THE AMERICAN LADIES' MEDICAL POCKET BOOK AND NURSERY ADVISER.

Kay Jr. & Brothers.

AN excellent companion to the preceding work, and a necessary adjunct to the well-doing of every nursery. To our friends who have lately entered the hymenial state, and are anxious about the health of their little responsibilities, we advise the presentation of a copy of the Nursery Adviser to the lady directress. It contains the best advice to young wives and mothers.

Miss Martineau's new work, "Society in America," has excited but little curiosity on either side of the Atlantic. The ultra nature of her politics forbids the enthusiasm of a numerous partizanship, and the reading publics have not forgotten the disappointment connected with the journal of a former lady visiter. Miss Martineau does not permit a childish-like love of country to blind her perception of the beauties of America and its institutions; nor does she daub her pages with the coarsest flattery for purposes of a transient and selfish nature. Her book is philosophically critical. She is occasionally erroneous, as travellers generally are, in the assumption of premises from individual cases; and not unfrequently politically biassed in the tendency of her conclusions.

Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott is rapidly progressing. It will be a delightful work, every way worthy the fame of the great poet and novelist. The biographer is fortunate in the possession of material of wonderful quality and quantity.

THE DRAMA.

A powerful body of musical talent, of the first order, will most likely appear in the course of the ensuing season. By the last advices from London, we understand that the Woods positively return; but that Mr. Wood declines appearing upon the stage, and has formed an engagement with Mr. Templeton, a tenor of considerable power and sweetness, to fill his place in the various operas. Mr. Seguin, a basso of some popularity, will also accompany Mr. Wood, and give assistance to the new productions in which that wonderful cantatrice will appear. Mr. Brough, it is believed, has concluded a negociation with Miss Shirreff, and Mrs. Wilson, vocalists of considerable eminence; and that the musical trio contemplate visiting the United States immediately. Forrest, with his young bride, returns for the commencement of the theatrical campaign. He will perform at New York upon his arrival; then at Boston, where he has not played for several years; and then present himself to his fellow citizens, rich in the well-earned glory of his European fame, and confessedly the first tragedian in the world.

COSMOGONICAL SQUINTINGS.

AMERICA. Money not to be smelt under cent. per cent. General Shaving-universal Barber-ism— Lynch Law-literal distress-great scarcity of V.'s, X.'s, L.'s, and C.'s. No trust but distrust. Great cuttings up 'cause cotting's down. Every bank like the Mammoth-the specie's extinct.

MEXICO. Losing Texas, and gaining Taxes. Rows riz. Revolution once a month. Two Presidents, and a thousand Vices. General row, General discontent, General Bustamente.

POLAND-past. Wo-land-present. No-land-future.

SPAIN. Within an ace of losing her queen by a knave—the king no trump. Civil war, Seville oranges, servile courtiers, save-all ministers, and several Dons done to a dungeon for donning Donna Maria's livery. ENGLAND. Nothing moving but stagnation. War with the Church-Radicals running Steeple Chases. Dolorous signs from brother Jonathan, and sine-dollarous remittances.

RUSSIA. Rasher and rasher. Czar wants to spar, but not such a calf as to take the Bull by the horns.— Can't tell whether an autocrat ought to crow or to cry.

FRANCE. Louis Philippe doing badly-daily expecting a bullet-in. All Paris going gunning at le monarque métallique. Vaults groaning with gold, table set with silver-coach plaited with platina, and covered with copper to keep off steel knives, iron muzzles, and leaden balls, because his popularity is in a state of pewter-ifaction. Royalty rolling in riches, and manufacturers in misery. Another revolution hourly expected. Puppies pampered, and Lyons starved.

IRELAND. Taxes, tythes, and 'taters. Agitators, and their imitators-White boys without a yellow-boy. Dozens of families without a thirteener. No rent paid but the Connell rent. Orange faction looking blue. and many a son of Green Erin without a red herring.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

Scene the First.-The Skirts of a Wood. Time-
Even. Argument-The Friar halteth to refresh.
He singeth roundelays, moralizeth on his corporal

nose, his belly, and other beasts of prey; soberly
giveth utterance to divers merry-conceited ponder-
ings; and discusseth on the wisdom of going by the
bog to the Shrieve's Lady, who affecteth him.

THE FRIAR.

And what directed him where to lay his flail with effect?-Truly my nose, my treacherous nose.-It is a fire that burns and consumes my vital oil. I grow

lean and ghostly; but marvellously unfriarlike. I am barely twenty score, bating my bottle and staff; I have seen hogs of more weight-rarely though-but rarely. What brought the thief to me last Whitnight, when I slept under the hawthorn in the valley? Naught but my nose. He thought it was a cold carbuncle, and I HAVE scared the does in the woodlands, by the twitching it suddenly, found it to be a blazing torch. beams of my comfortable nose. I can never come He quitted me with scorched digits. A judgment! a near enough the haunch at twilight, to knock the judgment! But the nightingales sang over me all knave over the costard with my staff. I lose a matter night—so they did-deeming my nasal beams to emaof five bucks a month by this. Well-go to.-Hath nate from a bevy of the pretty glow-worms to whom not the comfortable nose its advantages?-Aye. The they pay court; but the rogues devour those to whom rogue who came upon me yonder on the hill-side I they so pay court;-for had I a pimple unblained affrighted, by enlarging on the sin of despoiling Holy from their rascally beaks when I awoke? Not one. Mother Church;-and speaking of after-life fires, re- Doth not the Lord Abbot know the depth of my draught vealed my mortal nose; he fled. But am I not des- by the mark on my snout? Truly so. There is ever cried in all paths and peregrinations?-Yea. The a girdle of spices about it, from the surface of the good-wives peep through their lattices at night-fall, tipple, which tells how high the tide of wine hath some half a league off, to a meteor on the hill-top, and arisen, as truly as doth the dirty foam on the willowshout out, "Yonder goeth the ghostly friar!" No bark, the height of the river-waters. Good Lord! in benison of mine be upon the bogginess of this land! how many ale-mugs hath this eternal toast hissed!I am seen, it is said, in fifty different parts of the dio- The sheep's fleece succumbs to the dyer's drug, and cese within an hour; when, St. Botolph knows, I am so hath the innocent lily-white purity of my olfactory singing some sober roundelay in a sequestered nook, to the red, red wine. They call it the corporal essence, by brook-side, under willow, three flasks a cooling in the embodied spirit of the Malmsey butt. And the the waters, one in my hand unbosoming its dainty soul villain lay-brother, who trims the candles at midnightunto me, and a spiced cygnet pastry on the green dewy mass, if I chance to doze and tarry somewhat behind grass, with its rich jelly glittering in the moon-light, my brethren, turns him back muttering curses on the 'twixt my gams-I am a traduced man.-Flasks a half-extinguished wick that stinks in the corner, and cooling, said I? 'Tis true-but still, when had I a cold lo, you! pops his greasy extinguisher upon my feature! cup? Were I to put my lips to the great ocean, my And once when I was devout in the solitude of my nose would bob knee-deep therein first, and make the usual retreat, the blear-eyed porpus snuffed my nose waters warm and sickly as the sallow gruel of morti- to give more light! Verily I am a colossal candle; fication, ere I could quaff a mouthful. How got I a but this villanous wick will burn me out at last. I broken pate from that wittol the grazier the hinder- have heard so little else spoken of, but my jewel here, night past? Why thus-He fell upon me, by mistake, for these last twenty years, that it hath grown to be supposing me to be some unholy rogue who had been the leading theme of my poor thoughts. Do I not play devouring the flesh of his fat beeves, and bussing his on a lute of four strings? I do; and they are malmsey, most gamesome wife. I could have squeezed the venison, the Lord Abbot, and my feature. This last tallow out of him with my quarter-staff, as out of a is my base :-upon it do I grumble. Yonder goeth a beaten suet-bag, had I but fair play. But how could doe, and the sight of her maketh me a-hungered.— I see the churl in the midnight moonless darkness? Were I not a man, I would fain be a fat buck-I

D

love the woodlands, and am happy in bearing a portly haunch. I love the green leaves, and do moralize upon them with all my might.—(He singeth.)

Green grow the leaves on the old oak tree;
Some grow high, and some grow low;
And merrily dance the young leaves high,
While the old leaves rot below.

They drop a tear,

On each brother's mossy bier;
Then merrily dance on again;
And we, boys, we,

With the forester agree,

That leaves are the symbols of men ;

And the world is an old oak tree.

water with our wine! I abhor it in whatever disguise it come unto me. All my family have had a laudable hate for water, ever since my grandfather was drowned. What breedeth colds, cramps, rheumatism, infidelity, and scepticism, but water? What allays the rosy fire of the cheek; what maketh the wits puny, and the gams limber, but water? Were 1 Pope dominant, I would excommunicate from among all good people, more especially the friars, and most especially the good fraternity of Dillow, pitiful water.Hath ever villanous, uneasy, restless sect arose, whose founder was not a water-drinker? Will I trust any man who quaffs pure element? Not I Be they not all dangerous? Truly so. Water! I tremble in thinking of it! Is your wine-drinker, your haunch-lover, a rebel, or a heretic? Doth he overturn church or state? No. He eats, drinks, fattens, and sleeps; lets the world wag; and is content. Water breeds murmurings. I'll have none of't. Is not my Lord Abbot loyal? Yea. Am not I true man? Yea again. We tipple malmsey: therefore is water naught. It is empty, and hath no virtue in it. And for your base, cowardly hinds, who embrew mixed potations, and marry the noble son of the grape, whose robe is

of the rock, they merit pains and penalties;-marry do they! I will be found on the topmost twig of the mountain ash-I will be seen lending my sole tooth to another, when I am about to chew pudding myself

ble feat, ere I belabour, and thwack, and overcome the brook's tears, with the rope of malmsey. It is cowardly. Let the lily drink her dew-drop and grow paler! Let the colomb hie to her rivulet, and moan, and moo, and be melancholy in the hawthorn! But let man go to his rundlet, or his flagon, and his heart shall laugh, and his countenance rejoice, and his nose-truly, though, his nose, blazing so torridly, is a misery consequent. There was a maggot in mine a Wednesday, and the Lord Abbot said it was the first salamander his eyes had seen. Marry too! I am perforce driven to sleep under the cistern, lest any sudden combustion should occur from my inflammable feature, and endanger Dillow! (He singeth.)

I must drink after that though, by'r lady must I (He drinketh.) Malmsey, I thank thee!-I love the green leaves, as I said, and the soft verdant glade. I admire also to see the sun, with flushed, glowing, enlarged face, reeling tipsily homewards at eventide, with his handmaids, the richly attired clouds, crowding around him, and dutifully hiding his infirmities, and easing him gently to his couch. I glory to see him rising on the morrow, fevered, athirst, and look-purple and glorious, to the naked, immodest daughter ing as if he could drink up the great ocean. When he goes to bed latest he rises earliest :-'tis so with men. A hot pillow follows much drink, and thirst chases indolence. In winter. Dan Phoebus doeth penance for the summer's free living; he nurseth him--I will be detected in any other most improbaself, goes to his repose betimes, and lies abed of a morning. They talk of music of the spheres:-I will uphold the position. I have heard the sun, when he was half forced, half wheedled to his couch, roar musically for another flagon. I should be in the woods more, but the rascally does grow lean, and make such small paths through the furze now-a-days, that my fleece is torn as I pass; and the briars gore my haunches; and I emboss with blood the love-sick primrose's maiden face. That irks me. I like the primrose, and would fain have the virgin immaculate; so would I my own skin; but the thorns do write "Rover" and "Woodman" on it daily. Man hath his signs and tokens. A bibber bears a beacon in his front, which shows his craft. Were I the Dillow cellarman, the vats should so know me for their lord, in one little moon, that every one of them should be on the stoop to me;-by'r lady should they! I would instruct them to duck, and be mannerly, and learn the posture of obeisance. He that was most proud, erect, and burly, would I phlebotomise sans intermission; and so bring him down to the level of his fellows' humility. Now, albeit, the Lord Abbot is fat and happy, and eateth fifteen times per diem, and I would fain be the Lord Abbot, yet, I would rather be butterer or cellarman; for they chew and quaff with out ceasing, and hold dominion over beef barons and buck haunches as big and lusty as lay-brothers; and tuns of Malmsey, greater in girth than the superior himself: their subjects proffer themselves for mastica tion, and shed their blood gladly as in allegiance bound. The Dillow cellarman should be removed, and I should have his place. The cruel churl mixeth

The nose-the nose-the ghostly nose—
The nose of the holy friar!

It scares the does, as forth he goes,
Through furzy brake and briar.

I must drink again! (He drinketh.) Flask, thou art on the wane! What the fiend makes the women so fond of this rose of my garden, this furnace of flesh and blood? They are light-light-vanities all. The dames of the shire flutter around it, like moths about a candle; and if they be singed, can I help it? No. Here is this dainty doe of that antlered buck, the High-Shrieve, to whom I am now going-wearing the darkness of the night as a cloak-does she think I am carnal, and affect her body? It is her buttery and wine-bin I visit, not their mistress. "Sweet, tender chicken!" quoth I, and she thinks I am lauding her; when, Saint Bridget betide me! I am thinking of

naught but the young capon! Soothing, rapturous | Scene the Second.-The Bog; wherein the Friar, hav

voice!" quoth I again, and she shrieks gramercy for the compliment! But, Lord, sir! it is the bottle's delicate cluck-cluck I speak of, as it is about to give up the ghost which is spirit-to my cup. (He singeth.)

Cluck! cluck! she clucks so merrily;
The old black hen that's broody.

Singing of bottles, remindeth me that I am sore athirst (He drinketh.) Į am-St. Thomas of Dillow defend me!-one of the old black hen's most affectionate chickens. But now for this wife of the Shrieve! As for him the villain Shrieve-I bear him a bitter grudge, and will make oath upon my quarter-staff and bottle, to do him some scurvy trick. I will. (He sing. eth.)

He has married a lady of high degree,
The Sheriff of Gloucestershire;
She's fair and portly, frank and free ;

And shoots love-shafts from her bonny e'e-bree,
O'er woodland and headland, far over the lea,
To the cell of the holy Friar.
The Avon flows, the Shrieve's man rows,
He's gone for a night and a day;
While green grass grows, the daintiest does

Will gambol and frisk when the keeper's away.
Heigh! dallow! fallow!

ing gone aside from the true path, hath, in part, sunk. He still venteth trope and metaphor; but chanteth no roundelay.

THE FRIAR.

Now am I belt-deep in this dastardly swamp!Here do Labide like a wrecked ship, with a lantern of distress, my glimmering nose, beaming from my prow: and the whoreson will-o'wisps, that eke sø featly danced jigs to my roundelay, have suddenly deserted me in my sinking state. The false fiends flitted round me in my glory, but now that I am come unto the dirt, have suddenly left me to mine own resources, the light of mine own peak; whose utmost beam flies no further than my last full flask; which being jerked from my clutch as I flopped into this iniquitous mire, lies just an inch beyond my utmost reach, and sinks gradually before my eyes. ASHTAROTH, the Prince of these foul wilds, hath a night of revelry below in his halls, and, lacking light, hath here inveigled, to use me as a living illumination. I shall drop anon, fathoms deep, when all is prepared for my reception, into my allotted socket like a fat candle. I will night-wander no more, an' I do escape this purgatory. Shall I dip my nose now, and make dry land of this fen? Truly would I in self. defence, but that the vicinity of water to my lip, casts me into villanous qualms. I am afflicted with hydro

The deer leaves the old fern, to crouch by the mallow. phobia for my iniquities, and can no more lap water

I will drink, and budge. (He drinketh.) The flask is now a hollow friend. By this time the Shrieve's lady is watching for me at the lattice. If I cross the bog, which is my nearer path, myriads of will-o'-wisp devils will assail and singe me, as the bearer of an interloping Jack-lantern-to wit, my nose-a trespassing light on their domains. Well, go by, Thomas!-thy innocence protect thee! By the bog I will go:-there is a footpath wherewith I am passing well acquainted -the way round is long, and my legs rebel against it. Now would I fain marry a maiden verse of mine own present procreation, to the lusty old stave I have just trowled, and which I have known to be sole and a bachelor for these forty years past; but truly, for the moment, I lack the fringe of rhyme to my thoughts. I must think upon, and carol some hostelrie or drawer's ballad, that if there be any late passers, they may not suspect it is a monk who is moving across the bog at these hours. Sing I must to cheer me. (He singeth.)

The hind's wife hath a smutty mouth,
He left it lily-fair, ah!
But believe he must,

"Tis the cake's burnt crust;
Though the tinker hath been there, ah
Clinkum, clankum, clink, clink;
Ding! dong!

The whole day long!
Cronies, pass the jorum round,
And let the tinker drink.

than a bitten dog. Oh! proboscis! proboscis! beast that thou art, wilt thou never abate thy wrath? The creature hath been growing pregnant, as it were, yea larger and more large daily, for these months past. I look to see the beast delivered anon, of a young Aurora Borealis, or a litter of bog-fires. And so near doth furious fiery torment abide unto my lips, that they are parched as the very deserts over which sitteth the fiery sun of Afric. Now is my Lord Abbot regaling on some cygnet pie, and pastries of cold veal, imbedded in savoury jelly. And now hath he buried nine-tenths and a fraction of his large face, in that carved goblet, whose rim hath so often indented these cheeks. And now he finisheth his draught, and smacketh his satisfied lips, which twang with a moist chirrup; alas! the while, mine do rattle here, like parched pumpkins!— Up to my girth in slush! I am as much out of mine element, as frog in flannel!-And now is friar John envying the good cheer which he thinks I am enjoying; and, lo! I envy him his puny cup of impoverished wine. Hath this villanous Sheriff removed landmarks, and brought me here so? Well! well! I have plagued him. Once he sewed me in a sack, and by pulley and rope hitched me to a thick tenter-hook; intending to drown me at nightfall. But behold, no sooner was he gone, than the bag broke and released me. What did I? I remember me well to have put a fat living pig of his own in my place, sewed up the cicatrice, and when he, with horse and man, labour and fear, soul-irking and body-sweat, had tossed said sack and pig into the mill-stream, who stood before

(The Friar goeth on his way, thus carolling.) his horrified gaze laughing on the other bank? Truly

I, Thomas of Dillow. Did he not let fly an arrow at

my bald sconce? He did; and it glanced therefrom broad shadow before me, which is cleft in twain by as hailstone from rock, and slew his best palfrey by the beams of my nose, as a dark valley is parted by a my side. He has oftentimes vowed, that did he ever clear, bright rivulet; on the brink whereof, repose have me in his power again, he would stow me away dozens of fawns that eke so feared me, dapping their in a full butt of malmsey! Oh! that I were in his velvet noses into that streak of light, and marvelling power even now! This I do wish most devoutly to find no liquid, but scarcely endurable heat there in Marry and defend us! What voices be these? The stead. I am malmsey from crown to sole. I will whoreson Shrieve and his lean myrmidons, by our prick my little finger, and placing it as a dug in the ladykin! Thomas, thou art in jeopardy! And yet mouth of each in rotation, by the mere suction, the they cannot be in quest of me, or they would not be strong juice thereof, intoxicate five friars and a vintner so superfluous as to come with torches. Well, go by! in an hour. Let me sink into the marsh again, and By my faith, though, they approach; and are armed jubilate while I sing, so that I may again be taken by with flails! I must attempt another struggle. Vouch- that wittol, the Shrieve, and encased in a malmsey safe, O bog! to relent and soften, that I may wade vat. The rogue wondered, and his antlers stood erect, through thee; or harden thine heart utterly, that I may when I made so little resistance to that sweet impri walk over thee! By fish or flesh, water or land! It sonment. If I die, let my coffin be an old vat. Die!is inexorable. I lack a wain-horse for each leg, and What the fiend business hath death with me? I never a whole team for my carcass. Eh! me! the miseries wronged him. Aye, but Thomas, thou owest him a of this sublunary world! Go by! Thomas! Mass! debt. You lie, sirrah! I have paid him by instal Thou movest, man! What joy have we in this vale ments; to wit, orisons, vespers, fastings, mortifications, of tears?-Soh! I may as well travel east as west, for and what not. Go to! He hath a many creditors, that way lies my flask. Saint Peter help me! I cut and if I owe him aught, he may forget to call upon through it no faster than a flail would a Welch cheese. me, in my cosey nook by the green drooping willow They come, too—the ban of Mother Church be on of the valley-stream. After he (the Shrieve) deemed 'em! Were it good food now, this vile bog, I would me incorporate and melted into the malmsey, which make my way through it, as horse through hay-mow doubtless he reckoned to enrich with my valuable -eat! eat! eat! (The Friar floundereth on, in silent | juices, comes me the villain and his man at midnight, tribulation and dismay—at length, he disappeareth.)

Scene the Third.-The Friar, who was taken by the Shrieve and his men in the Bog, and by them thrust into a Malmsey vat, and there kept for seven days, is now at large in his old haunts about the woods, venting his roundelays and quaint conceits again.

THE FRIAR.

Now I am like unto some tipsy vat, that, newly filled with wine, hath leaped in its intoxication upon a brace of ale-kilderkins; and using them as legs, wandered forth among the verdant woodland glades. How fresh and handsome is the morning! (He singeth.)

The lark is high in the silver cloud,
The moon's cold reign is done;
He wakes the doe with his carol loud;
"Tis he first sees the sun.
Heigh! Jug! He merrily sings,

The larklings all are bare!

He shakes the dew from his dappled wings,
And flies aloof from care.

pale, powerless, and quaking, and shaking like my lady's little and fourth finger, when taking her morning cup, after having drunk unusually deep over night; with fear and trembling opened they the vessel wherein they had encased me; when deep in the centre, like fire in cave, gleamed full and dazzling my ruby proboscis upon them! "Goodden! Goodden! Son Shrieve!" quod I, "and many thanks for your good cheer; I have drunk up your malmsey, and for these last three hours have been sore athirst; but I knew thou would'st cal

culate to half a day, the time thy wine would take me drinking; I reposed me upon my arithmetic! Lo! you, I have sucked my imbued frock, during these three purgatorial hours, until it is as dry as charcoal.” But did the Shrieve tarry, or his man, think you? Not they; but out they ran, the last in loud affright, and the first in mute despair at my obstinate retention of life. He was wont in the autumn to accuse his wife of entertaining me, whensoever her cheek blushed at his eventide return, deeming that soft crimson, the rosy reflection of the lately departed sun, namely, this glorious lord of my countenance. Out rolled I, with palms extended as land-nets to gather prey as I passed; and crossed his threshold, bearing a pastry in either hand, a chicken in my stomach, and a savory duckling enduring the process of summary mastication in my mouth; and by the Abbot of Dillow's thumb-a mighty oath-I swear, that malmsey oozeth from me now at all pores, faster than I imbibed it in the vat. I fear to return, lest my fevered brethren should roll me into the cellar and tap me. I am full of wine to the skin, as a huge grape. Let no bee sting me, I entreat. If I should ascend a molehill now, (and I may, being unable to see my footing, because of my enlarged girth,) I should squash, like an over-ripe pear in my descent

I have let out my girdle, little by little, to the last eye, as a man doth the cireumbelt of his conscience, and my paunch still aches and groans with retention. An' my belt should break, I must assuredly go to pieces like an unhooped butt. If I be not grown bigger, within the seven days that I have revelled in the Shrieve's cellar, than the Lord Abbot and any five of the holy fraternity conjunct, then is my Lord Abbot the stalk of a cowslip; and in sooth, when I saw him last, be measured three yards about, bating his thumb. I darken an acre of ground as I stand, casting a big therefrom. I must be gingery of myself, as cat, un