Ay, heave the lead; but that deep shore
Hath plummet never found,

Or reached the ocean's garnished floor,
With pearl-shells strewn and lost gems o'er,
From whence my pinnace upward bore,
For no fair haven bouud.

"I bear away for no green isle,

With beach of sparkling sand; Nor anchor cast nor moor awhile

My good sea-boat where far shores smile; Nor veer ship, where stern cliffs up-pile The tempest-beaten strand.

But, where the blue seas widest sweep,
And silvery waves dance by,

That, to their viewless cymbals keep
Wild jubilee along the deep,

Where bright unshaded sunbeams sleep-
There I my light oars ply.

"The watchful stars speak not to me
Of error in my way,

That whisper, from their waveless sea,
Of true course lost, or wreck to be,
Aud counsel proffer, kind and free,
To pilot far astray.
"Perchance, as unseaworthy by,
When her long cruise is o'er,
Idly thy gallaut ship may lie;
Yet, o'er the surf, my small sail fly,
Still viewed by that all-glorious Eye,
Surveying sea and shore.

"A bauble ship-yet skill divine
Fair-fashioned it for me;

As air-bell light, along the brine,
It leaves no track afar, like thine;
And would thy noble bark, like mine,
Could never fail at sea!"

New England Magazine.

HOGARTH'S PICTURES.

Ir is in possessing and maintaining their ethic purpose, not less than in their dramatic form, that Hogarth's principal series or suites of subjects form a department in painting distinct from every other. Scenes of domestic and every-day life have been painted by hundreds of other artists, both before and since his time; but his productions are not like theirs-mere "conversation-pieces," or tableaux de genre. His originality is twofold; for not only is he to be regarded as the first inventer of a particular class of subjects, but, unlike all other successful inventers, he has had no followers, no imitators; nor have the public been surfeited with pictures à la Hogarth, as they have with historical roinances à la Scott. Many years ago, a painter, of the name of Collins, and another named Penny, produced one or two sets of very namby-pamby subjects, which they fancied the world would accept as Hogar thian, because, like his, continued through several scenes or acts. Since then, no one has made a similar attempt, unless one so utterly abortive as to have left no trace of itself. Perhaps, Gilray will be thought to have approached him, to be proximus tamen longo intervallo; yet, without disputing his extraordinary cleverness, his talent, and his humour, we cannot consent to class him with Hogarth, from whom he differed not only

in degree but in kind. They seem to have been men of very differently constituted minds. There is without doubt great fun, and jesting, and whimsicality, in Gilray's productions; but we should no more think of seriously comparing him with Hogarth than we should think of comparing one of our modern pun-makers with a Swift or a Lichtenberg. Still less can we allow that either Bunbury or Rowlandson is entitled to take a place beside Hogarth, be it at ever so respectful a distance. Drollery, their distinguishing feature, we might say their quality, is certainly not the predominating charac teristic of the author of Marriage à la Mode and the Rake's Progress. There is in those works such a seriousness of aim, such an intensity of purpose, as altogether to exclude all idea of drollery. Many exceedingly pleasant and even droll traits occur in both these productions; and so also there is drollery in the scene of the grave-diggers in Hamlet; yet what man in his senses ever thought of calling that fine philosophic drama a laughable farce? No; if man ever was in earnest, Hogarth was in earnest there. They are works of the mind quite as much, if not far more, than of the hand; and to produce such works an artist must give all his facultiesnor must those be of an ordinary kind-to his subject. He must be more intent upon his matter and meaning than upon his manner; which is one tolerably sufficient if not perfectly satisfactory reason, why a man may be a very dexterous painter of subjects of the same general cast, without being able to produce anything at all resembling Hogarth. Although a man of limited education, he possessed a strong mind and persevering energy. For what he was he was indebted to himself-herein partly lay the secret of his strength; and of that of every one who has achieved a perdurable name in art.

He who would aim at rivalling Hogarth must do more than imitate his manner; and, above all else, it is requisite that he should possess the same peculiar bent of mind, together with a fearlessness that will not be diverted from its purpose. It is his mental power and his praiseworthy application that constitute his pre-eminent superiority; for, in technical merits and those of execution he has been surpassed by many so decidedly inferior to him in dramatic genius, that no parallel can be drawn between him and them. At the same time he has been somewhat undervalued as a painter; although the series of pictures of Marriage à la Mode, in the National Gallery, and the two others in Sir John Soane's collection, namely the Rake's Progress, and the Election Scenes, show him to have possessed no ordinary degree of ability with his pencil,-both a hand and eye for the management of colours. Although in some respects rather sketchily

handled, they are not painted feebly; and if they cannot be called highly finished, those productions are worthy to rank as cabinetpictures. It is, however, no reflection upon the artist, nor matter for particular regret, that his subjects lose hardly anything by being represented in engraving: because they address themselves to the mind even more than they do to the eye; and, to be fairly understood, they must, to use Charles Lamb's happy expression, be read as well as looked at. They must be examined both thoroughly and repeatedly; and so far, perhaps, showy and specious nothings may be thought to have the advantage over them; inasmuch as the latter do not tax our timewe can hardly add our patience-by the attentive investigation they require.-Foreign Quarterly Review.

New Books.

A COMPANION TO THE MEDICINE CHEST.

[THIS is decidedly the completest work of its kind that has fallen under our notice. It has too, the sanction of an accredited author, Mr. John Savory, Member of the Society of Apothecaries, and the celebrated chemist in New Bond-street. The information it contains is well arranged; as an explanation of weights and measures used in medicine, and the doses, drugs, chemicals, &c. generally employed in domestic medicine, their properties and doses; means for counteracting poisons; restoratives from drowning, infection, &c.; mineral waters and bathing; symptoms and treatment of diseases; preparations and prescriptions; apparatus; remedies classified; and a glossary of terms in the work. We need scarcely urge its utility to clergymen, master-mariners, and passen. gers; and for families residing at a distance from professional assistance: though it should be remarked that the unpretending character of this little work is well marked by the caution with which it recommends the reader to halt in certain cases, and rather seek the advice of an experienced physician or surgeon.

As a specimen of the popular manner in which the treatment of diseases is illustrated, we quote that of]

Dyspepsia, or Indigestion.

The dyspeptic symptoms, (before enume. rated,) being indicative of a debilitated state of the stomach, induced by intemperance, the means most likely to relieve, and finally to remove them, will be the avoidance of all stimulants, (that may act directly or indirectly on the stomach,) and the use of appropriate medicine.

The remote cause of dyspepsia is intemperance; it matters not whether it be intem

perate exercise of the mind or body, indulgence in late hours, exposure to the impure air of heated or crowded apartments, or excess in what we eat or drink. Either of these excitements, if long continued, will weaken the digestive organs, and induce dyspepsia; therefore they must be strictly avoided before the patient can hope for the relief or cure of his ailments.

Temperance in all things must be rigidly enforced, particularly in the exercise of the body or mind, and in the quantity and qua. lity of the aliment. Whenever it is practicable, all former habits, especially those of an injurious tendency, should be abandoned.

This being observed, the following brief outline of a dietetic plan may serve as a guide:-

For breakfast: tea, coffee, or cocoa, with a large proportion of milk, (together not exceeding two-thirds of a pint,) with toasted or stale bread, and cold beef or mutton, in small quantity. New bread and hot rolls should be prohibited.

For dinner the quantity of animal food should greatly exceed the vegetable, being more easily digested, affording a much greater. proportion of nutriment, and not being so liable to run into those acetous fermentations, which occasion flatulency and pain in the stomach and bowels.

The quality and quantity of animal food must, in some measure, depend on the habits and palate of the patient.

Salted meats should be used sparingly; beef and mutton, game and poultry, (roasted or boiled,) are articles that will agree with the majority of dyspeptic stomachs better than veal, lamb, or any other animal diet in the extensive catalogue of the larder.

Meat rather under-done, with the gravy in it, is not only more nutritious, and more easily digested, but a smaller quantity will be sufficient to allay the cravings of hunger; the stomach will not suffer from being overloaded, and the unpleasant feelings consequent on a full meal will be avoided. Rich made dishes and sauces are injurious.

To white fish there can be no objection; but salmon, and other rich and oily fish, should be rejected.

Due attention being paid to the quantity and quality of the food, four or five hours should pass between each meal, that the process of digestion may not be disturbed. Thus, breakfast may be taken at eight or nine o'clock; luncheon at one, and dinner at five or six. The luncheon should consist of one plain biscuit, and a small glass of toastwater.

As a beverage, one table-spoonful of brandy, in half-a-pint of cold water, may be taken with the dinner, unless the patient should complain of acidity or heartburn: in that case, as soda-water would be a correc-

tive, it should be preferred with or without the same quantity of brandy. If dinner be at six, supper is unnecessary, especially if tea be taken. However, the lighter the supper, the more pleasant will be the repose of the succeeding night.

Regular exercise in the open air must not be omitted.

The patient will require at least seven or eight hours rest in bed; nothing contributes to renovate the mind or body after fatigue more than repose; sleep, if not natural, should be induced by some gentle opiate.

It has been observed, that a total abandonment of former habits would be necessary: to this general rule there may be some exceptions. One individual abstaining from wine finds his spirits exhilarated, and perceives a daily improvement in his health; another becomes depressed and desponding, with loss of appetite, &c. In this case, the quantity of wine should be gradually diminished; but, at an advanced period of life, it would be imprudent to withdraw the stimulus, which long-continued habits have, in some degree, rendered necessary, without substituting brandy and water.

Agreeably to the plan laid down, each meal may be regulated; nevertheless, it is not presumed that this brief outline will suit every stomach; the human constitution is too variable to admit the indulgence of such a presumption.

Above all general rules, the patient's own experience will be, in point of regimen, his best physician: a careful attention to his feelings, after the use of different aliments, will teach him which to select, or to avoid.

When the bowels are brought into regular and daily action, the patient may return to the very moderate use of generous wine, and no longer confine himself to the strict regimen herein prescribed.

This outline is submitted not only to those who are suffering from dyspepsia, but likewise to those who, from present indulgence, may suffer hereafter. The latter have only to adopt a moderate regimen, and keep the bowels in moderate action, to avoid all dyspeptic ills; the former, who are suffering from dyspepsia, require not only a temperate and strict regimen, but likewise the aid of such remedies as are known to strengthen the stomach and bowels.

Costiveness, the constant concomitant of dyspepsia, must be obviated; hence, every medicine prescribed to renovate the energies of the stomach, should, at the same time, act as a gentle aperient; for, although much must depend on attention to regimen, yet without the assistance of medicine, the recovery will be protracted and doubtful. For the purpose of regulating the bowels, the anti-dyspeptic pill may be taken as the most effective in gradually restoring the energies

of the stomach, and exciting a regular peristaltic motion of the bowels.

If the stomach has suffered from continued bad digestion, or over-stimulation, the following draught should be taken two or three times a day :

Take of Compound Infusion of Gentian, ten drachms;

Subcarbonate of Soda, eight grains; Spirit of Pimento, one drachm; Tincture of Calumba, one drachm. The late Mr. George Bell, surgeon, considered sponging the body with Dr. Scott's nitro-muriatic acid of great use in the general debility of dyspeptics.

[From another section-Remedies-is the following:]

Directions for the Use of the Chloride of Lime.

To a pound of the chloride of lime add four gallons of water; stir the mixture well, and, after allowing it to settle for a short time, pour off the clear solution, and keep it in well-corked bottles.

Fumigations with the Chlorides.-The chlorides of lime and soda are the most powerful disinfecting agents hitherto discovered, almost instantaneously destroying every bad smell, and all effluvia arising from animal and vegetable decomposition, and effectually preventing their deleterious influence.

In large towns and cities suffering from infectious or contagious disorders, it is strongly recommended to sprinkle the rooms, morning and evening, with the mixture, and to place some of it in shallow dishes or basins, in the different rooms, particularly the bed-rooms.

In typhus or putrid fevers, infectious complaints, &c., the mixture should be sprinkled about the room and bed-linen occasionally, the usual precaution for renewing the air of the room being equally attended to; a wineglassful added to the water of a night-chair or bed-pan will prevent any smell.

The bed and other linen should be immersed, about five or six minutes, in the diluted liquid, before being sent to be washed, as mere washing in the common way will not always remove the infection from the linen. When used in this manner, the linen should be immediately afterwards rinsed in fresh water, as it might be injured if allowed to dry after immersion in the mixture.

The effluvia from drains, sewers, cesspools, &c., will be destroyed, by pouring into them a quart of the mixture, added to a pailful of water, and repeating the operation until the smell ceases.

Meat sprinkled with, or immersed in, the mixture for an instant, and then suspended in the air, will keep for some time without the slightest taint, and no flies will attack it.

Tainted meat, fish, game, &c., may be

rendered sweet by sprinkling them with the mixture.

Water in cisterns may be purified, and all the animalculæ destroyed, by putting into it a small quantity of the pure liquid,-say about one pint to one hundred gallons of

water.

Bugs may be destroyed by well washing the joints of bedsteads, and all crevices, with the pure liquid.

It destroys the noxious effluvia of paints so effectually, that a room painted in the day may be slept in at night, if sprinkled some hours before with the mixture, and if some be allowed to remain in shallow vessels.

Stables and slaughter-houses may be purified by the same process.

[The work is neatly printed, and we feel confident that its intrinsic utility and economical price will insure it an extensive circulation.]

[THIS work is from the accomplished historical novelist, Mrs. Bray, wife of the reverend vicar of Tavistock; and it is written in a series of Letters to the poet Southey, whose opinions the authoress holds in that respect to which they are entitled. Of miscellaneous reading, it presents a somewhat ample store, extending to three volumes, or upwards of eleven hundred well-filled pages. It is written upon a plan suggested by Mr. Southey, with a view to originality; viz. " to make a local work possess, what it had hitherto been deemed little capable of possessing—a general interest:" but, we are not aware of any success of this kind in the present volumes, beyond such as has been accomplished in many diligently written and observant guide-books or topographies. However, we are readier to admit the entertaining character of almost every page of Mrs. Bray's work: she has laboured industriously for the historian and the antiquary. "For the tourist, she has given descriptive sketches from observations made on the spot. For those who are fond of biography," she has made selections; "whilst the sketches of living characters are drawn from her own acquaintance with them. For the lovers of poetry and romance, she has given abundance of tales, stories, superstitions, old customs, and traditions, peculiar to this delightful county." Something, too, is given of its natural history, mostly fur nished to Mrs. Bray by her observant neighbours, one of whom she styles the White of the place. From so rich a mine we purpose to detach a few gems: e. g.]

computed to contain 100,000 acres,* is distinguished by heights so lofty and rugged, that they may in some parts be termed mountainous; and though a large portion of the high road, over which the traveller passes in crossing it, presents an unvaried scene of solitariness and desolation, yet to those who pursue their investigation of the moor beyond the ordinary and beaten track, much will be found to delight the artist, the poet, and the antiquary.

The feelings inspired by visiting Dartmoor are of a very different order from those experienced on viewing our beautiful and culti vated scenery. The rich pastures, the green hills, the woodland declivities of Devon; its valleys, alive with sparkling streams, and skirted by banks whose verdure never fails, studded as they are with cottages and farms, convey to the mind that sense of pleasure which renders the spirits cheerful and buoyant. There is nothing in such scenes to raise a thought allied to wonder or to fear; we know that we could dwell among them in security and peace; they delight and soften the mind, but they seldom raise in it those deep and impressive reflections, which scenes such as Dartmoor affords seldom fail to

create.

The peculiar character of the moor is derived from its granite tors; these are mostly found on the summits of its numerous heights, and lie piled, mass on mass, in horizontal strata. Some portion of dark iron-stone is found amongst them. There are, also, rocks of secondary formation, and several that are considered by geologists to be of volcanic fusion.

No one who would wish to view the moor in all its grandeur should go there on a very fine or rather sunny day: for it then possesses none of those effects produced by that strong opposition of light and shadow, which mountain-scenery and rugged rocks absolutely require to display the bold character of their outline, and the picturesque combinations of their craggy tops. Indeed, most scenery derives its pictorial effect principally from the clouds, and even the most beautiful loses half its beauty when viewed in unbroken light. I have seen Dartmoor under most of the changes produced by sunshine, cloud, or storm. The first shows it to disadvantage; for the monotony of its barren heights then becomes predominant. A gathering storm gives it a character of sublimity; but a day such as artists call a painter's day," is that which gives most interest to moorland scenery.

Scenery of Dartmoor.

forms would fall upon the mountain's breast, and leave the summit glittering in the sun with a brilliancy that might bear comparison with the transparent hues of the richest stained glass. The purple tints of evening here convey to the mind visions of more than natural beauty; so etherially do the distant heights mingle themselves with the clouds, and reflect all those delicate and subdued tints of sunset, that render the dying day like the departure of some beneficent prince, who leaves the world over which his course has cast the lustre of his own " long and lingering" glory.

The rivers, those veins of the earth that, in their circulation, give life, health, and vigour to its whole frame, here flow in their greatest purity. So constant is the humidity produced by the mists and vapours which gather on these lofty regions, that they are never dry. Sometimes they are found rising, like the Dart, in solitude and silence, or springing from so small a source that we can scarcely fancy such a little rill to be the fountain that sustains the expansive waters of the Tavy and the Teign. But all these rivers, as they pass on, receive the contributions of a thousand springs, till, gathering as they flow, they become strong, rapid, and powerful in their course. Sometimes, bounding over vast masses of rock, they exhibit sheets of foam of a dazzling whiteness: and frequently form numberless little cascades as they fall over the picturesque combinations of those broken slabs of granite which preseat, growing on their surface, the greatest variety of mosses and lichens to be found throughout the whole county of Devon.

Often do the waters play upon rocks literally covered with moss, that has in it the blackness and richness of the finest velvet. In others, the lichen is white as the purest marble, or varied with the gradations of greys, browns, and ochres of the deepest or the palest tints. There is also to be found, on the moor, a small and beautiful moss of the brightest scarlet; and nothing can be more delicate than the fibrous and filagree formation of various other species, that can alone be compared to the most minute works in chased silver, which they so much resemble in colour and in form.

Though Dartmoor is now desolate, and where the oak once grew there is seen but the lonely thistle, and the "feebly-whistling grass," and its hills are the hills of storms, as the torrents rush down their sides, yet that it was once, in part at least, richly clothed with wood cannot be doubted. The very name, so ancient, which it still bears, speaks its original claim to a sylvan character-the Forest of Dartmoor; and though of this antique forest nothing now remains but the wasting remnant of its days, in the "lonely wood of Wistman," (as Carrington has designated

it,) to show where the groves of the wise men, or Druids, once stood, yet evidence is not wanting to prove what it has been: since in bogs and marshes on the moor, near the banks of rivers and streams, sometimes imbedded twenty feet below the surface of the earth, are found immense trunks of the oak and other trees.

A Fairy Tale.

Near a pixy field in this neighbourhood, there lived on a time an old woman who possessed a cottage and a very pretty garden, wherein she cultivated a most beautiful bed of tulips. The pixies, it is traditionally averred, so delighted in this spot, that they would carry their elfin babies thither, and sing them to rest. Often, at the dead hour of the night, a sweet lullaby was heard, and strains of the most melodious music would float in the air, that seemed to owe their origin to no other musicians than the beautiful tulips themselves; and whilst these delicate flowers waved their heads to the evening breeze, it sometimes seemed as if they were marking time to their own singing. As soon as the elfin babies were lulled asleep by such melodies, the pixies would return to the neighbouring field, and there commence dancing, making those rings on the green, which showed, even to mortal eyes, what sort of gambols had occupied them during the night

season.

The

At the first dawn of light, the watchful pixies once more sought the tulips, and, though still invisible, they could be heard kissing and caressing their babies. tulips, thus favoured by a race of genii, retained their beauty much longer than any other flowers in the garden; whilst, though contrary to their nature, as the pixies breathed over them, they became as fragrant as roses; and so delighted at all this was the old woman who possessed the garden, that she never suffered a single tulip to be plucked from its

stem.

At length, however, she died; and the heir who succeeded her destroyed the enchanted flowers, and converted the spot into a parsley bed, a circumstance which so disappointed and offended the pixies, that they caused it to wither away; and, indeed, for many years, nothing would grow in the beds of the whole garden. But these sprites, though eager in resenting an injury, were, like most warm spirits, equally capable of returning a benefit; and if they destroyed the product of the good old woman's garden, when it had fallen into unworthy hands, they tended the bed that wrapped her clay with affectionate solicitude. For they were heard lamenting and singing sweet dirges around her grave; nor did they neglect to pay this mournful tribute to her memory every night before the moon was at the full; for then