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In 1725, the "New York Gazette" was established in the city of New York, by William Bradford.

In 1726, the first printing was done in Virginia by William Parks.

In 1728, the "Universal Instructor in all Arts and Sciences, and Pennsylvania Gazette," was printed at Philadelphia, being the second paper in this state. It survived until 1823 or 1824, and was then the oldest paper in this Union.

In 1730, Thomas Whitmarsh published a newspaper at Charleston, being the first in either of the Carolinas.

In November, 1733, the first number of the "New York Weekly Journal" was published by John Peter Zenges. It was encouraged by the citizens of New York, as a medium through which they might publish strictures on the government. Zenges was shortly afterwards imprisoned, under a warrant from the Governor and Council, for 35 weeks. Andrew Hamilton, an eminent lawyer of Philadelphia, defended him, and he was acquitted.

In 1740, a printing office was established at Annapolis, in Maryland, by Jonas Green.

On the 1st of January, 1741, the first number of the "General Magazine and Historical Chronicle," was published at Philadelphia, by Dr. Franklin. This was the first literary journal published in the United States.

The "American Magazine and Historical Chronicle" was first published at Boston, 1743, by Rogers & Fowle, being only twelve years after the commencement of the Gentleman's Magazine, the first similar publication in Lon. don.

In 1755, the "Connecticut Gazette," the first newspaper in that state, was published at New Haven. In the same year, James Davis published, at Newbern, the first newspaper in North Carolina.

In 1756, the "New Hampshire Gazette" was commenced at Portsmouth, by Daniel Fowle: this paper still survives, and is the oldest now published in New England.

In 1762, the " Providence Gazette" was published in Rhode Island; and in the same year, a German newspaper, "Der Wochentliche Philadelphische Staatsbote," was published in Philadelphia.

In 1763, the "Georgia Gazette," the first newspaper printed in that state, was published at Savannah, by James Johnston: this was the only newspaper published in Georgia before the revolution.

The "Pittsburgh Gazette" was first published, on the 29th of July, 1786, by John Scull, and was the first paper printed west of the Alleghany mountains.

The "Kentucky Gazette" was commenced, by Mr. Bradford, in the beginning of 1787, and was the second paper west of the mountains.

The first printing press north of the Ohio river, was set up in Cincinnati, in 1793.

ONCE UPON A TIME.
SUNNY locks of brightest hue
Once around my temples grew,-
Laugh not, Lady! for 'tis true;
Laugh not, Lady! for with thee
Time may deal despitefully;
Time, if long he lead thee here,
May subdue that mirthful cheer;
Round those laughing lips and eyes
Time may write sad histories;
Deep indent that even brow,
Change those locks, so sunny now,
To as dark and dull a shade,
As on mine his touch hath laid.
Lady! yes, these locks of mine
Cluster'd once, with golden shine,
Temples, neck, and shoulders round,
Richly gushing if unbound,

If from band and bodkin free,
Half way downward to the knee.
Some there were took fond delight,
Sporting with those tresses bright,
To enring with living gold

Fingers now beneath the mould,
(Wo is me!) grown icy cold.

One dear hand hath smooth'd them too,
Since they lost the sunny hue,
Since their bright abundance fell
Under the destroying spell.
One dear hand! the tenderest
Ever nurse-child rock'd to rest,
Ever wiped away its tears.
Even those of later years
From a cheek untimely hollow,
Bitter drops that still may follow,
Where's the hand will wipe away?
Hers I kiss'd--(Ah! dismal day,)
Pale as on the shroud it lay.

Then, methought, youth's latest gleam
Departed from me like a dream-
Still, though lost their sunny tone,
Glossy brown these tresses shore,
Here and there, in wave and ring
Golden threads still glittering;
And (from band and bodkin free)
Still they flow'd luxuriantly.

Careful days, and wakeful nights,
Early trench'd on young delights.
Then of ills, an endless train,
Wasting languor, wearying pain,
Fev'rish thought that racks the brain,
Crowding all on summer's prime,
Made me old before my time.

So a dull, unlovely hue

O'er the sunny tresses grew,
Thinn'd their rich abundance too,
Not a thread of golden light,..
In the sunshine glancing bright.
Now again, a shining streak
'Gins the dusky cloud to break ;–
Here and there a glittering thread
Lights the ringlets, dark and dead,-
Glittering light-but pale and cold-
Glittering thread!-but not of gold.
Silent warning! silvery streak!
Not unheeded dost thou speak.
Not with feelings light and vain-
Not with fond regretful pain,
Look I on the token sent
To announce the day far spent ;-
Dark and troubled hath it been-
Sore misused! and yet between
Gracious gleams of peace and grace
Shining from a better place.
Brighten-brighten, blessed light!
Fast approach the shades of night,-
When they quite enclose me round,
May my lamp be burning found!

COTTAGE POETRY.*

C.

WE like the idea of Cottage Poetry, and it is a kind and benevolent heart only which could have thought of such a title, or written poetry of such a character. The little cheap collection before us has also many of the characteristics which render simple, pastoral poetry agreeable, and several of the pieces might be said to deserve a better place, could they have a better than one in which they are to be found by men of pure and humble minds. The following lines will show how gently our cottage poet plays his oaten pipe.

"The labours of the early day
With richest gain my toil repay;
Both health and appetite I feel,
Best sweeteners of the frugal meal:
With strength restored, I then renew
My duties and my pleasures too:
That duties pleasures are to me,
How grateful, Lord, I ought to be!
"What pure delight, what treasures yield
The grove, the garden, and the field!

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The birds that hail the break of day,
The fragrance of the new mown hay,
The beauties of the varied flowers,
Shining o'er all the beds and bowers,
All tend to raise my thoughts to Thee:
How grateful, Lord, I ought to be!
"And when my daily task is done,
While gazing on the setting Sun,
As its mild radiance fades away,
Hope lingers on its parting ray;
Hope and reliance that to cheer
From day to day, from year to year,
The morrow shall its rising see;
How grateful, Lord, I ought to be!
I not presumptuous seem,
Attempting too sublime a theme,
But may I, like the obedient Sun,
My earthly course of duty done,
Sink gently into life's decline,
And every thought be wholly thine!
That I dare hope to rise with Thee,
How grateful, Lord, I ought to be!

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HYMN.

Our God, our Father, hear.

BY THOMAS PRINGLE.

WHEN morn awakes our hearts,
To pour the matin prayer;
When toil-worn day departs,
And gives a pause to care;
When those our souls love best
Kneel with us, in thy fear,
To ask thy peace and rest-
Our God, our Father, hear!
When worldly snares without,
And evil thoughts within,
Of grace would raise a doubt,
Or lure us back to sin;
When human strength proves frail,
And will but half sincere:
When faith begins to fail-
Our God, our Father, hear!
When in our cup of mirth

The drop of trembling falls,
And the frail props of earth

Are crumbling round our walls:
When back we gaze with grief,

And forward glance with fear;
When faileth man's relief-

Our God, our Father, hear!
And when Death's awful hand
Unbars the gates of Time,
Eternity's dim land

Disclosing, dread, sublime;
When flesh and spirit quake
Before THEE to appear-
Oh, then, for Jesus' sake,

Our God, our Father, hear!

Literary Union.-This body has increased to nearly five hundred members. A portion of the house in Waterloo-place is already opened, and regularly attended by the society. The objects of the Literary Union are extensive, and will be of singular utility to all who are attached to mental pursuits, or to the company of literary men and artists. A library, a museum, soirées, and branch clubs, are among the objects contemplated in the scheme; which is not confined merely to eating, drinking, and reading newspapers. A little time will develop its objects, and show it to be of the highest importance to the classes which it more immediately embraces. Viscount Torrington, John Gibson Lockhart, Esq. T. Barnes, Esq. and Sir George Staunton, Bart. have been added to the committee.

Communications should be addressed to "E. Littell for the Literary Port Folio,"-and subscriptions will be thankfully received by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets, Philadelphia. Subscriptions are also received by Thomas C. Clarke, N.W. corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets.

Wanted to soliclt subscriptions for this work, a suitable person. Apply to E. Littell & Brother.

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Terms.-Published every Thursday by E. Littell &

Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh Streets, Philadelphia. It will contain four handsome engravings every year. Price Two Dollars and a Half a year, payable in advance.

Agents who procure and forward payment for four subscribers, shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in proportion for a larger number.

RED GAP INN.

I REMEMBER Well how strongly my boyish feelings were excited at reading the narrative of Raymond's escape from the murderous innkeeper, in Lewis's romance of "The Monk." His version of the story has nearly faded from my memory; but the circumstances upon which he founded it are said to have occurred in Ireland, and, wild and improbable as they are, you shall have them, verbatim, as they are related upon the spot; and, inoreover, I am not to blame if you think fit to believe them, inasmuch as I give up my authority-and Lord Lyndhurst himself could ask no more. My informant's name is Catherine Flynn.

concerning supper and bed-to say nothing of a bottle of good old wine, then to be found in every inn in Ireland. This feat accomplished, away he stalked to his own apartment-jackboots, silver-headed riding-whip, cloak and all -followed close by a terrier dog, who had been lying at the kitchen fire when he came in, but who now kept sniffing and smelling at his heels every step of the way up stairs.

When he had reached his room, and had disencumbered himself of his heavy riding gear, the dog at once leaped upon him with a cry of joy; and he immediately recognised an old favourite, whom he had lost in Dublin a year or two before; wondering, at the same time, how he had got so far into the country, and why he had not known him before. When the landlord entered the room with supper, the traveller claimed his dog, and expressed his determination to bring him on with him to Cork, whither he was bound. The host made not the slightest objection, merely observing, that he had bought him from a Dublin carrier, who, he supposed, had found him in the streets. That point settled, the traveller dismissed his landlord for the night, with directions to cause him to be called betimes in the morning: the man smiled darkly, and withdrew.

The traveller made himself as comfortable as he could, with the aid of a good supper and a cheerful fire, not forgetting his lost-and-found companion, until, after some time, finding that the wine ran low, and that a certain disposition to trace castles and abbeys in the glowing recesses of the burning turf, was creep

catching himself nodding over the fire-he thought it best to transfer his somnolency to a well-curtained bed that stood invitingly in a recess of the room.

As you go from Kilcullen Bridge to Carlow, about three miles on your road there stands, and barely stands, a ruined house. The situation has nothing particularly striking about it; the country is open and thinly cultivated, and a faint outline of hills is visible in the distance. Some 70 or 80 years ago, it was a substantial-looking inn: the proprietor was a farmer, as well as an innkeeper; and although no particular or satisfactory reason could be assigned for it, beyond vague and uncertain rumours, he was by no means a favourite with his neigh-ing over him-that is to say, in plain English, bours. He had little, indeed, of the Boniface about him; dark, sullen, and down-looking, he never appeared, even to a guest, unless when specially called for, much less to a thirsty brother farmer or labourer, passing his heavy, old-fashioned door, to ask him to taste his home-brewed ale or usquebaugh; yet the man was well to pass in the world, and with the aid of three or four hulking sons, and a heartbroken drudge of a wife, managed his farm and his inn, so as to pay his way at fair and market, and "hold his own," as the saying is, in the country. For all that, there were those who did not stick to say that more travellers went to his inn at night than ever left it in the morning; and one or two who remembered him in his early days, before he had learned to mask the evil traits of his character by sullenness and reserve, would not have taken the broad lands of the Geraldines of Leinster to pass a night in the best bed-room in his house; -no, no-they would rather take chance in the Bog of Allen, for that matter.

A severe storm, however, compelled a traveller to halt there one evening, although he had originally intended to get further on his journey, before he put up for the night. Not that he had any suspicion of the place; on the contrary, he thought it rather a comfortable, quiet-looking concern; and, turning from the lowering, inhospitable sky, and wishing the pitiless driving sleet good night, he rode into the inn-yard, saying in his own mind, "I may go further, and fare worse." Now I am of a very different opinion.

It was late in the evening, and late in the year no matter about dates, I am not particular. So the traveller (who, being a merciful man, was merciful to his beast,) having seen his horse fed, and carefully laid up for the night, thought it high time to look after himself, as to both his outward and inward man. Accordingly, throwing his saddle-bags over his arm, he walked into the inn-kitchen, in those days the most comfortable winter apartment in the house, to thaw himself at the huge fire, and give the customary mandates

As he proceeded to undress, the anxiety and agitation of his dog attracted his attention, and at last fairly aroused him, sleepy as he was, though he could in no way account for it. The anima! ran backward and forward from him to the bed, and as he laid aside each article of clothing, fetched it to him again, with the most intelligent and beseeching gestures; and when, to satisfy the poor creature, as well as to discover, if possible, what he wanted and meant, he resumed some portion of his dress, nothing could equal his joy. Strange suspicions began to flash across the traveller's mind; he ran over every circumstance, even the minutest, which had occurred since he entered the inn; and now that his attention was excited, it did strike him that, after making every allowance for boorishness, and rusticity, and sullenness of temper, there was more of the gaoler than of the innkeeper in the bearing and deportment of his silent host: he remembered, too, how heavily the miserable-looking, haggard wife had sighed, while she looked at his own burly figure as he stood by the fire, as though she sorrowed over a victim whom she could not save; and, lastly, and above all, he pondered on the ominous smile with which the innkeeper received his directions to be awakened early in the morning.

Meanwhile the indefatigable dog was busied in pulling off the bed clothes as well as his strength would permit; and when his master went to his assistance, what was his horror at seeing, beneath clean sheets and well-arranged blankets, a bed and mattress literally dyed with dark-red stains of blood! Though a man of peaceful habits, he knew as little of fear as most people, and the exigency of the moment roused every energy of his mind: he deliberately locked the door, examined the walls to

* In most parts of Ireland, peat, or as we call it, turf, is used for fuel.

1830.

see if there was any private entrance, looked to the priming of his pistols, and then stood prepared to abide by whatever might come, and to sell his life as dearly as he could.

The dog watched him intently until his preparations were completed; and then, having assured himself that his movements were observed by his master, he jumped once more on the fatal bed; then, after lying down for an instant, as if in imitation of the usual posture of a person composing himself to sleep, he suddenly changed his mind, as it were, sprang hastily to the floor, and stood, with eyes fixed and ears erect, in an attitude of most intense attention, watching the bed itself, and nothing else. The traveller, in the mean time, never stirred from the spot, though his eyes naturally followed those of the dog; and for a time every thing was as still as the grave, and not a stir nor a breath brake the stillness of the 100m, or interrupted the silence. of the mute pair. At last a slight rustling sound was heard in the direction of the bed:

the dog, with ears cocked and tail slightly moving, looked up at his master, as if to make sure that he was attentive, and in an instant the bed was seen descending swiftly and stealthily through the yawning floor, while a strong light flashed upward into the room. Not a second was to be lost. The traveller dashed open the window, and leaped into the yard, followed by his faithful companion. Another moment, and, without giving himself any trouble on the score of a saddle, he was on the back of his horse, as fast a hunter as any in Leinster, and scouring away for life and death on the road to Kilcullen, followed by a train as pitiless as that which hurried from Kirk Alloway after poor Tam O'Shanter.

You may be sure he spared neither whip, spur, nor horseflesh; and, thanks to Providence and a good steed, he reached Kilcullen in safety. The authorities secured the villanous host and his accomplice sons, and the infuriated peasantry gave the fatal inn and its bloody secrets to the flames.

-There is the story; and if it be true, I can only say that I wish I knew where I could get one of the breed of the traveller's terrier, for love or money.

THE PARTHIAN CONVERT.
A Tale of the Primitive Christians.

BY MISS AGNES STRICKLAND.

IN the household of Caius Pompeius, a wealthy Roman tribune of patrician family, was a young and beautiful Parthian slave, named Apame, who had recently been presented to his daughter Lucia Pompeia by one of his centurions, into whose possession she had fallen towards the close of the last campaign against her country.

Apame abandoned herself to despair-wept incessantly, and refused to perform any of the offices assigned to her by her mistress, whose sweet and gentle temper prevented her from having recourse to any of the violent measures generally resorted to by the haughty and imperious Roman ladies, to enforce obedience from their refractory slaves.

Pompeia perceived that slavery was a new and bitter draught to the unhappy Parthian, and compassionately attributing her intractability to the recklessness of despair, occasioned by a sudden and violent wrench from all the fond ties of kindred and of country, she allowed her to indulge unmolested in the first overflowings of a sorrow so natural, and at the same time, so acute."

Had the noble Roman lady been a convert to that divine religion of universal love and mercy, which enjoins all those who are influenced by its spirit to rejoice with those that do rejoice

[fice, which was far from unpleasing to the ac-
complished Greek.

and to weep with them that weep, she would wiser than the wayward child, whom its dehave done more-she would have made herself ceitful nurse beguiles of its present sorrow, acquainted with the nature of that mortal grief The mild and pleasing manners of Theron with vain promises of fairer toys and more deunder which she saw her slave suffering, and endeared him, in no slight degree, to his amia-licious sweets, than those of which it bewails kindly poured the oil and wine of consolation ble pupil, whose opening mind imbibed with the loss," said Apame, weeping. "Deemest into the wounded heart of the forlorn stranger | joy the principles of the Christian faith, the thou, indeed, that the anguish of a fond and -she would have taken the desolate and af-knowledge of which his devout preceptor con- faithful wife is to be thus cheated? I thought flicted one to her bosom, and been to her as a sidered it as his first and most important duty that thou hadst been, like myself, acquainted sister. to inculcate. with grief; but now I perceive that thou didst never know the sickness of the heart, in its Sore yearnings after the dear lost objects of its love."

None but a Christian in spirit, as well as name, can conceive the feelings of holy gladness with which the heart of Theron overflowed, when he beheld his young and ardent proselyte kneel for the first time in prayer to the only true God, in the name of his glorified Redeemer.

But the conduct of the very best and purest among those, to whom the light of the gospel has never been as a lamp to guide their feet to the paths of true holiness, must be of necessity imperfect; for of themselves they are not aware, that even a cup of cold water offered to a fainting traveller in the spirit of charity, is more acceptable in the sight of God, than "Is not this a brand plucked from the burnwhole hecatombs of sacrifices and burnt offering?" he mentally exclaimed," and shall I reings. gret the loss of liberty, of country, and of Pompeia was generous, high minded, and friends, when it has pleased my heavenly Fasweet tempered, and free from all the grosser ther to make me the messenger of salvation to vices which at that period were so prevailing this sweet boy? And who knoweth whether among even the highest orders of Roman fe- there be not others in this benighted house, males; but being ignorant of that which who will also receive with joy the glad tidings maketh wise unto eternal life, her character which I have been sent from afar to declare contained a portion of earthly alloy, more than unto them?" sufficient to outweigh the sterling gold in its composition. Thus is it ever with man in his natural unassisted state,

"Some flow'rets of Eden he still may inherit, But the trail of the serpent is over them all." Young, beautiful, noble, and admired, Pompeia was unacquainted with sorrow; and be lieved that enjoyment was the sole end and purpose of her existence. She received the unbounded adulation of a flattering world with pleasure; and happy herself in the undisturbed possession of all those blessings from which Apame had been so rudely torn, absorbed in the rapturous feelings of conjugal bliss, and the first sweet joys of a youthful mother, the darling of a fond father, and the pride of affectionate brethren, she had no thoughts beyond the centre of her own delights, no sympathies to bestow on her unfortunate slave, whose fate appeared more intolerable from the comparison which she daily drew between her destiny and that of her mistress.

In the family of the tribune were other slaves of various nations, on whom the yoke sat lightly; and these, for the most part, led a gay and happy life, and when their easy toils were ended, for they were kept almost as much for state as for service, they concluded every day with songs, dances, and games; but they of fered not to associate with their unfortunate fellow captive in these pleasures-for they had no desire to alleviate her wo or to be saddened with her sorrows, and she was the stricken deer of the herd, left by the rest to weep unpitied and alone.

There was, however, one person who looked with tender compassion on the disconsolate Parthian, and endeavoured to speak peace to her afflicted spirit; and this was a young Greek, named Theron, who, though a slave equally with herself, held a post of no slight importance in the family of the tribune; for he was the preceptor of his youngest son, Lucius; his great learning having recommended him to Pompeius as a proper person to conduct the education of this beloved boy, the most promising of them all.

Theron was the son of a Greek philosopher, to whom the name of Christianity was as foolishness; but his mother, wiser in her simplicity and singleness of heart than the learned, had been one of St. Paul's converts, and had carefully instructed her only child in the pure and holy doctrines of that saving faith, through which alone salvation is offered to the children of men. After the death of his parents, Theron had been exposed to many vicissitudes, and being at length taken by pirates while on a Voyage to Alexandria, he had by them been sold as a glave; and after passing through the hands of a variety of masters, he was finally purchased by the tribune Caius Pompeius, and appointed by him to the above mentioned of

It was not, however, to the proud tribune, or to his admired and beautiful daughter, nor yet to their light-hearted and luxurious household, that Theron in the first instance applied himself, for well he knew that his heavenly Master was rejected by the rich and powerful, while he was received with joy by the poor and destitute and sorrow-laden, having expressly declared, that he was more peculiarly sent to heal the broken-hearted and to preach deliverance to the captives.

Apame was at first inaccessible to his endeavours to win her confidence; for, unaccustomed to the offices of pure and disinterested benevolence, she mistook the motives that induced her fellow captive to address her, on all occasions, in the soothing language of the tenderest sympathy. But when at length he suc-. ceeded in convincing her that friendship, simply friendship, was all he sought of her, and she had relieved her overburdened heart by revealing to him the cause of her excessive affliction, he ceased to wonder. Then, with a burst of passionate grief, she told him she was a wife, and though of lowly birth herself, he to whom she was wedded was a prince among her own people, whose love for her had induced him to reject even a royal alliance for her sake. This refusal had so much exasperated his father, that during the absence of Salamenes in the defence of his country, he had contrived she should be treacherously betrayed into the hands of the Romans, by whom she had been carried to the imperial city, and placed in her present lot of bondage, in which it was impossible for her to cherish a hope of ever beholding her beloved husband again and here she wept more abundantly than before. Nor could Theron refrain from mingling his tears with hers, while he bade her be of comfort,-since, doubtless, the things that appeared to her so bitter, and hard to be borne, were meant for her eventual happiness.

"How can that be?" demanded the young Parthian, passionately, "when I am a wretched slave, torn from my country and my parents, and worse, far worse, bereaved of him with whom even slavery would have been sweetmy lord, my life, my husband, my princely Salamenes!"

Theron, like his blessed Master, would nct press too heavily on a bruised reed, and he patiently allowed her long pent up grief to vent itself unrepressed: but when in the middle of the wild eloquence of her affliction, she exclaimed, "Who shall restore to me those things, the loss of which renders my life a burden too heavy to be borne?" He soothingly replied

He who hath for his own wise purposes permitted them to be removed from thee, Apame,-he, even he, can give thee better things than those."

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A shade of prevailing sadness, for a m ment, clouded the expressive features of the young Greek, as he replied, "Country and friends have been removed from me, and the cup of love has been dashed from my lips when it flowed the sweetest, and I have proved the bitterness of exile and bondage in those days, when I had vainly prepared myself to pluck the golden fruits of those hopes, whose delusive flowers had bloomed so brightly for me; yet have I learned to see the hand of God in all this, and to say, 'Surely the light afflictions of this present time are not to be reckoned in comparison with the eternal weight of glory that shall be revealed to those that love his name;' and for my own exceeding joy hath he called me into a strange land, that I might declare his name to a people that sit in darkness and the shadow of death."

"Thou speakest strange things," said Apame; "doth not Mithra reveal his glory to this perverse people, who blindly prefer rendering their homage to idols of wood and stone, to his pure and natural worship, as full as brightly as he doth in mine own fair land, where every face is turned to the east to adore him at his first issuing forth from his golden tabernacles, and every head is bowed in reverence at his mighty name, and his sacred fires are burning on every altar?"

"Those fires, that adoration, Apame, are equally idolatrous with the homage which the Romans offer to their images of wood and stone," returned Theron; for every act of worship is alike erring, that is not directed to the only true God, the Lord and giver of life."

The young Parthian pointed to the sun, then in his meridian splendour, and performed her accustomed obeisance.

"Alas! alas!" said Theron, "that thou shouldest thus transfer to the creature, the homage which is due to the Creator alone. That mighty, that refulgent orb, before whose dazzling beams thine eye veils itself in darkness, is but a feeble spark in comparison with the superior glory of the Almighty Lord of the universe, who fills heaven and earth,-the brightness of his presence, which knows no darkness, nor diminution of its splendour,day and night, morning, noon, and evening, are the same with him, for they are the emanations of his power, and the beautiful effects of his government."

"But how will you convince me that Mithra is not the supreme ruler of the universe, whose greatness you so eloquently describe?" asked Apame thoughtfully.

"I would in return demand of you," replied Theron," how it happens that Mithra, as you call the sun, never, on any occasion, deviates from his regular course, but in all his evolutions observes stated times and seasons for his

rising, meridian, and setting?"

"It is his divine pleasure so to do," replied Apame.

"Say rather," resumed Theron, "that it is the pleasure of a mightier than he, who hath formed and fitted him for his own especial purposes, of which he is a stupendous instrument, worthy indeed of the Almighty power that created him, and, having appointed him his place among his works, subjected him to certain immutable laws, from which he cannot vary ;like as a skilful mechanist constructs a machine on principles which enables it to perform certain operations, from which it cannot vary."

"Your reasoning is forcible," said Apaine, "but still I am not convinced."

"Yet seven days," replied Theron, "and you shall see the face of your god partially ob scured, and darkened by the shadow of a meaner luminary, to which you render no homage." For Theron who was deeply versed in the science of astronomy, was aware, from certain calculations, that a visible eclipse of the sun would take place at that time; and so far from making a mystery, or assuming an adventitious importance in the eyes of his unenlightened fellow captive, on account of his foreknowledge of an event which he knew would appear to her as something not less than miraculous, he explained 'the natural causes from whence it would proceed, as far as he was able, and endeavoured to make her comprehend the nature of the solar and planetary system, as far as they were then understood. (To be continued.)

CAUTIONS FOR THE SEASON. THE vernal equinox is past; spring will, ere long, make its approach, and nature hold her festival. Poets delight to celebrate the advent of gentle spring, the wind-winged emblem of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness. We would not mar such a fair picture by ill-timed shading. Let it remain to be enjoyed by all who have a taste for natural beauties, and are blessed at the same time with the buoyancy of health and constitutional vigour. We would, however, that it should be temperately enjoyed by even this description of persons. Our province leads us not to turn away ungraciously or ungratefully from the rich stores of the seasons, which a bountiful Providence spreads before us, but rather to prolong the pleasure by a temperato and discriminating

use.

The sluggish movements and pale shrunk skin, induced by wintry cold, are now succeeded by the light bounding step, carnation tint, and sparkling eye. The tendencies of all animated nature, even to the vegetable creation, are expansive-parts of the body, before, in a measure, torpid, are now excited-the senses are more acute, the feelings and intellect more susceptible of varied and energetic display. All the sympathies between organs are now doubly active. The great changes of temperature, and in the direction and force of the winds at this season, in which one day dif fers from another as greatly as summer is at variance with winter, are attended by corresponding mutations in the activity of the functions of the living body. The skin, warmed and excited to perspiration in the noontide sun, will, without due precaution, be chilled, and have its pores suddenly closed by the keen, cold air of the evening and night. The hurried breathing and circulation, by the active exercises of a vernal day, are often causes of painful palpitations, pains in the side and headaches, especially when they coincide with a sudden obstruction to perspiration. The sensibilities of the digestive organs being increased, the full diet of winter will, if persisted in, give rise to fever, and aid in evolving inflammation of the lungs or of the liver, or rouse into action latent irritations of the skin. In fine, there is a general tendency to perturbation in the vital movements of the animal economy. Every part is prone to be excited, and to transmit its disturbances to other parts. Is the skin obstructed in its office, it makes the throat, lungs, and muscles suffer-as we see in sore throats, coughs, pleurisies, spitting of blood, and rheumatism. Let the stomach be overtasked, and the complaints of the dyspeptic are redoubled-flushed cheeks and sickheadache become his constant companions. The person who has suffered from intermittent fever during the preceding autumn, is now in danger of a return of the disease. Gout and apoplexy, excessive mental excitement, and madness itself, not unfrequently mark the vernal equinox. Scrofula, little troublesome during the winter, now breaks out with renewed violence-the glands, or small round bodies

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along the neck, on each side, become enlarged and painful, and if neglected they ulcerate. Diseases of the skin, whether tetter or others, are also troublesome at this time, and give their possessor most unpleasant notice of the rousing of sensibilities, which had been, in a measure, dormant through the winter.,

This may strike the reader as a dark catalogue,-and a most startling and painful contrast with the highly coloured and enchanting accounts of the poets. We hope it may arrest his attention, and guide him to profitable musings on the risks to which he is exposed. No one can boast his entire immunity from danger, and consequent freedom from the necessity of precautions. These we shall give with plainness and brevity. They consist mainly in attention to clothing, exercise, and diet. No sudden, or for a length of time yet to come, any diminution of the winter clothing should be attempted. Excercise should be moderate -less than could have been safely taken in a clear winter's day; nor ought the person to be long exposed to the sun. If, from any unforeseen or unavoidable cause, great bodily exertion have been used, so as to induce perspiration and fatigue,-rest in the open air, or remaining stationary in passages or cold rooms, or going out the same evening or night must be carefully avoided. Any feeling of chilliness or aching of the limbs at night, ought to be met by a warm foot bath, frictions with flannel or a flesh brush, and a draught of simple warm herb tea, or even hot water.

Increase of thirst, feverish heat, pains of the head, or palpitation, with a sensation of languor or uneasiness, are best obviated by a reduction of the usual quantity of food-and a substitution, almost entire, of vegetable for animal substances. Liquors of all kinds, distilled, vinous, or malt, are to be specially abstained from. The experience of their toleration during the winter will be most deceptive, if taken as a guide during the spring. Even the use of coffee and tea must, in many cases, be discontinued-the former especially, if the person be subject to palpitations of the heart, or diseases of the skin

People afflicted with the latter, are thought to have their blood in an impure state, and to be under the necessity of having recourse to various depurative syrups, decoctions, and what not. They are fine game for nostrum makers and venders, and become ready dupes of such characters. We profess, indeed, to have ourselves sonte purifying and alterative beverages, in the virtues of which we place great reliance. Before introducing them to notice, we must, however, beg pardon of those persons labouring under scrofulous and cutaneous affections to whom they are in a peculiar manner beneficial, for the two notable drawbacks to our winning their approbation and confidence. The first is, that these drinks cost little or nothing-the second, that they are of good taste, and with healing virtues so unequivocally sanctioned by the wise and experi enced of all ages and countries, as neither to require nor claim any puffing notice or lying eulogy. They are not of the class of those marvellous agents which are pompously introduced to public notice, as hurting nobody, and curing every body; which an infant might swallow with impunity, and the most desperate leper take, with the full assurance of his being cleansed from all impurities as entirely as the Syrian of old, after bathing, by the prophet's command, in the waters of the Jordan. Not to keep the reader any longer in suspense, the elixir of life and the genuine restorative are, first, pure water; and second, milk, either pure as obtained from the cow, or diluted with water, or its component parts separated, as in butter-milk or whey. Copious potations of water, at this season, will be found the very best purifier of the blood and remover of all peccant matter; while milk, as an article of diet, with good light bread, baked on the preceding day, or vegetables, may be regarded as the grand cordial and true tonic. This is, in

many countries, the food of the robust ploughman and hardy mountaineer, whose spirits are strung in a very different key to what the sipper of wine and cordial, the bibber of beer and porter, or the tippler of ardent spirits, can boast of. Let us hope, in conclusion, that the eulogists of panaceas, and balms, and balsams, of patent pills and powders, the lovers of wonderful cures, and searchers after the incredible, will have patience with us, this once, for proffering the language of nature and common sense, even though so sadly at variance with their prejudices and interests. The people at large are still credulous enough for all their purposes of deception; and, in despite of ou poor efforts, will furnish them, we greatly fear, with a rich harvest in time to come, as they have always done in times past.

[Journal of Health.

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410. By Alcibiades, in the beginning of the fifth century, anno 410 or 411. 347. By Leo, Philip's general. A.D. 197. By the Emperor Septimius Severus. 313. By Maximius Cæsar.

315. By Constantine the Great.
616. By Chosrues of Persia, under Hera-
clius, Emperor of the East.

626. By the Chachan of the Avari, an ally
of Chosroes.

656. By Moawia, the general of Ali, an
Arab sovereign.

669. By lesid, a son of Moawia.
674. By Sofian Ben-Auf, one of Moawia's
generals.

719. By two sons of Caliph Merwan, when
Anthemios was emperor.
744. By Solyman, a son of Caliph Abdol-
melek.

764. By Paganos, the kral of the Buiga-
rians, under Constantine V.
786. By Harun-al-Rashid, under Leo IV.
798. By Abdolmelek, a general of Harun-
al-Rashid.

811. By Krumus, the despot of the Slavo-
nians.

820. By Thomas, the Slavonian, under
Michael the Stammerer.
886. By the Russians, under Ascold and
Dir.

914. By Simeon, kral of the Bulgarians. 1048. By Tornicius, the rebel, under Michael Monomachos.

1081. By Alexius Comnenus, on Good Friday.

1204. By the Crusaders, on the 12th of April.

1261. By Michael Palæologus, on the 25th
of July.

1396. By Bajazet, the lightning-flash. The
first Ottoman siege.
1402. By the same.

1414. By Musa, a son of Bajazet.

1422. By Amurath II. a son of Mahomet I. 1453, 29th of May. By Mahomet II. "the conqueror of Constantinople," against whose victorious host, Phranza tells us, Constantine Dragofes Palæologus, the last Greek emperor, rushed forth, exclaiming, "I would rather die than live;" and shortly afterwards, perceiving himself deserted by his recreant followers, and crying aloud, "Is there no Christian hand to smite off my aching head?" met a glorious death, though doomed to fall by the cimetar of an infidel.

URBAIN GRANDIER.

The people of the town of Loudun, for some reason or another, were desirous of possessing a convent of Ursuline nuns, and signified their desires in form to the bishop of Poitiers. This worthy prelate, who appears to have shared all the superstition and profligacy of manners of the times in which he lived, very readily yielded to their wishes, and understanding that in the convent of Poictiers there were several nuns whose reputations were a little the worse for the wear, he selected those pious and charitable sisters, and placing the most debauched of them all at their head, despatched them in all haste to the good town of Loudun. On their arrival at the place of their destination, they found that there was no convent prepared to receive them, and that it would be necessary to put up for the present with an old haunted house, which was greatly fallen to decay. Neither was there at first any other provision than bread and water, a species of diet to which few persons resort from preference. Our nuns, who were persons of taste and judgment, soon gave affairs another turn. They laboured, acquired money, furnished their convent, and then began to look about for handsome confessors. Two persons presented themselves to perform this office for the nuns of Loudun, a priest with the very handsome name of Mignon, and Urbain Grandier, who possessed a person still handsomer than the name of his rival. M. Mignon, however, was not the man tamely to submit to rivalry in a matter of this kind, where the question was, who should possess the right to the consciences of some score or two of pretty nuns. He, therefore, set himself seriously to work to get rid of his adversary, not by the ordinary means prevalent among the vulgar, but by a fine, subtle, and curious policy which none but a monk could have devised. He determined to remove his enemy by burning him alive. To effect this a certain degree of ingenuity was necessary, but no very extraordinary genius for mischief, for mankind seem to have lent themselves in those times with wonderful facility to further the designs of any rogue whatever.

In the first place the nuns, whose intellects seem to have been somewhat deranged by the spirit of licentiousness, were to be persuaded that their evil desires had been inflamed, not by the conversation and the arts usually prevailing at that time in convents, and not to be repressed so long as human nature shall remain unchanged, but by the magical practices of Urbain Grandier. This part of the business was of course not very difficult, for the nuns, incapable of concealing their wanton propensities, were exceedingly willing to shift the blame from their own shoulders, even though it should rest on those of the handsome curé. Be this as it may, Mignon, terrified lest Grandier should rob him of his prey, pushed the matter to extremities, and with all the vehemence of a man urged on at once by the love of woman and the love of gain. Other passions, more or less malignant, united their force with these, perhaps, to hurry on the criminal in his course of guilt, but without any other motives, these were of themselves sufficient to account, under the circumstances, for his actions.

Grandier was now accused of having cast into the convent certain thorns and roses prepared by magic, which excited, in as many of the nuns as inhaled their scent, an irresistible passion for the magician. The curé seems, in fact, to have been in possession of that kind of magical art, which is all-powerful over the heart of woman, but which cannot be defined or described. Mignon, however, had resolved that his triumph in the world should be short. The accusation of sorcery was pushed with vigour, the nuns were interrogated, found to be possessed by whole troops of devils in the pay and service of M. Grandier, and the master of these faithless and unruly servants was apprehended and cast into prison.

Among his other accomplishments the handsome curé was understood to possess the art of. writing satires, and had, it seems, amused himself in an unlucky moment, in exercising this talent at the expense of the Cardinal de Richelieu. Observing persons thought they could perceive some secret connexion between this fact, and the accusation of sorcery, and imagined that the hand which struck the cure reached all the way from Paris. At present the fact is pretty well ascertained; and we can add to the other claims of the "Grand Cardinal" to the admiration of mankind, that of having caused a poor handsome young man to be burned alive, for having made himself too merry with his beard.

There is a singularly comic view in this horrible tragedy, which provokes laughter in the midst of the most fearful scenes. The Abbé Mignon having discovered that the pretty nuns were possessed by the spirit of lust, who, when interrogated, replied that his name was Astaroth, hitherto supposed by the learned to have been a female demon, brought the whole affair before the magistrates, and requested them to repair to the convent, to be present at the exorcisms, and to behold the wonders which accompanied them. The baillie and the civil lieutenant accepted of their invitation, and repairing to the convent, found the lady abbess and one of the inferior sisters, in an apartment furnished with seven little beds, and surrounded by Carmelite friars, a canon, and a surgeon. At the sight of the magistrates, the lady abbess, who probably experienced some slight access of terror at that moment, uttered a piercing shriek, like a little pig, and hid herself under the sheets of the bed; and then putting out her head again, she made the most horrible grimaces, in order to convince the man of authority that the seven devils to which she laid claim were actually in her bed at the time.

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This part of the farce having been performed to the satisfaction of the Carmelites and the Abbé Mignon, the latter took up his exorcising book, and commenced the reading of those questions to which it was desirable that the devils should reply. It should be remarked, that in those times all devils were supposed to be extremely well educated, and to possess, among other accomplishments, a competent knowledge of all languages, ancient as well as modern. Their favourite dialect, however, was the Latin, and in order to accommodate himself to their taste, the Abbé Mignon put questions in that language. "Propter quam causam?" said he to the devil Astaroth, ingressus es corpus hujus virginis?" (that is, "for what reason hast thou entered the body of this virgin?") The devil, with a degree of candour which does him great credit, immediately replied, "Per animositatem" ("through spite"). This point having been settled, and it being now clear that it was not for love, which, perhaps, the abbé previously suspected, Mignon continued, "Per quod pactum?" (by what covenant?) "Per Flores," (by that of flowers,) said the devil. "Quales?" (what sort?) "Rosas;" (roses). But now came the question for which all the others had been contrived. "Quis misit?" (who sent them?) Here Astaroth, like a devil of some conscience, who betrayed his master with reluctance, hesitated for a short time, but at length muttered forth "Urbanus." This was coming close to the mark, but not hitting it; there might be other Urbanuses, and it would be difficult to obtain the permission of the magistrates to burn all persons of that name, in order to make sure of the right one. Another step, therefore, was to be made, and the intrepid Mignon continued, "Dic cognomen," (mention his surname). Here Astaroth made a dead pause. Should he, or should he not, obey the power ful exorciser, and expose his beloved master to the certainty of being roasted alive before his time.

"Some natural tears he dropped, but wiped

them soon."

He paused again-then endeavoured to speak -then stopped. At length, however, pluck ing up his courage, he answered boldly, "Grandier." "Dic qualitatem," (mention his quality) said Mignon; and the devil having now passed the Rubicon, continued "Sacerdos" (a priest). "Cujus ecclesia?" (of what church?) "Sancti Petri." (of St. Peter.) "Quæ persona attulit flores?" (what person brought the flowers?) "Diabolica." (Mademoiselle Diabolique.) After these words the devil grew sulky, or could muster no more Latin, and the lady prioress coming to herself, repeated her Benedicite, and partook of a slight collation, to recruit her strength after so great

an exertion.

It now came to the turn of sister Clara's devil to be interrogated, but he turned out to be a demon of inferior accomplishments, and could speak no Latin. When greatly pressed, he merely replied in French, "To the other! to the other!" Upon this the magistrates appear to have begun to understand the matter, but without making any remark on the subject, they retired. Mignon, however, was not to be wearied by disappointment. He procured the favour of a second meeting, and the pri oress, who was resolved to maintain the character of her devils for energy and activity, now foamed at the mouth, lolled out her tongue like a mad dog, and made the most frightful grimaces. The ceremony of exorcising had already commenced when the magistrates arrived; but it was now no longer the abbé Mignon who performed the conjuror. It was the curé of a neighbouring parish, a fierce, sombre, bigoted priest. In the midst of the operations a sudden terror was struck through the whole assembly. A cat, an animal in the form of which the devil often appears, dropped down the chimney in the midst of the exorcism, and after throwing the whole assembly into an agony of horror, sprang upon the top of the priestess's bed. Here then was Satan, in bodily reality in the midst of them. Every man crossed himself, and the exorcising curé, firmly persuaded they had got the devil among them at last, lifted up the cross, and with trembling hand flung up a flood of holy water at the cat. Instead of vanishing in a cloud of smoke, the feline devil recovered a little from his fright, and altogether misunderstanding the affair, began to fawn and purr at his pursuers; and at length the lady prioress discovered that the devil on the top of the bed was no other than her own tom-cat.

The affair of the tom-cat amazed the exorcisers for some time, but they soon returned to their old humour, and longed for a more exciting spectacle. On one particular occasion a Seotchman, who happened to be present at the ceremony, and was somewhat sceptical, requested the conjuror to put a question or two to the devil in Gaelic. The curé observing that if it pleased God, Satan could speak Gaelic, as well as any other language, consented, and the Scotchman put a few short questions to his Satanic majesty, in the language of the Highlands. Satan, however, in all his travels, had never thought of visiting that part of the world, and could make nothing of this new jargon; he therefore replied pertly, "Deus, non volo," (God, I will not,) which was merely a cunning way of saving his credit.

Having been defeated in his design of passing for a great linguist, Satan got out of humour, began to give a tragical turn to the affair, and hurried on, as fast as possible, the condemnation of poor Grandier. The events which succeeded were no less indecent than horrible. Several of the nuns, however, seeing the fearful termination the affair was likely to have, now became alarmed, and confessed aloud that they had been playing the hypocrite, and accusing an innocent person. This only hastened the punishment of Grandier, who was brought before a mock tribunal, tried, and condemned. The poor man, after enduring all the tremendous pains which could be inflicted by torture, was at length carried forth to exe

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