Part 3

'Tis a summer month, and the very church windows seem labouring with a fit perspiration. Horribly boring--isn't it? How your hat clings to your moistened forehead, and the warm gloves droop from your fingers, like roasting chicken! Get as much room as possible; tenderly pass little miss there, and her unbreeched brother, over to their smiling mamma. Now you have the balmy corner to yourself! "Psalms," first lesson--second ditto--prayers--thanksgivings--all reverently attended to; there is a little dreaminess settling on your lids--your lips begin to close with languor; but you have not dozed. Let's hear the sermon. You are seated with tolerable erectness; and, judging from the steady determination of your eyebrows, one would imagine that your eyes would be open for the whole of the discourse. But, alas! 'tis Mr. Narcotic, whose spectacled nose is just verging above the crimson horizon of his pulpit.--"Awake, thou that sleepest!" Why, the text is quite opposed to DOZINESS! But what of this, if the preacher be addicted to drawling, the weather unobligingly sultry, and you yourself have gradually been dwindling from an uncongenial state of wakefulness into a sleepy calm? 'Tis too much for beldame Nature, believe me!

I perceive that you have rubbed the bridge of your nose several times--that you have tried to swell forth your eyes with a full round stare at the parson; but your stoicism "profiteth nothing." The sermon is irreligiously long; and you are nodding--in a doze! Whether there be much pleasure in a church doze, I am not presuming enough to determine. For myself, I have found nothing more tantalizing than the endeavour to restrain from an occasioned doze during church time. After a certain period, I have perceived the parson diminishing, like a phantasmagoric image--all the ladies' black bonnets sinking away, like a cluster of clouds--and (shame on the confession!) I have performed head worship to the front of my seat, instead of keeping an immovable post-like position, before his reverence. However, a church doze is seldom admired by the wakeful. Should an embryo snore escape from one's nose (and this is possible,) some old grandam, or an upright piece of masculine sanctity, is sure to rouse you; the former will either _hem_ you into awakening shame, or drop her prayer-book on the floor; the latter will most likely thump the same with the imperative tip of his boot. How horridly stupid one seems after being aroused! The woman eyes you with the most piquant, self-justifying sneer possible; while all her little IMMACULATES, if she have any, look at you like so many hissing young turkey cocks; and as for the man--bless his holiness!--he'd frown you down to Hades at once.

"My heart leaps up" when I behold a stage coach--that snug, panel painted, comfortable wheel-whirling "thing of life." O ye days of juvenilian sensibilities--ye eye-feeding, heart-rising scenes of remembered felicity!--how glorious was the coach at the school door! The whip--Ajax _Mastigoferos_ never had such a powerful one as the modern Jehu! The spokes of the wheels--they were handled with admiring fingers! That Jupiter-like throne, the coach-box--who would not have risked his neck to have been seated on it? When all was "right," how eloquent the lip-music of coachee! how fine the introductory frisks of the horses' tails, and the arching plunge of the fore-foot--no rainbow-curve ever was so beauteous! "Oh, happy days! who would not be a boy again?" But away with my puerilities. I intend the reader to take a doze in that comfortable repository for the person--the inside of a coach.

With all the reckless simplicity of boyhood, I maintain that travelling by coach is by no means the least of our sublunary pleasures. Man is a _wheelable_ animal as well as walking one. Winter is the time for a nice inside jaunt. What divine evaporations from the coachman's muzzle! What a joyous creak in the down-flying steps!--and, oh! that comfortable alertness with which we deposit ourselves in the padded corner, and fold our coatflaps over our knees, glance at the frosty steam of the window; and then, quite _a la Tityre_, repose our recumbent bodies at our ease! Such moments as these are snatches of indefinable bliss. It would appear probable, that a coach was a very inconvenient place for a doze; the attendant bustle, the whip-smacks, bickering wheels, and untranquillizing jolts--

"Like angels' visits, few and far between,"--

are not calculated for sleepiness. Notwithstanding these correlative interruptions, a doze in the coach is by no means uncommon, even in the daytime. Let us examine this a little more intellectually.

Suppose a man is returning to his friends, with a mind composed, and "all his business settled." (By-the-by, how vastly comprehensive this speech is!) Suppose he has entered the coach about four in the afternoon, and, by rare luck, finds he is, for the present, the only inside passenger. Such a man, I say, will be likely to doze before twenty miles have run under the coach-wheels--speaking _Hibernice_. For the last half-hour, he will be thinking of himself--how many commissions he has performed--how many he has left undone--and how many he intends to do. The next, he will probably give to his home attractions--his anxious wife, sat musingly round the tea-table--his favourite son George (so like his father)--and all the nine hundred and ninety-nine pretty nothings we hear of, after a brief absence. These will send his heart a long way from the coach, and therefore keep him in the full enjoyment of wakefulness. But this train of delectable musing is by no means exhaustless. The roll of the wheels gradually becomes naturalized to the ear, and the body moves in sympathy with the coach; the road gets very monotonously barren; the lounge in the corner--how suitable then to this solitary languor! Lulled here, the traveller for awhile admires the leathern trappings of the coach, hums a tune perhaps, and affects a dubious whistle. Meantime the operations of _doziness_ have been gently applying themselves. His eye is sated with the road and the coach; his hands become stationary on his lap; his feet supinely rested on the opposite seat; his head instinctively motions to the corner--and he dozes! A doze in the coach is the flower of dozes, when you are alone. There, you may twist your person into any shape you please, without the fear of discomposing a silken dress, or a nursemaid's petticoats. No boisterous arguments from snuff-taking sexagenarians: all is placid --Eden-like--just as a dozer's _sanctorum_ ought to be! The only thing attendant on the doze of an inside passenger, is the great chance of being suddenly aroused by the entrance of company. O tell me, ye of the fine nerve, what is more vexing than to be startled from your nest by the creaking slam of the steps, the bleak winter gales galloping along your face, and a whole bundle of human beings pushing themselves into your retreat! There is no rose without its thorn, as myriads have said before me:--

----"O beate Sexti, Vitae summa brevis SPEM nos vetat inchoare LONGAM!"

Not all the morose sarcasms of Johnson, on the pleasures of rural life, have ever weakened my capability for enjoying it at convenient intervals. His antipathy to the country resembled his contempt for blank-verse--_he_ could not enjoy it. I have now moped away a considerable number of months in this city of all things--this--this London. "Well?" Pray restrain yourself, reader; I am coming to the point in due season. During my metropolitan existence--although I am neither a tailor, nor any trade, nor anything exactly--I have never beheld a downright intellectual-looking blade of grass. I mean much by an intellectual blade of grass. The Londoners--poor conceited creatures!--have denominated sundry portions of their Babylon "fields." But--I ask it in all the honest pride of sheer ignorance--is there the ghost even of a bit of grass to be seen in many of them? I cannot easily forget my vexation, when, after a tedious walk to one of those misnomered "fields," I found nothing but a weather-beaten, muggy, smoky assemblage of houses of all sizes, circumscribed by appropriate filth and abundant cabbage-stumps. Innocent of London quackeries, I strolled forth with the full hope of laying me down on a velvet carpet of grass--the birds carolling around me--and, perchance, a flock of lambkins, tunefully baying to their mammas!! "Said I to myself," when I reached these fields, "what a fool I am!" I had contemplated a doze on the grass.

But leaving all thoughts of disappointment, who will not allow that there is something exceedingly delightful in dozing calmly beneath the shade of an o'er-arching tree?

----"recubans sub tegmine fagi."

Of course, the weather should be fine, to admit of this luxurious idleness. Let the blue-bosomed clouds be sailing along, like Peter Bell's boat; let the sunbeams be gilding the face of nature, and tinging the landscape with multiform hues; let the breezes be gentle, the spot retired, and the heart at ease. Now, go and stretch yourself on the grassy couch, while the branches of an aged tree shadow forth the imaged leaves around you. What a congenial situation for philosophy--under an old tree, on a sunny summer day! How much more becoming than the immortal tub of the sour-minded Diogenes? Who will be able to refrain from philosophizing. I repeat it, beneath such an old tree? 'Tis at such times that the heart spontaneously unbends itself--that the fancy tranquillizes its thoughts--and that memory awakens her

----"treasured pictures of a thousand scenes."

Place the palms of your hands beneath your pole, and survey the skies!--calm, beautifully unconscious! By-gone times, and by-gone friends--the thousand commingling scenes of varied life--how they all recur to you now! You fancy you could lie beneath the tree for eternity--so soothing is the employment of doing nothing--or field philosophy! Yet, to speak correctly, you are doing a great deal; your imagination is flying in all directions--from the death of Caesar to the last cup of Congou that you took with a regretted friend. What a mystery your existence is! The world turns round as gently as ever; the flowers bud into life; and the winter nips them. Man lives, thinks, and dies. All very wondrous truisms. Well, after a half-hour--or perchance more--you will be gradually relapsing into a state of soporific nothing-at-all-ness (the best word I can find to express my meaning.) May there be some clear little stream just behind you, laughing along its idle way;--some chirping birds, singing their roundelay--some buzzing flies--you will then be lulled into doziness. However, with or without the purling murmur of the brook--the joyous warbling of the birds--the busy bustling flies--you will not be able to resist the dozing temptations that will steal over you. Your eyes will close gently as flower-leaflets--your thoughts die away in a heavenly confusion--and then you doze!--neither sleeping nor waking, but absolved in delicious dreaminess! O, for such a doze!--_Monthly Magazine_.

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THE SELECTOR, AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

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THE CHINESE ALMANAC.

Notwithstanding the aversion of the Chinese to the profession of the Roman Catholic religion, which has been shown, first by persecuting, and then by expelling the Jesuits from the empire, the Chinese government is, however, obliged to keep at least some missionaries at Pekin to compile the almanac. While astrology has led in other nations to the study of astronomy, the Chinese, though they have studied astrology for some thousand years, have made no progress in the real knowledge of the stars. Their ancient boasted observations, and the instruments which they make use of, were brought by the learned men, whom Koubilai, the grandson of Gingis Khan, had invited from Balk and Samarcand. The government, at present, considers the publication of an annual calendar of the first importance and utility. It must do every thing in its power, not only to point out to its numerous subjects the distribution of the seasons, the knowledge of which is essentially necessary to them, to arrange the manner of gaining their livelihood, and distributing their labour; but on account of the general superstition, it must mark in the almanac, the lucky and unlucky days, the best days for being married, for undertaking a journey, for making their dresses, for buying, or building, for presenting petitions to the emperor, and for many other cases of ordinary life. By this means, the government keeps the people within the limits of humble obedience; it is for this reason that the emperors of China established the academy of astronomy, but we must not expect to find men really acquainted with that science. When this illustrious body, composed of Mantchoos, and in which Europeans, though subordinate, are the most active, condescended to look at the planetarium, which was among the presents which the king of England sent to the emperor of China by lord Macartney, Mr. Barrow was not able to make the president of this learned society understand the real merit of that instrument. Besides, how should a people be able to comprehend astronomy, to know the position of the heavenly bodies, and determine the orbits of the planets, while it is ignorant of the elements of mathematics, and makes its calculations by the help of vertical arithmetical tables, like those used by the shop-keepers in Russia, and who are ignorant both of analysis and geometry?--_Timkowski's Mission to China_.

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COMPARISON OF THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH.

The following are points of comparison which may be remarked in the characters of the French and English. The French are great talkers, the English great thinkers; the former excel in vivacity, the latter in solidity of intellect. The French dress with splendour, the English with neatness; the French live almost exclusively on bread, the English on meat. Both are passionate; but it is the blood which rouses the passion of a Frenchman, and the bile which exasperates an Englishman. The anger of a Frenchman is more violent, that of an Englishman more pertinacious. A Frenchman spends his money on his clothes, an Englishman on his belly. A Frenchman follows the stream, an Englishman delights in struggling against it. The friendships of the French are quickly formed, and as quickly dissolved; those of the English are formed slowly, and as slowly relinquished. The French respect their superiors, the English respect themselves; the former are better citizens, the latter better men. The mental endowments of the French are of a more refined, those of the English of a loftier, character. The French practise virtue for the sake of reputation, and seek the reward of meritorious actions in popular applause; the English practise it for its own sake, and seek no reward but that which springs from the consciousness of rectitude. There is the same relative difference in their vices as in their virtues. Both commit crimes; the French from the love of gain, the desire of vengeance or similar motives; but the English are often criminal for the mere sake of committing crime. The French, like the people of other countries, often commit crimes in the hope of escaping punishment, but the English frequently commit crimes because they know they cannot escape unpunished; so that the very severity of the law, which deters others from crime, often operates as an additional stimulus on the English for the commission of offences, "I would commit this offence," exclaims the Frenchman, "if the law permitted it." "I would not commit this offence, if it were not prohibited by law," is frequently the language of the Englishman.--_Memoirs of Lewis Holberg_.

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LEAVES AND FLOWERS, OR THE LOVER'S WREATH.

With tender vine-leaves wreathe thy brow, And I shall fancy that I see, In the bright eye that laughs below, The dark grape on its parent tree. 'Tis but a whim--but, oh! entwine Thy brow with this green wreath of mine.

Weave of the clover-leaves a wreath, Fresh sparkling with a summer-shower, And I shall, in my fair one's breath, Find the soft fragrance of the flower. 'Tis but a whim--but, oh! do thou Twine the dark leaves around thy brow.

Oh, let sweet-leaved geranium be Entwined amidst thy clustering hair, Whilst thy red lips shall paint to me, How bright its scarlet blossoms are. 'Tis but a whim--but, oh! do thou Crown with my wreath thy blushing brow.

Oh, twine young rose-leaves round thy head, And I shall deem the flowers are there,-- The red rose on thy rich cheek spread, The white upon thy forehead fair. 'Tis but a whim--but, oh! entwine My wreath round that dear brow of thine.

_The Draught of Immortality, &c._

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ARTS AND SCIENCE

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FLATTENING OF THE EARTH.

At the Academy of Sciences at Paris, a memoir was read by Captain Duperrey, on the experiments made with the invariable pendulum, during the voyage of the _Coquille_ round the world. He states that various experiments confirmed the fact of the flattening of the terrestrial globe, conjectured by several travellers, who had remarked that the number of oscillations which the pendulum made at certain places, differed from what had been observed in the extent of the same parallel. The principal anomalies observed by Captain Duperrey were at the Isle of France, Mons, Guam, and the Island of Ascension. At the Isle of France, the invariable pendulum (as had been remarked by M. Freycinet) made in one day, upon an average, thirteen or fourteen oscillations more than it ought, supposing the depression to be 1.305, according to the lunar theory. At Ascension, the acceleration, as noticed by Captain Sabine, was five or six oscillations, even supposing the depression to be 1.228. At other stations the difference was almost nothing; and in some, the motion of the pendulum was retarded. Such differences, Captain Duperry remarks, between the results of experiment and those given by theory, cannot be attributed to errors of observation. He is disposed to refer the cause of the phenomena, with Captain Sabine, to the want of homogeneousness in the earth, considered as a mass, or to the mere variations of density in the superficial strata. What tends to confirm this hypothesis, he says, is, that all observations show that an acceleration of the pendulum generally takes place on volcanic ground and a retardation on such as is sandy and argillaceous. A very important question to ascertain is, whether the flattening is exactly the same in both hemispheres. From the observations of Captains Duperrey and Freycinet, it appears that in the southern hemisphere it is 1.291, and in the northern 1.288; that is to say, it is sensibly the same, or 1.290 in both.

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HABITS OF PLANTS.

The following curious observations on the habits of plants, were made by General Walker, in his address to the Agricultural Society of St. Helena, in February last:--"The functions of plants, as well as of animals, depend upon the air in which they live. I have observed that those of St. Helena, which have been brought from another hemisphere, are very irregular in their annual progress; many of them, in the development of their foliage, have adopted the law of nature peculiar to the country into which they have been transplanted. Others, more obstinate, remain faithful to their own habits, and continue to follow the stated changes to which they had been accustomed. They all appear to maintain a struggle either before they adopt the habits which belong to the seasons of their new country, or decide on retaining their relations with the old. In yielding to external circumstances, they appear to have different tempers. This appearance of contention is often observed in plants of the same species; they seem to hesitate and deliberate, ere they adopt the mode of performing the functions of life. At length when the decision is made, apparently not without pain and effort, we are at a loss to discover an adequate cause. An oak, for instance, which loses its leaves in a St. Helena winter of 68 degrees, scarcely experiences the difference of temperature, which, reasoning by analogy, could cause that change. It would have continued to maintain inflexibility, in its original climate, its old habits, though exposed to far greater irregularity and severity of climate. But though the law is obeyed by many plants, it does not determine the periodical changes of the whole, nor do they all submit to it with equal readiness and regularity. It would add, I conceive, to the natural history of vegetation, and improve our knowledge of the geography of plants, were the facts concerning their habits and changes, under different temperatures, carefully collected."

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MISCELLANIES.

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HUMAN CREDULITY.

The wonderful miracles wrought by Bridget Bostock, of Cheshire, who healed all diseases by prayer, faith, and an embrocation of fasting spittle, induced multitudes to resort to her from all parts of the country, and kept her salival glands in full employ. Sir John Pryce, with a high spirit of enthusiasm, wrote to this woman to make him a visit at Newton Hall, in order to restore to him his third, a favourite, wife. His letter will best tell the foundation on which he built his strange hope, and every uncommon request.

_To Mrs. Bridget Bostock._

Madam,--Having received information, by repeated advices, both public and private, that you have of late performed many wonderful cures, even where the best physicians have failed; and that the means used appear to be very inadequate to the effect produced; I cannot but look upon you as an extraordinary and highly favoured person. And why may not the same most merciful God, who enables you to restore sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and strength to the same, also enable you to raise the dead to life? Now, having lately lost a wife, whom I most tenderly loved, my children a most excellent step-mother, and our acquaintances a most dear and valuable friend, you will lay us all under the highest obligations; and I earnestly entreat you, for God Almighty's sake, that you will put up your petitions to the Throne of Grace on our behalf, that the deceased may be restored to us, and the late dame Eleanor Pryce be raised from the dead. If your personal attendance appears to you to be necessary, I will send my coach and six, with proper servants to wait on you hither, whenever you please to appoint. Recompense of any kind that you may please to propose would be made with the utmost gratitude; but I wish the bare mention of it is not offensive to both God and you.

I am, madam,

Your most obedient, and very much afflicted, humble servant,

JOHN PRYCE.

THEOLOGICAL WIT.