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his arms and sunk,-forever. A few noiseless bubbles struggled to the surface, and his spirit mingled with the air.

Those who have stood by the bed-side of a dying brother, and watched the last faint struggle with death, the cold damps gathering upon the brow-the fixing eye-the con. vulsive gasp-without the power to repress a single groan,have felt all that was labouring in my heart. He was fellow being a friend-my benefactor-and he sunk within a few feet of me into a watery grave.

But it was no time to indulge the selfishness of sorrow. Rover had come to land, with the body of his mistress pale and cold. I took it up, and bore it to the house. The servants were in a state of distraction; it was with difficulty I could persuade them to use necessary means for the recovery of the unfortunate Mary. After much labour, she began to breathe, and a few deep groans marked the unwillingness with which life returned to its deserted tenement. Good God, thought I, what a cruelty do I not commit in restoring this wretched maid to a desolate existence ! Surely she had better, far better, die-and sleep quietly in her grave, than revive to see a few more miserable years, parentless-brotherless-alone-not a friend on earth to alleviate the sorrows of life. I almost repented what I had done. Yet what right had I to sit in judgment on the mysteries of Providence? It has pleased God to in terpose miraculously for her preservation :-let not man attempt to thwart his just, inscrutable designs!

We redoubled our efforts. In a little time she seemed partially to have recovered her senses. She looked wildly round, and, extending her feeble hand towards mine, cried, with a faint voice, "Arthur!" I pressed her hand—my heart was too full to speak. Alas! she did not know the touch -but, fixing her glazed eye upon me, repeated the name of Arthur. "It is not Arthur," said I-and the tears gushed as I spoke. "Oh where is he?-where are they all ?"and then, as if the memory of what had passed had suddenly flashed upon her mind, she shrieked out, and fell senseless away. I could restrain my feelings no longer, but, leaving her in the charge of the weeping domestics, hurried out of the room.

The storm, which had wreaked its fury, was dissipated as suddenly as it arose. I determined to walk abroad, and see if I could calm the violence of my feelings in the still moonlight. I passed through the parlour. There the repast was spread, and the chairs were standing round the hospitable board, for those who could never fill thein again. I strayed down to the margin of the lake. The faithful Rover was still swimming about, and whining piteously over the fatal spot. Wherever I went, at every turn, something arose to refresh the horror of the scene.

Mary recovered to linger a few years a miserable maniac ;

"Though health and bloom returned, the delicate chain
Of thought, once tangled, never cleared again."

She was sensible, however, a few moments before she died -thanked the kind domestics, who had never left herand begged to be buried at the bottom of the garden, beneath an arbour which Arthur had reared. Her injunction was obeyed-and a small tombstone may yet be found there under the long grass, bearing this simple inscription

"Poor Mary Burton rests beneath this stone;
God suffereth not his saints to live alone."

Hypochondriasis and its Remedies.-RUSH.

THE extremes of low and high spirits, which occur in the same person at different times, are happily illustrated by the following case: A physician in one of the cities of Italy was once consulted by a gentleman, who was much distressed by a paroxysm of this intermitting state of hypochondriasm. He advised him to seek relief in convivial company, and recommended him in particular to find out a gentleman of the name of Cardini, who kept all the taNes in the city, to which he was occasionally invited, in a roa: of laughter. "Alas! sir," said the patient, with heavy sigh, "I am that Cardini." Many such characters, alternately marked by high and low spirits, are to be found in all the cities in the world.

But there are sometimes flashes of apparent cheerfulness and even of mirth, in the intervals of this disease, which are accompanied with latent depression of mind. This ap pears to have been the case in Cowper, who knew all its symptoms by sad experience. Hence, in one of his let ters to Mr. Hayley, he says, "I am cheerful upon paper, but the most distressed of all creatures." It was probably in one of these opposite states of mind, that he wrote his humorous ballad of John Gilpin.

In proportion as the hypochondriac disease advances, the symptoms of the hysteria, which are generally combined with it in its first stage, disappear, and all the systems in which the disease is seated acquire an uniformly torpid or irritable state. The remissions and intermissions which have been described cease, and even the transient blaze of cheerfulness, which now and then escapes from a heart smothered with anguish, is seen no more. The distress now becomes constant. "Clouds return after every rain." Not a ray of comfort glimmers upon the soul in any of the prospects or retrospects of life. "All is now darkness without and within." These poignant words were once uttered by a patient of mine with peculiar emphasis, while labouring under this stage of the disease. Neither nature nor art now possess a single beauty, nor music or poetry a single charm. The two latter often give pain, and sometimes offence. In vain do love and friendship, and domestic affection, offer sympathy or relief to the mind in this awful situation. Even the consolations of religion are rejected, or heard with silence and indifference. Night no longer affords a respite from misery. It is passed in distracting wakefulness, or in dreams more terrible than waking thoughts; nor does the light of the sun chase away a single distressing idea "I rise in the morning," says Cowper, in a letter to Mr. Hayley, "like an infernal frog out of Acheron, covered with the ooze and mud of melancholy." No change of place is wished for, that promises any alleviation of suffering. "Could I be translated to paradise," says the same elegant historian of his own sorrows, in a letter to Lady Hesketh, "unless I could leave my body behind me, my melancholy would cleave to me there."

Can any thing be anticipated more dreadful than univercal madness? and yet I once attended a lady in this city, whose sufferings from low spirits were of such a nature, that she ardently wished she might lose her reason, in ordet thereby to be relieved from the horror of her thoughts. This state of mind was not new in this disease Shakspeare has described it in the following lines, in his inimitable history of all the forms of derangement, in the tragedy of King Lear. They are as truly philosophical as they are poetical.

"Better I were distract;

So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves "

A pleasant season, a fine day, and even the morning sun, often suspend the disease. Cowper bears witness to the truth of this remark, in one of his letters to Mr. Hayley. "I rise," says he, "cheerless and distressed, and brighten as the sun goes on."

Dr. Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, delivers the following direction for its cure: "Be not idle; be not solitary." Dr. Johnson has improved this advice by the fol lowing commentary upon it: "When you are idle be not solitary; and when you are solitary be not idle." The Illustrious Spinola, upon hearing of the death of a friend, inquired of what disease he died. "Of having nothing to do," said the person who mentioned it. "Enough," said Spinola, "to kill a general." Not only the want of em ployment, but the want of care, often increases as well as brings on this disease.

Concerts, evening parties, and the society of the ladies, to gentlemen affected with this disease, have been useful. Of the efficacy of the last, Mr. Green has happily said,

"With speech so sweet, so sweet a mien,
They excommunicate tlie spleen."

Those amusements should be preferre', which, while they interest the mind, afford exercise to the body. The chase, shooting, playing at quoits, are all useful for this purpose. The words of the poet, Mr. Green, upon

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