your dogs out of your castle-yard; and you, Jacob, I hope you will in future put your bagpipes a little while aside when I politely ask that favour of you.'

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The guests now tumbled over one another, and scrambled out of the house where the mysterious dwarf had appeared.

THE EDUCATION OF BACCHUS.

I had a vision! "Twas an Indian vale
Whose sides were all with rosy thickets crown'd,
That never felt the biting winter gale;—
And soon was heard a most delicious sound;
And to its music danced a nymph embrown'd,
Leading a lion in a silken twine,

That with his yellow mane would sweep the ground,
Then on his rider fawn-a boy divine!

While on his foaming lips a nymph shower'd purple wine.

CROLY.

MAY MORNING AT RAVENNA.

[James Henry Leigh Hunt, born at Southgate, Middlesex, 19th October, 1784; died in London, 28th August, 1859. As a poet, critic, and novelist he has won a prominent place in the standard literature of our century. As one of the stanchest combatants for the liberty of thought and speech, his name is amongst the foremost in the history of modern progress. He was for some time a clerk in the war-office, and resigned that post in 1808 to become joint editor with his brother John, of the Examiner newspaper, which they established in that year. An article upon the conduct of the Prince Regent, in which he was satirically called an "Adonis of fifty" (22d March, 1812), led to a government prosecution. The brothers were imprisoned and fined £500 each. After his release, and until nearly the close of his life, Leigh Hunt continued to work assiduously at poem, essay, and story. In 1844 the son of the poet government awarded him a pension of £200. His first Shelley gave him an annuity of £120; and in 1847 book was a collection of poems written between the ages of twelve and sixteen, and issued under the title of Juvenilia. His principal works are: The Story of Rimini, The Descent of Liberty, and The Feast of the Sir Ralph Bsher, a novel; A Jar of Honey from Mount Poets (written in prison); Captain Sword and Captain Pen; Hybla; numerous essays, and an autobiography in three volumes. The following is from the poem of Rimini.]

The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May

Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay.
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen,
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees!
And when you listen you may hear a coil
Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;
And all the scene, in short-sky, earth, and sea,
Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.
'Tis nature, full of spirits, waked and springing :-
The birds to the delicious time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
Where the light woods go seaward from the town;
While happy faces, striking through the green
Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;
And the far ships, lifting their sails of white
Like joyful hands, come up with scattery light,
Come gleaming up, true to the wished for day,
And chase the whistling brine and swirl into the bay.
Already in the streets the stir grows loud,

Of expectation and a bustling crowd.
With feet and voice the gathering hum contends,
The deep talk heaves, the ready laugh ascends;
Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite,
And shouts from mere exuberance of delight,
And armed bands, making important way,
Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday,
And nodding neighbours, greeting as they run,
And pilgrims, chanting in the morning sun.

MEDICINE AND MORALS.

distinct existences, since the one may be only a modification of the other; however this great mystery be imagined, we.shall find with Dr. Gregory, in his lectures "on the duties and

[Isaac D'Israeli, born in Enfield, 1766; died at Brad-qualifications of a physician," that it forms an enham, Buckinghamshire, 19th January, 1848. He was

the descendant of a family of Spanish Jews. After pro

ducing various scraps of poetry and romance, he published

in 1790 a small volume of the Curiosities of Literature. The success of the work induced him to pursue his researches in the direction of "Curiosities," and in the course of various editions the work had increased to six times its original bulk. The Calamities of Authors, The Quarrels of Authors, The Amenities of Literature, and The Curiosities are his chief works. He was the father of the Right Hon. Benjamin D'Israeli, the statesman and novelist.]

A stroke of personal ridicule is levelled at Dryden, when Bayes informs us of his preparations for a course of study by a course of medicine! "When I have a grand design," says he, "I ever take physic and let blood; for when you would have pure swiftness of thought, and fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the pensive part; in fine, you must purge the belly!" Such was really the practice of the poet, as La Motte, who was a physician, informs us, and in his medical character did not perceive that ridicule in the subject which the wits and most readers unquestionably have enjoyed. The wits here were as cruel against truth as against Dryden; for we must still consider this practice, to use their own words, as "an excellent recipe for writing." Among other philosophers, one of the most famous disputants of antiquity, Carneades, was accustomed to take copious doses of white hellebore, a great aperient, as a preparation to refute the dogmas of the stoics. Dryden's practice was neither whimsical nor peculiar to the poet; he was of a full habit, and, no doubt, had often found by experience the beneficial effects without being aware of the cause, which is nothing less than the reciprocal influence of mind and body!

This simple fact is, indeed, connected with one of the most important inquiries in the history of man; the laws which regulate the invisible union of the soul with the body: in a word, the inscrutable mystery of our being!a secret, but an undoubted intercourse, which probably must ever elude our perceptions. The combination of metaphysics with physics has only been productive of the wildest fairy tales among philosophers: with one party the soul seems to pass away in its last puff of air, while man seems to perish in "dust to dust;" the other as successfully gets rid of our bodies altogether, by denying the existence of matter. We are not certain that mind and matter are

equally necessary inquiry in the sciences of morals and of medicine.

Whether we consider the vulgar distinction of mind and body as a union, or as a modified existence, no philosopher denies that a reciprocal action takes place between our moral and physical condition. Of these sympathies, like many other mysteries of nature, the cause remains occult while the effects are obvious. This close yet inscrutable association, this concealed correspondence of parts seemingly unconnected; in a word, this reciprocal influence of the mind and the body, has long fixed the attention of medical and metaphysical inquirers; the one having the care of our exterior organization, the other that of the interior. Can we conceive the mysterious inhabitant as forming a part of its own habitation? The tenant and the house are so inseparable, that in striking at any part of the building, you inevitably reach the dweller. If the mind is disordered, we may often look for its seat in some corporeal derangement. Often are our thoughts disturbed by a strange irritability, which we do not even pretend to account for. This state of the body, called the fidgets, is a disorder to which the ladies are particularly liable. A physician of my acquaintance was earnestly entreated by a female patient to give a name to her unknown complaints; this he found no difficulty to do, as he is a sturdy asserter of the materiality of our nature; he declared that her disorder was ATMOSPHERICAL. It was the disorder of her frame under damp weather, which was reacting on her mind; and physical means, by operating on her body, might be applied to restore her to her half-lost senses. Our imagination is highest when our stomach is not overloaded; in spring than in winter; in solitude than amidst company; and in an obscured light than in the blaze and heat of the noon. In all these cases the body is evidently acted on and reacts on the mind. Sometimes our dreams present us with images of our restlessness, till we recollect that the seat of our brain may perhaps lie in our stomach, rather than on the pineal gland of Descartes; and that the most artificial logic to make us somewhat reasonable, may be swallowed with "the blue pill," or any other in vogue. Our domestic happiness often depends on the state of our biliary and digestive organs, and the little disturbances of conjugal life may

be more efficaciously cured by the physician | was discovered to be a cure for some mental than by the moralist; for a sermon misapplied disorders, by altering the state of the body, as will never act so directly as a sharp medicine. The learned Gaubius, an eminent professor of medicine at Leyden, who called himself "professor of the passions," gives the case of a lady of too inflammable a constitution, whom her husband, unknown to herself, had gradually reduced to a model of decorum, by phlebotomy. Her complexion, indeed, lost the roses, which some perhaps had too wantonly admired for the repose of her conjugal physician.

The art of curing moral disorders by corporeal means has not yet been brought into general practice, although it is probable that some quiet sages of medicine have made use of it on some occasions. The Leyden professor we have just alluded to, delivered at the university a discourse "on the management and cure of the disorders of the mind by application to the body." Descartes conjectured, that as the mind seems so dependent on the disposition of the bodily organs, if any means can be found to render men wiser and more ingenious than they have been hitherto, such a method might be sought from the assistance of medicine. The sciences of MORALS and MEDICINE will therefore be found to have a more intimate connection than has been suspected. Plato thought that a man must have natural dispositions towards virtue to become virtuous; that it cannot be educated-you cannot make a bad man a good man; which he ascribes to the evil dispositions of the body, as well as to a bad education.

There are, unquestionably, constitutional moral disorders; some good-tempered but passionate persons have acknowledged that they cannot avoid those fits to which they are liable, and which, they say, they always suffered "from a child." If they arise from too great a fulness of blood, is it not cruel to upbraid rather than to cure them, which might easily be done by taking away their redundant humours, and thus quieting the most passionate man alive? A moral patient, who allows his brain to be disordered by the fumes of liquor, instead of being suffered to be a ridiculous being, might have opiates prescribed; for in laying him asleep as soon as possible, you remove the cause of his madness. There are crimes for which men are hanged, but of which they might easily have been cured by physical means. Persons out of their senses with love, by throwing themselves into a river, and being dragged out nearly lifeless, have recovered their senses, and lost their bewildering passion. Submersion

Van Helmont notices "was happily practised in England." With the circumstance this sage of chemistry alludes to I am unacquainted; but this extraordinary practice was certainly known to the Italians; for in one of the tales of Poggio we find a mad doctor of Milan, who was celebrated for curing lunatics and demoniacs in a certain time. His practice consisted in placing them in a great high-walled courtyard, in the midst of which there was a deep well, full of water cold as ice. When a demoniac was brought to this physician, he had the patient bound to a pillar in the well, till the water ascended to the knees, or higher, and even to the neck, as he deemed their malady required. In their bodily pain they appeared to have forgot their melancholy; thus by the terrors of the repetition of cold water, a man appears to have been frightened into his senses! A physician has informed me of a remarkable case: a lady with a disordered mind resolved on death, and swallowed much more than halfa-pint of laudanum; she closed her curtains in the evening, took a farewell of her attendants, and flattered herself she should never awaken from her sleep. In the morning, however, notwithstanding this incredible dose, she awoke in the agonies of death. By the usual means she was enabled to get rid of the poison she had so largely taken, and not only recovered her life, but, what is more extraordinary, her perfect senses! The physician conjectures that it was the influence of her disordered mind over her body which prevented this vast quantity of laudanum from its usual action by terminating in death.

Moral vices or infirmities, which originate in the state of the body, may be cured by topical applications. Precepts and ethics in such cases, if they seem to produce a momentary cure, have only mowed the weeds, whose roots lie in the soil. It is only by changing the soil itself that we can eradicate these evils. The senses are five porches for the physician to enter into the mind, to keep it in repair. By altering the state of the body, we are changing that of the mind, whenever the defects of the mind depend on those of the organization. The mind, or soul, however distinct its being from the body, is disturbed or excited, independent of its valition, by the mechanical impulses of the body. A man becomes stupified when the circulation of the blood is impeded in the viscera; he acts more from instinct than reflection; the nervous fibres are too relaxed or too tense, and he finds a diffi

culty in moving them; if you heighten his sensations, you awaken new ideas in this stupid being; and as we cure the stupid by increasing his sensibility, we may believe that a more vivacious fancy may be promised to those who possess one, when the mind and the body play Prescribe together in one harmonious accord. the bath, frictions, and fomentations, and though it seems a roundabout way, you get at the brains by his feet. A literary man, from long sedentary habits, could not overcome his fits of melancholy, till his physician doubled his daily quantity of wine; and the learned Henry Stephens, after a severe ague, had such a disgust of books, the most beloved objects of his whole life, that the very thought of them excited terror for a considerable time. It is evident that the state of the body often indicates that of the mind. Insanity itself often results from some disorder in the human machine. "What is this MIND, of which men appear so vain?" exclaims Flechier. "If considered

according to its nature, it is a fire which sickness and an accident most sensibly puts out: it is a delicate temperament, which soon grows disordered; a happy conformation of organs, which wear out; a combination and a certain motion of the spirits, which exhaust themselves; it is the most lively and the most subtle part of the soul, which seems to grow old with the BODY."

It is not wonderful that some have attributed such virtues to their system of diet, if it has been found productive of certain effects on the human body. Cornaro perhaps imagined more than he experienced; but Apollonius Tyaneus, when he had the credit of holding an intercourse with the devil, by his presumed gift of prophecy, defended himself from the accusation by attributing his clear and prescient views of things to the light aliments he lived on, never indulging in a variety of food. "This mode of life has produced such a perspicuity in my ideas, that I see as in a glass things past and future." We may, therefore, agree with Bayes, that "for a sonnet to Amanda, and the like, stewed prunes only" might be sufficient; but for "a grand design," nothing less than a more formal and formidable dose.

FROM THE ARABIC.

The morn that usher'd thee to life, my child,
Saw thee in tears, whilst all around thee smiled!
When summon'd hence to thy eternal sleep,
Oh may'st thou smile, whilst all around thee weep.

THE SCOTTISH SACRAMENTAL

SABBATH.

[James Hislop, born near Muirkirk, Scotland, 1798; died 4th December, 1827. One of Scotland's peasant poets. His early years were spent as a herd-boy to his grandfather; and being distant from any school, his elements of education were acquired by diligent selfinstruction. He afterwards attended the parish school of Sanquhar. Whilst still a youth, he became a teacher in Greenock, where he wrote the Cameronian's Dream. This poem attracted the attention of Lord Jeffrey, who introduced the poet to Mr. Constable, the publisher, and in many ways befriended him through life. Hislop was for a short time a reporter on the staff of the Times newspaper; then teacher of a London school; but he of ill-health. He next started on a voyage in the cawas obliged to retire from both appointments on account pacity of travelling tutor to several young gentlemen; and a visit to the Cape de Verd Islands produced an attack of fever from the effects of which he died in a few days. Several of his poems were published in the

Edinburgh Magazine, to which he also contributed "Letters from South America." The following poemvaluable as a faithful picture of a national custom-is said to have been suggested by the commemoration of the solemn ordinance in the Sanquhar Churchyard, 1815.]

The Sabbath morning gilds the eastern hills,
The swains its sunny dawn wi' gladness greet,
Frae heath-clad hamlets, 'mong the muirland rills,
The dewy mountains climb wi' naked feet,
Skiffin' the daisies droukit i' the weet;
The bleatin' flocks come nibblin' doun the brae,
To shadowy pastures screen'd frae summer's heat;
In woods where tinklin' waters glide away,
'Mong holms o' clover red, and bright brown ryegrass
hay.

His ewes and lambs brought carefu' frae the height,
The shepherd's children watch them frae the corn;
On green sward scented lawn, wi' gowans white,
Frae page o' pocket psalm-book, soil'd and torn,
The task prepar'd, assign'd for Sabbath morn,
The elder bairns their parents join in prayer;
One daughter dear, beneath the flow'ry thorn,
Kneels down apart her spirit to prepare,
On this her first approach the sacred cup to share.

The social chat wi' solemn converse mix'd,
At early hour they finish their repast,
The pious sire repeats full many a text
Of sacramental Sabbaths long gone past.
To see her little family featly dress'd
The carefu' matron feels a mother's pride,
Gie's this a linen shirt, gie's that a vest;
The frugal father's frowns their finery chide,
He
prays that Heaven their souls may wedding-robes
provide.

THE SCOTTISH SACRAMENTAL SABBATH.

The sisters buskit, seek the garden walk,

To gather flowers, or watch the warning bell,
Sweet-william, danglin' dewy frae the stalk,
Is mix'd wi' mountain-daisies, rich in smell,
Green sweet-briar sprigs, and daisies frae the dell,
Where Spango shepherds pass the lane abode,
An' Wanlock miners cross the muirland fell;
Then down the sunny winding muirland road,
The little pastoral band approach the house of God.

Streams of my native mountains, oh! how oft
That Sabbath morning walk in youth was mine;
Yet fancy hears the kirk-bell, sweet and soft,
Ring o'er the darkling woods o' dewy pine;
How oft the wood-rose wild and scented thyme
I've stoop'd to pull while passing on my way;
But now in sunny regions south the line,
Nae birks nor broom-flow'rs shade the summer brae,-
Alas! I can but dream of Scotland's Sabbath-day.

But dear that cherish'd dream I still behold:
The ancient kirk, the plane-trees o'er it spread,
And seated 'mong the graves, the old, the young,
As once in summer days, for ever fled.

To deck my dream the grave gives up its dead:
The pale precentor sings as then he sung,
The long-lost pastor wi' the hoary head
Pours forth his pious counsels to the young,

And dear ones from the dust again to life are sprung.

Lost friends return from realms beyond the main,
And boyhood's best belov'd ones all are there;
The blanks in family circles fill'd again;
No seat seems empty round the house of prayer.
The sound of psalms has vanish'd in the air,
Borne up to heaven upon the mountain breeze,

The patriarchal priest wi' silvery hair,

In tent erected 'neath the fresh green trees,
Spreads forth the book of God with holy pride, and

see

The eyes of circling thousands on him fix'd,
The kirkyard scarce contains the mingling mass
Of kindred congregations round him mix'd;
Close seated on the gravestones and the grass,
Some crowd the garden-walls, a wealthier class
On chairs and benches round the tent draw near;
The poor man prays far distant; and alas!
Some seated by the graves of parents dear,
Among the fresh green flow'rs let fall a silent tear.

Sublime the text he chooseth: "Who is this
From Edom comes? in garments dy'd in blood,
Travelling in greatness of His strength to bless,
Treading the wine-press of Almighty God."
Perchance the theme, that Mighty One who rode
Forth leader of the armies cloth'd in light,
Around whose fiery forehead rainbows glow'd,
Beneath whose head heav'n trembled, angels bright
Their shining ranks arrang'd around his head of white.

Behold the contrast, Christ, the King of kings,
A houseless wanderer in a world below;
Faint, fasting by the desert springs,

From youth a man of mourning and of woe,
The birds have nests on summer's blooming bough,
The foxes on the mountain find a bed;

But mankind's Friend found every man his foe,
His heart with anguish in the garden bled,
He, peaceful like a lamb, was to the slaughter led.

The action-sermon ended, tables fenc'd,
While elders forth the sacred symbols bring,
The day's more solemn service now commenc'd;
To heaven is wafted on devotion's wing,
The psalms these entering to the altar sing,
"I'll of salvation take the cup, I'll call
With trembling on the name of Zion's King;
His courts I'll enter, at His footstool fall,
And pay my early vows before His people all."
Behold the crowded tables clad in white,
Extending far above the flowery graves;
A blessing on the bread and wine-cup bright
With lifted hands the holy pastor craves,
The summer's sunny breeze his white hair waves,
His soul is with his Saviour in the skies;
The hallow'd loaf he breaks, and gives
The symbols to the elders seated nigh,
Take, eat the bread of life, sent down from heaven on
high.

He in like manner also lifted up

The flagon fill'd with consecrated wine,
Drink, drink ye all of it, salvation's cup,
Memorial mournful of His love divine.
Then solemn pauseth;- save the rustling pine,
Or plane-tree boughs, no sounds salute mine ears;
In silence pass'd, the silver vessels shine,

Devotion's Sabbath dreams from bygone years
Return'd, till many an eye is moist with springing

tears.

Again the preacher breaks the solemn pause,
Lift up your eyes to Calvary's mountain-see,
In mourning veil'd, the mid-day sun withdraws,
While dies the Saviour bleeding on the tree;
But hark! the stars again sing jubilee,
With anthems heaven's armies hail their King,
Ascend in glory from the grave set free;
Triumphant see Him soar on seraph's wing,
To meet His angel hosts around the clouds of spring.

Behold His radiant robes of fleecy light,
Melt into sunny ether soft and blue;
Then in this gloomy world of tears and night,
Behold the table He hath spread for you.
What though you tread affliction's path-a few,
A few short years your toils will all be o'er,
From Pisgah's top the promis'd country view;
The happy land beyond Immanuel's shore,
Where Eden's blissful bower blooms green for ever

more.

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