rates the diseased impressions of the mind, and leads it back, if possible, to the period of youth, or childhood. He must untangle this fretted skein of intellect, before it can regain the course which nature destined it to run. The nearer he brings the mind to its early associations, the easier it is to make new and healthful impressions upon it. Its early tendencies, if virtuous, are encouraged, and even judiciously enforced by him, (which should have been done by others, in childhood,) and often with final benefit; showing that the science of medicine can accomplish in after life the important and often neglected duty of early education.

There is a veil of mystery too often cast over the subject of insanity. A moral stigma unjustly attaches itself to those who become its victims, that induces relations and friends, who first perceive the complaint, to close their eyes to the importance of speedily seeking that assistance which eventually must become necessary. Like every other disease, it has its forming stages, and as with all moral evil, should be crushed in the bud. It is a disease not near so frequent in occurrence, nor as incurable, as pulmonary consumption; yet relatives and friends rarely hear a cough, or other single deviation from health in those they love, in the region of its desolation, without making instant application to medical advice for its prevention and cure. Why should not equal attention be immediately enlisted in both of these human maladies?

We do not think that all mankind are madmen. The past and future vista of ages will ever show too many imperishable monuments of human genius. She holds no relations with insanity. Her lights, like sparks of fire from flint and steel, by quick collision of thought, often escape from the maniac; but it is thus that she flies from her troublesome abode, no longer able to control the elements that Reason left in her charge. But we do believe that the elements of sanity are the same1 as those of derangement of mind. Let a single analogy confirm the impression. The English alphabet, for instance, consisting of twentysix letters, or elements, by their varied combination, subject to the government of grammar, constitute a distinct language. These elements form thousands, nay, millions, of words-sufficient for every purpose of thought. But suppose these letters, to use the printer's phrase, had been thrown into pi, or irremdiable confusion? Where would have been our present knowledge- our present usefulness? Is it not the same with the human mind? For the prevention and cure of insanity, we must resort to first principles. We must take heed, lest the types, or elements of the mind, become disarranged, for it is a work of time to arrange them. Let it be remembered, that Reason does not always sit firmly on her throne. We are madmen in our dreams our reveries and even in our unexpressed waking thoughts. Write them down as they occur. date them from a hospital and ask the world to express their opinion upon them! If, then, the science of medicine, as we have shown, can cure insanity, is it not an equal duty with education to prevent it? If there is truth in the adage, (and we believe it,) that prevention is the best substitute for cure, we will here offer the only prophylactic remedy for insanity, a wise and universally adopted system of education.

Philadelphia, December, 1835.

R.

FALL OF THE LEAF.

BY THE AUTHOR OF 'CUY RIVERS,' 'THE YEMASSEE,' THE PARTISAN,' ETC.

I.

THE leaves the pleasant and green leaves that hung
Abroad, in the gay summer woods- - are dead;
They cannot hear the requiem which is sung,
By the sad birds they may no more imbed;

And the old stems to which they should have clung
Time-honored for their beauty, through long hours-
Parched and wrung,

Have perish'd with the flowers!

I marvel that their last dirge be not said.

II.

Shall not the vagrant and light-wooing Breeze,

Fresh from his native seas,

In the Pacific, wandering with the sun,

Whilst bending on, throughout the well known trees

That yield no shelter to that desolate one -

Prepare his dirge, and on the midnight gale

In token of his scattered luxuries,

Pour forth his wail!

Shall he not sing, in grief,

One last lament above each withered leaf?

III

He hath not stay'd his flight,

But, tracking the lone land bird, he hath bent
His insusceptible wing throughout the night,
Far as the Fancy's sight

Might trace the dim lines of the firmament

And ere the gray dawn from his ocean-bed

Rush'd to the visible heav'n, hath turned his plume

To where the flow'rs, in a sweet, tremulous bloom,
Were wont to yield perfume,-

And, like some spirit o'er which hangs a doom,
He comes to find them dead.

IV.

And hath he then no wail?

And folding round him not his mourning wing,
Will he forbear to sing

The melancholy anthem, and sad tale?
Shall he not say he, who forever grieves-
The story of the leaves?

And, with a tone to match the sad complain,
And desolate aspect of the world around,
Shall he not pour along the waste that strain
Of wild and incommunicable sound,
Which in the Mexic gulph the seaman hears,
Like scream of the lone sea-gull, in his ears,
Vexing the black profound?

V.

The plaint he utters forth, to human sense,
Though meaningless and vague, hath yet a tone,

To the dumb nature full of competence,

And wrought for her alone:

Yet even in human thought it still must bear

The semblance of a moan,

And fancy deems, the wanderer in his grief,
His home all desolate, his soul all drear,
Thus wails the perish'd leaf:

Simms

W. G. S.

ODDS AND ENDS.

FROM THE PORT FOLIO OF A PENNY-A-LINER.

I HAVE often wished that we had some word in our language, by which I could express the degree and quality of the affection I enterFor the homely ones, I entertain the tain for my pretty female cousins. highest respect, and treat them accordingly; but my regard for those who are beautiful, I never could define. It is not so tender, nor so chastened, as my affection for my sisters; neither is it so deep, so passionate, or so idolizing, as I think my love will be for the maiden who consents to trip it with me over life's hills and dales; but it partakes in some degree of both. When I am absent from the witches, I have a kind of brotherly regard for them, but when I am in their presence, and under the influence of their bright eyes, and radiant smiles, I confess with shame and contrition, that my brotherly regard is merged in a warmer, or at least a more love-like feeling.

I never was particularly fond of that species of visiting denominated cousining. In truth, from some cause which I have not now leisure to Possibly it may have been that the set forth, I positively disliked it. appellation given to it, so like in sound, and in some cases so very like in sense, to cozening, may have had some share in forming my antipathy.

Most of my first cousins, it appears to me, I always knew, and always

loved; but the whole region from and including second cousins, upward, downward, and in all lateral directions, has been to me until lately 'terra incognita.' It has been an enemy's country, and whenever even my imagination has wandered into it, it has been weighed down by sour looks, begrudged bread-and-butter, qualified invitations to stay to dinner, and cold requests to spend a day or two. Within a few months, a new accession of relatives of this character, of rather equivocal consanguinity, but of unequivocal beauty and attractions, has worked a great change in my sentiments respecting the relationship in its diluted state, and I now think that the more distant the remove, the stronger is my affection for my female cousins.

I shall not soon forget my first introduction to those who wrought this change in me, or the commencement of this relationship. It was at a wedding in the country,-one of those good old-fashioned parties, to which every family connection, far and near, is summoned; at which the buying of oxen, or the marrying a wife, is not made an excuse for non-attendance, but where all that are bidden, come, bringing with them warm hearts, kindly feelings, and a disposition to please and be pleased. (They also bring with them a trunk of clothes, for it is often an affair of several days.) The groom was my near relative, and had selected me for his supporter on the occasion. A few muttered words, and a little mumbling of the hand of a lady who stood by his side, made him the real relative, and myself the one hundredth cousin of some dozen of the most beautiful young creatures I have ever seen. I wonder what it is that makes all woman-kind so affectionate in their manner to a groom. Wives, maids, and widows, are in this respect all alike. From the venerable grandmother, who implores a blessing on her new grandson while she presents her wrinkled cheek for his salute, to the little toddling youngest sister, who, with outstretched arms and upturned face, presents her lips for a kiss, the same feeling seems to prevail. Does this deportment arise from an instinctive desire, in all the sex, to excite the envy of the poor bachelors who stand around with watering mouths and itching lips, spectators of the scene? or has it its origin in the general feeling of kindness and affection of the female sex toward our own, which they are fearful of manifesting until a poor victim has had the lasso thrown around him, and, fairly deprived of his liberty and hoppled, can become the object of their caresses without causing the motive to be distrusted? From whatever cause this conduct arises, one thing is most certain the groom at a marriage ceremony is a person to be envied, particularly if he marries into a family where there are not many elderly aunts who take snuff.

As I stood by my friend on the occasion aforesaid, and saw the many beautiful young creatures who crowded around him to offer their congratulations, and receive his embrace, I could hardly avoid open complaint, that I, who to all appearances was equally deserving, should, notwithstanding certain significant motions and preparatory movements which involuntarily escaped me, be passed by without a look. After the ceremony, matters were still worse. I well recollect, in rambling over the old mansion, (all of which was thrown open at this festive period,) finding my friend seated on a sofa in the library, with one arm thrown around his wife, and his huge brown hand resting on the fair round shoulder of a gentle, quiet-looking girl of sixteen, who had nestled her

As she

self by his side, and looked the very picture of contentment. turned her face up to him to ask some question, the rascal, before answering, very leisurely pressed her lips to his own, and then proceeded with his reply as coolly and calmly as if the ceremony had been a part of his answer. This same demure-looking little personage, two hours previous, I had endeavored, with all the powers of entertainment I was master of, to entice into conversation, but she turned coyly away. Then there was his eldest sister-in-law, looking upon him with eyes beaming with sisterly affection. Who would not marry, if but to gain such a sister? How shall I describe thee, dear? It is true, I can dwell upon the symmetry of thy rich and youthful figure-I can give the hue of thine eyes, the colour of thy hair I could almost paint the tint of thy cheek, the ruby of thy lip: I could speak of thy teeth, thy complexion, thy dimpled hands, thy tiny feet, but those who read, or hear, would not know thee. The nameless charms, the indescribable grace, the winning manner, and oh, above all, the magic hues of thy dark, soft, imploring eyes, would not be conveyed to others. The holy charm which is ever around thee, the atmosphere of purity which ever more encircles thee, and the chastened feelings of admiration and love inspired by thee, can be experienced, but not described. But why proceed to particularize? I will not further attempt it.

My situation on this occasion was peculiarly unfortunate. The entire assemblage was composed of family connections. All had some claim of relationship, not only with the bride, but with her beautiful bridesmaids, and her lovely array of cousins and sisters, while I had only the equivocal and doubtful claim to cousinship arising from my connection with the groom. The most delightful ease and unrestrained joyousness of manner prevailed. Ever and anon some happy young scapegrace would seize the hand of a favourite cousin, and while he poured some playful nonsense in her ear, or indulged in light badinage, soon snatch the kiss she only half refused. Altogether, the scene was more than I could bear with equanimity, and with the complainant in 'Love's Philosophy', I was ready to ask:

'What are all these kissings worth,
If they kiss not me?'

Reader, did you ever look upon the sports of a litter of young puppies, in their playful moods? Have you watched their gambols, their heavy falls and tumbles, and their good-natured worrying of each other? And have you never seen a four-month's-old dog, one of those big, clumsy fellows, who have reached canolescence in size only, who, with the stature of a dog, are in heart all puppy, also watching the sport?-entering with a deep interest and heart-felt enjoyment into the scene, that is manifest in his every look and movement? Have you not observed him gradually sink his black muzzle to the earth, and rest it upon his outstretched forepaws, his curved back and erect hind legs quivering the while from the effect of his restrained inclination? But more than all, did you remark his eyes, absolutely speaking delight, while in this position, he rests a moment ere he plunges into the midst of his sporting younger brethren, overturning one, knocking down another, and completely burying a third with his huge body? And then have you heard the yelping and yelling, and marked the confusion and flight which ensued? If you can answer all the aforegoing questions in the