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When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain
I do not know any author who has reckoned man among the amphibious race of animals; neither do I know any animal that better deserves it. Man is lord of the little ball on which he treads, one half of which, at least, is water. If we do not allow him to be amphibious, we deprive He sits him down, and ties the treach'rous hook; him of half his sovereignty. He justly bears that name, who can live in the water. Many of the disorders incident to the human frame are prevented, and others cured, both by fresh and salt bathing; so that we may properly remark, "He lives in the water who can find life, nay, even health in that friendly element."
The greatest treasure on earth is health; but a treasure, of all others, the least valued by the owner. Other property is best rated when in possession, but this can only be rated when lost. We sometimes observe a man, who, having lost this inestimable jewel, seeks it with an ardour equal to its worth; but when every research by land is eluded, he fortunately finds it in the water. Like the fish, he pines away upon shore, but, like that, recovers again in the deep.
The cure of disease among the Romans, by bathing, is supported by many authorities; among others, by the number of baths frequently discovered, in which pleasure, in that warm climate, bore a part. But this practice seemed to decline with Roman freedom, and never after held the eminence it deserved. Can we suppose the physician slept between the disease and the bath to hinder their junction; or, that he lawfully holds by prescription the tenure of sickness in fee ?*
When genial spring a living warmth bestows,
• W. Hutton.
Now expectation cheers his eager thought,
Far up the stream the twisted hair he throws,
You must not ev'ry worm promiscuous use,
And from their bodies wipe their native soi
But when the sun displays his glorious beams,
To frame the little animal, provide
Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing displays.
Mark well the various seasons of the year,
Oft have I seen a skilful angler try
The various colours of the treach'rous fy;
He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow,
The scaly shoals float by, and seiz'd with fear,
When a brisk gale against the current blows, And all the wat'ry plain in wrinkles flows, Then let the fisherman his art repeat, Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit. If an enormous salmon chance to spy The wanton errors of the floating fly, He lifts his silver gills above the flood, And greedily sucks in th' unfaithful food; Then downward plunges with the fraudful prey, And bears with joy the little spoil away. Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mistake, Lashes the wave, and beats the foamy lake: With sudden rage he now aloft appears, And in his eye convulsive anguish bears; And now again, impatient of the wound, He rolls and wreaths his shining body round; Then headlong shoots beneath the dashing tide, The trembling fins the boiling wave divide; Now hope exalts the fisher's beating heart, Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art; He views the tumbling fish with longing eyes; While the line stretches with th' unwieldy prize; Each motion humours with his steady hands, And one slight hair the mighty bulk commands: Till tir'd at last, despoil'd of all his strength, The game athwart the stream unfolds his length. He now. with pleasure, views the gasping prize Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood-shot eyes, Then draws him to the shore, with artful care, And lifts his nostrils in the sick'ning air: Upon the burthen'd stream he floating lies, Stretching his quivering fins, and gasping dies.
Would you preserve a num'rous finny race? Let your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter chase; Th' amphibious monster ranges all the shores, Darts through the waves, and ev'ry haunt explores ⚫
Or let the gin his roving steps betray,
I never wander where the bordering reeds O'erlook the muddy stream, whosc tangling weeds Perplex the fisher; I, nor choose to bear The thievish nightly net, nor barbed spear; Nor drain I ponds the golden carp to take, Nor troll for pikes, dispeoplers of the lake. Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line; Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook, With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey.
A DOMESTIC SCENE
Gent. I wish, my dear, you would not keep the carriage an hour always at the door, when we go to a party.
Lady. Surely, my dear, it could not have waited half so long; and that was owing to the unusual length of our rubber.
Gent. I feel exceedingly unwell this evening, my head aches confoundedly, and my stomach is very uneasy.
Lady. You know, my dear, Mr. Abernethy told you, that after such a severe fit you ought to be very careful and moderate in your living.
Gent. Mr. Abernethy is a fool. Can any body be more moderate than I am? you would have me live upon water-gruel, I suppose. The rich pudding, indeed, that Mrs. Belcour made me eat, might possibly not have sat quite easy on the soup, and the salmon, and the chicken and ham, and the harrico, and the turkey and sausages; or, it is possible, the patties I eat before dinner might not perfectly agree with me, for I had by no means a good appetite when I sat down to dinner.
Lady. And then, you know, you eat so many cakes, and such a quantity of almonds and raisins, and oranges after din
Gent. How could I have got down Belcour's insufferable wine, that tasted of the cork, like the fag bottle at a tavern dinner, without eating something?
Lady. And I am sure you drank a glass of Madeira with every mouthful almost at dinner; for I observed you.
Gent. Why how could one swallow such ill-dressed things, half cold too, without drinking? I can't conceive what makes me feel so unwell this evening; these flatu
lencies will certainly kill me. It must be the easterly wind we have had for these three days that affects me: indeed, most of my acquaintance are complaining, and the doctors say, disorders are very prevalent now. -What can I have? John, make me a tumbler of brandy and water-make it strong, and put ginger enough in it. I have not the least appetite-what can I have?
Lady. There is ham, and, I believe, some chicken
Gent. Why, do you think I have the stomach of a ploughman, that I can eat such insipid things! Is there nothing
Lady. There is a loin of pork-perhaps you could relish a chop, nicely done?
Gent. Why, if it was nicely done, very nicely, perhaps I could; I'll try-but remember it must be done to a moment, or I shan't be able to touch it-and made hotand some nice gravy. Confound these parties!-could any thing be more stupid. While Martin was sleeping on one side of me, there was Bernard on the other did nothing but bore me about his horses, and his wines, and his pictures, till I wished them all at old Harry-I think I shall have done with parties.
Lady. I am sure, my dear, they are no pleasure to me; and, if they were, I pay dear enough for it: for you generally come home in an ill humour-and your health and your pocket too suffer for it. last bill came to more than ninety pounds, besides your expenses at Cheltenham-and the next thing, I suppose, will be a voyage to Madeira, or Lisbon-and then what will become of us?
Gent. What, do you grudge me the necessaries of life? It is I that am the sufferer
Lady. Not entirely so: I am sure I feel the effects of it, and so do the servants. Your temper is so entirely changed, that the poor children are afraid to go near you -you make every body about you miserable, and you know Smith lost his cause from your not being able to attend at the last assizes, which will be nearly the ruin of him and his family. Two days before you were tolerably well, but after you had dined at -'s, you were laid up.
Gent. Nay, I was as much concerned at it as any body could be; and I think I had reason to be so, for I lost three hundred pounds myself-but who can help illness? Is it not a visitation of Providence?
sure nobody can live more temperately than I do-do you ever see me drunk?
A'n't I as regular as clockwork? Indeed, my dear, if you cannot talk more rationally, you had better go to bed. John! why don't you bring the brandy and water! and see if the chop is ready; if I am not better in the morning, I am sure I shall not be able to attend my appointment in the city-—
There will always be a few ready to receive the hints of experience, and to them only can this scene be useful.
Lime applied to trees makes them put forth leaves and flourish, and produce fruit early, but then it kills them. Wine cheers and stimulates men, and makes them thrust forth flowers of wit; but, then, there is no doubt it shortens life.*
KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD
BY ST. EVREMOND.
The first thing by which we know men, lineaments of the face; the briskness, the is the physiognomy, the colour, and the air, the motion of the body, the action, the sound of the voice, the aspect, &c.: and there is no man, but at first sight we are
either well or ill affected towards him.
Every man makes some impressions upon us of what he is; but these impressions, being sudden, are not always certain, a little frequent conversation with him perfects our knowledge of him.
Hear the man with whom you keep company; endeavour to draw him in to make a long discourse, and then you will easily perceive the greatness or meanness of his wit, his civility, his inclination to vice or virtue, and to what kind of vice or virtue he is most inclined; whether he be sincere in his speech or a man of artifice; whether he aggravates matters, if he be a liar, or a proud man, and to what degree he carries his good or bad qualities.
Study well the persons with whom you converse familiarly, and with least circumspection. Examine them when they are sedate, in an obliging humour; and when they are in anger, in a disdainful and morose humour. When something vexes or
pleases them, observe them in their sorrow and disgrace, in their pleasures, in their advancement, and in their humiliation. Be attentive to their discourse in all these several states, consider their behaviour, their sentiments, their projects, and the different motions which their passions, their ranks, and their affairs, produce in them.
Moreover, endeavour also to know yourself very well; consider in all the different states, wherein good or bad fortune has placed you, the designs which you pursue, and the resolutions for doing good or evil, you are capable of making. These several observations upon yourself and others will infallibly make you know mankind. And the reason of it is this:-all men, and even philosophers themselves, are, more or less, subject to the same passions, and all of them think very nearly after the same
Of the most excellent qualities, that of knowing the world is most necessary for our behaviour, and for our fortune-for our behaviour, because otherwise our life is liable to continual crosses, and is nothing else but one continued series of extravagancies, which will bring upon us a thousand bad businesses :-for our fortune, because if we do not know men, we cannot make use of them in that way which is most convenient with respect to our interest. It is necessary therefore to know them, and to behave ourselves with each of them after such a manner as is most agreeable to their character. A prudent man, with respect to others, is like a master who knows all the springs of an engine, and makes them play as he pleases, either for his pleasure or advantage.
It seems to me, that our first motion should be to distrust the world in general, and even to have a bad opinion of it. The world, such as it should be, is full of virtue; but as we see it, it is full of wickedness and malice; and this latter world is that we should endeavour to know well, because we live in it, and it concerns us very much to avoid its deceits.
But why should we have so bad an opinion of the world? Why, because men are born with a bad disposition, and they carry in their heart at their birth the source of all vices, and an aversion to all virtues, which would hinder their singularity; and which they cannot acquire but by such pains as they are not willing to take. Yet I do not say that we must trefore think ill of all particular persons, bt it is good to know them.
THE TONGA ISLANDS. Wild and straggling as the flowers Is human nature there; Uncultivated all its powers
In that secluded air:
The passions fiery, bold, and strong,
Like mountain torrent rolling,
Sits trembling on her gloomy throne! Pale child of Ignorance and Fear, Embodying shapes of things unknown: When, when shall rise the glorious morn
Of heavenly radiance unconfined? When shall the mental veil be torn,
And God be known by all mankind?
Full many a ray must pierce the soul,
It is a custom at Tonga for the young women to gather flowers in the earlier part of the morning, and twine them on their return into various ornaments, for themselves, and their relations and friends. They gather them at sunrise while the dew of the morning is still fresh on them; because, when plucked at that time, their fragrance is of longer continuance.*
SENSIBILITY IN A RAVEN.
In 1785 there was living at the Red Lion inn, Hungerford, Wiltshire, a raven, respecting which a correspondent communicated to "Mr. Urbau the following anecdote :
His name, I think, is "Rafe:" and you must know, that going into that inn, my chaise ran over, or bruised, the leg of my Newfoundland dog. While we were examining the injury done to the dog's foot,
From the "Ocean Cavern, a Tale of the Tenge Islands." 1919
Rafe was evidently a concerned spectator; for, the minute the dog was tied up under the manger with my horses, Rafe not only visited, but fetched him bones, and attended upon him with particular and repeated marks of kindness. The bird's notice of the dog was so marked, that I observed it to the hostler. John then told me, that the raven had been bred from his pin-feather in intimacy with a dog; that the affection between them was mutual; and that all the neighbourhood had often been witnesses of the innumerable acts of kindness they had conferred upon each other. Rafe's poor dog, after a while, unfortunately broke his leg; and during the long time he was confined, Rafe waited upon him constantly, carried him his provisions daily, and never scarce left him alone. One night, by accident, the hostler had shut the stable door, and Rafe was deprived of the company of his friend the whole night; but the hostler found in the morning the bottom of the door so pecked away, that, had it not been opened, Rafe would, in another hour, have made his own entrance-port. I then inquired of my landlady, (a sensible woman,) and heard what I have related confirmed
by her, with several other singular traits of the kindnesses this bird showed to all dogs in general, but particularly to maimed or wounded ones.
ordered him to be flogged. The slave having in mind the dogmas of his master, and thinking to compliment him, in order to save himself from punishment, exclaimed"It was fated that I should commit this theft."-" And also that you should be flogged for it," replied Zeno.
Zeno detected his slave in a theft, and
When Dr. Jeggon, afterwards bishop of Norwich, was master of Bennet College, Cambridge, he punished all the under graduates for some general offence; and because he disdained to convert the penaltymoney into private use, it was expended on new whitening the hall of the college. A scholar hung the following verses on the
"Dr. Jeggon, Bennet College master, Broke the scholars' heads, and gave the walls a plaster."
The doctor, perusing the paper, wrote underneath, extempore:—
"Knew I but the wag that writ these verses in bravery, I'd commend him for his wit, but whip him for his knavery."
And the sparkling stars began to shine,
The diamond is chiefly found in the provinces of Golconda and Visiapour, and also in that of Bengal. Raolconda, in Visiapour, and Gandicotta, are famed for their mines, as is Coulour in Golconda. The diamond is generally found in the narrow crevices of the rocks, loose, and never adherent to the fixed stratum. The miners, with long iron rods, which have hooks at the ends, pick out the contents of the fissures, and wash them in tubs, in order to extricate the diamonds. In Coulour they dig on a large plain, to the depth of ten or fourteen feet; forty thousand persons are employed; the men to dig, and the women and children to carry the earth to the places where it is deposited till the search is made.*
A note to the "Ocean Cavern."
WORTHY TO BE GOT BY HEART.
As you cannot overtake time, the best way is to be always a few minutes before him.
Whatever your situation in life may be, lay down your plan of conduct for the day. The half hours will glide smoothly on, without crossing or jostling each other.
When you set about a good work, do not rest till you have completed it.
In the morning, think on what you are to do in the day, and at night, think on what you have done.
Religion is the best armour, but the worst cloak.
If you make an intentional concealment lie like lead upon your conscience all the of any thing in a court of judicature, it will days of your life.
Do as you wish to be done by. Follow this rule, and you will need no force to keep you honest.