HORRID DREAMS. WHAT DREAMS PORTEND.

Not all a monarch's luxury the woes
Can counterpoise of that most wretched man,
Whose nights are shaken with the frantic fits
Of wild Orestes; whose delirious brain,

Stung by the Furies, works with poisoned thought:
While pale and monstrous painting shocks the soul;
And mangled consciousness bemoans itself
Forever torn, and chaos floating round.

What dreams presage, what dangers these or those
Portend to sanity, though prudent seers
Revealed of old, and men of deathless fame,
We would not to the superstitious mind
Suggest new throbs, new vanities of fear.
"Tis ours to teach you from a peaceful night
To banish omens and all restless woes.

MIDNIGHT STUDY AND NOONDAY SLEEP REPROBATED.

In study some protract the silent hours,
Which others consecrate to mirth and wine,
And sleep till noon, and hardly live till night:
But surely this redeems not from the shades
One hour of life. Nor does it naught avail
What season you to drowsy Morpheus give
Of the ever-varying circle of the day;
Or whether, through the tedious winter gloom,
You tempt the midnight or the morning damps.

THE MORNING CHILLS BETTER ENDURED THAN THOSE AT MID-
NIGHT. —— EFFECT OF CHILLED CIRCULATION, BY CHECKED
PERSPIRATION.—MIDNIGHT BALLS.

The body, fresh and vigorous from repose, Defies the early fogs: but, by the toils Of wakeful day exhausted and unstrung, Weakly resists the night's unwholesome breath. The grand discharge, the effusion of the skin, Slowly impaired, the languid maladies Creep on, and through the sickening functions steal. So when the chilling east invades the Spring, The delicate Narcissus pines away In hectic languor and a slow disease Taints all the family of flowers, condemned To cruel heavens. But why, already prone To fade, should beauty cherish its own bane? O shame! O pity! nipped with pale quadrille, And midnight cares, the bloom of Albion dies!

SOLDIERS AND OTHER LABORERS SLEEP WELL, AND WAKE EASILY NOT SO THE LAZY.-SLEEPY-HEADS; MATTRESSES AND FEATHER BEDS, FOR WHOM.

By toil subdued, the warrior and the hind Sleep fast and deep: their active functions soon With generous streams the subtle tubes supply ; And soon the tonic, irritable nerves Feel the fresh impulse, and awake the soul. The sons of indolence with long repose Grow torpid: and, with slowest Lethe drunk, Feebly and lingeringly return to life, Blunt every sense, and powerless every limb. Ye prone to sleep (whom sleeping most annoys), On the hard mattress or elastic couch Extend your limbs, and wean yourselves from sloth; Nor grudge the lean projector, of dry brain And springy nerves, the blandishments of down;

Nor envy, while the buried bacchanal
Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams.

HABITS TO BE CHANGED ONLY GRADUALLY.

He, without riot, in the balmy feast Of life, the wants of nature has supplied, Who rises cool, serene, and full of soul. But pliant nature more or less demands, As custom forms her; and all sudden change She hates of habit, even from bad to good. If faults in life, or new emergencies,

From habits urge you by long time confirmed,
Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage;
Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves,
Slow as the stealing progress of the year.

GRADUAL CHANGE OF THE SEASONS. WHEN TO USE FURS.

Observe the circling year. How unperceived Her seasons change! Behold! by slow degrees, Stern Winter tamed into a ruder Spring; The ripened Spring a milder Summer glows; Departing Summer sheds Pomona's store; And aged Autumn brews the winter storm. Slow as they come, these changes come not void Of mortal shocks: the cold and torrid reigns, The two great periods of the important year, Are in their first approaches seldom safe : Funereal Autumn all the sickly dread, And the black Fates deform the lovely Spring. He well-advised, who taught our wiser sires Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, Ere the first frost has touched the tender blade ; And late resign them, though the wanton Spring Should deck her charms with all her sister's rays. For while the effluence of the skin maintains Its native measure, the pleuritic Spring Glides harmless by ; and Autumn, sick to death With sallow quartans, no contagion breathes.

IF DISEASE THREATENS, CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN.

I in prophetic numbers could unfold The omens of the year what seasons teem With what diseases; what the humid South Prepares, and what the demon of the East: But you perhaps refuse the tedious song. Besides, whatever plagues in heat, or cold, Or drought, or moisture, dwell, they hurt not you, Skilled to correct the vices of the sky, And taught already how to each extreme To bend your life. But should the public bane Infect you; or some trespass of your own, Or flaw of nature, hint mortality: Soon as a not unpleasing horror glides Along the spine, through all your torpid limbs ; When first the head throbs, or the stomach feels A sickly load, a weary pain the loins ; Be Celsus called; the Fates come rushing on; The rapid Fates admit of no delay. While wilful you, and fatally secure, Expect to-morrow's more auspicious sun, The growing pest, whose infancy was weak And easy vanquished, with triumphant sway O'erpowers your life. For want of timely care, Millions have died of medicable wounds.

APPARENT TRIFLES MAY EXPOSE LIFE.EPIDEMICS.

Ah! in what perils is vain life engaged!
What slight neglects, what trivial faults, destroy
The hardiest frame! of indolence, of toil,
We die; of want, of superfluity:
The all-surrounding heaven, the vital air,

Is big with death. And though the putrid South
Be shut; though no convulsive agony
Shake, from the deep foundations of the world,
The imprisoned plagues; a secret venom oft
Corrupts the air, the water, and the land.
What livid deaths has sad Byzantium seen!
How oft has Cairo,, with a mother's woe,
Wept o'er her slaughtered sons and lonely streets!
Even Albion, girt with less malignant skies,
Albion the poison of the gods has drank,
And felt the sting of monsters all her own.

SWEATING PLAGUE DURING THE CIVIL WARS OF ENGLAND.

Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent
Their ancient rage, at Bosworth's purple field;
While, for which tyrant England should receive,
Her legions in incestuous murders mixed,
And daily horrors; till the Fates were drunk
With kindred blood by kindred hands profused;
Another plague, of more gigantic arm,
Arose; a monster never known before
Reared from Cocytus its portentous head.
This rapid fury not like other pests
Pursued a gradual course, but in a day
Rushed as a storm o'er half the astonished isle,
And strewed with sudden carcasses the land.

First through the shoulders, or whatever part
Was seized the first, a fervid vapor sprung.
With rash combustion thence the quivering spark
Shot to the heart, and kindled all within ;
And soon the surface caught the spreading fires.
Through all the yielding pores, the melted blood
Gushed out in smoky sweats; but naught assuaged
The torrid heat within, nor aught relieved
The stomach's anguish. With incessant toil,
Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain,
They tossed from side to side. In vain the stream
Ran full and clear; they burnt and thirsted still.
The restless arteries with rapid blood

Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly
The breath was fetched, and with huge laborings
At last a heavy pain oppressed the head, [heaved.

A wild delirium came; their weeping friends
Were strangers now, and this no home of theirs.
Harassed with toil on toil, the sinking powers
Lay prostrate and o'erthrown; a ponderous sleep
Wrapt all the senses up: they slept and died.
In some a gentle horror crept at first
O'er all the limbs; the sluices of the skin
Withheld their moisture, till, by art provoked,
The sweats o'erflowed; but in a clammy tide :
Now free and copious, now restrained and slow;
Of tinctures various, as the temperature
Had mixed the blood; and rank with fetid steams :
As if the pent-up humors by delay

Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign.
Here lay their hopes (though little hope remained)
With full effusion of perpetual sweats

To drive the venom out. And here the Fates
Were kind, that long they lingered not in pain.
For, who survived the sun's diurnal race,
Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeemed:
Some the sixth hour oppressed, and some the third.
Of many thousands, few untainted 'scaped;
Of those infected, fewer 'scaped alive :
Of those who lived, some felt a second blow;
And whom the second spared, a third destroyed.
Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to shun
The fierce contagion. O'er the mournful land
The infected city poured her hurrying swarms :
Roused by the flames that fired her seats around,
The infected country rushed into the town.
Some sad at home, and in the desert some,
Abjured the fatal commerce of mankind :
In vain where'er they fled, the Fates pursued.
Others, with hopes more specious, crossed the main,
To seek protection in far-distant skies;
But none they found. It seemed the general air,
From pole to pole, from Atlas to the East,
Was then at enmity with English blood.
For, but the race of England, all were safe
In foreign climes; nor did this fury taste
The foreign blood which England then contained.
Where should they fly? The circumambient heaven
Involved them still; and every breeze was bane.
Where find relief? The salutary art

Was mute; and, startled at the new disease,
In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave. [prayers;
To Heaven with suppliant rites they sent their
Heaven heard them not. Of every hope deprived;
Fatigued with vain recourses; and subdued
With woes resistless and enfeebling fear;
Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blow.
Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard,
Nor aught was seen but ghastly views of death.
Infectious horror ran from face to face,
And pale despair. "T was all the business then
To tend the sick, and in their turns to die.
In heaps they fell and oft one bed, they say,
The sickening, dying, and the dead contained.

PRAYER FOR GREAT BRITAIN.

Ye guardian gods, on whom the fates depend Of tottering Albion! ye eternal fires [powers That lead through heaven the wandering year! ye That o'er the encircling elements preside! May nothing worse than what this age has seen Arrive! Enough abroad, enough at home, Has Albion bled. Here a distempered heaven Has thinned her cities; from those lofty cliffs That awe proud Gaul, to Thule's wintry reign; While in the west, beyond the Atlantic foam, Her bravest sons, keen for the fight, have died The death of cowards and of common men : Sunk void of wounds, and fallen without renown. But from these views the weeping Muses turn, And other themes invite my wandering song.

LONGFELLOW'S "AUTUMN."

WITH What a glory comes and goes the year!The buds of Spring- those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times - enjoy Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; And when the silver habit of the clouds Comes down upon the Autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up His bright inheritance of golden fruits, A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And from a beaker full of richest dyes
Pouring new glory on the Autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, —
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the way side a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves; the purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, -
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings;
And merrily with oft-repeated stroke
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

O what a glory doth this world put on
For him that with a fervent heart goes forth
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks
On duties well performed, and days well spent!
For him the wind, ay, the yellow leaves,

Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.
He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go
To his long resting-place without a tear.

GALLAGHER'S "WESTERN AUTUMN.”

THE Autumn time is with us! Its approach Was heralded, not many days ago, By hazy skies that veiled the brazen sun, And sea-like murmurs from the rustling corn, And low-voiced brooks that wandered drowsily By purling clusters of the juicy grape, Swinging upon the vine. And now, 't is here!

And what a change hath passed upon the face
Of Nature, where thy waving forests spread,
Then robed in deepest green! All through the night
The subtle frost hath plied its mystic art,
And in the day the golden sun hath wrought
True wonders; and the wings of morn and even
Have touched with magic breath the changing leaves.
And now, as wanders the dilating eye
Athwart the varied landscape circling far,
What gorgeousness, what blazonry, what pomp
Of colors, bursts upon the ravished sight!
Here, where the maple rears its yellow crest,
A golden glory; yonder, where the oak
Stands monarch of the forest, and the ash
Is girt with flame-like parasite, and broad
The dog-wood spreads beneath a rolling field
Of deepest crimson; and afar, where looms
The gnarléd gum, a cloud of bloodiest red!

BRYANT'S "AUTUMN WOODS."
ERE, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.

The mountains that infold,

In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground.

I roam the woods that crown

The upland, where the mingled splendors glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.

My steps are not alone

In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn Along the winding way.

And far in heaven, the while,

The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, —
The sweetest of the year.

Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;
So grateful, when the noon of Summer made
The valleys sick with heat?

Let in through all the trees

Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-colored foliage in the breeze

Twinkles, like beams of light.

The rivulet, late unseen,

Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run,
Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.

But, 'neath yon crimson tree,

Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,

Her blush of maiden shame.

O, Autumn! why so soon

Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!

Ah, 't were a lot too blest

Forever in thy colored shades to stray;
Amidst the kisses of the soft south-west

O'er joys that ne'er will bloom again—
Mourns on the far hill-side.

And yet my pensive eye

Rests on the faint blue mountain long,
And for the fairy-land of song,

That lies beyond, I sigh.

The moon unveils her brow;
In the mid sky her urn glows bright,
And in her pale and mellow light
The valley sleeps below.

I stand deep musing here,

Beneath the dark and motionless beech,

Whilst wandering winds of nightfall reach My melancholy ear.

The air breathes chill and free ; A spirit, in soft music, calls

From Autumn's gray and moss-grown halls, And round her withered tree.

The hoar and mantled oak,
With moss and twisted ivy brown,
Bends in its lifeless beauty down,

Where weeds the fountain choke.
Leaves, that the night-wind bears
To earth's cold bosom with a sigh,
Are types of our mortality,

And of our fading years.

The tree that shades the plain, Wasting and hoar as time decays, Spring shall renew with cheerful days, But not my joys again.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. The origin of hunting. The rude and unpolished manners of the first hunters. Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice. The grant made by God to man of the beasts, Gen. 9: 3. The regular manner of hunting first brought into Britain by the Normans. The best horses and best hounds bred here. The advantage of this exercise to the British, as islanders. Address to gentlemen of estates. Situation of the kennel and its several courts. The diversion and employment of hounds in the kennel. The different sorts of hounds for each different chase. Description of a perfect hound. Of sizing and sorting of hounds; the middle-sized hounds recommended. Of the large, deep-mouthed, for hunting the stag and otter. Of the lime-hound; their use on the borders of England and Scotland. A physical account of scents. Of good and bad scenting days. A short admonition to my brethren of the couples.

SUBJECT; CHASE, HOUNDS.RUDE ORIGIN OF HUNTING.

THE chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed, And no less various use. **

When Nimrod bold, That mighty hunter! first made war on beasts, And stained the woodland green with purple dye, New and unpolished was the huntsman's art; No stated rule, his wanton will his guide, With clubs and stones, rude implements of war! He armed his savage bands, a multitude Untrained of twining osiers formed, they pitch Their artless toils, then range the desert hills And scour the plains below: the trembling herd Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout, Unheard before; surprised, alas! to find [lord, Man now their foe, whom erst they deemed their But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain Wide wasting, and grim slaughter, red with blood: Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill; Their rage licentious knows no bound; at last, Encumbered with their spoils, joyful they bear Upon their shoulders broad the bleeding prey. Part on their altar smokes, a sacrifice To that all-gracious Power whose bounteous hand Supports this wide creation; what remains,

On living coals they broil, inelegant

Of taste, nor skilled as yet in nicer arts

Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,

And strong necessity, thus first began

The chase of beasts; though bloody was the deed,
Yet without guilt; for the green herb alone
Unequal to sustain man's laboring race,
Now every moving thing that lived' on earth
Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven
To give us in proportion to our wants.

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR INTRODUCED THE REGULAR CHASE.

Or chance or industry in after times
Some few improvements made, but short as yet
Of due perfection. In this isle remote
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn:
To arms devote, in the politer arts

Nor skilled, nor studious; till from Neustria's coasts
Victorious William to more decent rules
Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak
The proper dialect, with horn and voice
To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry
His listening peers approve with joint acclaim.
From him successive huntsmen learned to join
In bloody social leagues the multitude
Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes ;
To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline, the pack.

EXCELLENCE OF BRITISH HORSES AND HOUNDS. — USE.

Hail, happy Britain: highly-favored isle, And Heaven's peculiar care! to thee 't is given To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those Begot by winds, or the celestial breed That bore the great Pelides through the press Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks, Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins, Cheerful, his course, and, ere his beams decline, Has measured half thy surface unfatigued.

In thee alone, fair land of Liberty! Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed As yet unrivalled, while in other climes Their virtue fails, a weak, degenerate race. In vain malignant steams and winter fogs Load the dull air and hover round our coast; The huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold, Defies the noxious vapor, and confides In this delightful exercise to raise His drooping head, and cheer his heart with joy.

THE VETERAN HUNTER TO WEALTHY LANDHOLDERS.

Ye vig'rous youths! by smiling fortune blest
With large demesnes, hereditary wealth
Heaped copious by your wise forefathers' care,
Hear and attend! while I the means reveal

To enjoy these pleasures, for the weak too strong,
Too costly for the poor to rein the steed
Swift stretching o'er the plain, to cheer the pack
Opening in concert of harmonious joy,
But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
Of brazen-fisted time, and slow disease
Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
Afflict my shattered frame,- undaunted still
Fixed as a mountain-ash that braves the bolts