the body now, as LIEBIG doctors the ground. They will apply certain medicines, and produce crops of certain qualities that are lying dormant now for want of intellectual guano.' We have this authentic illustration of the effects of a good dinner: 'No person,' says a learned writer on digestion, will deny that hunger is a painful sensation, whatever may be his opinion of appetite.' When, therefore, a man feels hungry (which he generally does a little while before dinner,) he is in pain; and when a man is in pain, he cannot be expected to feel comfortable within, or to make himself agreeable to others. On the contrary, the moment his sensations glide from appetite to hunger, the outworks of philosophy give way; the enemy saps the very foundations of his character. When, therefore, you want to see a sanguine man despond. a cheerful one sad, a forbearing man impatient, or a benevolent one uncharitable, watch him while being kept waiting for his dinner. The best of tempers will not, at such a moment, require much provocation to get ruffled.'... 'Nature tells us when to eat by exhausting our forces, and by making it a pain to disobey, and a pleasure to obey her dictates. Suappishness before, suavity after dinner, certainly form the general rule. This becomes a very important maxim in suitors and favor-seekers. How many an individual has marred his fortune by asking the favor that would have made it, before, instead of after his patron's dinner! So fully convinced is an extravagant young Oxford friend of ours of the necessity of timing his applications to the governor' for more cash, that he invariably sends him letters by the day mail, that they may catch the old gentleman napping just after dinner. The managers of charitable societies invariably make their collections after the hearts of the subscribers have been opened by a first-rate tavern feast. The trade,' par excellence, disarm the business-like caution of the book-sellers at their annual auctions by a like expedient, and never think of putting up a single lot till after the removal of the cloth. In short, a thousand similar instances might be adduced to show that the tide of fortune and liberality flows highest after dinner. How different is it during the hour before! Then it is that quarrels are begun, and law pleas commenced; then it is that cross fathers cut off erring sons with a shilling, and wives and husbands talk of deeds of separation; at this inauspicious period editors become super-particular, and reject the lucubrations of doubtful contributors; and critics get so uncommonly vigilant, that scarcely any thing in a book will please them. Reader, when you have a favor to ask, a bargain to make, a contribution to send to a magazine, or a book to forward to a critic, be careful, if you can possibly help it, not to address yourself to an empty stomach.' WE derive the following from an esteemed friend and correspondent, who was an early and constant friend of the devoted missionary of whom he speaks: DEATH cometh in at the window! Even after much watching, the immortal spirit often glides silently away; and those who have stood around, and marked the ebb and flow of life, know not the moment of its departure. Death cometh in at the window' and calls it hence. There is a consolation however in the reflection, that all those unnumbered attentions that love and sympathy can alone bestow, have been paid to the departed friend. The holy rites of sepulture bring with them to the afflicted mourners a soothing and hallowed influence. The resting-place has perhaps been chosen in some secluded spot; some rural cemetery, or some village burying-ground. 'HERE the long concourse from the murmuring town, No more to suffer and no more to sin. And here the impressive stone engraved with words But alas! how sad, how bitter are the hours which follow the announcement of the unexpected death of some beloved friend, who has died far away from home and kindred! It is but a few short days since, on glancing hastily over a daily paper, my eyes rested on a brief paragraph. For a moment the tide of life in my own bosom was almost turned back. It contained the simple yet affecting intelligence that Dr. GRANT, the noble and heroic missionary to the Nestorians of Persia, was no more. It was but a few days previous that I had been conversing with his son, and looking forward with anxious expectation to his immediate return to his country and his friends. Soon, even by this present time, I hoped to have seen him face to face, and to go over again with him the scenes of earlier days, and to follow him in his narrations of his long and perilous journeyings over the plains and mountains, and through the valleys and fastnesses of Central Asia; to have heard from his own lips the recital of his hair-breadth escapes during the revulsions and massacres of that ancient and interesting people, with whom his missionary lot had been cast. I knew him well; and a truer and finer spirit has seldom embarked in the highest of all pursuits, the christianizing of a world lying in wickedness.' His was a soul that knew not fear. Had he lived in the days of chivalry, he would have been as brave a knight as ever wore armor. In the Christian warfare in which he engaged, he never shrunk from what he considered the path of duty. Dr. GRANT was born in 1808, in the county of Oneida, in the state of New-York, and was educated as a physician. In 1834 he sailed from the United States as a missionary-physician to the Nestorians of Persia. For the first four years of his missionary life, his residence was at Ooroomiah, in Persia. In 1839, after the death of his devoted and accomplished wife, he undertook the hazardous enterprise of going across to those Nestorians who had dwelt for ages amid the wild mountains of Koordistan. In this he was eminently successful, and was the first American or European in modern times who has gained access to that most venerable people. Since that time, he has dwelt with them; and combining the character of a Christian missionary with that of a skilful physician, he was enabled to exert a great influence over those Christian descendants of God's chosen people. He died at Mosul; and his death produced a deep sensation, even among the followers of MOHAMMED. Mrs. GRANT sleeps in the city supposed to have been the residence of ZOROASTER. The mortal remains of Dr. GRANT rest upon the banks of the Tigris, near by where the waters of that river, famed of old, wash the ruins of ancient Nineveh.' THE MORALS OF FREEDOM. -The 'Oration delivered before the Authorities of the City of Boston,' on the fourth of July last, by PELEG W. CHANDLER, is a production of no common excellence. Instead of indulging in the declamation and retrospective boasting, too common, at least too unmixed, on similar occasions heretofore, the orator enters upon a serious investigation into our real condition; and exposes, with force and fearlessness, the evils from which the United States already suffer, and to which they are exposed. The riots and crimes that deform our land; the fraudulent speculations, in which even sovereign States have participated; the attacks upon the judiciary; the scenes of atrocity in deliberative assemblies, and acts of villany perpetrated by men in public office; these call rather for penitence and humiliation, than for vain-glorious boasting, on the part of the nation. The oration deserves to be read, and its teachings to be cherished, by every true-hearted American, who considers the principles of the Right paramount to those of the merely seeming Expedient. 'MAXIMS OF AGOGOS.'- Just as these sheets are passing to the press, we are put in receipt of an exceedingly well executed little volume, from the press of Messrs. Otis, Broaders AND COMPANY, Boston, entitled 'The Maxims, Experiences, and Observations of AGOGOS.' The author is CHARLES WILLIAM DAY, Esq., author of the Hints on Etiquette,' a work erroneously attributed to Count D'ORSAY, and which was noticed at some length in these pages not many months since. We have read the little volume before us entirely through at a single prolonged sitting; and are struck with the amount of worldly knowledge; the shrewd observation of men and things; the just views of society, morals, and manners, which it contains. We commend it to general perusal; being well assured, that if heedfully discussed it may be productive of much good. HERSHBERGER'S HORSEMANSHIP.-HENRY G. LANGLEY, 8 Astor-House, has published a small, 'well-mounted' volume, which the author (H. R. HERSHBERGER, Instructor of Riding at the United States Military Academy at West-Point,) terms The Horseman,' containing practical rules for riding, and hints to the reader on the selection of horses; to which is added a sabre-exercise for mounted and dismounted service. The work contains numerous cuts, illustrating the various kinds of bits, paces or gaits of the horse, and practices for the accomplished horsemen. The author has been connected with the cavalry-service for nine years, and a close observance of every thing relating to horsemanship has enabled him to convey practical information on all equestrian exercises by an easy and progressive method. street MRS. LEICESTER'S SCHOOL.'- This delightful little work, by CHARLES LAMB and his sister, has been republished in a beautiful volume, by Mr. HENRY M. ONDERDONK, at his book-store in JohnWe have perused the simple and instructive 'histories' which it contains, with that interest which the writings of LAMB never fail to excite. For exquisite pathos, springing from the simplest records of events in real and comparatively humble life, we hardly know any thing to excel one or two passages of the very first story in this little book. The work deserves, and will obtain, a wide circulation. ORIGINAL PAPERS. ART. L. EXPERIENCES OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER. BY PETER VAN GEIST, II. SUMMER RAIN. BY CHARLES G. EASTMAN, V. SONNET: TO JULIA. BY G. P. TYLER, ESQ., VI. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. BY MISS H. J. WOODMAN, . VII. A VISIT TO MOUNT IDA, IN MYSIA, ASIA-MINOR, VIII. THE FADING FLOWERS. BY THE SHEPHERD OF SHARONDALE, IX. BERNARD AND MOUTON: A DOG'S TALE, X. BYRON: THOUGHTS AT NEWSTEAD, XI. LEGEND OF COUNT JULIAN AND HIS FAMILY. BY WASHINGTON IRVING, XIII. THE LOST CHURCH. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, XIV. GOSSIP OF A PLAYER. BY THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT, LITERARY NOTICES: 1. LIFE AND ELOQUENCE OF REV. SYLVESTER LARNED, 2. ANTHON'S NEW GRAMMAR OF THE GREEK LANGUAGE, 4. THE BEECHEN TREE. A TALE TOLD IN RHYME. By F. W. THOMAS, ESQ., 383 5. THE LAND OF ISRAEL, ACCORDING TO THE COVENANT. By A. KEITH, D. D., 384 1. THE GREAT BERKSHIRE FESTIVAL: SECOND NOTICE. 2. A COLLEGE OF AGRI- 22. 387 390 WHETHER these 'experiences' of mine differ so much from those of most other young men as to make it worth while for me to reveal them, or for others to know them, is a question which they who honor these confessions with a perusal will be better qualified to answer than I am. And though I am aware, whatever German introversialists may say, that a knowledge of the private exercises and vagaries of any one mind, which can possess interest only so far as they are peculiar and depart from the common law, is of little if any use to another, the question cui bono? is one which I do not propound to myself, and which I shall therefore decline answering. My attachment to the plant, of whose nature and effects I have undertaken to treat, commenced early in life. Having on one occasion been found in the company of elder and manlier playmates, trying with many half-suppressed grimaces and much unacknowledged sickness of the stomach to accustom my mouth to its taste, I was forthwith strictly commanded by the frowning guardian of my youth to abstain from its use, under the penalty of severe pains. From this time forth, tobacco assumed an altogether new aspect it was no longer the bitter weed, natural disgust to which must be overcome by him who aspires to wear the toga viralis,' but it was now a most precious fruit, to be eaten in secret, the concentrated essence of all earthly luxuries, which was to form the grand pleasure of life, when I should be emancipated from parental control. It was a plant, in fine, to be wrapped carefully up and buried in the innermost pocket; whose fragrance was to be inhaled when no eyes could see me; which was to be looked at and longed for when nobody else was in the room; and which was to be eaten, sitting on an old log in the thickest woods, with glistening eyes and singing, with a rapturous pulse and exaltation of soul. It was a pleasure, the looking forward to which solaced the routine of ordinary duties: the past one was reflected on with something like envy, and a future one was anxiously schemed for. |