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“The ferment of a free, is preferable to the'torivor of a despotic, CoTerniu7nu»
IJOCtfO .
From the Philadelphia Commercial Herald.
GOD IS THERE.
I view the daisy's op’ning flower,
That blooms so bright in cv’ry vhle:
And seek in joy, tliro’ bold and bower,
The red wild rose, and lilly pale ;
And while ’he glitt’ring dew is hung
On bud and leaf, surpassing fair,
Their sweets on cv’ry gale are flung.
And prove the hand oj Clod is there.
And in the silent -noon of night,
When cv’ry living thing is still,
Hut the muriii’ring waters glancing bright—
The mournful music of Iho rill;
When not a single leaf is stirred,—
Nor lives a wand’ring breath of air;
A tone in this still hour is heard
Which tells the heart, that God is there.
Yon world of stars ! how pure it seems—
How wonderful their bright array;
The rising moon—how wild her beams,
Upon the misty waters play:
The mind may soar—may take its flight,
F ir as the soul of man cun dare,
Trough worlds on words of endless light—
And still will find its Maker there.
When from the West somo mighty cloud
Comes on with tempest durkn’d plume;
The sunbeams play beneath the shroud,
And earth is-wrapp’d in gath’ring gloom :
The thunder’s peal, the tempest fray—
The vivid flesh ami meteor glare,
Are only heralding His way,
And prove th* Almighty presence there !
Unloose wild thoght—o'er earth and Sea,
Give boundless scope to chtunlcss Mind !
• Twas soon resolved each mystery—
A source Divino for all things find !
Spring’s hudding flowers—the shrouded night
Tho soft—sublime—the rich—tl»c rare—
l’oint upward to yon realms of light,
An 1 tell each heart that God is there !
Aug. 30, 1S33. 8. J. L.
From the Detroit Courier.
THE STORM WANDERER.
Now fiercely howls the northern blast,
And loud the tempests roar,
Tiio rain and sleet arc beating fast
Against llic cottage door.
The rugged rocks tho surges lash
In their resistless might;
And oft tho vivid lightnings flash
Terrifically bright.
.•
The wind—a perfect hurricane.
Wows with tremendous sound,
And r ipiuly tho drops o'* rain
Fall pattering to the ground.
Yet on this night so dark and drear,
Amid the storm’s harsh moan,
A maid uninfluenced by fear,
A maiden, and alone—
So furiously on land and sea,
Rages the dreadful storm,
Besides the maid their seems to be
No other living form.
Tho fisherman has left the main,
And hastens from the shore,
The shepherds go not forth again
Until the storm bo o’er.
On such a night as this to roam
Few pcoplo choose, I ween ;
Then wherefore thus away from home
Goes the fair Josephine ?
To cheer tho maiden’s onward way,
No star its radicnco lends—
Blue lightning round her figure play,
And yet she onward wends.
Around the rocks, whero deep and hoarse,
The waves their voices lift,
The dauntless maiden bends her course,
Still fearlussly and swift.
And now she’s at the 1 rgo rock, where
Tho pirate found his grave—
With cautious stop she climbs tho Etair
And pusses through tho cave.
She tremhlcs not with cold or fear,
But rapidly moves through,
Nor pauses till, alone and drear,
A cottage meets her view.
And now, alas ! it grieves my soul,
To tell what she did then!
Tho irtc resting damsel stole—
Two ceickens and a hen!! MARTHA.
is heavy and irregular. The Episcopal
cilurch with its sloping buttresses and gothic
windows, is a pleasing exception.
“ On Saturday morning after an early
breakfast, we started on our pilgrimage.
The road up the river ’(Cumberland) passes
over some bottom land, such as we are used
to ; but the highland is widely different.
A substratum of limestone with, apparently,
a light coa ing ofloo.-e ourih, furnishes a pro.
ductive and durable soil lor cotton, tobacco
and corn. A shady ride of tea miles termi.
nated in front of the
HERMITAGE.
“ A beautiful grove of young trees on a
rise midway the broad avenue, screens the
house and only permits glimpses of the piazza.
I at flrsi joined in censuring the Gen. for not
placing the house on this rise, as his friends
desired ; but the effect is certainly better as
it is. A really handsome structure may be
safely placed in a conspicuous position ; but
rectangular mass of brick, covered with
slating roofs and topped off with such awk
ward excrescences as chimneys, endured as
it must be, in a city, should certainly not be
thrust upon the view, to mar a beautiful land-
scape. As now arranged, the appearance is
very pleasing.
“ The House—before the wings were ad.
ded was a plain dwelling (facing south) of two
stories; the lower containing two rooms
(with folding doors) on each side of a spa.
cious hall, with four chimneys neatly plaster,
ed into the end walls. Two years since
wings were built of one story, projecting front
and back 3 or 4 .yards beyond the main buil
ding. The western wing contains a large
dining room and connects with the kitchen,
&c. The eastern is divided into an office
and library (in which i was gratified to find
some memorials of your grandfather General
C.) by a hall which leads from the back par
lour to the garden. A pi azza runs along the
front between the wings. Ten columns
support the terrace which is handsomely ba.
lustraded, and its bareness relieved by a ga
ble roof projecting from the main roof, over
the vestibule. The hall is delightfully cool,
and the cast parlours large and well furnished.
My attention was attracted by the portraits.
A tolerable one r ( the General—an excellent
(said to he) of h«^ Lady—of Col. G. of Flor
ida—of Dr. B. and other old friends. As
weclustureJ around the centre tablet© drink,
rather than eat a delicious water melon, my
eye caught that of Major E. the General's
bosom friend. Never was likeness more
perfect! Did the first glance decide, you
would say the portrait was more like than the
original.
“ Two black women, old house servants,
did the honors of the Garden with great alac
rity —“ delighted to see some company, they
used to have so much in old mislress’ lime.”
I have already said that the back parlour
I was walking to her tomb—in the very path
where she had walked and wept, in the bit
terness of sorrow, that she humble and un
assuming should be dragged forth, in her old
age and made the target of scorn and ridicule,
because a destiny she deemed happy had lin
ked her to a man too much beloved not to be
hated.
“ Can you wonder as I stepped on the cir
cular platform that covers , the grave, 1 felt
that swelling of the heart which emotion al
ways occasions! The inscription accorded
well with ray feelings. As I looked up from
reading it, an old friend of the General, whose
eye had followed mine, said with a quivering
lip, “ she deserves it—every word of it. She
had nothing of the affectations, the vices, or-
the accomplishments of i s'.ion, but she was
the best ot wives, the best of women, all who
knew her loved her.”
“I could not, as I read the last sentence of
the inscription, check a flash of shame and
regret, that it should chronicle for posterity,
the reckless bitterness of an electioneering
press.
[inscription.]
“ A being so gentle, yet so
virtuous, Slander might wound but
could not dishonor; Even Death, when
he tore her from the arms of her Husband,
could but transport her to the
bosom of her God.”
“ Who can reflect without mortification,
that in times to come, thousands will read this
inscription ? They will think of her purity
and gentleness as do her neighbors and her
friends. How shall we of the present 'day
figure in the comments made over the grave to
which slander prematurely hurried her?
It was a relief to turn my eyes upward and
examine the House of the dead. Two steps
run around the circular area {18 feet across)
ol the platform, from whose periphery snrings
8 fluted columns of the Doric order, surmoun
ted by a handsome entablature supporting the
dome, 25 feet high. On the interior a plain
cornice of vaulted ceiling, stuccoed in white,
give an air of purity and comeliness, well sui
ted to a tomb. From the centre of the plat
form rises a pyramid on a square base. As
I passed from the north side of this, I obser
ved a. slab symetrical with the one just exam
ined, but wirhout inscription. I inquired.—
’Twas for the husband, the President of the
United States. The monument and an acre
around it, belong to Tennessee—and hereaf
ter visits to the tomb cannot be prevented by
the caprice of a private possessor. There
are but two slabs. No other graves are to
be filled. He is on earth alone. The revo
lution swallowed up his relatives. He is not
only the founder, but “ the last of his line.” He
belongs to no family but that of his fellow-cit-
zens.
“ My foot rests on the slab that will cover
i ii .u . i j . , i him. I lean on the pyramid where thousands
,h ° "“ wffl lean hereafter, and while they read tho
JR**!? Wh,0h inscription™, hie tomb, will endeavor to re.
to not very flock, exhibits evidence of former I , nomoots now ’ phasing. Here they
.pUssecHanjj.
THE HERMITAGE.
Wo are indebted to the Indiana Democrat
for the following very interesting letter, giv
ing an account of a recent visit to the Her-
mitage by a citizen, we presume, of that
State. It was written to a friend and not
originally designed for publication:—
Southern Mercury.
« Dear A— ’• ,
“ I promised to give you an account of my
visit to the Hermitage. Had it not been more
picascnt than my ride from Louisville, my
promise would not have been fulfilled. The
dust, heat'and bad roads were rendered less
annoying by the many amusing incidents ari
sing in the course of a three days warmly
contested cleciion.
“ On my arrival I was agreeably surprised
by the appearance of Nashville! It is situa
ted on high ground—rising bluff from the riv.
er and undulating so as to present fine sites
for public buildings. Its greatest beauty is
the uniform neatness and excellence of the
houses. Many of the private dwellings have
higher pretensions .and are built with a view
to effect as well as convenience. The Chur
che8 are numerous, but their architecture
attention and former neglect. As you look
over the garden, across the green cotton
fields that stetch away to the woods, you
perceive to the right a modest dome surmoun
ted by a funeral urn and supported by a cir
cular coionade :
“ It is over the grave of Mrs. Jackson.”
“ As I threw some blooming Altheas, I
mr 1 apr ° n °, f T “T w ! ly- H him the charm ee well as the dread of
bearer, the fmthfol erwtere with the ,ffee. 8erpenl . A , „ emmet grasp it ie
will think of the fetes, processions, and eulo
gies, made in his honor by a people who know
too well their duty to God, to play the syco
phant to man, and will wonder that one who
occupied so large a space in the eyes of the
world, should be sunk into a compass so nar
row.
“ Tis a hard thing to look on death so close-
tionate retentiveness of a favored servant,
said, «Mistress planted, that, she’d often
tell me to take the hoe .and we’d go out and
plant and fix all through the garden.” I
have sent you the flowers. You mUy dis.
tribute them among the “ Floras” of my lady
friends ; but I bar the conclusion to be drawn
from the language, which Mrs. Wirt’s poetical
taste and apt selections have given tothese mute
yet interesting speakers.
“ You know that I am not easily interes-
ed in any person, with whorn’I have not an in-
timate acquaintance. I must therefore be
forgiven, if I am less enthusiastic about the
General than yourself, whose maiden speech
was made, (if I remember rightly) at one of
the first meetings west of the Ohio, that nom-
mated Him for the Presidency. I believe
there is a large majority, like me in selfish,
ness, and I cannot help thinking, despite your
denial, that actual intercourse is essential. It
is hot a mans good qualities, nor his talents,
nor his acts ; but some amiable foible dr
tnval defect, which enables us to laugh at or
tease him—that converts admiration and re
spect-into attachment. I do admit that the
heart like the oyster,may sometimes be surpri
sed open and rifled of the Pearl of friendship.
I recollect a solitary instance. Do you re
collect who watched that pillow when I was
compelled to leave M. at C. (as I thought)
on a death bed. At the moment of parting
I felt to that kind nurse a gratitude as perma-
nent as life. Forgive the digression-hut do
not boast that you in this instance proved me
wrong. One much colder than I would have
been moved.
“ I had just looked upon her likeness, fresh
as yesterday—on features handsome in youth
and marked in old age by amiability and be.
nevolence, telling not of talents^ nor accom
plishments—but of the every day duties
and common place realities of life., Froth
this I passed to the garden she had laid out
and the flowers she had planted. I heard
the friends who had known her through life
speak the eulogy of her virtue, her charity,
her gentleness and usefulness—I heard the
very Flares whose life had been spent in her
service,talk of her with affectionate fondness.
all its chilling horror and blank immensity.■
But one by one, each feeling is absorded—
and shuddering sinks into the dark abyss of
thought—until soul and sense are dead to all,
but conscious helplessness.
“ As I look upon his grave, the scenes of
his life speed before mo with the rapidity and
distinctness of a dream. His unhappy and
lonely youth—his enterprising, self-sustaining
and turbulent manhood, with all its wild ex
citement and daring andventure—his military
career—his Indian wars, every step marked
by a poolness and self command that seemed
foreign to his disposition. His success—his
mishaps—and more than all, his ability—the
unfailing mark of a great General—to inspire
his soldiers with his own enthusiastn. His
appearance on a higher and wider field—op
posed to the veterans of the Peninsula, flush
ed with recent conquest and anticipated boo
ty—the battle—his victory. His political ca-
reer—his candidature, and defeat—his elec
tion—his administration—his re-election
his Proclamation, echoed and re-echoed from
every part of the Union—his entire success—
his visit to the east—the high opinion entertai.
ned of him abroad—the affection felt for him
at home—his loneliness and greatness—all
flash before me.
“ Can it, can it be that all this must end—
soon in the narrow vault beneath my foot ?—
* * . * * A laugh—a flower and “ a fair
girl just blooming into womanhood,” startle
me from the painful thraldom of thought, and
remind me that there are othen. things than
greatness which Death spares not.
■ « Affectionately yours,
‘ J. F. L
“ Nashville, Sunday, 11th August, 1833.”
Egyptian Women.—Subject to the immu
table laws by which custom governs the East,
the Egyptian women do not associate with the
men, not even at table, where the anion of
Sexes produces mirth and wit, and makes food
more delicious. When a great man inti
mates that he intends to dine with one of his
wives, she prepares the apartment, perfumes
it with precious essences, procures the most
delicate viands, and receives her lord with at-
tention and respect- Among the common
people, the women usually stand, or sit in a
comer of the room while the luf ;band dines-
They often hold the basin for him to wash,
and serve him at the table.
The Egyptian women, once or twice a
week are; permitted to go to the>. bath, and
visit female relations and friends. They re
ceive each other's visits very affectionately.
When a lady enters the harem the mistress,
rises, takes her hand, presses it to her bosom,
kisses, and makes her sit down by her side ;
a slave hastens to take her black mantle; she
is entreated to be at ease, quits her veil, and
discovers a floating robe tied round the waist
with a sash,’ which perfectiy displays her
shape. She then receives Compliments ac
cording to this manner; “ Why, my moth
er, or ray sister, have you been so long ab
sent? We sighed to see you! Your pre
sence is an honour to our house! It is the
happiness of our lives!
Slaves present coffee, sherbet, and confec-
tionury. They laugh, talk, and play. A
large dish is placed, on which are oranges,
pomegranates, bananas, and excellent melons.
Water and rose-water mixed are brought in
an ewer, with a silver basin tej wash the
hands; and loud glee and merry conversation
season the refreshment. The chamber is
perfumed by wood of alloes, in a brasicr:
and the repast ended, the slaves dance to the
sound of cymbals, with whom the mistresses
often mingle. At parting, they several times
repeat, “ God keep you in health! Heaven
grant you numerous offspring! Heaven
preserve your children; the delight and glory
of your family!’
When a visitor is in the harem, the hus
band must not enter. It is the asylum of hos
pitality, and cannot be violated without fatal
consequences; a cherished right, which the
Egyptian women carefully .maintain, being
interested in its preservation. A lover, dis.
guised like a woman, may be introduced into
the harem, and it is necessary he should re
main undiscovered; death would otherwise
be his reward. In that country,, where the
passions are excited by the climate, and the
difficulty of gratifying them, love often pro
duces tragical events.
The Egyptian women, guarded by their
eunuchs, go also on the water, and enjoy the
charming prospects of the Nile. Their cab.
ins are pleasant, richly embellished, and the
boats neatly carved and painted. They are
known by the bliuds over the windows, and
the music by which they are accompanied.
When they cannot go abroad, they endeav
our to be merry in their prison. Towards
sunset they walk on the terrace, and take the
fresh air among the flowers which are there
carefully reared. Here they often bathe:
and thus, at once, enjoy the cool, limpid wa
ter, the perfume of odoriferous pl.uit3, the
balmy breeze, and the starry host which shine
in the firmanent.
Such is the usual life of the Egyptian fe
males. Their duties are to .educate their
children,.take care of their household, and
live retired with their families. Their pleas,
ure, to visit, give feasts, in which they often
yield to excess, go on the water, take the air
in orange groves, and listen to <he Almai.
They deck themselves as carefully to receive
their visiters os European females do to al.
lure the other sex. Usually mild and timid,
they become daring and furious when under
the domination of violent love. Nevertheless,
locks nor grim keepers can then prescribe
bounds to their passions; which though death
be suspended over their heads, they search
the means to gratify and are seldom unsuc
cessful.
must bestir themselves to keep them from
starving and freezing. If these writers would
go among the people m the country, they would
find as friend Jonas says in our town meet
ings “that somebody has got to do the digging,”
and this, in the female department, commonly
falls upon the mother.
From the N. Y. Gazette.
Diamond cut diamond.—Several years
since there lived in a neighboring city, two
gentlemen of one of the twelve tribes of
Isreal. Wallack was a dealer in military
goods, and Benjamin a trafficker in lacc.
The latter had been chosen a military officer,
and proceeded to the store of the former to
purchase equipments for his person according
to law in such cases made and provided^
On payment of his bill, Wallack took out his
pocket book to return change. As it lay
open on the desk, Benjamin perceived that
it contained a lottery ticket, tho numbers
thereon inscribed he did not fail certainly to
notice. On his return he steped into a lottery
office, and to his surprise learnt that those
numbers had just come up a prize of $10,000.
Before the close of the same day, he visited
the armory a second time for the purchase of
articles which he had previously forgotten.
Payment was again tendered, the pocket
book wbs again opened, and the prize a sec
ond time exhibited to view. “ Ah! Mon
sieur Vallack, vot you got there, von ticket
in tho loottery ? I meant to buy one, but for
got, I shall be too happy to take yours and
give you the price.” “ No, no, Mons, Ben
jamin, I cannot tell how much he draw.”
“ How much it cost ?” “ Ten dollars.” “ I
give you fifteen.” “ No,” “I give you twen
ty—I have set my heart on buying one tick
et in this lottery, but I forgot.” “ No, dat
would be too much sacrifice may be it draw
more money and then I look like fool;” “I
give you fifty,” “ No—I will sell this ticket
for one hundred dollar bill,' Boston bank, I
will not take a cent less.” “Oh, (with a
deep sigh,) I am too sorry that I did not buy
one ticket in dis lottery. But I must have it.”
Benjamin with great reluctance drew the
hundred dollar note from his wallet, and re
ceived the ticket in exchange. When it was
fairly pocketed, Benjamin clapped the other
on the shoulder, and with a sly wink,
said, “ Ah hah, Mons. Vallack, I have got
you now, dis ticket is just drawn ten thou
sand dollar!” Wallack returned the slap,
and replied “ Not quite, Mons. Benjamin
look at the clash, look at the clash my dear !
The ticket was a blank of the preceeding
class of the same lottery.
New England Wives.—Some weeks ago
we copied l'rom the New England Farmer
“ Brother Jonathan’s wife’s advice to her
daughter on the day of her marriage.” The
Hampshire Gazette, published in Northamp.
ton, Mass, in reference to it makes the follow,
ing remarks;
The editor of the Farmer must have been
deceived; this communication never came
from “ Brother Jonathan” nor his wife. It
was written by some man or woman who
knows not how people live in the country.
The writer seems to suppose that wives have
nothing to do but read, receive friends, attend
to flowers, and give directions to servants in
the kitchen. Grave advice is given about
the “ management of domestics. See that
all things go right in the kitchen. Never dis
pute with a servant in what way a thing shall
be done, but let your commands be promptly
obeyed. Avoid all familiarity with those who
may be placed under you,” dee. Now this
is all nonsense to “ Brother Jonathan’s wife.”
More than nineteen twentieths of all the wives
in Hampshire couuty are their own kitchen
maids; they cook, wash, sweep, brew, make
butter and cheese, take care of their'children,
dec. Some may be assisted by daughters,
sisters, or Jiired girls, but the wife and moth-
er must “ bear the burden and heat of the
day,” must have more care and labor than
any of the others. If the mother has daugh
ters, they are al school, or teaching school,
or covering buttons, or employed in some
way in which' they receive more assistance
from her than she from them.
Most of those who undertake to write for
the public know very little about the public.
In almost all the treatises, on education,
the writer takes it for granted that the moth
er has little to do bu( to attend to the educa
tion of her children. The Vermont Chron
icle remarks that many mothers, instead of
having time to impart ideas to their children,
„ From a London Paper.
High Living and mean Thinking.—How
much nicer people are in their persons than
their minds. How anxious are they to wear
the appearances of wealth and taste in things
of outward show, while their intellects are all
poverty and meaness. See one of the apes
of fashion with his coxcombries and ostena-
tions of luxury. His clothes must be made
by his best tailor, his horses must be of the
best blood, his wines of the finest flavor, his
cookery of the highest zest; but his reading
is of the poorest frivoltics, or of the lowest and
most despicable vulgarity. In the enjoyments
of animal sciences he is an epicure; but a pig
is a clean feeder compared with his mind;
and a pig would eat good and bad, sweet and
foul alike, but his mind has no taste except for
the most worthless garbage. The pig has
no discrimination and a great appetite; the
mind which we describe has not the apology
of voracity! it is satisfied with little, but the
little must be of the worst sort and every
thing of a better quality is rejected by it with
disgust. If we could see men’s minds as we
see their bodies, what a spectacle of naked
ness, destitution, deformity and disease it
would be! What hideous dwarfs and crip
ples ! What dirt, and what revolting cravings!
and all these in connexion with the most ex
quisite care and pampering of the body.
If many a conceited coxcomb could see his
own mind, he would see a thing the .like of
which is not to be found in the meanest ob
ject the world can present. It is not with
beggary, in the most degraded state, that it
is to be compared, for the beggar has wants,
is dissatisfied with his state, has wishes for
enjoyments above his lot, but the pauper of
intellect is content with his poverty ! it is his
choice to feed on carrion ! he can relish noth
ing fcfte, he has no desires beyond the filthy
fare. Yet he piques himself that he is a su
perior being; he takes to himself the merits
of his tailor, his coach-maker, his upholsters,
his wine merchant, his cbok; but if the thing
were turned inside out, if that concealed nas
ty comer of his mind, were exposed to. view,
how degrading would be the exhibition.
Might it not reasonably be expected'that peo
ple should take as much pride in the nicety
of their minds as in that of their persons ?
The purity of their mind, the careful preser
vation of it from the defilement of loose or
grovellbg tho’t.is surely as much a matter of
necessary decency as the cleanliness of the
body. The coarse clothing of the person is
a badge of poverty! what then should be
thought of the coarse entertainment of the
imagination ? what destitution does it urge,
and when it is seen in connexion with all the
luxuries of abundant wealth how odious is the
contrast between the superfluities of . fortune
and the pitiable penury of the understanding!
Hie mansion is spacious and elegantly fur
nished, but the soul of the occupier is only
comparable to the dust-hole, a dark, dirty re
ceptacle for the vilest trash and rubbish. You
yisit an affluent family in London, you see
girls, for whose education no cost has been
spared, who have been guarded with the most
zealous care against vulgar associations, who
are to bo refined if they are to be nothing
else! and you see on their table a Sunday
newspaper, the staples of which are obsceni
ty ana scurility, put forth in a style probably
much below the lowest conversation of the
footman in the hall. How would the parents
shudder at the thought of their daughters lis-
tening to familiar conversation of tho coarsest
turn carried on by their lacqueys. And what
matters it in effect whether the debaucher is
taken in at the eye or the ear 1 These things
deserve to be thought of in another manner.
The care of the mind has yet to have a com
mencement Its servants and its food have
hitherto been of tiie lowest sort! and on both
the character of the ministration and the nutri-
ment, the purity and soundness of the intellect
must greatly depend. A good sign it will bo
when some of the pride in the ostentation of
gold, is transferred to the show of the riches
of the mind, and when the appearances of
poverty of intellect are shunned as those now
are of the poverty of t ie purse.
Ventilation of Bed-Rooms.—Thero
should be a constant circulation of fresh air
in bedrooms. The iungs must respire dur
ing sleep as well as at any other time, and it
is of great importance to have while asleep,
as pure air as possible. It is calculated that
each person neutralizes the vivifying princi
ple of a gallon of air in a minute; what ha
voc, therefore, must an individual make upon
the pure air of his bed-chamber, who sleeps
in a bed closed with curtains, yvith the doora
shut, and perchance a chimney .board into the
bargain. Our health and comfort depend
more upon these apparently trivial points
than most people are aware of. “Coufined
air,” says Dr. Franklin, “ when saturated
with perspirable matter, (the quantity of which
is calculated to be about five-eights of .what
we eat, will not receive more, and that matter
must remain in our bodies, and cause disease.
•We may recollect, sometimes, on waking in
the night, we have, if warmly covered, found
it difficult to sleep again. We turn often,
without finding repose in any position. This*
“ fidgettiness,” to use a vulgar expression,
is occasioned wholly by an uneasiness in the
skin, owing to the retention of the perspirable
matter.” To obviate the ill effects of this
annoyance, the following rule is recommen
ded. Keep the same position in bed, but
throw off the clothes, and freely admit tho
fresh air. This will clear the skin of its per
spiration, and you will experience a decided
and speedy refreshment. If this be not suc
cessful, get out of bed and walk about the
room; and having shaken the bedclothes well,
turn them down, and let the bed get cool.
When you begin to feel the cool air unplea
sant, return to bed, when you will experience
the good effect of your plan. The bed itself
should always be so placed, as to admit a free
circulation of air around it, and the curtains,
if curtains there must be, ought never to bo
perfectly closed. It would be well, if all the
apartments, but especially in bed-chambers,
the upper sashes of the windows were contri
ved to let down, for by this means the ad
mission of fresh air would be at all times,per-
fectly safe, as the body when even under such
a sweat as could not, without danger, be in-
terupted, many receive all the refreshing, re-
storativc, and invigorating influence of the air;
without being exposed to a stream of it.
Franklin himself, whatever might be the sea
son,slept with his window open, more or less,
and advised his friends to do the same, many
of whom adopted the practice, and acknow-
ledged the advantages of it. Fifty or sixty
years ago, the prejudice against the admission
of air in the day-time into a sick'room, was as
great as it now is against the admission of the
night air into a bed-chamber. Early habits
and fear are arbitrary rules.
Second Expedition to tiie Nigeb.—In
a letter to the London Literary Gazette,
John Lander who accompanied his brother
Richard in the expedition which resulted in
the discoveiy of the mouths of the Niger, but
not on the recent expedition, gives a cotnpend
of the intelligence which had been received
in England of the progress of this last expe
dition, down to July 31st. The amount of
it is, that Capt. Harris of the steamboat Quori
ra had deceased, that both steam boats were
known to have arrived at the Ehoe Country,
—and that the brig Columbine which was to
wait at the mouth of the Nun Rivet 1 until their
return, had jost her Captain and nearly all
her men by sickness. The steamboats had
been absent from the mouth of the river five
months; during which time nothing had been
heard of them. Mr. John Lander writes, “ I
see no great Teason to wonder at this delay,
chiefly because I am convinced no inter,
course i3, or can under existing circumstan
ces, be established between any part of the
interior and the coast. This would be at va
riance with the barbarous policy of the bar
barous tribes inhabiting the'eounty in the vi-
cioity of the sea. They would not suffer a
messenger from the interior to escape their
vigilance. Were any one to attempt the
journey, he would infallibly be captured and
sold; therefore, unless our countrymen were
themselves to descend the Niger, and be the
bearers of their own despatches, I sec no pos-
sibility of any communication being carried
on between the steamers in the interior and
toe sailing brig on the coast.”—Journal of
.Commerce,