month. Oh dear! he must be more or less || tisfactory particular. Down he sat; made than man who could endure this. He must despair and perish. How true it is, that out of evil often some good will spring; for while I was enduring this thumb-screw on my gums-this gout in my jaw-this rack of nerves-this destroyer of brains-amid this desolation I acquired much useful information respecting the toothache. One friend informed me that half the suffering was occassioned by nervous irritability; for if I went to a dentist with a determination to have the tooth extracted, the moment I entered the door the tooth would cease to give me pain. He had proved it more than once. Another friend smiled at my deplorable situation, and laughed at my desire to retain in my mouth such a thing, that had ceased to be a tooth; it was a mere stump, with a carious triplex fang; worse than useless; it was positively injurious. If the case were his, he should give such a tenant immediate notice to quit. With a pair of pincers he would serve the ejectment himself, as an empty house was preferable to a bad tenant. another round 0; in went the instrument. Oh!-ough!-gh!-His head seemed separated from his body, but only part of the tooth with one fang was extracted. Again the dentist begged pardon; hoped he should be excused, as every one must have a beginning in whatever profession. He would fetch his master, who would punch out the remaining fangs in less than a quarter of an hour!" This was too much. The gentleman sickened at the idea, and left the shop in a worse state than when he entered, resolving never to entrust his head in the hands of a beginner again. This was a frightful relation of accumulated horrors to me, for, as I had no expectation of relief from agony, but by the skill of a dentist, I shuddered lest I should be subjected to similar treatment. My poor servant girl, Betty, who heard the description of this bungling operation, screamed in sympathetic recollection of what she once had suffered under the hands of a dentist. She begged of me for goodness sake, "to give up the notion of going to have my tooth hauled out in that fashion, for she could assure me it was quite unspeakable for to tell the pain that must be endured. It was the most horrid scraunch that ever was in this mortal world. Nobody could tell if their head was off or no, and it wa'nt a right way for to treat any human christian." I listened to poor Betty, because I began to think there was one person who could appreciate my sufferings. I hoped to escape from farther interruption by being denied, but Betty told me a gentleman had been waiting some time in the parlour, who said he would not detain me half a minute. He came-a friend I had not seen for years. He sympathized with me, while I briefly told how sadly I was afflicted. Another friend requested me to be careful in selecting an operator on my tooth, for that he went to a dentist once, under anguish scarce endurable, to have a large double tooth like mine extracted. He seated himself in a chair, and was told to hold fast by the frame-work of the seat, to prevent being hoisted up by the lever-power in the hands of the operator. All was properly arranged, the instrument in, and a tooth drawn; but, unfortunately, the fellow had taken the wrong tooth out, being the only one left to meet another in the opposite jaw, to enable my friend to masticate his food. But as this was, he found it must be endured, because the tooth could not be replaced, and because a portion of the jawbone, had been torn away with the tooth. Miserable situation! The pain redoubled its violence, and he resolved to have the tormenting fang extracted. To prevent being tossed against the ceiling, he fixed his feet in leather straps attached to the floor, and held firmly by the chair. In this determined state he made a round O of his mouth, They were produced; my friend pulverized The operator popped in the instrument, and them, mixed them in equal quantities; then u-g-h!-a-h!-it slipped. He felt as if a load-wet a small piece of cotton, causing the mixed powders to adhere, and placed it in my hollow tooth. ed waggon had passed over his head. The dentist apologized, saying, "It was a common occurrence; gentlemen did not mind it much, because the next attempt was always successful." This my friend was obliged to receive as a consolation, though deficient in every sa 66 My dear friend," exclaimed he, I can cure you in ten minutes." "How? how?" inquired I; "do it in pity." Instantly," said he, "Betty, have you any alum?" "Yes." "Bring it, and some common salt." the blue expanse-the sun-beams basking on her distended sails-tossing the rampant waves from her bows, as though she were at play with the frolicksome waters, and cared not for their strength nor their terrors. In very deed she seemed "instinct with life." She came up across our bow with the speed of a sea-bird, and our captain hailed her. It was as he predicted. On the introduction || water. Like a snowy cloud she glided along of the mixed alum and salt, I experienced a sensation of coldness, which gradually subsided, and with it the torment of the toothache. Though I thus learnt something from my sufferings, and entertain a hope that what I learnt, being thus published, will be of service to my fellow creatures, I am far from believing that any catholicon or universal remedy has yet been discovered for this afflicting malady. It would almost appear, indeed, that, instead of there being any general cure for the toothache, every body would require to have his own cure: for though certain preparations have been found effectual in certain cases, nothing is so common as to find these fail when applied to others. Probably there is one particular cure for every man on earth, if he only could discover what it is. Till that be done, I am afraid that the disease must be looked upon as a pin loose in nature, and just endured when a remedy cannot be hit upon, as an unavoidable evil. ORIGINAL. NUMBER L The Ship-Sunset at Sea-A Calm. AUGUST 29.-We have now been at sea about eighteen days, and in that time have not met with a single sail. Here I am, seated at my table, trying to cudgel out of this over-labored brain of mine some new ideas for a page in my journal. I have but one topic-the "vast, salt, dread, eternal deep." This, to be sure, with its storm and majesty, its billows and darkness, is a good subject;|| but one cannot be always harping on the same theme, be it ever so good, and I have hammered out my ideas on this till they have become as thin as the gold-beater's leaf. Joy, joy!" Sail O!" I hear from aloft. Looking up the companion-way I saw one of the men standing on the fore-royal yard, pointing to the southward. I went on deck, and swept the horizon with the glass, but it was sometime before I could descry ar thing like a ship; at last I caught a pupse of a dim misty speck rising in the horizon, which I had taken for the foaming cap of a wave. She neared us fast and was soon distinctly visible. It proved to be a brig, and a beautiful object she was. Every stitch of canvass was spread on her slender spars, even to her diminutive sky-sails and royal studding sails, and her long black hull was heeled down to the breeze, so that her lower studding sail yards sometimes trailed in the It was the brig Coquette from Philadelphia, bound for the Spanish Main. After she had learned our name and destination she rounded to-we followed her example; and as the two commanders were somewhat acquainted, our captain and myself went on board of her. A neater looking craft I never set foot in— her hull was long, low, and clipper-built, and her decks were as clean and white as the sanded floors of my aunt's cottage, (which any one may see by going to Limington,) her spars long and tapering—and there was not a few of them-and every thing was in its place and taunto. The captain and occupants of the cabin shook hands with us, and invited us below to some refreshments. We took a glass of wine and spent a jovial half hour with them, and, at parting, all struck up the tune of "Auld lang syne." No sooner were we in our boat than the snowy wings of the brig were spread again. She made a sweep in the water, and slowly heeling to the wind, was off with the speed of an arrow-not, however, till she had given us a parting salute, which was answered by an old rusty iron bellower, that we had on board our ship. Steady and far she sped upon her lonely way; and I began to doubt the correctness of her name, as I saw her fading in the distance-swerving neither to the right or left -too straight forward and unwavering for a coquette. Gradually she sunk below the horizon, and my heart grew sad when I thought that this chance meeting, hundreds of miles from land, was the first and last, in all probability, that would every take place between this good-natured captain and his officers, and myself, although we were but friends of an half hour. This evening we had a most re-splendent sunset. As the day-god sunk to his ocean lair, the huge clouds, that had all day long been hanging around the horizon, piled up in every form and shape imaginable, gathered onward to the west, marshalling like moving troops around their potent sovereign, as the splendidly robed deputies of some eastern soldan surrounded the couch of their dying Day after day-day after day, chief. They formed themselves into massy || dropping down from some cloud, and spreadridges, changing, as they neared the sun, from ing over the water-and here we are, scarce purple and amber to the most brilliant and a dozen miles from where we were five days burning hues, till the sun itself was fairly ago. Oh! the pleasures of a sailor's life. It eclipsed in the fiery splendor his rays had reminds me of the ship becalmed in the Ankindled. Overhead, in the far depth of the cient Mariners' story.' shadowy sky, hung down ragged masses of clouds, gorgeously colored, like fiery fringed banners, pennons and scarfs, floating around the fortress of the storm-god when he concentrates his emisssaries for a tempest. Meanwhile, the sea, borrowing the hues of the sky, seemed to roll in billows of molten gold towards the west, the centre of the glorious pageant. Altogether, the burning magnificence of the scene was almost terrifying. AUGUST 30.-This morning the weather was calm and still as death-the broad undulating sea hushed and breathless as a lake, deep amid mountains-the sun hot as in the deserts of Arabia. The ship was surrounded with fish-dolphins, baracouters, porpoises, and myriads of uncouth and shapeless forms, whose names, if they had any, were unknown to us, darting hither and yon, and floundering up and down, from the surface to the very depth of the sea-some, apparently, with neither head nor tail, and some all head and tail —black, brown, blue, white and yellow. Egad!" said Bill Tryon, one of the sailors, who had been swaying a fishing-line up and down in the water all the forenoon to non effect, as a couple of sad coloured and sorry-eyed lumpish nondescripts lolled out from beneath an old red baize shirt that was soaking in the water, "Look here, Mr. Hackinsack, I'll be chisselled if this ere don't beat all I ever seed in salt water afore!" Thinks I, you are right there, for never were the equal of such unsightly, deformed articles conjured up in the wild phantasms of a crazy brain—or in the dim, indistinct, apprehensive and monstrous shapes, that lear at us and flit around us in troubled dreams or nightmare. Sundown. Still calm--not a breath of air, the ocean outstretched, a vast polished mirror, reflecting the clouds that are slumbering in the depth of the sky, and here and there the dark forms of the little stormy petrels that are sorrowfully whinnowing the sluggish air on the bosom of the sea. The water around us is alive with ill-favoured and slimy minutiæ born of the wave and struggling into existence. It seems as though the very sea is decomposing, for want of wind to set it in motion. SEPT. 3. Still calm, with occasionally very light airs-scarcely more than a 'cats paw' painted ship Upon a painted ocean." WOMAN'S AFFECTION. ROLLA. Love is a subject which has ever been open to discussion amongst persons of all classes, and of every variety of mind and character; yet, after all, there are few subjects which present greater difficulties, especially to a female writer. I will begin by dismissing a large portion of what is commonly called by that name, as wholly unworthy of my attention; I mean that which originates in mere fancy, without reference to the moral excellence of the object; and if my young readers imagine, that out of the remaining part they shall be able to elicit much amusement, I fear they will be disappointed; for I am one of those who think that the most serious act of a woman's whole life is to love. What, then, I would ask, is love, that it should be the cause of some of the deepest realities in our experience, and of so much of our merriment and folly? The reason why so many persons act foolishly, and consequently lay themselves open to ridicule, under the influence of love, I believe to originate in the grand popular mistake of dismissing this subject from our serious reading and conversation, and leaving it to the unceremonious treatment of light novels, and low jests: by which unnatural system of philosophy, that which is in reality the essence of woman's being, and the highest and holiest amongst her capabilities, bestowed for the purpose of teaching us of how much our nature is capable for the good of others, has become a thing of sly purpose, and frivolous calculation." Persons are The very expression-" falling in love," has done an incalculable amount of mischief, by conveying an idea that it is a thing which cannot be resisted, and which must be given way to, either with or without reason. said to have fallen in love, precisely as they would be said to have fallen into a fever or an ague-fit, and the worst of this mode of expression is, that amongst young people, it has led to a general yielding up of the heart to the first impression, as if it possessed of itself no power her own existence is absorbed by the interests of resistance. It is from general notions such as these, that the idea, and the name of love, have become vulgarized and degraded; and in connection with this degradation, a flood of evil has poured in upon that Eden of woman's life, where the virtues of her domestic character are exercised. What, then, I would ask again, is love in its highest, holiest character? It is woman's all-her wealth, her power, her very being. Man, let him love as he may, has ever an existence distinct from that of his affections. He has his worldly interests, his public character, his ambition, his competition with other men-but woman centres all in that one feeling, and "In that SHE lives, or else SHг has no life." In woman's love is mingled the trusting dependence of a child, for she ever looks up to man as her protector and her guide: the frankness, the social feeling, and the tenderness of a sister-for is not man her friend? the solicitude, the anxiety, the careful watching of the mother-for would she not suffer to preserve him from harm? Such is love in a noble mind, and especially in its first commencement, when it is almost invariably elevated, and pure, trusting, and disinterested. Indeed, the woman who could mingle low views and selfish calculations with her first at tachment, would scarcely be worthy of the name. So far from this being the case with woman in general, I believe, if we could look into the heart of a young girl, when she first begins to love, we should find the nearest resemblance to what poetry has described, as the state of our first parents, when in Paradise, which this life ever presents. All is then coloured with an atmosphere of beauty and light; or if a passing cloud sails across the azure sky, reflecting a transitory shadow on the scene below, it is but to be swept away by the next balmy gale, which leaves the picture more lovely for this momentary interruption of its stillness and repose. But that which constitutes the essential charm of a first attachment, is its perfect disinterestedness. She who entertains this sentiment in its profoundest character, lives no longer for herself. In all her aspirations, her hopes, her energies, in all her noble daring, her confidence, her enthusiasm, her fortitude, of another. For herself, and in her own character alone, she is at the same time retiring, meek, and humble, content to be neglected by the whole world-dispised, forgotten, or contemned; so that to one being only she may still be all in all. And is this a love to be lightly spoken of, or harshly dealt with? Oh, no; but it has many a rough blast to encounter yet, and many an insidious enemy to cope with, before it can be stamped with the seal of faithfulness; and, until then, who can distinguish the ideal from the true? I am inclined to think it is from the very purity and disinterestedness of her own motives, that woman, in cases of strong attachment, is sometimes tempted to transgress the laws of etiquette, by which her conduct, even in affairs of the heart, is so wisely restricted. But let not the young enthusiast believe herself justified in doing this, whatever may be the nature of her own sentiments. The restrictions of society may probably appear to her both harsh and uncalled for; but, I must repeat-society has good reasons for the rules it lays down for the regulation of female conduct, and she ought never to forget that points of etiquette ought scrupulously to be observed by those who have principle, for the sake of those who have not. Besides which, men, who know the world so much better than women, are close observers on these points, and nothing can lessen their confidence in you more effectually, than to find you unscrupulous, or lax, even in your behaviour to them individually. If, therefore your lover perceives that you are regardless of the injunctions of your parents or guardians, even for his sake, though possibly he may feel gratified at the moment, yet his opinion of your principles will eventually be lowered, while his trust in your faithfulness will be lessened in the same degree. In speaking of the entireness, the depth, and the disinterestedness of woman's love, I would not for a moment be supposed to class under the same head, that precocious tendency to fall in love, which some young ladies encourage under the idea of its being an amiable weakness. Never is the character of woman more despicable, than when she stoops to plead her weakness as a merit. Yet some complain that they are naturally so grateful, it is impossible for them to resist the influence of kindness; and thus they fall in love, perhaps with a worthless man-perhaps with two men at once: simply because they have been kindly treated, || macy, which, at first, she has no idea of conand their hearts are not capable of resisting verting into love. kindness. Would that such puerile suppliants for the charity they ill deserve, could be made to understand how many a correct and prudent woman would have gone inconceivably farther than them, in gratitude, and generous feeling, had not right principle been made the stay of her conduct, and the arbitrer of all her actions. Love, which arises out of mere weakness, is as easily fixed upon one object as another; and consequently is at all times transferable; that which is governed by principle, how much has it to suffer, yet how nobly does it survive all trial? I have said, that woman's love, at least, all which deserves that name, is almost universally exalted and noble in its commencement; but that still it wants its highest attribute, until its faithfulness has been established by temptation and trial. Let no woman, therefore, boast of her constancy, until she has been put to the test. In speaking of faithfulness, I am far from supposing it to denote merely the tenacity of adhering to an engagement. It is easy to be true to an engagement, while false to the individual with whom it is contracted. My meaning refers to faithfulness of heart, and this has many trials in the common intercourse of society, in the flattery and attentions of men, and in the fickleness of female fancy. To have loved faithfully, then, is to have loved with singleness of heart, and sameness of purpose, through all the temptations, which society presents, and under all the assaults of vanity, both from within and without. It is so pleasant to be admired, and so soothing to be loved, that the grand trial of female constancy is, not to add more conquests to her triumphs, where it is evidently in her power to do so and, therefore, her only protection is to restrain the first wandering thought which might even lead her fancy astray. The ideas which commonly float through the mind of woman, are so rapid, and so indistinctly defined, that when the door is opened to such thoughts, they pour in like a torrent. The first will arise some new perception of deficiency in the object of her love, or some additional impression of his unkindness or neglect, with comparisons between him and others, and regret that he has not some quality which they possess, sadness under a conviction of her future destiny, pining for sympathy under that sadness, and, lastly, the commencement of some other inti Such, is the manner, in which in thousands of instances, the faithfulness of woman's love has been destroyed, and destroyed far more effectually than if assailed by an open, and, apparently more formidable foe. And what a wreck has followed! for when woman loses her integrity, and her self-respect, she is indeed pitiable and degraded. While her faithfulness remains unshaken, it is true she may, and probably will, have much to suffer; but let her portion in this life be what it may, she will walk through the world with a firm and upright step; for even when solitary, she is not degraded. It may be called a cold philosophy to speak of such consolation being available under the suffering which arises from unkindness and desertion, but who would not rather be one to bear injury, than the one to inflict it? and the very act of bearing it meekly and reverently, as from the hand of God, has a purifying and solemnizing effect upon the soul, which the faithless and the fickle never can experience. ORIGINAL. ON SEEING A CHILD AT PLAY. BY E. D. BAKER, JR. The morning breezes gently play And sportive as the hare: Thy tender breast hath never known Thy boyhood sports are wild and free-- That these may all be chill'd I love thy sports-but well I know And nought disturbs thy mind, Sport on, sport on, while yet ye may, When all thy much lov'd toys And hope with them will fly, |