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North.—Yet something, I fear, on till anither fifty-and then, to be James, may have been lost.

sure, just when I'm beginning to be a Shepherd.-Ay, mony a thing, that wee stau’d, I apply first the pepper to had I my ain way, shud leeve forever. a squad, and then, after a score or But religion, wi' a' the cauld-rife twa in that way, some dizzen and a changes in life, and manners, and cus- half wi' vinegar, and finish aff, like toms, still strongly survives—and, you, wi' a wheen to the mustard, till thanks to Robert Burns—and aibling the brodd's naething but shells. ane or twa mair, there is still poetry North.-The cholera has left me amang our braes,,and o' nae shep- so weak, thatherd on our Scottish hills could it be Shepherd.—I dinna ken a mair pertruly said, in the language o' Words- plexin' state o' mind to be in than worth :

to be swithering about a farther brodd A primrose on the river's brim, o eisters, when you're devoor'd what A yellow primrose was to him,

at ae moment is felt to be sufficient, And it was nothing more.

and anither moment what is felt to be For as gude a poet as Wordsworth, very insufficient-feelin' stau'd this and in my opinion, a better too, has moment, and that moment yawp as tauld us what he felt frae the sicht o' ever--100 sayin' into yoursell that a Mountain Daisy.

you'll order in the toasted cheese, and North.-There is comfort in that then silently swearin' that you maun creed, my dear James. I feel as if hae anither yokin' at the beardiesan oppressive weight were taken from North.—This last attack, James, my heart.

has reduced me much-and a few Shepherd.—Then that's mair than I more like it will deprive the world of do-mair than you or ony ither man a man whose poor abilities were ever should say, after devoorin' half a hun- devoted to her serder eisters—and siccan eisters—to say Shepherd.-I agree wi' ye, sir, in naething o' a tippenny loaf, a quarter a' ye say about the diffeeculty o' the o'a pund o' butter-and the better dilemma. But during the dubiety and part o'twa pats o' porter.

the swither, in comes honest Mr. North.-James! I have not eat a Awmrose, o' his ain accord, wi' the morsel, or drank a drop, since breakfast. final brodd, and a body feels himsell

Shepherd.—Then, I've been confu- to have been a great sumph for sussioning you wi' mysel. A' the time pecking ae single moment that he that I was sookin' up the eisters frae wasna able for his share o' the conout o' their shells, ilka ane sappier cluding Centenary o' Noble Inventhan anither in its shallow pool o'cal- tions. There's really no end in natur ler saut sea-water, and some othem to the eatin' oeisters. takin' a stronger sook than ithers to North.-Really, James, your inrug them out o' their cradles,-I sensibility, your callousness to my thocht I saw you, sir, in my mind's complaints, painfully affects me, and ee, and no by my bodily organs, it forces me to believe that Friendship, would appear, doin' the same to a like Love, is but an empty name, nicety, only dashing on mair o' the Shepherd.—An empty wame! It's pepper, and mixing up mustard wi' your ain faut gin it's empty—but you your vinegar, as if gratifying a fawse wadna surely be for eatin' the verra appeteet.

shells ? Oh! Mr. North, but o a' North.---That cursed cholera — the men I ever knew, you are the

Shepherd.--I never, at ony time o' most distinguished by natural and nathe year, hae recourse to the cruet tive coortesy and politeness—by what till after the lang hunder-and in Sep- Cicero calls Urbanity. Tak it-tak tember-after four months fast frae it. For I declare, were I to tak it, I the creturs—I can easily devoor them never could forgi'e mysell a' my days. by theirsells just in their ain liccor, Tak it, sir.-My dear sir, tak it.

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North.-What do you mean, James ? clearer to me, sir, than the natural - What the d-I can you mean? direction of charity. Would we all

Shepherd. The last eister--the but relieve, according to the measure mainners eister-it's but a wee ane, of our means, those objects immedior it hadna been here. There, sir, ately within the range of our personal I've douk'd it in an amalgamation o' knowledge, how much of the worst pepper, vinegar, and mustard, and a evil of poverty might be alleviated! wee drap whiskey. Open your mouth, Very poor people, who are known to and tak it aff the pint o my fork us to have been honest, decent, and that's a gude bairn.

industrious, when industry was in North. I have been very ill, my their power, have a claim on us, dear James.

founded on that our knowledge, and Shepherd.-Haud your tongue-nae on vicinity and neighborhood, which sic thing. Your cheeks are no' half have in themselves something sacred that shrivelled they were last year; and endearing to every good heart. and there's a circle o’yeloquent blood One cannot, surely, always pass by, in in them baith, as ruddy as Robin's his walks for health, restoration, or breast. Your lips are no like cher- delight, the lone way-side beggar, ries—but they were aye rather thin without occasionally giving him an and colorless since first I kent you, alms. Old, care-worn, pale, droopand when chirted thegither-Oh! ing, and emaciated creatures, who man, but they have a scornfu', and pass us by without looking beseechsavage, and cruel expression, that ingly at us, or even lifting their eyes ought seldom to be on a face o clay. from the ground-cannot often be met As for your een, there's twenty gude with, without exciting an interest in year o' life in their licht yet. But, us for tseir silent and unobtrusive Lord save us : dinna, I beseech you, sufferings or privations. A bovel, put on your specs; for when you cock here and there, round and about our up your chin, and lie back on your own comfortable dwelling, attracts our chair, and keep fastenin' your lowin' eyes by some peculiar appearance of een upon a body through the glasses, penury-and we look in, now and it's mair than mortal man can endure then, upon its inmates, cheering their -you look sae like the Deevil In- cold gloom with some small benefaccarnate.

tion. These are duties all men owe North.-I am a much-injured man to distress ; they are easily dischargin the estimation of the world, James, ed, and even such tender mercies as for I am gentle as a sleeping child. these are twice blessed.

Shepherd. Come, now-you're Shepherd.-Oh, sir, you speak weel. wishin' me to flatter you-ye're des- I like you when you're wutty-I adperate fond, man, o' flattery.

mire you when you're wise-I love North. - I admit-confess-glory and venerate you when you're good that I am so. It is impossible to lay and what greater goodness can there it on too tbick.

be in a world like this than charity ?

Tickler.- But then, my worthy NORTH, TICKLER AND THE SHEP- friend, for one man to interfere with HERD.

another's charities is always delicate North.-There are people who will -nay dangerous ; for how can the bepetition for the forfeited life of a fe- nevolent stranger, who comes to me lon, a forger, and an incendiary, who to solicit my aid to some poor family, will be shy of subscribing a pound for whose necessities he wishes to relieve, the relief of the blind aged widow, know either my means, or the claims who, industrious as long as she saw that already lie upon me, and which I Heaven's light, is now a palsied but am doing my best to discharge ? He uncomplaining pauper.

asks me for a guinea-a small sum, as Ticklcr. --- Nothing seems much he thinks-the hour after I have given

two to a bed-ridden father of a large pired alang wi' the last spark on the family, to save his bed and bed-clothes ashy hearth. from being sold at the Cross.

Tickler.—Give me your hand, Shepherd.-But you maunna be an- James. James, your health, God gry at him--unless he's impident- bless you-certainly a young lady-or and duns you for your donation. a middle-aged one either-never looks That's hard to thole.

better-so well—as when in prudence Tickler.-Yet, am I to apologize to and meekness she seeks to cheer with him-uninformed, or misinformed, as charity the hovels of the poor. I know he is about me and mine-for not several such-and though they may drawing my purse-strings at his soli- too often be cheated and imposed oncitation ? Am I to explain how it that is not their fault-and the dishappens that I cannot comply-to tell charge of a Christian duty cannot fail him that, in fact, I am at that mo- of being accompanied by a great overment poor? He is not entitled to balance of good. hold such a colloquy with me-yet, if Shepherd.-Oh man ! Mr. Tickler I simply say, “Sir, I must refuse your but you hae a maist pleasant face petition,” he probably condemns me the noo-you're a real gude creturas a heartless hunks—an unmerciful and I wad fling a glass o' het water in miser-and, among his friends, does the face o onybody that wad daur to not abstain from hints on my selfish speak ill o' a single letter in your character.

name.--Is't no time, think ye, sir, to Shepherd.—There's, for the maist be ringin' for the eisters ?-I hear them part, I am willing to believe, a spice comin'!-That cretur Awmrose has o' goodness about the greater number the gift o' divination ! even o' the gadders about wi' subscription papers.

North.-Tickler puts all his soul, Tickler.-But a spice, James, is James, into whatever he happens to not enough. Their notives are of be doing at the time. Why, he too mixed a kind. Vanity, idleness, brushes his hat, before turning out at mere desire to escape ennui, curiosity two for a constitutional walk, with as even, and a habit of busy-bodyism, much seeming, nay, real earnestness, which is apt to grow on persons who as Barry Cornwall polishes a dramatic have no very strong ties of affection scene, before making an appeal to binding them to home, do sadly im- posterity. pair the beauty of beneficence.

Shepherd.—And baith o' them rub Shepherd.—They do thal-yet in a aff the nap. Commend me to a rouch great populous city like Embro', much hat and a rouch poem-a smooth hat's good must often be done by charitable shabby-genteel, and a smooth poem's people formin' themselves into asso- no muckle better. I like the woo on ciations---findin' out the deserving the ane to show'shadows to the breeze poor, gettin' siller subscribed for --and the lines o' the ither to wanton them, visitin' them in their ain houses, like waves on the sea, that, even at especially in the winter time, sir, ge- the very cawmest, breaks out every in' them a cart o' coals, or a pair o' noo and then into little foam-furrows, blankets, or some worsted stockens, characteristic o' the essential and the and so on-for a sma' thing is aften a eternal difference atween the waters great help to them just hangin' on the o' an inland loch, and them o' the edge o' want; and a meal o' meat set earth-girdlin' ocean. afore a hungry family, wha hadna expeckit to break their fast that day, Tickler.--I have lost my appenot only fills their stamacks, puir titesowls, but warms their verra hearts, Shepherd. I howp nae puir man 'll banishin’despair, as by a God-gist, find it, now that wages is low and and awaukenin' Hope, that had ex- wark scarce.

SUMMER RAIN.

[Beranger, the celebrated French song-writer, has lately been made the object of a ministerial prosecution, on account of some allusions to the Bourbons in a volume lately published by him, and has been condemned, by the Court of Correctional Police, to nine months imprisonment and a fine of 401. of the taste, fancy and elegance, which embellish his Odes, the following hasty translation will afford a specimen.]

Like lonely stars are seen;
Till rushing on the sight, the bills

Have burst the veil between,
While thousand rain-brooks bubbling down,
Stream from their bare and shining crown.

The rain, the rain, the summer rain !

How sweet this balmy eve!
My footsteps on the velvet grass,

A greener print they leave.
The bird beneath those weeping boughs

(Heaven bless him!) shakes his wing, And singing to the wind, that makes

A stilly murmuring,
Watches the rain-drups as they fall,
Like pearls from some gay coronal.
The shower, the summer shower is past;

Again th' unclouded sky
Smiles on the glittering fields, beneath

A silver net that lie.
The streamlet of the plain, grown fierce,

With blades of grass, and store
Of sleeping lizards burthened,

Speeds on, and tumbling o'er Some dangerous pebble's precipice, Makes Niagaras to the mice!

Oh, come along the humid plain

Come, by the linden grove,
Thy gentle arm embracing mine;

Alone, we there may rove.
But ere the sloping hill we leave,

A moment turn thine eyes
Where palaces and huts are bright

With sunset's gorgeous dyes,
And, on a heaven of darkest blue,
A golden city shuts the view.

Whirling amain on that wild flood,

Some oarless insects sweep,
Perched on a larger insect's wing,

A wreck upon the deep;
Or, clinging to some floating isle,-

A wither'd leaf,—they deem
Their troubles light, if, pendant o'er

The brink of that rude stream,
A straw's majestic point appear,
To stop them in their dread career.

Oh see! from yonder misty roofs,

A thousand smokes ascend;
There happy hearts and kindred sighs

In sweet communion blend.
The windows flashing in the sun,

A light like torches fling;
The illuminated city shows

A noiseless triumphing :-
Such be the coarsesi lights that fall
On nature's sun-set festival.

The currents o'er the sand have gushed,

The vapors sunward fly ;
The dim horizon, dimmer grown,

Escapes the gazer's eye.
And now a few bright irembling specks,

The rainbow-oh! the rainbow see,

Grasping the illumined sky;
A treasure the Almighty sends,

When rains and tempests fy.
How oft, eternal spheres ! my soul

Has longed for winds of wind,
That some Ithuriel I might crave

The secret to unbind
To what far worlds of endless day
That golden sun-bridge leads the way.

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ESSAYS ON PHYSIOLOGY, OR THE LAWS OF ORGANIC LIFE.*

Essay V.-ON THE CIRCULATION OF THE Blood. From the left ventricle of the heart, as termed capillaries, a network of such we have before stated, the main arte- delicacy and minuteness is produced, ry of the frame, termed aorta, arises. that a puncture with the finest instruThis vessel distributes its branches, ment cannot be made without woundlike a tree, to every part of the body, ing thein, and drawing blood. The forming, as they proceed, numerous capillaries gradually assume the chacommunications with each other, till racter of veins, as minute and delicate at last, by their extreme ramifications, as themselves, assisting equally to

* See page 345.

form the network; and so intimate is the valves also on the other side of their union, and so imperceptibly do the heart. the veins assume their venous charac- The blood having traversed the ter, that it would be difficult to say lungs, is returned by the pulmonary where the artery ends, and the vein veins to the left auricle of the heart; begins. This beautiful system of mi- and this contracting, it is propelled nute vessels is distributed throughout into the left ventricle, from whence it every part of the body but the skin; is sent through the aortą and its ramithe various membranes, and the mus- fications to every part of the body; cles, are supplied the most abundant- and is again returned by the veins to ly. It is not, however, into all the ca- the right auricle. It appears, therepillary vessels, in a natural state, that fore, that the blood on the right side the red particles of the blood are ad- of the heart must pass through the mitted ; as for instance the cornea of lungs before it can be admitted into the eye, whose vessels contain the se- the left, in order to be conveyed by rous, or uncolored, portion only. This the means of arteries through the may arise from the calibre of the system. vessels being too minute to admit the Now, we shall find, upon examinaentrance of the red particles, or, from tion, that a manifest difference exists a natural disposition and power in between the blood in the veins, and in them, to refuse that part of the blood the arteries,-or, in the right, and in which would interfere with the neces- the left cavities of the heart; that of sary function of the organ.

the veins of the right side of the As it is the office of the arteries to heart being of a dark livid color, convey the blood from the heart to while its hue in the arteries and left every part of the system, for its sup- side is scarlet or bright red. This port and nourishment, so it is the of- circumstance, independent of others, fice of the veins to return it to the indicates a change in its nature, and same source, its important task being it is evident also, that this change accomplished. All the veins of the must be effected in the lungs. But body, except those of the heart itself, before proceeding, it may be proper to terminate ultimately in the two venæ give a brief description of these orcavæ, from whence the blood passes gans, by which some idea of their into the right auricle; this reservoir structure and use may be formed. being filled, its sides immediately con- The lungs are situated in the cavity tract, and the blood is forced through of the chest, which when distended the ostium venosum into the right ven- with air, they completely fill; their tricle, being prevented from returning texture is light and spongy, and conback into the veins by the valve plac- sists of an assemblage of most minute ed at their entrance into the auricle. and numberless cells, connected toThe right ventricle, on receiving the gether, and communicating with each blood, now in its turn contracts, and other; the whole being corered by an forces it into the pulmonary artery, by extremely fine membrane termed the which it is carried immediately to the pleura. In these cells the ramificalungs, where, undergoing certain tions of the trachea or wind-pipe terchanges, it becomes fitted for the pur- minate, and it is in these that the poses of the animal economy. On the blood undergoes its change. The contraction of the ventricle, it would lungs are abundantly supplied with abbe natural to expect that the blood sorbents, and also with a considerable would, at least in part, return back number of nerves, although at the into the auricle, and this would cer- same time their sensibility is very imtainly occur, were it not prevented by perfect. On each dilatation of the the valve at the ostium venosum, or chest there enters into these organs, entrance into the ventricle ; the same according to some physiologists, be"remark holds good, with respect to tween thirty and forty cubic inches, or,

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