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the present view numerous comforts, domestic and personal, presenting important securities against injury to the health. No one can doubt, that personal cleanliness is of the greatest advantage to the health, and is much neglected by some orders of society -but there are other serious disadvantages to which poverty, or want of means sub-ways; and by the aids of temperance and

bulk of mankind; and that life may be sustained by a very scanty portion of nourishment. An eminent British army physician, (Dr. JACKSON,) on this subject says-" I have wandered a good deal about the world, and never followed any prescribed rule in any thing; my health has been tried in all

jects many-want of changes from wet or damp clothes, bad shoes, humid and crowded apartments. These are some of the consequences of the privations of the poor, 1s to cleanliness and comfort, from which result coughs and many complaints, that would preclude them from old age, were it not for their early rising, simple diet, and

xercise.

"Cleanliness," says VOLNEY, "has a powerful influence on the health and preservation of the body." Cleanliness as well o our garments as in our dwellings prevents the pernicious effects of dampness, of bad mells, and of contagious vapors. Cleanliess keeps up a free perspiration, renews the air, refreshes the blood, and even aniontes and enlivens the mind. Hence we that persons, attentive to the cleanliness their persons and habitations, are geneally more healthy and less exposed to disse than those who are negligent of it: and it may moreover be remarked, that ceanliness brings with it, throughout every att of domestic discipline, habits of order, and arrangement, and decency.

hard work I have worn out two armies, in two wars, and probably could wear out another before my period of old age arrives. I eat no animal food, drink no wine or malt liquor, or spirits of any kind; I wear no flannel, and neither regard wind nor rain, heat nor cold, where business is in the way." Such is the protecting power of temperance.

THE MOTHER.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY-born about the middle of the sixteenth century-was the wonder of the age in which he lived; for tho' he died at a little over thirty, his fame, as a wise and profound statesman, was spread over all Europe. Nor was he less distinguished for religious and moral virtues, and particularly for generosity and tenderness of nature. It has been remarked of him, that "the most beautiful event of his life, was his death." Receiving a mortal wound in a battle in Flanders, the moment after he was wounded, and thirsty with excess of bleeding, he turned away the water from his own lips, to give it to a dying soldier. with these words " Thy necessity, is still greater than mine."

A temperate diet has always been attended with the best effects. A regular attention to this practice is the only infallitile nostrum for the prevention of disease. It is sometimes essential for those who are under the necessity of having their minds 4/ways on the watch, to be extremely tempente; hence the gallant defender of Gibraltar, (Elliot Lord Heathfield,) lived for ed. "Her tender melancholy, occasioned eight days during the siege, taking only by the tragical events in her family, togeth

four ounces of rice per day as solid food.
Dr. FRANKLIN, when a journeyman prin-
ter, lived for a fortnight on bread and wa-
ter, at the rate of ten pounds of bread per
week, and he found himself stout and hearty
with this diet. A respectable magistrate
as related of himself, that at the age of
Seventy he was free from every bodily com-
mint, and had never paid five shillings
ear for
medicine, which he attributed to
his having restricted himself to fourteen
ounces a day of solid food. And the num-
ber of indigent people who have lived to a
great age, is a proof of the justness of
Lord BACON's observation, that intemper-
auce of some kind or other destroys the

a

This extraordinary man was indebted, for the rudiments of his education, to his illustrious and excellent mother, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, who, in a preceding reign had been behead

er with the mischance of sickness, that had impaired her beauty, inclined her to hide herself from the gay world, and to bestow her attentions alınost exclusively upon the education of her children." "It was her delight," says a biographer of Sir PHILIP, "to form their early habits; to instil into their tender minds the principles of religion and virtue; to direct their passions to proper objects; to superintend not only their serious occupation, but even their amusements."

Had the loftiness of the House of Northumberland not been fallen; had lady Mary, the eldest daughter of that house, been a leader of fashion at the royal court-a distinction to which her rank would have | ternal tenderness by her, they never quit fully entitled her-her Philip would, in no forget; and very often it is the means probability, have been the exalted character that he was.

To see a mother, herself highly accomplished, and capable of shining in the first 'circles of fashionable life, to see her forego the pleasure of amusement, and the ambition of show, for the sake of bestowing personal attentions upon her children; to see her spend the best of her days in fashioning their minds and manners upon the purest models, guiding them with discretion, and alluring them to the love of excellence, alike by precept and example; to see this, is to behold one of the most charming of spectacles any where furnished in this fallen world.

forming their characters for life.

Precious is the mother, whether of hig or low degree, who, in this respect, acts th real mother to the best of her abilitie Hardly can she fail of stamping upón từ minds of her younglings, some salutary in pressions which will never be quite efface Except the rare instances of most unnatur perverseness, their hearts will ever clea to her. They will not forsake her whe she is old. Their filial kindnesses w soothe and solace the infirmities and deca of her age. And when she is called " put off the mortal and put on the immon clothing," the genuine expressions of the hearts will be-" We loved, but not eno the gentle hand that reared us.-Gla would we now recal that softest friend, mother, whose mild converse and faith counsel we in vain regret."

REGULARITY.

And what though it be not in the power of such a mother to make a Philip Sidney of her son? What though nature has gifted her children with no uncommon strength or brightness of intellect? Yet, with the divine blessing, she may have such influence upon the moral frame of their young and tender minds, that they shall be disposed to improve their natural talents, such as they are, and to employ them honorably. The benefits, in this respect, which highly capable mothers might confer on the facilities hereby obtained. Reduce y their children during a few of the first years whole concerns, if possible, to some regul of their earthly existence, are far beyond arrangement. Habituate yourself to bet

the power of calculation; since these benefits would likely descend from one generation to another, down to distant posterity. "Delightful task!"-In comparison with the pure and sublime enjoyment which the faithful performance of it gives, poor and wretched indeed is the whole sum of pleasure that can possibly be extracted from the

amusements of fashion.

Lamentable, however, would be the condition of things in this respect, if either wealth, or rank, or superior talents, or any great degree of literary acquirements, were indispensably necessary, in a mother, to fit her for the noble and all-important task which that relation devolves upon her. So far from it, that a woman of mere plain sense, whose reading extends but little beyond the divine volume that contains our holy religion, and whose worldly circumstances are narrow and even indigent, is capable, nevertheless, of conferring unspeakable benefits upon her little ones. As she is the first in their hearts, so, in their esteem, she is the first of women. Her

example is their model; they copy her ways; they hang upon her lips. The moral and religious lore inculcated with ma

In all matters of business (and you ha something which you ought to attend whether it bears the technical name of siness or not.) regularity is of incaleulal value. Much is effected in a little time

at the beginning of your business, and to proceed patiently to the end. The wh process will be shortened, and render much more easy and pleasant by the mea Persons who are remarkable for going t a vast deal of business, effect it in ag degree by such close attention to meth The name of regularity will go far toiva attaining reputation, that grand object youth's ambition. It is pleasing in its and it seems to intimate knowledga adroitness, wisdom and steadiness, all weight in the same scale-T AYLOR

METAPHYSICIANS can unsettle things. they can erect nothing. They can down a church, but they cannot buil hovel. - CECIL.

WASHINGTON'S OPINION OF WA In a letter to Col. HUMPHREYS, written in 11 which we find in Mr. SPARKS'S 9th volume, published, WASHINGTON has the following sel ment:-" My first wish is to see this plague to m kind banished from the earth, and the sons

daughters of this world employed in more pleas and innocent amusements, than in preparing ments and exercising them for the destruction mankind."

SUPPLEMENT TO THE CONNECTICUT COURANT.

VOL. IV.

FEBRUARY 8, 1836.

ΝΟ. 26.

i

FAOM THE AMERICAN MONTHLY MAGAZINE FOR | To bide the buffet of a pagan clime,

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THE time had come. The stern clock struck the To the trim worldling, in the broad green way
hour.

Each long-loved haunt had shared her mute farewell;
The vine-wrapt walk, the hillock's tufted crown, -
The nurtured plants that in the casement smiled
Had drank a blessing from her loving eye
For the last time. But now the climax came.
And so she rose, and with a fond embrace
Folded her gentle sister, who had been
A second self, ere from her cradle-dream,
And hung about her brother's neck, as one
Who 'neath the weight of love's remembrances
Doth look on language as a broken thing.
Methought she lingered long, as if to gain
Respite from some more dreaded pang, that frowned
Appalling, though unselt. For near her side,
With eye close following, where her darling moved,
Her widowed mother stood. And so, she laid
that dear breast, where every pain

Her head on

Of infancy was soothed. And there arose
One wild, deep sob of weeping, such as breaks
Upon the ear of Death, when he hath torn
The nerve fast rooted in the fount of life.
-Twv'er. The bitterness is past. Young bride!
No baner dreg shall quiver on thy lip,
TH the last ice-cup cometh.

Then she turned

To him who was to be sole shelterer now, -
And placed her hand in his, and raised her eye

One moment upward, whence her strength did come,
And with a steadfast step paced forth to take

Her life-long portion, in a heathen clime.

-Oh Love and Faith!-twin-centinels, who guard
One this drear world and one the gate of heaven, -
How glorious are ye, when in woman's heart
Ye make that trembling hold invincible.

Ye both were there, and so she past away
A tearful victor.

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Loitering and careless where that way may lead,
And prizing more the senses than the soul.
Heart! is it thus with thee? Go pour thyself
In penitence to Him, who heedeth not
The cross on Calvary, -so the lost might live.
Look to thine own slack service,-meted out
And fashioned at thine ease, and let the zeal
Which nerved the parting of that fair young bride
Be as a probe to search thy dead content.

FROM THE NEW-YORK OBSERVER.

DR. HUMPHREY'S TOUR.-NO. I.

THE OCEAN.

WIDE Ocean-stormy ocean-vast ocean -tempestuous occan-angry ocean-mighty ocean! These and such as these are the terms every day applied to that world of waters which rolls between us and our 'father land.' But you have only to pass over the ocean once, to feel how poor and inadequate all the descriptions of it which ever have been attempted, are. There it is-deep, dark, boundless-always and equally great, whether in its wrath or its repose-and always ready to lift up its solemn voice, as if in scorn of the puny impotency both of the pen and the pencil. In order to form any thing like an adequate conception of what the ocean is, you must launch out far into its fathomless domain, and see it, sleeping and waking, in storm and sunshine, and hear it 'utter its voice in the dark night, when it lifts up its hands on high.'

How vast, how infinite, in comparison with all human power! And yet there is one who measureth the waters in the hollow of his hands, and taketh up the isles as a very little thing-the Lord by whom the heavens were made, and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth. He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: He layeth up the depth in store-houses: He gave to the sea his decree, that the waters should not pass his commandment: He shut up the sea with

doors, and made the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddling band for it, and brake up for it his decreed place, and set bars and doors; and said, Hitherto shalt thou come and no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed. O Lord, how manifold are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them all the earth is full of thy riches. So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts. There go the ships; there is that leviathan which thou hast made to play therein. These all wait upon thee, that thou mayest give them their meat in due season.'

one

In both my passages across the Atlantic, thing, which I do not recollect to have ever noticed any where, made a deep impression on my mind. I seemed to myself, in some sense, to be, not in time, but eternity. I knew we were going rapidly on, for the impetuous waters over the sides of the ship, and the log-line, and the chronometer, and the quadrant, all told me so; and yet, we seemed to stand still in the centre of a great circle. Night came and went, and came and went; but there we were, apparently without the least change of position for there was nothing visible with which to compare our progress. I lay down and rose up in the same place. I went upon deck in the morning, and looked round upon the ship, upon the great circle, and up to the silent and solemn vault over our heads. At evening I left all things just as I found them; and the next day, when I again found myself looking abroad, it was from the same deck, upon the same great circle, and up to the same high and solemn vault. No shore-no island-no light-house-no change! Thus days and weeks roll on, and nothing seems to move at all.

And what to me was, if possible, still more impressive, the opposites of long and short duration, seemed to be brought to gether. Each waking hour passed slowly and heavily away. Every day, taken by itself, seemed much longer than upon land, and yet, the weeks were surprisingly short. The Sabbath came and went, and when another came, I could not realize that any thing like a week had rolled over our heads. The twenty-five days that we were at sea, oh, they were long enough for fifty, as they passed; but in looking back upon them, they were only an inch or two of time,' for we had almost no change of scene or incident, to keep them distinct or separate in our minds, when they were gone.

Eternity-fathomless, shoreless, mysteri

ous eternity! We shall all soon be in the centre of that awful illimitable circle-neter, never to change our place! Will it be to look out upon the sea of glass, clear as crystal, and up to the throne of God and the Lamb, or will it be to buffet the billows of Almighty wrath without hope and without end?

THE SABBATH AND PUBLIC WORSHIP AT SEA.

My first voyage across the Atlantic kept me three Sabbaths at sea; and though I could say with the Psalmist, How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts!'Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee;' I enjoyed each return of holy time better than ni I had anticipated. The Lord and Giver of the Sab bath-day gave us remarkably fine weather The air was soft and health-giving; the wind slept; the heavens were bright; and the waters were spread out around us 'like a molten looking-glass.' Every thing, es pecially on the last Sabbath, seemed hushed to a kind of sacred repose. Delightful em blem of that rest which remaineth for the people of God.'

Having laid in a large bundle of tracts before we left New-York, I took the op portunity of distributing them on the Sab bath, among the crew and steerage passen gers, and they were apparently well receiv ed. Some of the cabin passengers proposed a religious service, to which M- very readily acceded, and made the necessary arrangements for meeting on deck, where all on board (about 120 in number) might have opportunity to hear. There being no other clergyman on board, I was asked to officiate; and I am sure that, half sea-sick as I was, I never did so with more cheer fulness. I spoke to my little audienc from the hundred and thirty-ninth Psalm:Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? whither shall I flee from thy presence? If ascend up into heaven thou art there; if make my bed in hell, behold thou art there if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, ever there shall thy hand lead me, and thy righ hand hold me. On another of these occh sions, I selected that text in the sixth chap ter of Hebrews, 'Which hope we have, an anchor to the soul, both sure and stead fast, and which entereth into that within the vail. My remarks were listened to with a degree of attention and seriousness which led me to hope that some profitable impressions were made. We had singing too, which added greatly to the interest of the exercise. Taken altogether, there is something far more impressive in a religious service at sea than I had supposed. There you stand, with your fellow worshippers, upon the open deck, in the middle of the great ocean. You are alone, in your frail bark, a mere speck upon the bosom of the waters. Nothing is in sight but the sky and the main. Were your gallant ship, as you proudly style her, to go down the next moment, how trifling and momentary would I be the ripple! The sanctuaries in which you have been accustomed to worship, and the friends with whom you took sweet counsel and went to the house of God in company are far away-hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles. But you stand in the midst of a temple not made with hands, and look up to Him whom the heaven and the heaven of heavens cannot contain.' You feel your own dependence and nothingness, and the reality of his awful presence, more vividly than ever before, and exclaim, Lord what is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou visitest

Mim ?'

Tuesday, April 15. Land ho!' from the forecastle. It was Cape Clear, on the 8. W. coast of Ireland, and it was a joyful ght to us all; but the wind soon hauled found and headed us off towards the Bay of Biscay. In a day or two more, however, we got into the channel, and reached Liverpool Saturday evening, and were extremely giad to find ourselves safely ashore upon the fast anchored isle; and thus ended my first voyage across the Atlantic.

NO. II.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND. It is said that first impressions are commonly imperfect, and that, of course, no traveller should write about a foreign country which he may happen to visit, till he has

me to revise and correct his memoranda, by the aid of familiar intercourse, and leisrely observation. That this is a good general rule does not admit of a question; and If it had been better observed by English Jourists in the United States, many of their weeping remarks must have been entirely withheld or greatly qualified. It is literally Impossible for any man, however intelligent, observing, and candid he may be, to take in all the bearings and reasons and relations of things at a glance; so that if ⚫he makes up his final judgment upon first impressions, he will be sure to err, and almost certain to do injustice to the character and institutions of the people among

whom he travels. At the same time, I am far from admitting that these first impressions are unimportant. On the contrary they are sometimes more to be depended on than even the results of subsequent experience. They are like the instant glance of a quick and well enlightened conscience, the more likely to be correct because there is no time for the intrusion of those subtle biases, which are exceedingly apt to thrust themselves in and warp the judgment.

Thus, when a person brought up under the religious institutions of New-England, visits France for the first time, and witnesses the entire desecration of the Sabbath in Havre or Paris, his first impressions are right; and if he were to tell us, after spending a year in the French capital, that the profanations of God's holy day, which he witnesses, are far less painful to him than they were, we should escribe it to the blunting of his moral sensibilities, and not to a more correct judgment.

And then again, there is a vividness, a freshness about first impressions, which in the nature of things cannot last. The mistake, then, does not lie in noting down first impressions, but in making an improper use of them, or rather in stopping short and resting satisfied, as if nothing more was to be learned by continued observation and inquiry. The true and the only safe way is, to carry our first impressions along with us, so that while we are gradually correcting them by better opportunities, we may at the same time avail ourselves of their aid in coming to important conclusions. If they need to be modified by subsequent experience, it is quite as true, that experience in its turn, stands in need of their presence and assistance.

I had heard and read much, before I went to England, of the beauty of its scenery, the perfection of its roads, and of the high state of cultivation which prevails throughout the country. But when I came to see those things with my own eyes, I found that my previous conceptions were extremely inadequate. I cannot do justice, at all, to any of those objects which interested and delighted me so much the moment I saw them. But imagine yourself safely landed, as I was, at Liverpool, in the month of April. You recollect that in New-England and even much farther south, winter still lingers-that the fields are brown, the trees leafless, and the roads bad. Not so in England. You take the coach for London. As you go out of town you are very much surprised to see a deep June vegeta

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